Today was just a bit different

The day started out like any other. I stretched, got out of bed, and opened the blinds to the new day before setting out to complete my morning tasks. Dog out, check… coffee made, check… newspaper read, check… dishwasher empty, check… upstairs to make bed, check… shower and dress, check… Then I sat down to get some work done. The latest book needs some serious editing. But before that I thought I would check the FB page.

The first post stopped everything. A friend from high school had passed away. He wasn’t a close friend. In fact I’ve only seen him twice since graduation. But he was that one guy that every time you saw him he was smiling. My sister said that she remembered him as being a person that accepted everyone for who they were, not caught up in the crazy hierarchy that makes up most high schools.

But every time we hear about a person in our own age groups, no matter what age, aren’t we all reminded of our own mortality? Doesn’t it make you stop and examine your own life for the briefest moment wondering what this thing we call life is all about?

Oh, you know for a few days we’ll think hard about what changes we can make in our lives. We’ll do more, take a few more chances, say yes instead of no. Yes to life. Yes to those moments where we step outside our safety nets and live. It’ll last a few days, but then we will all slide back into our safe existence. It’s not bad; it’s just what it is.

So…for those of you that knew him, here is my Terry "Jake" Jakeway story.

I can’t remember what year it was so I’ll say I was a freshman. I was in typing class. Yeah I know, easy class, but it filled a credit hour and I thought it would be undemanding. I was late to class, probably due to playing kissy face with the boyfriend. (I won’t put his name ‘because it wasn’t Kirk). So I take one of the last chairs and I happen to be in front of Greg Bates and Terry Jakeway. For those of you that went to Gahanna you know this was not good. I guess the jocks took this class for an easy A. Let’s just say I did better than those two, but not by much. But I do remember the teacher was one of those that phoned it in. You know, “Okay type," then leave the room to get a coffee. Greg and Terry would entertain the class. I’ll never forget the fun we had. So what if I still only type 30 words a minute with typos, the memories made in that classroom where what high school should be about.

We lost Greg when he was way too young, and now Terry. The only thing I can say is God’s heavens just got a little more laughter, but at what price to those of us left behind?

We need the laughter here, we need the joy, we need the smiling face.

Rest in Peace old friend.

Who? What? Where?

Dear kids, yes we know you are adults, but we still worry. Not because we don’t trust you or because we feel we have to be in on your every decision. But we have spent a lifetime wiping tears, cleaning cuts and scrapes, and listening to problems that were devastating one day and forgotten the next. We’ve laughed with you, cried with you and supported you financially and emotionally. We loved every minute but there are a few things we need from you. Number one, just keep me informed.

Last week my daughter Lauren was filming in Miami on the set of Burn Notice. She was leaving Miami around five in the afternoon and called to let me know she was going directly to her Stand-Up class. She complained that the traffic was horrible and drivers were crazy in Miami. So at midnight when she should have been home by ten-ish I started worrying. Had she been forced to get off in a bad area of town due to a traffic accident and gotten carjacked, lying dead on one of the horrible side streets in Liberty City.

Then today I called my son, Daniel. He answered with, “I’ll call you right back.” He sounded out of breath and I heard cars in the background. Was he in an accident on 95. Was he with Amanda and had an accident? Had one of them been pulled over?

And then there’s the baby. Brooke has been independent since she was first walking. I remember when she was two my friend stopped by and as she was leaving she kidded, “I think I’ll just take this one home with me.”

Brooke held her arms up to the woman and looked at me and said, “Bye Bye”.

More often than not when she gets off work she and friends go out. We may not see or hear her until 2 or three in the morning. Which would be fine, except she and Lauren live at home and I wake up and see the downstairs light on and know they aren’t in. The crazy thoughts take over. Is she safe? If not how will I find her?

I don’t think kids realize that when you’ve spent your whole life raising them, caring about them, loving them, that no matter what age they may be, you worry. Add to that the fact that I am a writer and my creative side takes over. I just finished a book and it has a pretty scary serial killer in it. The research I had to do on serial killers added a whole new level to my worries.

I remember I was talking to my dad once and I said, “Aren’t you glad we’re older and you don’t have to worry?”

He looked at me and said, “Different ages, different problems.”

