Word To My Mother

It was nineteen years ago today that I lost my mother. How can this be? It feels like it just happened some days and on others, like a dream from long ago that I keep trying to remember the details of. I don't cry as often as I use to unless it's Christmas time or Thanksgiving. Or Easter. Sometimes my birthday. Occasionally, Fourth of July. Grief is a funny thing. Just when you think you've driven the final stake through it's cold, black heart, it pounces on you from the grave, more alive than ever. Well, not today, heifer! 

Today, I am choosing to remember some of the really important words my mother spoke into my life throughout the years. Words like...

~ You really need a new bra.

~ Well, you picked him.

~ Why can't you just be normal?

These shouldn't come as a surprise to any of you that have read some of my recent posts. My mother was multilingual. She spoke, English, Spanish, Italian-Swiss, French, and Sarcasm. I believe Sarcasm might have been her first language. 

The truth is, my mother was not very good at showing affection when we were younger. She wasn't a hugger, kisser, cuddler with her girls. I don't remember her ever saying she loved me as a child. But, I knew she did because of the way she took care of us and spoiled us. She was so much fun and loved to laugh with us. The affection part just seemed to embarrass her. 

The first time I told my mother I loved her, I was in my twenties, married with a baby. I was so in love with my new baby that it spilled over to anyone that got too close to me. I remember very clearly, watching my parents with Matthew, holding him and kissing him. I was so overwhelmed in that moment with love for my parents that I blurted out, "I love you!" to my mother as I wrapped my arms around her and kissed her cheek. She looked shocked as she said, "Well, I should hope so." Not being one to let an awkward moment go, I insisted she tell me she love me to which she replied with the usual, "You're crazy." Not deterred by being told what I already knew, I hung onto her in my estrogen-driven new-mother death grip and demanded she say it.

"Come on! Say it! Say. It. You know you want to say it. Say it. I love you."

By this time we are both laughing but I still wouldn't let go. And then, she said it. It wasn't convincing to the untrained ear, I'm sure, but as she let the words, "I love you" quickly escape from her mouth, I knew she meant it. I also knew there was a part of her that was relieved to say it. From that day on, I never stopped telling her I loved her and my demands for a reply were needed less and less. The last years of my mother's life were filled with affection and words that needed to be spoken and heard. 

Now, don't be fooled. My mother never stopped showing her love to us through sarcasm. It was a big part of who she was and she was freaking hilarious. Sometimes, when I had a new friend and they would meet my mom for the first time, they would tell me later they thought she was kind of mean to me. This always made me laugh because I understood my mother's love language of sarcasm. I never saw it as mean. I saw it as love. I still do. 

The last week or so of my mothers life, she was in a semi-coma. I know she could hear us but she didn't respond verbally. One day during that last week, Kelly showed up early to find me standing over mom's bed crying. For reasons I am still unsure of, crying seems to be a sign of weakness in our family and was greatly discouraged by my sisters. The answer to a sobbing sibling has always been and remains to this day .... sarcasm. I admit, I am often the chiefest of sinners in the sarcasm department. That's correct. If you see your sister suffering, make fun of her. After all, it's for her own good.

So there I was, standing on the left side of the bed, crying over my comatose mother, when my sister, who was standing on the right side of the bed, starts harassing me about something or another in order to get my mind off the situation lying before me. When I started to argue with her, telling her she was wrong, Kel says, "You're a big, fat liar." I immediately countered with, "I am not a liar!"

What I am about to tell you is 100% the gospel truth. At the very moment the last word exited my mouth, my comatose mother opened her eyes, looked straight at me, and clear as a bell said these words. "Well, you are fat." She then closed her eyes and never uttered another word.

Now, I understand for normal people, these last words would be a devastating statement regarding a mother's disdain for their child. Not so, in my case. To be sarcastically targeted was to be loved in my house. We might not have had the kindness thing down but we could go up against Seinfeld any day of the week. My sister and I, upon hearing those last words of our mother's, looked at each other and burst out in hysterics. I still laugh about it today. 

I sure miss you, ya old bat. I love you and I hear you saying it all the time through your grandchildren and great-grandchildren. Thanks, Mom. 

