Larry and The Dog!

 Tonight I faced my fears.  Rarely in your life do you get the opportunity to come to that point, that very sharp point where you clearly have the choice to walk into your fear or turn and walk away.  The price is often greater to turn your back.  Tonight for a split second I faced this decision.  

They say I’m brave.  When I first heard this I thought of all the things I couldn’t do, wouldn’t do.  But over the years I’ve learned to see myself as willing to do what others won’t.  I’ve learned that brave is not without fear as I thought, it is the choice to go on with fear in your heart, anyway.  

The six of us walked out of the room, carrying all his belongings in plastic bags, nothing more to say. It was over.  We walked to the elevator in a group, our heads down, not looking up at the people we passed, all lost in our own thoughts.  We reached the elevator, my husband holding the door as the rest of us filed in.  Khun Nuk spat out, “his dog!”  “The little dog, we forgot the dog!”  We looked at each other and since I was the last to enter the elevator and I was only carrying my pocketbook, I said  with an audible sigh, “I’ll get it.”

It was a split second decision.  I turned and went back.  Back down the carpeted hall, with my head down, hoping someone was behind me so I wouldn’t be alone, knowing I was.  I walked past the nurses’ station and came to his door.  We’d only been gone a moment and still my choice was to turn and get someone to go in with me or face my fear and enter on my own.  The slightest hesitation and I knew in my heart, I had to go.  I was an adult…I had just walked out…2 minutes ago we were all standing at his side…I could do this…I should do this…I pushed the door open and walked in.  

It would have been rude not to have said something, it was his room, he was still there.  “Larry, we forgot your dog.”  “Larry, we all love you, you are surrounded by love, good by, Larry.”  This I said as I walked to his bedside, saw the little stuffed green dog with the dgorji around his neck that I’d brought for him from my recent trip to Bhutan to keep the evil spirits away and to bring him power.  I turned and walked out the door, again, alone this time.

Earlier when BY, Ron’s right hand guy and long time friend,  was packing up Larry’s things he’d grabbed the neck pillow from the bed, I’d noticed the dog on his pillow and thought, let’s not forget the dog, but neglected to say anything.  Now here I was alone in the room to get the dog.  Another big sigh.  

When I got back to the elevator, everyone was waiting for me and again we all got back in, pushed the button and there was a bit of a group chuckle.  Khun Nuk asked, without looking at me, “where you scared? Is your heart beating faster?  You were just standing there touching him and now you were scared, weren’t you?”  Everyone knew what I’d done.  They all knew I had been scared.  We were sad and yet still were able to find the funny.  

Doll House

Pulling away from our home, down the gravel driveway for the last time is a  sight burned into my memory bank.  I sat in the back seat of my fathers big white Cadillac on the far right just behind my Mom where I always sat.  

As we passed the old barn where I had played I cried out, “My doll house!”  

My Mom said to me, “Oh, Linny, there’s just no room for it.  We left it behind.  We had to.”

Not only did I loose my doll house that day but we lost our home to bankruptcy, a word and concept I was about to learn a lot about, I was seven.  

My parents had designed this house and had it built just for us.  We lived in an idyllic hamlet in the rolling hills of northern New Jersey, a little town named Oldwick.  Historical sights were abundant.  Polished brass signs on inns along the road claiming that ‘George Washington slept here’.  This was where my childhood was supposed to happen.  

Small lanes tarred and graveled.  A main street one block long with Mary’s Soda Fountain, a general store, a magic shop, a tavern/inn, two churches and a little red school house where my Brownie meetings were held.  The Johnson and Johnson family home which was surrounded by the typical 3 rung white fence and could be seen from our front yard.  Mrs Johnson rode a black buggy pulled by a big black horse past our home on her way to town on Sunday mornings wearing a long black riding coat and a bonnet.

We not only lost my doll house we lost our future, our dreams, our hopes.  If we hadn’t left my doll house behind I wouldn’t have had the opportunity to learn such profound lessons in life.  