In the end, Lauren was just late because class ran over. Dan was in line at the grocery, paying the cashier and didn’t want to be rude, (where the car noise came from I’ll never know) and 9 times out of 10 Brooke is safe in her bed in the morning. (Once in awhile Brooke just stays at the house where the party was. And on a side note…I wrote this when Brooke was living at home. She has since bought a house and moved out. I worry less, ignorance is truly bliss.)

The bottom line is “just let us know”. We don’t expect to be involved on your lives to the same extent we were when you were small; in fact NO ONE wants that. Just help us not worry. In this day and age with phones and texting and all the other communication apparatus it’s easier than ever to “drop us a line”.

Better This Time Around

This social media thing has me perplexed. I mean, I am such a people pleaser that almost anyone who “friends” me is accepted into my list. But here’s the thing. Some of the people that reach out to me are from high school. A time when we were all a little anxious, dealing with all the crazy mixed up feelings and attitudes that come with being a teenager. The last thing I want is for someone from my past to think that I am that same person.

When I think of my high school years I see a girl that never felt she measured up. That was always looking for a way to fit in. I had friends. I joined clubs. But there was always a part of me that felt like an outsider. Until I met Kirk my junior year, I never really felt like I was a part of anything special.

My Mother doesn’t understand. She loved high school. She was smart and she was popular. She is still in close contact with many of the girls with which she graduated. In fact when she comes to Florida we take a couple days to head to the other coast to visit her lifelong friend Rosie. They have been friends for over 70 years.

I try to tell her that when you graduate with 50 people, it’s much different then graduating with 500. We were lucky we all didn’t get a little lost in the crowd.

Now with facebook come all these faces from the past. I love catching up with people whose lives touched mine during those days gone by. I love seeing the people they’ve become and share in the joy as their families grow. (We’re mostly grandparents now.)

SO- here’s the question; What about the ones that hurt you? The ones that made you feel like you were less of a person? The ones that betrayed your friendship and caused you pain?

Do you assume that like yourself they have moved on, becoming a different person in their later years? Do you accept that social networking is just that and expanding your friendships moves you on to a better place?

I moved away from my small town when I was 21. I settled in Florida and kept in touch with only five of my friends from High School. We watched and grew together, seeing each other through the ups and downs, the good times and bad. But with social networking you’re in contact with a person for perhaps the first time in 35 years. Sometimes it’s like you’ve been stuck in a time warp and you are thrown back to that time, with all the insecurities included.

So let’s all give each other the benefit of the doubt and assume the crazy, self involved teenagers have turned out as caring, considerate adults, just trying to get by.

I will if you will…

Baggage

We thought we were prepared. My Grandmother was a victim of Alzheimer’s for five long years. She’d been moved from assisted living to the nursing home after it was decided she needed additional care. Now the time had come for us to say our final goodbyes. The family visited the night before she passed; sitting around telling stories to the empty shell of a woman we loved.

We hated the disease, hated that it had taken everything away from her. The laugh, the importance of family, the strange dance she did when you left her house, and the wonderful food she prepared.

Her own home had been sold years earlier to pay for the needed move to the assisted living facility. The precious keepsakes she’d collected over the years found homes with various members of the family. Antiques were divided up and what was left over went to auction. She had enough to live the rest of her days with the best possible care.

On the day she died, my mother was tending to the necessary tasks associated with the death of a loved one. I offered to go to the nursing home and collect Gram’s belongings, hoping to ease her burden.

As I entered the building, several of the aides came up to talk to me about my Grandmother. They’d known her since she first came to the facility and couldn’t help but share stories about her wonderful spirit. One laughed, mentioning that on Wednesday mornings Grams was the first in line for her weekly hair appointment and perm. She was always a strong woman with strong opinions, but even that was something the nurses would smile at and gently shake their heads.

I walked into her empty room. The bedclothes had been washed and placed in a large black trash bag. Her clothes and toiletries were carefully tucked into her battered light blue suitcase. I looked around the room. This was all that was left.

A lifetime put into a trash bag and a suitcase.

Tears stung my eyes as I lifted the containers to leave. An aide stepped in to see if she could help. I held up the luggage and said, “No, I’ve got it. This is all that’s left.”

“And her spirit.”

“Her spirit?” I asked.

“These are just things,” she said, pointing to the bags. “Her spirit, your memories. Those are the important things that will be with you for a lifetime.”

The bags felt lighter as I left. The woman was right, these were just things. What my Grandmother had left us was worth more than anything one could buy, worth more than earthly goods.

