Mr. and Mrs. Fritze

This is another photo from last night's treasure hunt. The picture was taken at Mr. and Mrs. Fritze's house six houses up the street from our house. The neighbors got together and threw a surprise anniversary party for them. At their house. That is hilarious! I loved both of these people. They were also my family. 

I knew every inch of that house having spent almost as much time there as in my own home. I sometimes still dream about being there, walking through the rooms. It was a wonderful place for me with Grandma Davi ironing in the kitchen and always cooking something authentically Italian.Their daughter Patty was my best friend then and is now officially my sister-friend. She is stuck with me forever. Patty has two brothers as well, so we would play war in their backyard jungle or set up disgusting halloween fun in the garage. Patty always seemed to have puppies or kittens so how could I not love being there. 

Mr. Fritze was one of the kindest people. I really don't believe he had a mean bone in his body. He wasn't a suit and tie guy like my dad. If I remember correctly, he was a truck driver and was always bringing home something exciting for us kids, like a converted van camper. When he was home, we would run to him begging for money for the ice cream truck and he'd come up with some plan for us to earn the cash. I seem to recall getting a nickel for every palm frond we picked up from the front yard lawn. We'd deliver our yard work labor and he'd deliver the ice cream money. He liked Johnny Cash and would let us play his records in the living room. This was quite thrilling to ten year olds especially when Mr. Cash cussed at the end of one of his songs. I remember Patty, Kelly and I laughing hysterically, like we had just gotten away with murder. Which actually could have come from us listening to Folsom Prison Blues. Hey, it was the 1960's and parents weren't helicopters back in the day. Children, like us, ran in little neighborhood gangs from house to house and when asked what we were up to it usually involved food, swimming or lemonade stand wars. The lemonade stand war of 1969 was especially brutal. But that also is a story for another day.

One of my favorite memories of Mr. and Mrs. Fritze is when they would play cards with my mother. My dad traveled a lot with his work, so it would be my mom and the Fritzes playing cards at our kitchen table. They might start sometime after dinner and Kelly, Patty and I would be running amuck in the house, eating, watching Twilight Zone, making up dance routines and reading comic books. These card games were epic and would go on into the wee hours of the morning. The three of us girls just kept on with our struggle to be the last one awake. 

Mrs. Fritze was my moms Tijuana travel buddy. The two moms would load the five of us kids into the Fritzes station wagon and off we'd go. Forget seatbelts. We were all over that wagon like it was a playground. We'd get a hotel room in San Diego for the night and then cross the border in the morning. It was non-stop shopping and bargaining all day long and we loved it. My mother was fluent in Spanish so it made for easy transactions. Then, towards evening, we'd head back to the hotel for one last night of swimming and sleeping before heading home. 

It all seems like a dream now when I think back on everything. Like a wonderfully amazing dream.

Mr. and Mrs. Prebeg

As I was going through another old photo album of my mother's this evening, I stumbled upon this absolute treasure of a photo.

This is a picture of our neighbor, Mr. Prebeg, with my mother. They were at another neighbors house, Mr. and Mrs. Fritze, my best friend Patty's parents, for a surprise anniversary party. Do you see the look on their faces? That is the look of two people that really like one another. This is the perfect picture representing the neighborhood I grew up in. We were a family. All of us. Because there was deep love, respect and care for one another. I'm not saying there was never any drama because, of course there was. The more important part of our neighborhood was everyone felt they belonged. Not just to Virginia Ave but to one another. I loved growing up there with these people.

This is from the same party. Mrs. Prebeg is on the left, another neighbor from across the street, Sylvia, is next to her and then Mr. Prebeg is in the background. 

Mr. and Mrs. Prebeg were wonderful. I spent a lot of time at their house, playing with their son, Johnny and my sister Kelly was the same age as their daughter, Francine. They lived two doors down from our house and it was a constant back and forth between the two houses. Our house had the swimming pool and the best tuna salad sandwiches in the universe, made by my mother. Johnny's house had ice cream with real cones in their garage freezer. All of us kids would line up outside the garage as Mr. Prebeg scooped the deliciousness into a cone for each kid and off we'd go to the next adventure, cone in hand.

I may get this part a bit muddled but I believe the Prebegs were Croatian and Yugoslavian. Mr. Prebeg had a very thick accent and I loved to listen to him speak. I remember him yelling at his own children just like my mother yelled at us, but he always treated Kelly and I like we were the best thing since sliced cheese. This was pretty typical of all the Virginia Ave parents. It wasn't unusual to hear a kid getting yelled at by their parent but other peoples kids were treated like the little angels they weren't. Of course, if you got caught doing something wrong, all parents were interchangeable and you might possibly find yourself making a run for it before justice was served. Either way, by the time you got home you would have been reported and the yelling would start. 

