Who names their baby Squirrel?

"Hi," we said to the lady at the window. We were buying tickets for our first theater experience in Arizona, I wanted the seats to be good. Especially since about ten years ago I had directed the same production for the "Santa Clarita Light Opera Company."

"So your Pat and Pat, that must be fun."

"Well yeah, it has been for many years. And how fun has your name been?" My husband responded.
No reply, only the stink eye down her nose! I kicked my husband under the counter hopefully out of her vision.

She spoke with a recognizable accent. Her name badge listed her first and last name.

I tried to smile sweetly and she smiled back. (thank goodness)
"I've not been to this theater can you show me where the seats are located."

I expected her to pull out a seating diagram but she grabbed a key from the wall and said, "come on in and see for your self"

We walked from the 100 degrees wafting heat into the cool darkness of an empty theater. I must admit I love an empty theater because in the quiet I can imagine all sorts of productions and ideas begin to flow into my head.

But I stopped myself and looked at the seats in the 4th row on the aisle and nodded that they would be fine.

On the way out she pointed at a lone seat with a wide space beside it, obviously for a wheelchair and companion. "That's where I sit if I can, twenty minutes into the show after I close the box office."

"Where are you from." I asked

"South Jersey."

"Me too."

"What got you to move out to sunny Arizona?"

"We came out for several visits, and my asthma got better, so we moved about ten years ago."

Back in the office we continued girl bonding and discussing Jersey. During a lull in the conversation I  finally asked, "Now about your name."

She quickly responded, "It really is Squirrel. My parents were nutty, ha ha..and have made excuses all my life for this crazy name...but I admit,, It is quite the conversation piece."

She placed our tickets in an envelope, and smiled while handing me the envelope..
"See you on the 27th."

"You sure will Squirrel," my husband chortled.


Walking to the car he began with a string of one liners. that ended with
"Her brothers are chipmunk, raccoon and the lazy one is possum. The grumpy sister is snapping turtle."

Yep, that's my sweet husband!

And I've been thinking if they really meant to name Squirrel, Shirley but misspelt it.  Yea! that's it, at least that's some sort of excuse...I can't imagine little baby Squirrel. And this is from a person who has four  Pat's in the family.

Sky lies

It looks down on my face and laughs
Dismay will not warm or keep cold away
The bright and shinning sun tells lies
Wind bites cheeks and nips eyes

               

Blue above doesn't tell the truth
Cloudless skies beckon, "come outside"
But don't trust what you see I advise
If you don't, it shall be your demise 

Back home the atmosphere wraps around me

like a warm blanket on my shoulders

it is no surprise the Arizona sun is paradise

No Canada for me is very wise

Pat's Rants

No Room for Heavenly Light 

I keep my mouth shut so as not to offend.

Even as people accept and embrace gender bend.

Law says we must invite them in, no matter the cost.

“The contrast between puppy dog-tails and sugar & spice is lost?”

With my children five, the question arose.

On a Hollywood set, with this person right under their nose

Five a clock shadow linked with fake golden curls

Hairy legs in tights couldn’t hide this man surreal.

“But mommy he has on a skirt and a bra."

"He can’t fool me! He’s on the run from the law?"

“Lets’ go home my dears, get out of this place.

He must be confused in his high heels and lace.”

“Oh, he’s playing dress-up,” was an innocent reply.

Then my oldest one said, “He is living a lie…"

"My teacher told us of kids who will be using our loo,

Girls in the boys will be there to tinkle and poo.”

Topsy-turvy our world has flipped and become,

 Like the Emperor’s new clothes, so many succumb.

 Taught to agree without reservation.

This makes no sense to the goal of creation.

Where is your road going?

Why is it fine to crush and trample what I believe?

This makes me so sad and truly bereaved.

When right is wrong and wrong is right

There is no room for heavenly light.

         Heaven or Hell

Days drift by in numbered succession

We work to buy another possession.