1940's Bernice, with her fancy outfit and holding her purse because who goes to the snow to throw snowballs without wearing the right ensemble and accessories? Am I right?

1980's Bernice. Fancy hat? Check! Matching coat and boots? Check? Purse? Check! 

You still had the magic, Bernie. Throw those snowballs.

MacKenzie

 About 5 years ago, I received a call from a stranger regarding an orphaned Canadian Goose gosling. He got my name from a friend of a friend who told him I would know what to do. I was immediately suspicious but also concerned. If there really was a baby goose needing help, I didn't want to ignore this. The gentleman went on to explain the little gosling was all alone in his pond and all the other geese had disappeared. He was concerned about something getting ahold of the baby. He went on to explain he had called a few rescues but none were available to help at the moment. What could I do but take his address and head over?

As I was on my way with a nesting box ready in the backseat of the truck, I called my daughter-in-law and gave her the man's phone and address info. I figured that way, the cops would at least be able to find where he buried me. But again, what else could I do if there really was an orphaned gosling waiting?

Sure enough, as I pulled into the man's driveway, out he came carrying the little ball of yellow and gray downy fluff. As I exited the truck, I could see his pond void of any Geese. We exchanged quick pleasantries as he handed me the baby, said his thanks and we parted ways. I was back in the truck with the baby inside my hoodie to make sure he was warm. I called Amy to let her know I wasn't dead and then headed home wondering how I was going to explain this to Bob. Honestly, I had promised no more chickens and technically this was not a chicken so I figured it would all work out. Also, Bob likes me so I tend to get away with murder when it comes to animals. Most days, anyway.

As soon as I pulled in the driveway to our farm, I could see the grandkids running around the barn waiting for me. I barely was out of the truck before they had our newest addition in their hands. There was quite a bit of oohing and ahhing along with kisses to his little head and black beak. I explained to the kids that he was a wild animal and we couldn't keep him. We had to protect him, feed and water him and let him get big enough to fly away with his other goose friends. I don't know that they heard a word I said truthfully, but at least I had tried.

We named him MacKenzie, Mac for short. It just seemed right with him being Canadian and us loving the McKenzie Brothers. Mac settled in with the chickens that night and in the morning we let everyone out to freerange the day away. Of course, with Mac being so small, we had to introduce him to the dogs and also keep an eye on him every minute because of hawks. He may have spent some time in the house with the kids but I am choosing to neither confirm nor deny. 

The weeks flew by, with the same routine day after day. Mac would sleep safely with the chickens at night and run free all day. We have a lot of Canadian Geese that fly over the farm so we kept hoping he would hear them and be interested in joining them. No such luck. By the time Mac was a year old, he had never flown higher than a few feet off the ground and that was only to chase after Bob or as I referred to him, Mac Daddy. That silly goose was now full grown and a part of the family. He loved us and followed us everywhere. He was completely free to go but he wasn't having it. There was simply too much food and attention here and he liked both.

Mac followed Nolan everywhere when he wasn't following Bob or me. He would walk behind Nolan making his goosey noises and Nolan would talk back to him making his baby noises. It was pretty sweet. 

We bought this little pool for the kids to play in. The piggies had their pool, the dogs had their pool, Mac had his pool. Everyone should have been happy, right? Wrong. As soon as the old well handle was turned on and the boys began to splash in their pool, Mac came running. No matter how hard we tried to keep him out, he was going to swim with his boys and he did. 

If there was a picnic happening on the back patio, Mac was going to find a way to be invited. 

And every night, as I was in the kitchen preparing dinner, this would happen. Mac would stand at the kitchen window and stare. If I ignored him, he would tap the window. Over and over and over again. This guy was spoiled rotten and would not be ignored.

Sometimes the kids would take their picnic further out from the house but eventually, Mac would figure out where they were and he'd invite himself to the fun and the food. He always seemed to love the kids.

If it was raining, all the animals would head inside the barns where they could stay warm and dry. Well, all the animals except Mac. He would sit outside the back door in the rain, hoping one of us would see him and let him inside or at the least, join him outside. 

