Being There

I started my college life at Urbana College in Ohio. Second quarter my freshman year a new transfer student moved into my life, for the next two years we were joined at the hip. I introduced Josie to Piper who already lived across the hall from me in the dorm. Piper was a sophomore, but the three of us hung out together when our schedules allowed.

At the end of my sophomore year I decided on yet another major, pre-pharmacy, and transferred to VCU to better my chances to get in to pharmacy school at MCV. I never got into MCV and settled on Geography instead. Josie, in the mean time, studied graphic design and Piper majored in elementary education.

Time goes by, as it usually does, and I didn't keep in touch with the other two as I ought've. A letter here and a phone call there lead me to learn Josie woke up one day and decided to go to dental school, got accepted at OSU, and eventually bought herself a practice. I've always admired her for that, completely changing her course in life without looking back. Several years ago I learned she had been diagnosed with stage 4 breast cancer and it had spread.

Last June when I was in Columbus for the Perl conference I got to have lunch with Piper and we got to catch up, but Josie was out of town and we didn't get to see each other. Piper filled me in on a lot of Josie and her condition, how she had sold her practice the year before, how her leg was broken but they were unable to insert a rod to fix it until the chemo round was done, how she couldn't ride her beloved horses. I kept telling myself I really needed to go back out and see her.

Saturday night I got a call on my cell; Piper was on the caller ID. My heart stopped. I knew it wasn't good news. I answered the call, Josie was still alive, but barely. Hospice had been brought in and her husband didn't think she'd last more than a couple days. Do I go now? Do I wait for the funeral? Do I want to keep her memory healthy and vibrant, or ruin that picture with a conscience-clearing visit to see her, near death, not guaranteed to even know I was there?

That little voice in my head was telling me that she would die soon, today or tomorrow, and her service would be next Monday. Don't worry about seeing Josie now, it' won't matter. Go to the service next week and be there for Piper.

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When I was struggling to come up with a title for this post I tried out several possibilities, then typed 'Being There' to describe the relationship between friends. Then I just stared at it with a lump in my throat. How could I forget? Being There, the 1979 Peter Sellers film, was our favorite movie that first quarter together at school. The little theater in town didn't get a lot of new releases so Jos and I saw this movie several times. We quoted it all the time and laughed, just laughed, at all those silly things that struck us funny, our little inside jokes that lasted for years. Not until it was written and staring at me did I realize the weight of what I'd typed. How had I'd completely forgotten all about the movie until just now? Life continues to surprise. And Soothe.

 

A Glint in the Sun

Today I found a dime in the grass just outside the 5 Guys. Before I was even half-way down to pick it up, I remembered something from my childhood.

It was summertime, in the evening, I was about 5 or 6, and we were living in Guyan Estates. The ice cream truck came by in the evenings and when my parents were feeling generous, they would give us 11 cents to buy a treat from the truck, 10 cents plus a penny for something called tax. We would listen for the beacon, the tinny music, announcing its impending arrival.

This particular evening I had my two coins in hand waiting, playing in the mean time. The adults were gathered in the yard too, my parents and the neighbors, chatting. Then I noticed my dime was gone, I'd dropped it in the grass somewhere. I tried to find it but I couldn't, and I had to hurry because the ice cream truck would be there any minute. Any minute. The adults helped me look too to no avail. After what seemed like an hour of panic, the neighbor pulled a dime out of his pocket and gave it to me, for which I was ever so greatful, still after all these years. I was all set again to obtain my long awaited fudgesicle.

The ice cream truck never came that night.


 

Oh, a Bunch of Random Stuff

Over the last several months Fern has been watching Gilmore Girls on the TV in the sewing room. She records it from the ABC Family channel every day. I started absorbing the show by osmosis when I was working on my quilts. Then the next thing I know, I'm hooked. I'm wondering how wise it is to learn parenting-a-teen-girl tips from Lorelai Gilmore.

My grandmother would have been 94 today, but died at 86. I still miss her. Happy Birthday, Grandma. It was hard for her to celebrate, however; she lost her son this same week in 1984 and then her husband in 1992, the same week.

Today, Census is having a quilt display to honor Women's History Month. I'll be displaying two quilts. I'm hoping I'll meet other quilters from the building and we can form a once-a-month lunchtime group.

My regular Bowie guild is having their annual quilt show this weekend and my quilt is almost ready, just need to put a label on the back.

I was the only person to show up for my group session last night at the personal trainer's gym so I had a private session at the group price. My arms were very rubbery afterward with all the different things he had me do.

The new dishwasher, a couple weeks old now, is doing fine, very quiet. The capacity is a bit more and the tines have a different arrangement than the old one, so I'm still trying to learn the best loading/running procedure. It's that sweet spot I'm looking for, don't want to run it too empty, but if I wait another day, I'll have more than enough to fill it.

I think I'll make a cup of tea.