My Eel Skin Pocketbook

Christmas was just around the corner.  I was sitting next to her bed by the window.  The view from her hospital bed was of tree tops and the ever changing sky.  Nearer to the window, where I was sitting I could see across the street to the fenced in graveyard.  Not far to travel and the irony not missed.  So depressing, they should outlaw that zoning.

Usually we just sat and chatted about my work or the kids but this afternoon Mom told me she’d been thinking and wanted to have a talk.  She’d been thinking and planning for Christmas presents and since she couldn’t shop, obviously, she still was interested in knowing what it was that I wanted because she had a plan.  

I should say that my mom had a great sense of humor and a healthy sense of self.   Seemingly, she also had no shame.   Not to say that the free flowing morphine didn’t make a difference it’s just that her lack of remorse was embarrassing, even to me.

She asked me what I wanted for Christmas.  If I could have anything what would it be?  I thought for a while and since this was the mid 80’s and eel skin pocketbooks were in style, that’s what I asked for.  I told her it didn’t matter to me, though, I was just glad to have her.  I told her it didn’t matter, but it did.

I asked her what her plan was and without  hesitation she told me that she knew that my husband Ron could not say no to her so she would ask for the eel skin pocketbook and then right after Christmas she’d give it to me since she was dying and would never need to carry a pocketbook again anyway.  I asked her if she didn’t think this was rather underhanded and again without flinching she said, “Yes, in fact, I  do think it’s  underhanded but I have no options, you must agree.” Therefore in her estimation it was justified to lie to him.  I was disappointed in her obvious lack of morals and told her so.  Nothing seemed to get through to her higher values….she was on the slippery slope of power grabbing as she faced imminent death and there was nothing I could say to change her outlook but enjoy the eel skin pocketbook I received from my mother that year for Christmas.  If she were alive today we’d both be reminiscing about her obvious success and the beauty of her advanced form of manipulation.  Again I see her better qualities in my granddaughter’s eyes.  She lives on in my laughter.

Mother's Day

We gather together to share the stories of our Mothers.  

My Mother always claimed she didn’t like women.  They were silly, fragile, manipulating, cry babies.  My Mother had none of those qualities. It was difficult growing up in her shadow, and it took years to understand just what it was she didn’t like about women.  You see I was doomed to eventually become a woman so what did it mean that she didn’t like them, categorically?  What was I to become if not the very thing she disliked?  What was she if not a woman?  This was not only confusing but also intimidating.  

Now I get it.  My Mother appreciated beauty from afar.  She just didn’t value it.  To be appreciated for your beauty was a positive thing but not enough for you to rest on.  It was to be a perk, an added benefit to life, nothing to count on. Worthless in the end.  

You might remember the qualities women were taught before the 60’s; to be coy, helpless, giggly, back biting, tearful, but quaffed, made-up dolls.  My Mother had a different view of what a woman should be.  

She had a few rules in the house.  No crying was a big one.  No one gets sick.  If you were bellyaching about a splinter, she’d pinch your arm and ask which one hurts more now?  If you didn’t want to finish your dinner, she’d say ‘Good, more for us.’  If you wanted to run away, she’d offer to pack your bags.  My Mothers’ reality was a very heavy burden and she didn’t have the time nor desire to sweat the small stuff.  One of her favorite sayings was “Who gives a rats ass?”  Other than that and ‘damn it,’ she didn’t curse.  Though the word ‘witch’ was used an awful lot.

“Life is hard“, she’d tell me.  “I can’t be easy on you.”  From my point of view she coddled my brothers and strongly encouraged me to toughen up.  

You’d think, knowing I was doomed to a hard life and having to face it as a woman she would have put me on the more traditional path of at least educating me.  But, no, my Mother valued inner strength and guts and charm and a sense of humor.  And you didn’t necessarily learn those by following anyone else’s path. She either didn’t think college was necessary for me or she just couldn’t afford it, I’ll never know, but it wasn’t an option.  Instead she was always in my ear whispering, chanting, ‘lead don’t follow.’  Those were her words, but she lived life, and taught me by example to ‘Lead, Follow or Get out of the way!’  She was in a hurry and had a heavy load to carry.