Mr. Prebeg had escaped from his country during the war and could never go back without the risk of being killed. His mother was still alive and I think I remember hearing my parents talk about him sneaking back into the country to see her once or twice. It was quite the event in our household although it was discussed in hushed tones to keep details from nosy children. I remember Mr. Prebeg as one of the nicest, warmest men in our neighborhood. He was known to give great hugs and kisses to us when we did something good. I loved him.

Mrs. Prebeg was quieter than her husband but always kind to us. She was a wonderful cook and taught my mother to make stuffed cabbage. Probably because every time I smelled it cooking at their house, I stayed until I was invited to dinner. I still remember their little dinette in the kitchen. It was warm and cozy and they used kleenex for napkins. 

The Prebegs took in families migrating to the USA from Croatia and Yugoslavia. Just like our house, they had a little bungalow in their backyard where they would let these folks stay to get on their feet. I remember one couple especially. They were young and the girl was pregnant. When she had the baby, my mother let me make jello to take to them. I was so excited at ten or eleven to make jello all by myself and then proudly walk it to the backhouse at the Prebegs. The new mother didn't speak English and I didn't speak Croatian but that didn't seem to matter. She accepted my jello and let me sit and hold her baby. It was heaven. 

Once a year there was a Croatian festival that the Prebegs attended and our family was always invited. I loved going. We had the best time, and in the evening, there would be a dance. It was such a blast! You were never asked to dance, you were grabbed by the hand and pulled in. I could be a bit awkward and shy as a kid around people I didn't know but I never felt awkward there. I felt a part of something amazing.

Looking at these two photos tonight, I can hear Mr. Prebeg's accent as he would talk and laugh with my parents. I see myself in the backseat of their car being driven to St. Helen's Elementary School by Mrs. Prebeg as she and my mother carpooled. I can still hear the music from their backyard and see them at my parents Christmas parties. I remember them at my wedding and Mr. Prebeg crying when he hugged me. 

Even after the Prebegs and my parents moved from Virginia Ave, they stayed in touch, visiting one another. I remember when my mom called to tell me she and my dad had gone to visit the Prebegs. Mr. Prebeg was not well and my mom thought I should think about flying out to visit. As life does sometimes, I felt overwhelmed with kids and responsibilities and thought I had time. I didn't. I cried when my dad called to tell me Mr. Prebeg had passed away. It was losing a family member in every sense of the word family.

I will forever be grateful for the childhood I was given and the people who gave it to me including Mr. and Mrs. Prebeg.

Happy Birthday, Ms. Purrfect

So, I know really nice people wish their deceased loved ones a happy heavenly birthday when the day comes around but seriously, I'm not that nice. Also, my sister would hate that so I've got to wish her a happy birthday in our usual sisterly trash talk genre. If you find this wrong or disrespectful, you probably shouldn't be here because, at this point in the game, I don't plan on changing my ways. And, I'm not even sorry, so you're welcome.

I called our big sister this morning to see if she knew what today was. Of course, she did. Which, by the way, I found very interesting since she didn't remember my birthday two weeks ago. I very respectfully and politely, (ok, not really) let her know I found it very disturbing that even dead, Kelly gets all the attention. That doesn't seem quite fair to Debi and I but I guarantee Kelly is loving every minute of it. Come on, be real. Just because you get to heaven you don't automatically become an angel. Anyway, we had a good conversation as we always do with lots of laughing and then Char said goodbye, thanking me for bringing her down by reminding her of all the good times with Kel. I told her, no worries, it was my pleasure. I also plan on doing it on each holiday until she remembers my damn birthday, so there's that to look forward to.

Today would have been Kelly's 60th birthday. She would have hated it because she was a weirdo who didn't want to get old or look old. I bet she wouldn't mind being old now. Actually, she probably would because I'm pretty sure she's happy right where she is, with our dad. Oh, she loved our mom too but she and Mr. CFC were cut from the same cloth. It was sort of ridiculous and I took every opportunity to make fun of them for it. They didn't seem to care though because they were always too busy making sure they looked perfect for that next big business deal. The only business deal I dealt with was usually in a diaper. 

As much as Kel would have hated turning 60, she would have loved all the attention we would have showered on her. How do I know we would have made a big deal out of today? It was the expectation. Come on! She was the baby of the family and must be adored. Those are the rules. Wait a minute, My dad was the baby in his family as well. This is all starting to make mad sense.