By the end of the two years we had MacKenzie, he slept in the barn at night, shared food with the pigs, chickens, dogs and cats, followed the kids everywhere and was completely imprinted on Bob and I. We thought he might never leave at this point and we weren't sad to have him as a part of the family if he chose to stay. But, as life would have it, Mac reached sexual maturity and felt the need to protect Bob and I from all possible interlopers. Sadly, since Nolan was the closest to the ground, he became the target and was attacked several times for getting to close to me. The second time it happened, we knew it was time for Mackie the Goose to find a goose family of his own.

The day I found B.E.A.K.S., a local wild bird rescue, was bittersweet. We let Mac go around to say his goodbyes and get his special treat handouts and then we loaded him into his crate in the backseat of the truck. It was just the kids and I taking him to his new home and we all cried the entire thirty minute drive. Once we reached our destination, the intake worker met us at the gate to take Mac to his new home. The kids and I were all able to give him hugs and kisses and say our last goodbyes. It was really heartbreaking but also the best thing for Mac.

Here we are a few years later and I still can hardly believe we had a Canadian Goose that loved us. How lucky are we?

Free Advice Friday

 Tonight's Free Advice:

It is absolutely possible to have a dream come true.

Sometimes, the dream realized may even be bigger and better than what you hoped for.

Just remember, sometimes dreams can be broken through no fault of your own.

Keep trusting God, no matter what. He knows who to send into your life at just the right moment.

He also knows exactly how to heal your broken heart, sometimes by allowing you to play a small part in seeing someone else's dream realized. That healing might even start with a picture of puppies in what use to be your bathtub. Trust me on this one.

So many amazingly good things can come out of allowing someone else to pick up the pieces of your broken dream in order to build the mosaic of their dream.

Don't ever stop dreaming but don't hold on to broken pieces. You'll just keep bleeding. Let go and watch the wonderful things that can happen. Sometimes, even bigger and better than what you hoped for.

http://www.havenofhoperescue.com/

Ms. Purrfect

My sister Kelly was quite the big wig. She had a corner office with IBM which, come to find out, is a very big deal. I mean, I said, "Big deal!" the first time she gave me the tour. Of course, that was the wrong thing to say so I told her how impressed I was that she had her own soda fountain in the breakroom. That didn't make it better. 

Kel loved the fancy business life and all the perks that came with it. I use to tease her that she was Charlie Casas 2.0 because she really was. Kelly was the ultimate power player and truth be told, I was not just impressed by her, I was extremely proud of her. She was amazing.

I still remember when Kelly, newly promoted, bought her first Jaguar. I was excited thinking it was an actual cat and not just a bit disappointed to find out it was a stupid car. The first time I rode in her fancy jalopy was my birthday. Two of my girls and I had driven down to visit my parents for my birthday. We were going to spend the long weekend with my mother doing girl things like going to Tijuana to eat and barter the day away. Instead, once Kelly heard I was coming down, a new plan was hatched by my sister. It involved a fancy dinner in a fancy restaurant with fancy drinks. This wasn't my first fancy rodeo with Kelly so I didn't even try to fight it. 

The night of my birthday, I had my girls bathed and dressed and their hair was even brushed. I looked pretty decent as well however I can't guarantee my hair was brushed. Kelly showed up looking perfect, as usual. Actually, that reminds me of my mother's pet name for her, Ms. Purrfect. It's only funny because it was true. But I digress. So, my parents, my two girls and I head out to the driveway fully expecting to jump in my minivan when my sister informs us we are all riding in her new Jag and not only because she would rather die than be seen in a minivan. She wanted us all to experience the magnificence of riding in a Jag, driven by Ms. Purrfect. Again, just kill me now.

So, Ms. Purrfect gets behind the wheel, Mr. CFC gets in the passenger seat, my mom, the two girls and I squish into the backseat. Yeah, put the two squatty body women in the back with two kids. Great idea! Does Kelly start the car? Oh, no! She turns around and points her perfectly manicured finger at her two nieces and gives them the rundown. No touching anything. Don't touch the back of the front seats. Don't touch the windows. Don't put your dirty shoes on the seat. Don't touch the door locks, the heat and air buttons, the radio buttons, the phone charger thing-a-ma-jig. Don't. Touch. Anything.