Routines of life burns the candle low

There is another world beyond this I know

Break through the fog and into the light

Open wide the cracks, escape from the blight

How to emerge from the darkness and gloom

And not remain trapped in an earthly tomb

Do what's right, set aside your fears

Keep your chin up and smile through your tears

Patience will bless us, with affliction we'll grow

Set aside temptation, for we reap what we sow

Yet for sure Heaven or Hell waits for us all

And there is one who gleefully wants us to fall

Or you can turn to Him who loves without condition

Looking over all, pulling us back from perdition

So turn back from temptation and go to the light

In your heart you feel and know what is right

Prevent the loss of your soul to utter destruction

There’s no joy in ruin or eternal damnation

For He knew long ago the mistakes we would make

And gave us the grand plan for us all to partake

He waits at the gate, arms wide to embrace

His countenance is in you, it shines in your face

Is this all there is... Helen's Funny Funeral

Helen’s Funny Funeral

Is this all there is?

Helen's things on the freeway

Helen's health began to fail. My brother had died the previous year. And he was unable to keep the promise to look after our mother's needs while we served a Mission.) I had very mixed feelings because, as time passed, she became increasingly difficult. Had I done enough? Did I do my daughterly duty? Is what I am doing what she would have wanted? Am I honoring her wishes? She was born in 1916 and almost made it to 100 yrs. old. Did I do enough to make her last days happy and comfortable? 

Yes, to some of those questions...not so sure for some others. I think that is how any child feels when she cares for a parent who has become a child. No matter how she treated me through the years I still felt the wrenching obligation to have things nice for her during her last days; to honor her because she was my mother...not as easy to do as to say, but I felt I managed most of the time.

So, after they took her away, I was left with my eldest daughter Colleen and her very kind boyfriend (who later became her sweet husband) Max. We were deciding what to do about Helens' little room packed with lots of trinkets.  Every piece of jewelry she brought had disappeared months ago. We figured many of the staff had "light fingers." 

She had lived in her suite for a year and a half, and I felt like the things she brought with her had multiplied. I'm not sure how that happened but I swear it did. I remembered when I cleaned out her condo; it took over three weeks. Neighbors had asked if she was a hoarder. I started to agree with them because it felt like her house was a clown car. As soon as you thought a closet was emptied something else popped up and you found hidden boxes under a couch or a bed or the back of a cupboard. The 10 bottles of ketchup in her pantry had turned black. Every expiration date on the things in the refrigerator was more than a year passed. 

We sorted through some of her things and after a while I wanted out of there. I didn't care. The facility put a big lock on the door and gave me a key. I had until the end of October to clean her place. On Impulse, I took the cow I had sent her for her birthday that was two days ago. Max went back to work; Colleen and I went to the mortuary.

Glen Haven Mortuary opened in the 50's and Patrick's parents bought 6 plots there. There are two left. We're considering getting planted there one day as both sets of parents are there. I called the mortuary months ago to assure Helen's plot was still there next to my dad.   Mother had attended both of Patrick's parents' funerals and liked the mountain setting where they rested. Mom buried Dad there and had purchased the space next to his. I had not been up there for almost 24 years. I have never been one to visit graves. I prefer to remember loved ones by looking at pictures when they are happy and well. 

As we drove up to the cemetery, we noticed several garbage trucks on the narrow road. I vaguely remembered some fuss over the trash dump along the canyon that led to the cemetery. At the time I didn't think about it being near Glen Haven. We topped the hill and looked for the green tranquil place we remembered. Colleen and I both gasped at the sight. The once pretty little valley was brown and most of the flowers were dead and gone. I remembered a white shinning building with columns and a wide stair up to the carved wooden entrance. The mortuary walls were cracked and stained with grey and rust streaks down the sides.  Every wall was chipped and in disrepair. I looked up the hill to where I remembered my dad was buried and realized most of the graves were decorated with plastic flowers and garish shinning pinwheels. We were hesitant to go up the stairs and see what was beyond the peeling front door.  