Weekend Stuff

It's been a week since I posted. Sheesh.

The kids had a busy weekend: Kevin had Special Olympics swim team practice Friday, Fern had ice skating practice on Saturday and a show-competition on Sunday. I got to see her first event before I drove Kevin to another swim practice. She didn't skate as well as she did at the previous competition. Hopefully she'll do better at Districts.

Sunday night Dan's sister called to tell us Dan's mom died. It wasn't unexpected, but it was sudden. This is the first death in the family Fern has been aware of and she's having a very rough time of it all. She wants to be with her cousin but the services won't be until Friday and she's having a hard time grieving by herself.

Pictures I Dug Up for the Occasion

Dan's family reunion 2003:


Reunion 2004:


Reunion 2006:
I think everyone wants Kevin to turn around.


I can't find any group pictures after that, but come to think about it, I'm not sure we posed for group shots at the reunions since then. Here's Jeanne in 2006, may she rest in peace:

8 to 5 and Quilting

Once upon a time, back in the glory days...

I was in the band in junior high and high school. My favorite part was marching: we marched at football games, in parades, and at show competitions. Every August we'd pack up for a week at band camp to get ready for the upcoming season.

First thing every year was learning (or re-learning) and perfecting the concept of "8 to 5." Football fields are marked off in 5-yard increments and marching music is usually written in 4-4 time, four beats per measure of music. When you put the two together, you can march eight steps in two measures of music and move five yards down the field. "8 to 5." Each step reached 22.5". Exactly. You started with the arch of your foot on the yard line and ended five yards later exactly with your arch on the line. Precision, baby, the best bands had it.

The first morning of band camp was always spent on the field without any instruments just marching back and forth across the field in the hot blazing sun practicing the step in straight lines. Yard after yard we would chant "half-way" on the forth step of each 5-yard increment and "hit it" on the eighth step. By the end of camp we could "hit it," the yard line, every time, without question, blindfolded if we had to. I could probably still mark off about five yards to this day.

So why am I fondly remembering marching band all the sudden? I've been quilting my mom's quilt.

I'm quilting this quilt with a pattern of overlapping circles. The easiest way to do that is to not quilt the circle, but to quilt arcs on each side of the seam line so they look like circles after you make the arcs in all directions. As I'm going along I am aiming for the intersection so I cross it perfectly and then arc on to the other side. I've been finding myself thinking "halfway" at the high point of the arc and "hit it" at each seam intersection. I can get a lot of quilting done when I get into a groove with this chant going on in my head instead of worrying about how much more there is to quilt. I'm not trying to finish it before Christmas, but it's nice to feel good about my progress and to reminisce about fun high school times.

Thanksgiving Follow-Up

Egads, has it really been more than a week since I posted?

So much has happened, but yet, not too much out of the ordinary.

Yesterday was Thanksgiving, we were to host my family. Neither of my brothers could make it so it was going to be my folks and the four of us. I called their house in the morning to find out what time they would be arriving, but there was no answer. No answer on Mom's cell phone, either.

Dad called later, from the hospital, Mom was in severe pain, she couldn't move her leg/hip. A couple hours later they called again, she was sent home with oxycodone and an order of bed-rest.

So the four of us had a quiet day at home, full traditional menu sans pumpkin pie. My parents were supposed to bring that. Kevin helped by peeling the potatoes, Fern made yeast rolls from the Joy of Cooking, Dan made his yummy stuffing. I made gravy. We forgot to cook the cauliflower or any green vegetables. Oh well.

We have oodles of turkey left over so I'm going to make oodles of turkey salad with my curry chicken salad recipe. I don't like turkey much, I need to have it doctored up with gravy, so looking at the large bag of leftovers is daunting. Might as well doctor it up, right? Oh, that reminds me, I need to get some pecans for the salad. Same with pork, I don't like it plain, got to doctor it up. My mom made pork chops by browning them, then baking them on a bed of rice in mushroom soup. (See? doctored up.) I haven't had that dish in a long time. hmmm. Need to add pork chops to the shopping list.

After we ate, I worked on a quilt top I had started at the quilt retreat last weekend. (Oh sheesh, I didn't even write about the quilt retreat, did I?) It's made from "homespun" type fabrics in orange, dark tan, forest green, and purple. It finished at the perfect size for a baby quilt, but it's pretty ugly for a baby quilt, being so dark and "homey" looking. I'll finish it up for a wall hanging. Darn, I really need to take pictures of these things so you can picture it when I write about them. One of these days I'll just post a slew of pictures and you'll have to figure out which posts they belong to. I might even award a prize.