My girls sat perfectly still listening to every word of their favorite aunt in the world, nodding their little heads in agreement after each edict was delivered. I sat in stunned silence trying to grasp the amazing opportunity in what was happening. I mean, seriously, Kel. Did she honestly think I wouldn't pick up what she was laying down? Did she even know me? This was going to be fun.

Finally, with everyone fully and completely informed of the legalities involved in riding with rich crazy people, the car was started and off we went. All was well as we cruised through the neighborhood making our way to the freeway. Music played softly in the background as my father and sister discussed business in the front seat while all the estrogen in the back seat sat perfectly still and quiet. Not. Touching. Anything. Until we got on the freeway.

I'm no dummy. I knew if any rule was broken while on the city streets, my sister would pull that Jag over and make me walk. But the freeway? God bless the freeway. As we cruised along I began playing with every button I could find, asking, "What's this one do? Ooohhhh! How about this one? Aaahhhh! Oh my gosh! I didn't know I could do that from back here! This is awesome!! Hey! These are like the trays on an airplane! Cool!!"

If my sister didn't already have a brain tumor at the time, I might have worried it started with me in the back seat of her Jaguar that night. There were some bad words said later when we were alone in the restaurant bathroom. One of us was saying them. One of us was laughing until she cried. Eventually, we both laughed and called each other idiots which is short for I love you in sister-speak.

I'm preparing to go car shopping which I hate almost as much as I hate clothes shopping. But, I need a car. I wish my sister was here to go with me because she was the ultimate businesswoman wheeler-dealer. But, she's not. So, in honor of her many accomplishments in this life and as a remembrance of her, I will be pushing every button during those test drives. But not until we're on the freeway.

Ms. Purrfect in her corner office

Idiot 💕

Fox Smells His Own Hole First ~ Granny

Tonight, I found a box that had some old photos from Bob's family. I'm pretty excited to go through them although I don't know the history or family stories like I do about my family. I'm hoping some of Bob's family will see these photos and fill in the history with their memories. I'm also hoping to pass some of these amazing photos on to Hansen family members. So, Hansens, speak up!

This is Granny and Papa. I knew Granny for four years before she passed away. Granny was wonderful. She was really sweet and a little salty at the same time, which completely endeared her to me. I never saw Granny once in those four years that she wasn't smiling and laughing about something. She was amazing. Papa passed away before I joined the family but I can imagine from the little I know, that he was pretty great as well. Papa was Grannys second husband. She had lost her first husband when she was still a young woman with two small children. When she married Papa, they had another child, my father-in-law, Robert Leo Hansen. I have Granny and Papa's photo from the day they were engaged in a little frame on my kitchen counter. I can't help but smile every time I look at it. They left quite a wonderful heritage behind, including my best friend, their grandson, Bob. I hope they know that. 

I adore this picture! This is Granny's daughter Mildred or Auntie M holding her baby brother, Rob, my father-in-law. Auntie M was so much like Granny, sweet and salty and always smiling and laughing. What a great laugh she had! I can still hear it when I think of her. She adored Rob and was such a good sister to him all the years I knew her. Two memories I will always treasure regarding Auntie M are the cards she wrote and the calls she made just to check in on us and gab. I saved every card and letter from her because they were never just signed, they were full reports of her daily life. If the card was for a birthday, guaranteed there were three brand new dollar bills inside. Every time. Bob was born on her 40th birthday so she always referred to him as the birthday stealer but he still got a card every year. One of the hardest parts of Auntie M passing away was not receiving those cards full of her life reports. Written words are such treasures. I'm so grateful for all the treasure Auntie M left us. I miss her.