We were greeted by somber music and outdated worn furnishings. We pushed a button and heard a doorbell chime. We waited for several minutes before a woman limped out from the depths of a darkened hall. She had a cast on one leg from foot to hip. We introduced ourselves and said we were there to plan things for Helen Herles.

The woman named Maria said, "Oh yes, she's already purchased a place next to her husband." She spoke with a Hispanic accent and invited us into an adjacent room where she had a book on the table and some printed pages listing various services and costs. I asked, "Don't you have a room with, umm, you know, sample coffins to pick from?" 

"Oh No," Maria responded, "that kind of a set-up just raises the cost for everyone."

I told her my mom wanted a simple grave-side service, no embalming. "That's what we did for my dad, and my mom wanted the same. My husband will dedicate the grave and I don't think many will attend. All her friends and most of the family have passed on." Maria, the cemetery lady quietly turned the book on the table over to the back page and said, "Back here is more what you're looking for if you want economy." Colleen and I leaned forward and peered at the last page in the book where three coffins were featured. One was a shocking pink the other was turquoise and there was also a black one. All were priced at a little over two thousand dollars. I was now holding back tears, "I'm not sure any of these would be right. What do you think Colleen?"

I looked over to see that Colleen was on the verge of giggles. so continued on, "Are There any that are wood or something like that.?" I turned the page and randomly pointed at one that looked like cherry wood. "Is this one a lot more expensive than the ones on the back page. I think this one is nice."

She pulled the book back to her and began to fill out an order form. After a while she looked at us, sighed and said, "We can make that one the same price as the others...if you like it. and if you're having a hard time with costs, we can help you with a bake sale or a carwash or a rummage sale."

I looked over at Colleen who had gone for a run and come directly to the rest home, and I was a wreck from being up all-night driving from Tucson. I thought, “I wonder if she thinks we’re homeless or indigent. 

At that point, I didn’t care! I wrote a check and asked about flowers. “Can we order them from you?”

 “Oh, we don’t do that. You would get a better deal at a florist. I have the phone numbers of a few if you need them.” I shook my head and asked, "Can we have the service on Friday so my children will have time to get into town.  No one lives in California anymore," I said under my breath.

A few minutes later she came back with a calendar and told us, "Friday at noon is open." I asked about clothing, and she said I could bring by something in a few days. 

Colleen and I were off to the same florist that I remembered most of the flowers for proms had come from. I remembered the gold boxes with the cellophane window on top that they always arrived in. I forked over three hundred dollars for the large sized casket arrangement of mother’s favorite flower. 
I went back to the hotel and collapsed.

The next day Colleen Max and I managed to clean out and give away the few things left in mother’s room. I started to receive random phone calls and soon I realized the funeral attendees were multiplying like rabbits. By Fridays' count, my family and Tim’s kids were outnumbered by people I didn’t know, including my deceased brother’s lawyer.

The next day family began to arrive, and Thursday Patrick flew in from Gilbert.  It was nice to have family and especially the five grandkids who arrived with Megan and Michael. Friday we all had the Buffett breakfast in the hotel’s coffee shop before we left for the cemetery. 

It was a bright perfect day, and the sun warmed my face as we walked up to the open grave. Within fifteen minutes the area was teeming with clumps of people I didn't know and wondered how my brother's two ex-wives would behave. The second wife said, "Oh crap." when she saw the first wife arrive. I was hoping the rude comments flying back and forth would not end in a yelling or shoving match. I watched the exchange and accidently pushed the cow I had intended to place in the coffin. (She loved black and white cows and when I had the estate sale most of her 103 figurines were sold) The cow immediately played a tinkly version of "Old McDonald." Most everyone laughed and somehow that little tune broke the tension that had been growing.