Now being a parent I realize how much freedom I really did have in life to explore, wander and find my way.  She didn’t always agree but she let me go and allowed me to deal with the consequences in my own way.  She allowed me to grow up being me.  

The older I get the more I realize I’m very much like her.  I’m more emotional and dependent than she ever was but I get that from my Father.  My Mom was all English.  Well there was that red haired Jewish money lender that is a distant female relative, from what I’ve been told,  but other than that little bit of spice my Mom was pretty cool blooded.  She had the wanderlust in her though.  I think our family has a female gene that resembles a wild red hair.  My Mom and I got a double dose.  Well, after some thought I’ve got a dose from all sides.  It’s amazing that I can function at all.  

My Father was all Latin and I get my passion and emotional range from him.  Mixed with my Mothers’ role modeling I am a fine mix of raw emotion right under my veneer of good cheer.  Sometimes I am all fire and others I am a stone.  I get that from her, you know.  My Mother had a way of looking across a room at you and she’d stop you in your tracks.  Unfortunately, she didn’t have that ability with my Father who was her main concern.  She did her best to keep him out of jail and encouraged him to keep working though he was a dreamer and always about to make a million on his next deal.  You can’t wait for that to happen so my mom just kept working while waiting for his ship to come in.  It never did and she worked till the day she was bed ridden.  

It was 30 years ago today, Mothers Day that we sat on our back deck in the sunshine enjoying a family day when she stood up and the bone in her right thigh finally broke.  In great pain, my father carried her to the car and took her home.  that was the last day she was on her feet.  Mothers Day 1984.  

She stayed in bed for six months till December 1 when we decided she could no longer handle the pain and admitted her to the hospital.  

As a rare double scar of heart ache, my father died on Mothers Day in 2003.  Mothers Day is a bitter sweet day for me.  As much as it is a day of celebration, for me it is a day of heartache, gratitude and raw emotion.  My mother would not approve of my crying so…shoulders back, chins up and a smile on my face, I go on.  

Macaroni Grill

About a month after Grace was born we were in Arizona visiting the kids.  We were waiting in line for a table at the Macaroni Grill in Avondale, a new little town west of Phoenix where our son and his wife Jennifer lived, about a 3 hour drive from our home in the desert in Southern California.  

We were all leaning against the wall on the ramp across from the deli case waiting for a table.  I stood between Ron and Daniel- Grace between us in her car seat on the floor, asleep.  Jen was next to Dan and we were just trying to stay out of the way while we waited.  It was loud and crowded, we were patient.

We’d been there for a little while when I heard the front door swish open and I noticed a couple coming in.  Without really looking directly at them I did notice something was not right,  the symmetry was off.  They went directly into the bar and set at the far end of the U shaped counter.  When they got settled and I heard the bartender take their order I turned completely around to look.  I was right, the man, about 40, had one arm that was short with a hand that wasn’t completely formed.  

I was still trying to process our new reality, still stuck in the stage of tears, heart break and trying to make some sense of it all.  I wanted to talk to this guy.  I wanted to ask him what, I didn’t know, I thought I’d slide by him and if I chickened out the restroom was near so I could just duck in there.

Instead I just walked directly up to him and with no prepared question or statement what came out of my mouth was a surprise to me as well as unexpected by he and his lady friend.  

I stood next to him, “Excuse me, I don’t mean to offend you in any way but we’re out to dinner with our kids and our first granddaughter who was born a month ago.  She has no hands and no forearms.  I am worried and I can’t stop crying.  Do you have something to tell me?

He looked at me kindly as did his companion, wife? coworker? first date?  I didn’t care I just needed to know what he obviously already had learned in life.

What he said to me was this.  " I have been around handicapped people all my life and the human spirit is incredible.  She will amaze you!"