I remembered to tune in to FOX at 4:00 for the Kaleidoscope ice skating show (see below). Did you? The football game ran long so the show had a delayed start. Fern and I found ourselves in the audience a couple of times, the most visible at 4:55 and 5:34. In the latter shot, you can see me holding up my camera following Scott Hamilton skate and do a back flip with Fern right next to me. I videoed that program of his which I'll need to upload so you can see it too. Darn, one more thing to remember, that camera is in my other jacket pocket. This picture was taken with my phone during one of the teleprompter segments where Scott was introducing one of the skaters. They did most of the intros at the other end of the rink with the stage behind them but did two at our end. These bits must have been cut because I didn't see it last night. Fern and I think they actually cut out a lot of pieces, including one skater entirely. Oh well.

It's OK, I'm with the Band

I drove out to Barboursville, West Virginia this past weekend for a 30 year high school reunion even though I didn't graduate from there. The kids had things going on, Fern had to get to the airport to fly to North Carolina and Kevin had swim lessons, so Dan covered them and I drove out alone.

(Dad worked for the Army Corp and we moved several times, so I attended a bunch of schools:
Davis Creek Elementary: 1st grade
Sukuran Elementary, Okinawa: 2nd and part of 3rd
Davis Creek: part of 3rd
Pea Ridge Elementary: the rest of 3rd through 6th
Barboursville Junior High: 7th-9th
Barboursville High School: part of 10th
James Wood High School, Winchester, VA: rest of 10th-12th)

I started band when I was in 6th grade and stuck with it until after high school. The whole band experience created great opportunities, wonderful friends and lifelong memories. It's unifying, no segregation by gender or athletic ability. We went to band camp together, football games, shows, competitions, exchange trips. By the time it was all said and done, you spent a huge hunk of your life during those seven years with your band mates. Like living in the Sousa House at Hogwarts.

Dan asked me whom I wanted to see at this reunion, why was I bothering to go, since I actually didn't finish school there. My answer: the band kids. I guess if you're not part of a group like that, you don't get it, you don't get the camaraderie.

It's not just me, either. The other band folks enjoy seeing each other too. It turns out there always seems to be a solid core of the band who show up at the reunions. One of my fellow flute players complemented me, although I'm not sure she knew she had. She told me she remembered I always had a pretty high-up chair, I was always pretty good. I had forgotten that and I appreciated her mentioning that. I remembered not being first chair or even second chair, so of course in my mind I remembered failure. Now I see it wasn't.

I'm amazed how time alters our memories, like how good of a musician I was. But in addition to that, my memories of the town of Barboursville, my neighborhoods, school buildings don't match reality. Since we moved away from there during my sophomore year, I never drove there, I didn't go out there. All my memories of those places are visual, how they looked, the landmarks where you turned to get places. I never learned the names of the streets.

I drove around to see the sights, where the schools were, to the houses I lived in, and the shops I went to. I didn't know how small my street was at the time, it seemed spacious where us kids played hide and seek and kick the can. It is really barely wider than one car. I drove around to all four schools and was disappointed. Many years ago they closed the high school and turned it into a middle school, and they razed the junior high and made it into a park. One elementary is boarded up, the other is the only one still open.

I had a great time reviving memories and friendships. And with Facebook it's easier to keep in touch than it used to be.

And now for some pictures:

233 Daughtery Drive. This is the first house we lived in in West Virginia. My bedroom was the window up on the left. Those trees weren't nearly as big back then. I think my folks bought this house for about $23,000.

Davis Creek Elementary, the only one of my four schools still open.

6159 Rosalind Court. We moved in here in the middle of my third grade when we came back from Okinawa. It was white back then and had a covered front porch, and no cutesy picket fence.

Pea Ridge Elementary School, what's left of it.

Main Street Barboursville. Looks pretty much the same as it did when I was at the junior high was across the street.

This is all that's left of the junior high, these steps go up to the park now.


The library is still blue.

Camden Park is still there. Barboursville is on the east end of Huntington. Dad's office was in Huntington, my orthodontist was in Huntington to which I'd ride the city bus. On the west end of town was the amusement park. We didn't go very often so it was a treat when we did go. It took several visits over several years to work up the courage to ride the big roller coaster. Looking at it now, it's just a rinky-dink old wooden coaster, nothing to be afraid of. But that's all part of that altered-perspective-of-youth thing.

When I went down town for my ortho appointments I'd often stop in the peanut shop afterward for a quarter pound of roasted pumpkin seeds, my favorite. Nice to see the shop is still there and open.

Here are some of kids from band. I guess we're all adult now, huh? Or pretend to be, anyway.

The Eagle

I tear up when I hear all the "the eagle has landed" sound bites of history they've been playing on the radio today.

It was the afternoon of 21 July, 1969 for me, not the night of the 20th. My family was spending the weekend at a military-run beach resort at the north end of the island of Okinawa on the other side of the international dateline. There were no TVs in our cinder block rooms, just one black and white set in the rec center. I can still picture the institutional blue room with all the adults camped out on the sofas staring up at the small box on the wall. Us kids were all running in and out, playing ping pong, making noise, and parents calling, "Shush," and "Come watch this, it's important."

Where were you 40 years ago?