 

These are Granny and Papa's three children, Rob, my father-in-law, Auntie M and Uncle Bud. Uncle Bud and Auntie M doted on Rob and had the best stories of when he was a kid. They loved telling about hiding Easter eggs for Rob to find. They had convinced him that he would know the Easter Bunny was there when he heard the bunny saying, "Eek! Eek!" After hiding the eggs, Auntie M and Uncle Bud would hide outside Rob's window yelling, "Eek! Eek!" and then run like hell before he made it outside. Of course, Rob would find the eggs convinced by his older siblings he had just missed the bunny. I must have heard the three siblings tell this story a hundred times but the best part was how they told it like it just happened and then would all three laugh hysterically, squeaking "Eek! Eek!" at each other. It was hilarious.

Robert Leo Hansen. Part of the greatest generation. Also, one of the greatest father-in-laws. He had a wicked sense of humor and loved his family well. Later, when Bob and I married, our two fathers became the best of friends. Rob and Lucy moved just a few miles from my parents and they spent a lot of time together. The last few years, Rob drove to my parents almost every morning to pick up my dad so they could go to breakfast. They would help each other on projects and do guy things together. They were ridiculous in the way they teased one another. When Rob passed away unexpectedly, it was the third time in my life I had ever seen my dad cry. I'm so grateful Bob was my one and his family was a part of the package deal. 

The cutie on the far right is my mother-in-law, Lucile Davenport, before she married Rob. I believe this is her senior year at Hollywood High School. Lucy married Rob the day before he shipped out with the Navy during WWII. I can't even imagine what that must have been like for her. Rob returned safely home where they built a house and filled it with two children, Carolyn Marie and Robert Einar. After Carol was born, Lucy contracted polio and spent a year in an iron lung. She later went on to have Bob and was the first iron lung patient to successfully carry a baby to delivery. Lucy was always so kind to me and accepting. I'm sure it wasn't easy for her to see her only baby son get mixed up with the likes of me and my crazy family but she hid it well. I will always be grateful for the kindness she showed to me when I needed it the most.

Rob and Lucy in their backyard in Inglewood, California. 

Rob and his dad, Papa, built the house where they would live for decades and raise their family.

Granny and Papa holding Bob. Go back and look at the picture of Auntie M holding Rob. It looks like the same fatty McFatterson baby!! I love it! I'm so grateful for the Hansen family and I'm so happy to be a Hansen. My advice to single people? Look at the family of the person you're interested in. These are the people that will be a part of your life forever, good, bad or indifferent. They are also the ones that have made the person you're interested in who they are. You can only hold crazy together for so long so choose wisely. I chose wisely.

Mad About You

 My parents had a very interesting life. They started out mad about each other, then later in life they were always mad at each other and finally, in the end, they were there for one another in all the ways that matter in a relationship. I understand them so much better now than I ever did before. I'm pretty proud of my folks for lots of reasons and I'm grateful for what they taught me just by living their lives. 

My dad was a pretty tough kid growing up in Boyle Heights, California in the 1920's and '30s. At eight years old in 1928, he was selling newspapers on the corner to help his family survive. At the same time, my mother was seven years old living on a ranch with plenty of food and fun in Cayucos, California. They came from very different worlds in some ways. In others, they found common ground. My mother's parents were Swiss immigrants. My father's parents were Spanish immigrants. English was the second language for both my parents. They also both came from large families, my mother the youngest of fourteen and my dad the youngest of nine.

My dad and his brothers had a habit of getting into trouble. There are some pretty interesting stories about the Casas boys as kids. Eventually, at sixteen years old, my dad lied about his age and joined the Civilian Conservation Corps in 1936 along with his brother Louie. The CCC was part of President FDRs New Deal to put young men to work during the Great Depression. My dad and uncle were eventually shipped up to the Central Coast to work on some of the Missions and also to build stairs to the top of Morro Rock. It was during this time that they attended a Friday night dance at the Vets Hall in Cayucos. This is how my parents met.

Friday night dances at the Vets Hall were a popular weekly event for the local folks. Often, my Uncle Homer and his band would play. My mother loved to dance and rarely missed a Friday night in town with her family and friends. My mother was fifteen when my sixteen year old father sauntered into that first dance. Of course, being the outsiders, the CCC boys caught everyone's attention. My mom had the cold shoulder perfected even back then and that's what she offered my dad when he asked her to dance. Of course, my mother then went on to dance with several local boys keeping an eye on my dad the whole time. My dad, being a Boyle Heights city kid, ended up beating up some of those boys after the dance. Both my parents loved repeating this story throughout the decades with my father always proud of his Casas Crippler (the name he gave his fist) and my mother pretending to still be disgusted with him decades later. 