What he said to me, I have since learned for myself to be true.

The Phone Call

Sitting in an overstuffed club chair with my feet up on the ottoman next to the open window, I had a view of the craggy oceans edge.  We were staying on the second floor of a bed and breakfast in Victoria, British Columbia, June 2004, we were escaping the desert summer heat.  

The TV was on, we were watching Larry King Live interview Lacy Peterson’s Mom.  My heart broke for her and I could only imagine the pain she was experiencing.  My son and daughter in law were expecting their first child, our first grandchild.  In my lap was the pink chenille yarn I was using to crochet her first blanket.  My grandmother had taught me to crochet when I was 10 and I looked forward to teaching my granddaughter.  

My husband was lying on the bed relaxing when his cell phone rang.  I laid the crocheting down, looked over to see if I could tell who had called.  I saw a look of confusion start to settle in on his face and then abruptly he showed the phone at me and said “I can’t understand him, I think it’s Daniel.”

I took the phone from him.  It was Dan but he was crying and talking and I too couldn’t understand his words, I thought I heard ‘no hands’, I was sure I’d heard ‘no forearms’.  

I couldn’t breathe.  I asked my son to sit for a minute and I’d call him right back.  I had to gather my thoughts and tell Ron what I’d learned.  We turned the TV off, it was 6:30.

Colin Firth sighting

9 am in the elevator on my way out for the day.  A couple floors down the doors open and in walks Colin Firth.  He was here in Bangkok to work on his new film ‘The Railway Man’ and staying at the same hotel as Ron and I on Lang Suan, a busy one way street in the heart of the city.

Both of us leaning against the back wall, I turned to him and quietly said, "I feel compelled to give you a list of good restaurants here in Bangkok."  Obviously, I know who he is but I don’t want to accost him, just to be of help to he and his crew.  

"That's kind of you, but the timing is not good, we're leaving today.  We've had some help from some locals so it was fine.” He said softly, then he asked, "Are you an American?" 

 "Yes, from Palm Desert, near LA” 

“I’ve been there.” He said,   "Do you live here?" 

"Yes, for 4 years.” I answered. 

“Do you speak the language?” He asked.

“Yes, a bit. I’ve found it easy, but I only speak taxi Thai, restaurant Thai and I can be polite.”  I said with an easy laugh. 

“Yes, I’ve heard it’s the same for learning English, easy at first until you get into the language”  Said with some experience.

The doors opened and as I stepped toward the door, he simply said, “Have a lovely day.”

I turned, smiled and said “You, too”

Ashes, Ashes, We All Fall Down

The receptionist buzzed to tell me my dad was on his way in.  Since my office was just off the lobby in the purchasing department I stood up from my desk and peeked out the window, there he was.  His baby blue Mercedes was pulled up to the curb right at the front door, of course.  

I met him at the glass doors and said, “Dad, what are you doing here?”   

“Mom’s in the car.”  He said sheepishly.

“What do you mean ‘Mom’s in the car'?”  I retorted with hands and shoulders held up in exasperation.

“She’s in the car.”  He’s actually scuffing the toe of his sneaker and looking down with his hands in his pockets, knowing he was in trouble.

“Where in the car?”  I said with a parental tone to my voice.

“Up front, with me,where she always sits.”  A bit of pride in his voice now.  

“Dad!  I told you Ron would pick her up.  Why did you do it?”  I wined.

“I just couldn’t leave her there.”  He said.

“So, now what?” By this time my frustration was no longer veiled at all, though to your ear you might have thought that had been going on from ‘hello’.

His answer was “Give me your keys and I’ll put her in your car.”  

“Which is exactly why I’d asked Ron to pick her up so I wouldn’t be in this position, Dad, fine.”  With a heavy sigh, I turned, walked back into my office and got my keys to hand to him.  All of this said with an unspoken understanding of the underlying humor to the situation.  We both thought this was unfortunately the truth of the matter.