When I got home I walked in and my family asked, “Is that all there is?”

And I answered, “No, not at all.”

I Believe…

This is a story about something that happened awhile back. But it’s stuck with me and since this blog is about my thoughts I decided it was time to revisit the past.

I was standing in line at the grocery behind a young woman that had one small child in the cart and another by the hand trying to pay for her groceries. She had milk, bread, a package of cheese slices, a small bag with three apples and a small bag of bologna. She was holding her wallet with one hand trying to maneuver the money out while keeping the two kids in check. (Been there done that…well 25 years ago, but as with most memories, not so long.)

The total came to $14.36.

The woman produced a five and six ones.

“Sorry,” she glanced at the cashier. “I need to put something back.”

She paused looking at her purchases.

“Put back the Bologna.”

“$11.36,” the cashier said.

The woman scrounged around in her purse, looking for change.

“Here,” I handed the woman a five. “Get the bologna.”

“No, that’s okay.”

“No really. Take it. I’ve had a bad day and helping you might just be the thing I need to turn it around.”

And this is where the story really starts.

“Thank you.” She paid for the groceries and turned to me. “Are you from the church or something?”

“No.” I didn’t understand the question.

“I go to …” she said and named a mega church in our area.

“Actually I don’t belong to any church. Let’s just say the church and I had a falling out a few years ago and I choose to believe what I want without the confines of four walls.”

“Oh,” she stammered, “well thank you anyway.”

Thank you anyway. Those words stick with me to this day. As if I wasn’t to be thanked as a person trying to do the right thing. If she’d been through my morning, maybe she would have understood why I choose to help someone when I could.

My day started with a call that the 16-year-old cancer patient I was working with had taken a turn for the worst. I’ll call her Jenny.

Jenny was given up by her parents at the age of twelve when she was diagnosed with cancer. The parents didn’t have insurance and the state would see to the medical expenses. By sixteen she was living in a group home. I’d tried to help her as much as I could, but she was a typical teenager and was sporadic at showing up for appointments.

A week before the day at the grocery, Jenny and her 17-year-old boyfriend, decided to get married. It wouldn’t be a legal marriage, just one preformed by the hospital clergy, for a young woman dying from cancer. She asked if I would be a witness. Again a witness to the marriage was not necessary, but who among us would argue? So I went over. She was hooked up to so many tubes and wires we stood in the doorway. She wore a white knitted cap over her smooth head. Tough nurses that had seen horrendous things in the pediatric cancer ward were crying in the hallway.

A week later, Jenny died.

I had left work, crying, as I usually did when we lost a child, but needed to stop at the grocery on my way home from work. There I ran into a young woman that had judged my help.

If I was nice, I must be religious. I must attend church.

Honestly, it just felt good to be able to help someone when my day had been spent feeling so inadequate, so helpless.

I sat in the parking lot trying to make sense of my feelings after the episode in the grocery. I came away with an even stronger belief that you should do the right thing even though you may be judged.

Good people, do good things, period.

Walk the Walk

Yesterday was a gorgeous Florida winter day. The sun was shining and skies were that blue that only happens when the temperature drops and the air is so clear it’s almost shimmery.

Bailey dog has been sick. Actually due to his age he has hip dysplasia and when I go, “want to go for a walk?” he goes, “Nuh-uh.” (No, in dog speak). Actually he makes it to the corner and back, but on this day I decided to take a long walk. For years, my sister, my sister-in-law, my friends, the lady at the grocery checkout, Dr. Oz and every TV health Guru has been singing the praises of a good walk.

So I put on my shoes, my grey flannel sweats and my Ohio State long sleeve tee (for all my Gator neighbors) and headed out. As I made the turn I noticed I was behind a woman, who I assumed was from the neighborhood, walking about seven houses ahead of me. Now you all know I am a writer and am always looking to chat up someone so I can get a story.

I walked faster.

“Hi,” I said.

The woman jumped.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” I smiled. I held open my hands as if to say, see I’m not some creeper. I’m just another nomad out enjoying the day. "Since we’re going the same way do you mind if we walk together?”

“Uh, sure.”

Maybe not so sure.

“I’m Wendy.”

“Naomi.”

“So do you live here?”

“No, I’m just visiting my daughter and her family.”

I was watching Naomi talk while occasionally keeping my eye on the road.