While more people arrived, I walked to the mortuary and asked where mother was so I could place the cow in her arms. I couldn't find anyone who knew where she was or tell me if the flowers had arrived. I went back to the grave and the next thing I knew her casket was being placed on the bier. The flowers were nowhere in sight, so I placed the cow on top of the casket along with a large picture of mother that I had in the trunk of my car along with the few things I had taken from her room. People were gathering around the burial site so I crossed off the idea that I could put the cow in the casket and left it on top of the casket. Then the youngest of the grandkids ran up and pressed the cow song tummy. We were all treated to the first of many, "Old McDonald" verses. And still no flowers. Patrick called the florist and discovered they had the wrong time on the order sheet. We decided to continue without the flowers, and I felt horrible.

But I forgot about the flowers when I saw the sky filled with low flying helicopters. Once overhead they banked and dropped gallons of water on the garbage dump to the left of the cemetery. Max, Colleen's boyfriend leaned over to me and whispered, "those are the fire department's water-drop 'copters. They practiced for accuracy by dumping water on the garbage at the dump." One of the kids re-pushed the cow song right before Patrick started the service. We waited for the music to stop, and Pat jumped into his comments while I blocked another grandchild from lunging at the cow. 

Rapid fire gun shots began to fire to the right of the cemetery. Patrick raised his voice and continued with the service, and I don't think many heard when he dedicated the grave. Next to me Max muttered under his breath. "Ah, um so I heard the police academy has a firing range around here someplace." His voice trailed off.  

Then a movement on the other side of the cemetery caught my eye. I turned to see a young man running in our direction with his arms full of sunflowers. Mother finally had her flowers before she went into the ground.  Everyone was leaving as we placed them on the grave, and I called over a few and took several photos. 

That afternoon our family went to the beach. The next day Patrick and I drove back to Tucson to complete our Mission. On the way back it felt surreal. We were both now the oldest in our family We looked at each other and said, 
"Tag your it."  

My Mother's Hands

My Mother's hands laced with blue

Have done most things that women do

Infants tended, clothing mended

Cooked the food, stayed empty headed

During strife, days full and rich

Pulled off her life without a hitch

Grumpy, mean and not so nice

I can't think of a simple sacrifice

So, when my hands mirror hers

With memories blank or blurred

Will my children see the things I've done?

Remember the laughter and the fun

Smile through tears, Never a frown

I'll not let my guard come down

When opposite ever I try to be

Not like her... but being me

This thought was written to the class I taught before I retired from teaching. Good advice to all for 2019. And I still encourage young people like Elder Carr at the temple visitor trailer.

                                                                                                   We keep plugging along. That is the best advice to stay young!

written in 2013

“Look for the Good”, an encouraging thought from your professor.

     With a new class of students on the horizon and a new hospital to take them to; I have my nasty-people worries welling up within me.  Will the mean old doctor be there?  The one who gets mad if you sit in his chair? Really, I never saw his name on it.  Or will the physical therapist be there who is so tall he can’t help but look down his nose at everyone?  He somehow scares away any intelligent answer a young nursing student may have. 

     And then there is the eerie green reflection of the monitors in the Definitive Observation Unit onto the thick glasses of the woman who acts like she can see into your soul.  Rumor has it, that she has had her big rear in the same seat for twenty years and treats everyone as if she was the Queen of England.  She even talks about herself in the third person.  “Beverly wants you to know, if you can’t get the cardiac monitor leads on correctly, THEN DON’T TRY!”  The first time she reprimanded my nursing students, (who I know have more education in their toes than she has in all lobes of her cranium) I thought, “Who is this Beverly? Some doctor…cardiologist, administrator, who? Guess what? That Beverly was HER!  Imagine, I expected her to begin the royal wave!”                                                                                 

     As a nursing student you need to have a very thick skin.  Or at least it’s something I try to have and teach my students to do the same.  Somehow most of the workers at hospitals treat students and their professors, like door mats and expect them to bow and scrape. I did that in nursing school over forty years ago but things have changed, or at least they should have. I then tell my poor abused young men and women to remember how it feels, and then in ten years or so, when they are in charge, to remember and “Be kind to the students.”  It has been said that nurses eat their young, but these days after everyone else in the hospital take’s their bite there is very little left for the nurses to munch upon. 