After that night, they met every weekend in Cayucos. They shared friends, and adventures of the young and foolish. My mother said her dad hated "the Spaniard" but the rest of the family loved him. Eventually, my grandfather knew he couldn't win this war and he accepted my father, as much as a dad can accept the one that will take their daughter from them. My mother graduated highschool in 1939 and a year later, my parents married at nineteen and twenty years old.

Right before my dad proposed to my mother, they had gone on a double date. My mom always said it was a really nice evening out in Cambria. They had gone out to eat and then the fellas wanted to take the girls driving. There is a spot in Cambria that I have always loved. It's at the very top of a narrow road that takes you to the top of the hill where you'll find an old cemetery and church from the 1800's. This is exactly where my father drove that night. It is a lovely place in the daytime. At night, sitting on the top of the hill overlooking the town, surrounded by giant trees and wooden and granite headstones with no lights anywhere, yeah, no thank you. Anyway, the guys convinced the girls to get out of the car so they could walk around. Once they were out in the middle of the pitch black cemetery, my dad and his friend thought it would be funny to jump in the car and haul ass down the hill leaving the two girls alone up there. That night didn't end well for the fellas and my dad said he had to propose after that to make it right. I was always surprised my mother said yes because she was more of the "I will kill you" type of gal. Such is love.

Santa Rosa Catholic Church, Cambria, California

Cambria Cemetery

In my mother's final years, I would tease her about the rough time she gave me for marrying so young. I told her she had been my example and I wasn't sorry I had followed in her footsteps. Usually, she'd tell me I was crazy and I could have done anything with my life and been anybody I wanted to be. I always told her, "I wanted to be you, Mom." That always made her smile. It also always made her repeat, "You're crazy." She wasn't wrong.

16 year old Bernice Walters on the right in Cayucos, California with schoolmates.

17 year old Carlos Francisco Casas, "the Spaniard" at one of the Missions.

My dad, 17 years old, on the right, with Central Coast friends.

My 17 year old mom, on the right, with friends.

My 18 year old mom, swimming with a boy. Scandalous!

The scandalous 19 year old she was swimming with. 

The Spaniard also known as Carlos.

Well, would you look at that! Seems we Swiss gals like the motorcycle riding bad boys.

My mother's 1939 graduation picture from Coast Union High School in Cambria. 

I still have the locket she's wearing.

My father in the middle and my mother on the right after a fishing trip off Cayucos pier.

This is the chopping block at the ranch where my grandfather took the chickens heads off. Yes, that is my 19 year old father with an axe and my 18 year old mother with her head on the chopping block. I can't understand why my grandfather didn't like the Spaniard. Crazy kids!

1940's honeymoon. They went to Corona. Yes, Corona. Weirdos.

1950's. Still liked each other. Still driving each other crazy. Still weirdos.

60th Anniversary. My mother passed away two years later. 

Life would never be the same after that. 

How lucky am I, are we, with all these memories and Bernies treasures.

Like Mother, Like Daughter

I'm really excited! We've donated a photo album from what we believe is the 1950's to the Cayucos Historical Society. I absolutely love the idea of these photos being displayed for others to enjoy and maybe even catch a glimpse of a family friend or relative from days gone by. My mother would be so happy knowing this album is headed back to Cayucos where it belongs. 

I have actually laughed a few times lately thinking about my mom and all her treasures she left to me. Right after our mother died, we girls read the note she left us telling how she wanted her things divided between us. Jewelry, art work and other valuable items were to be split between my sisters. My mother left me anything and everything that was paper. Yes, paper. My sisters felt really sorry for me because I received no diamonds or Lladros or other crap they were left. I, on the other hand, was ecstatic. I knew my mother had massive bins full of papers and photos. I also knew that's where the real valuables were. My mother knew exactly who I was and what her gift would mean to me. She also knew I would go through every single thing in those tubs and send them off to where they belonged. That's exactly what I'm doing.