“That’s nice.”

“You would think so.”

Ahh…the story.

Naomi went on to explain that her daughter and son-in-law worked long hours. Her daughter insisted on still taking the children to daycare as she didn’t want to upset their usual schedule. So Naomi was “plopped” as she said, “in Florida with nothing to do and home alone for long hours on end.”

“My husband died in May and the kids got together and decided I needed to come to Florida for the winter.”

“You didn’t want to come?”

“I did at first. I’m from Massachusetts and the idea of getting out of the cold was especially attractive. But once I got here I felt like a burden.”

I walked silently letting her talk. I felt that maybe I was supposed to be here for this woman to voice her frustrations.

“My daughter has a housekeeper and daycare, she even has her laundry picked up and delivered. There’s nothing for me to do.”

I had planned on walking a couple times around the block, but was now on my fifth go round. I was torn between getting on with my day and being a sounding board.

“I keep thinking, I’m only 57. Is this what life is going to be from now on?”

I was shocked. I assumed she was older. This woman having this crisis was only 2 years older than me.

“I always say, life is what you make it.” Ah, Wendy being philosophical.

“That’s how I use to be,” she paused. “But now it’s just so hard.”

We walked and talked some more. I told her about my daughter who recently moved out and about my mother's upcoming visit. I found we had a lot in common.

On the eighth time around our neighborhood we stopped at the end of my drive and I told her I needed to go in. I also told her I worked at home during the day and if she wanted to stop by, it was fun having someone to walk with.

“Thanks,” Naomi said. “I may take you up on that. I was only going to walk around twice but it seemed like you needed someone to talk to.”

I smiled and waved. We had just walked six more miles than we were planning, just because we thought the other person might need someone to talk to.

And that’s my story.

I AM OLD

Anytime you start a sentence with, “When I was younger,” you know you’re old.

My moment came the other day when I was talking to my best friend about Christmas Shopping. She told me she had done all her shopping online this year. I get it, she owns her own business and for the first time in a couple years she is starting to get really busy, so work comes first.

But I worry that one day stores will become a thing of the past. An article I read the day after our discussion said that online sales were up 16.4 percent or over 32 billion dollars.

Where will the millions of retail employees go if online shopping becomes the norm? Will we become a society that sits in our homes ordering movies, having food delivered, paying bills and shopping online over the computer? Wait! That’s pretty much how my kids already do it.

But… and here it comes… when I was young we made a day of Christmas shopping. We would go downtown to the Lazarus store and spend the whole day looking for a particular gift for each person on our list. We would have lunch at their restaurant counter and top the meal off with the delicious Lazarus fresh baked chocolate chip cookie. Walking around downtown Columbus, the snow swirling around as we headed to the car, our arms overloaded with the beautiful Christmas bags, is a memory deeply etched in my mind. To this day, even if I’m not shopping for the kids,(some years I give cash when the wants are bigger than my pocketbook)(Whoa… pocketbook, I am old) I’ll pop into the mall to purchase small gifts for stockings and gifts for friends. It's a way to get my holiday fix. The decorations, the music, seeing the people walk by with bags hanging from each arm, content in the knowledge that they found just the right gift.

Not a gift that will have to be mailed back and forth if the size is off. Not one that you have to count on the USPS to deliver on time. Not one that if it is missing a part you have to call and then wait the 7 to 10 business days to receive.

Seriously though, I get it. The convenience and the simplicity of it all. Online shopping is obviously on the rise. I just hope that someday in the near future we are not all forced to shop this way, it just takes away some of the magic of Christmas.

LAZARUS COOKIES

1 c. butter 1 c. sugar 1 c. brown sugar 2 eggs 1 tsp. vanilla 2 c. flour 2 1/2 c. oats 1/2 tsp. salt 1 tsp. baking powder 1 tsp. baking soda 12 oz. chocolate chips 4 oz. melted Hershey bar 1 1/2 c. chopped pecans Mix butter, sugar and brown sugar. Add eggs and vanilla. Beat flour and oats until powder in a blender. Add to above mixture a little at a time. Add salt, baking powder and baking soda. Make sure all ingredients are mixed. Then add chocolate chips, Hershey bar and pecans. Drop golf ball size spoonfuls 2" apart on greased cookie sheet. Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Bake 7 to 8 minutes. Remove cookie sheet and cool. Cookies will appear to be undone.