     I try to prepare my kids. I call them that because most of them are really young, some younger than my grandkids.  I become a protective tiger mom while I have them in my clinical nursing class. One particularly difficult day as we sat behind closed doors discussing our patients before we left the hospital several of the students were concerned about the cool reception and mean comments made by the staff.  I said, “Don’t think if someone acts nasty or mean that it’s you or anything you have done.  It could be something else has gone wrong in their life.  Like the doctor who has a wife who just left him, or the nurse who has a sick child or sick cat, or maybe even, gosh, I don’t know, something like her dog died the night before.  And remember, “If it’s you or something you did, I’ll let you know.  I’m here to make the road easier.  I’m here to help you get to the finish line, I’m not a scary mountain to climb over…so talk to me, ask me questions, and don’t worry about the crusty looks you get from others. I’m the one who gives you the grade.” 

     About a week later one of the more shy girls who tried to do everything right and had great critical thinking skills, pulled me aside and said, “I know what’s wrong with that one really mean nurse.”  “Oh, you do?” I said, thinking she had some special insight.  “Yes,” she said with smile, more wise than her young age.  “I figure she owns a kennel, and has lots of dogs, and every night one dies.” She turned away with a special spring in her step.  And I thought, “Ya know, maybe she’s right.”

     Mean people suck!  I know that’s not a nice word, but the truth hurts…for those who deserve it.  I guess, Pollyanna is my middle name, and if something goes wrong, I figure the odds are that something soon will turn out right…like the saying, “There is so much horse plop out there, if you dig deep enough you’ll find a pony.”  And, I know some folks see everything through cracked glasses, or have the chemical thing going wrong that puts them on a downer.  And I know I’ve been lucky in that for the most part, even after my youngest son’s severe head injury, I was able to find something decent about the bad situation. 

     I believe I began to recognize small moments of tender mercy on one crazy vacation.  We were delighted to be staying at a friend’s cabin in Tahoe but things soon went very wrong. Our car had so many problems I lost weight running down the road to the service station looking for parts to repair our worn out station wagon.  So, I realized later when I got on the scale at home, that when I usually gain weight on a vacation, this was one of the few where I lost weight.  And then at the end of the trip our old car finally rolled to a stop in the middle of the 110 degree Mojave Desert.  We had visions of our entire savings being sucked up by some greedy repair man.  However, after my husband and son walked several miles to the nearest gas station we were helped by a kind grandpa who refused payment.  Oh, we ended up being towed backwards while all of us were still sitting in the car.  We looked like a re-run of the worst moments of the Chevy Chase “Vacation” movie since our station wagon was an exact copy of the one used in the film.  Our two teenagers wanted to put paper bags on their heads they were so embarrassed.  But now, in retrospect, they all admit we saw the most amazing sunset, which we would never have seen if we were driving towards home and all facing in the other direction.  And besides that our faith in repair men was restored. 

     Part of being a teacher is to encourage and guide so I tell my novice students, with the wisdom I have gained through the years that, “Before this life is over trials will come to you all.  Oh I wish they did not, and none of us had to deal with such things but this is our test and is not for us to decide.  All we can decide is what to do about a situation within the time we’ve been given.  I have found good or bad, bitter or sweet, depends upon your point of view.  Where or how you see a situation determines if you find it positive or negative. I know that there are many forces at work beyond our control and I also know that most of those forces are good and are much more powerful than bad or evil.” So I say to my young charges, “If all seems lost and you are full of despair, get up! Change how you look at things or give it a bit of time, your perspective will change, and you will discover it’s not so bad after all. And that’s an encouraging thought.”

Happy New Year...and happy to be here in my 75th year!