It took me twelve years to start going through my mom's tubs of treasures. I just couldn't face it. Even now, I have to do a day at a time and then take a break. The undertow of memories can be too much some days. But most days, even with the tears that come, I am so extremely grateful that I was the one Bernie entrusted this journey to.

So, when you visit Cayucos, and you really should, be sure to stop at the Vet's Hall and tour the Cayucos Historical Society there. Think of Bernice and Charles and the entire Walters family as you walk through town, remembering some of these stories you've read. There are more to tell in the days ahead.

Aunt Meta and Uncle Loren's barn. One of my favorite places on Earth.

Downtown Cayucos, 1950's. This may have been my Aunt Ruth's old car she kept in her garage. I believe it was only used for parades in later years. Cass House is on the left in the background and the old gas station and Cayucos Garage is behind that. Uncle Joe and Aunt Sisi's house is next to the Garage. The ocean is on the right. Al's Sporting Goods which had a restaurant as well is in the background with the Vet's Hall and pier behind it. 

Cayucos Garage

Pereira's Grill & Fountain 

Uncle Joe Silva, Cayucos Fire Chief and Roy Genardini, Cayucos Constable

My Aunts, Ruth Brum and Sylvia (Sisi) Silva sitting on the far left. I recognize the other three ladies but can't recall their names.

Why Can't We Be Friends?

I am really struggling tonight. I made the mistake of watching a little news and reading a little social media. A little was too much. I'm going back to protecting my mind from the onslaught of hatred and negativity that continues to swirl in the air. It's too much for me and I end up hating people and hermiting away with my animals. Judge me. I don't care. 

Me, my cousin Anna Maria, my sister Kelly. (1965)

I saw this picture tonight and it made me really sad. Not just because Anna Maria and Kelly are both gone but because of all the fighting and rejection and meanness I am witnessing among families and friends, including my own. Looking at this photo reminds me how incredibly short life is and how limited time-wise we are in opportunities to show love and kindness and acceptance. I don't and won't accept every thought or view of those I care about but I'll be damned if I'm going to name call, call out, harass, ignore, reject or unfriend, on FaceBook or in real life, anybody just because they don't agree with me. How completely arrogant and self-righteous I would be, if I thought that way. I could not have disagreed more with Anna Maria and Kelly regarding some of their life choices. I'm sure they could have said the same about me. But no matter what, they were my family and I loved them so when they called, and they both did, needing my help, even though we were barely speaking, I ran to them. I would do it again. Life is too short for this nonsense. The clock is ticking.

Me and my cousin Cher. (2015)

Our cousins, Kelly and Cher, Bob and me. Elton John concert for my birthday 03/15/2019

Cher and I are only one month apart in age. She is more like a sister to me than a cousin. Cher has been there for me in some of my darkest days and we have also shared some of the best times in life together. Kelly and Cher are our concert buddies and we can't wait to start going back to hear the music, dance, sing and laugh with them again. We love them dearly. 

Cher and Kelly were hit by a hit and run driver last week that forced their car off the highway into a tree. They both could have been killed. Their Land Cruiser was totaled. They survived but not without some serious bumps, bruises, cuts and more importantly emotional scars. Kelly and Cher are two of the strongest people I know. They are good and kind, loving and generous. They will heal physically and emotionally, in time. I am confident of that. It could have turned out very differently though and their accident brought that home to me once again.

In the last few years, I have lost three cousins, all young in their twenties/thirties. I had plans. I was going to see them again, we were going to talk and connect. I wanted my children to know their younger cousins and I spoke about this with my kids. But we ran out of the one thing I thought we had plenty of. Time.

We don't have plenty of time. We don't have time to waste. We can't keep wasting the limited time we do have on anger and disappointment, bitterness and resentment. We have to let go of that shit. We have to forgive and move forward. 

Mark Twain said to not forgive is to drink poison and wait for the other person to die. I've greedily guzzled poison over my lifetime and waited for the people that did me wrong to die. It almost killed me. 

So, all that to say, I'm guarding my heart, mind and soul better from now on because my mother was right. I can't change the whole world but I can change my world.