I was looking through pictures and seriously, those two were joined at the hip and wallet. Big spenders, overachievers, ridiculously generous and all about a good time. Especially if they got to run the show which was never a question. If there was a show to run, Barnum and Bailey Casas were running it. You better believe it was always spectacular and a blast to be a part of as long as you remembered your lines and didn't mess things up by showing up in overalls with a van full of kids and dogs. Occasionally, a baby pig. But that's a story for another day.

Anyway, I wanted to post some sweet pictures of Kelly honoring her on her 60th but honestly, that would be so unlike me, so instead, enjoy the slide show, kids.

Kelly Jeanne and Carlos Francisco. They started out a dynamic duo and just carried it through the years.

This is Batman and Robin dancing at my wedding. You won't find one photo of me dancing with my dad at my wedding. Not one. Ok, I was too self-conscious to dance in front of all those people. Thank goodness Kelly had this guy wrapped around her little finger and kept him busy the entire night.

Yeah, see the big bow on top of the brand-stinking new car? That's what Kelly got for Christmas that year. It was 1977 and she was 16 years old. You know what I got? Pregnant. Thanks, Bob!

Bernice might not have appreciated a new car every two years, but I can tell you who did. The blond baby who got to drive it just by batting her eyelashes at Mr. CFC. My mother always called Kel Ms. Purrfect because actually, she sort of was in a lot of ways. 

This picture hung on the wall in my dad's home office. There were pictures of all my kids and nieces and nephews. A few dogs, past and present. But front and center, just like in real life, it was Kelly Jeanne.

This is Kel on her wedding day. The house was decorated and full of activity but were these two happy? Not completely. They were weepy and inseparable. What would they ever do without one another 24/7? Before getting dressed to head to the church, they had to take pictures out front together. What you don't see is me off to the side doing a standup routine of fake crying and fainting that got me sent into the house. This pretty much was my lot in life. Harass and annoy, get sent to my room even though I didn't have a room in this house. I was married with two boys by this time. Hey, somebody had to hold the middle child line.

This is one of the many parties Kelly had at my parents house for her friends. I mean, doesn't everyone's parents move all their furniture out of the house and set up a casino for their baby girl? No? Just mine?

My dad loved all of us girls and our mother. He just liked this one the best and we all knew it and surprisingly, we were all ok with it. We sort of liked her too. I've often wondered if she was the favorite of so many because God knew her time was short. I don't know. I just know she was. 

If there was a dinner or a meeting or a conference, Kelly was going to be there with my dad. She was going to make sure everything went off without a hitch. She was also going to make sure my dad was happy with whatever was happening. They were business partners in everything in life. My secret power was cooking for my dad and cleaning the garage. I could also make him laugh. I mean really laugh. I can still hear him if I get quiet and listen. I could make my sister laugh to but she had to start off acting disgusted with me. It was our thing. Then, when she couldn't hold it any longer, she laughed until we were both crying and finish it off with calling me a moron. I miss that.

They were pretty to look at and they both always smelled so good. No farm smells here, folks. I'll tell you a secret. I wear the same perfume my sister use to wear. I wear it every day and have for decades. It was my way of keeping her close throughout all the years of her illness and now that she's gone. She thought that was so ridiculous when she was alive but I didn't care. If it annoyed her, it was a double win for me. I lived to annoy her. Some people thought she hated it but she didn't. She was my best friend and she knew it. I wasn't hers but I was extremely important to her and that was enough for me.

I can't even tell you how many surprise birthday parties my parents threw for Ms. Purrfect. It was ridiculous other than we all benefited from the fun. Like the surprise cruise to Mexico for her thirtieth birthday with probably thirty of us in attendance. It was a blast! I think this picture is from the following year when they threw a smaller surprise birthday party at the house. Come on! How many times can you be surprised? Weirdos. Oh yeah, this was another casino birthday surprise thing. I never got a surprise cow for my birthday. What's up with that?

Then, of course, "we" threw our dad a surprise 70th birthday party at Kelly's house. When I say "we", you know who was in charge. I just wrote my measly check and kept my mouth shut. Yeah, that second part didn't actually happen.

This is our daughter Rachel's wedding reception. It's ok. Don't worry about getting the BRIDE AND GROOM in the photo. As long as Batman and Robin are in focus, we're all good. By the way, my sister arrived a few days ahead of the wedding, went over all the plans with me, changed them all last minute because I obviously did it all wrong and then paid for all the upgrades. Thanks, Ms. Purrfect. 

Happy 60th Birthday, Kelly Jeanne. I love you and miss you. 

Letting Go Isn't Giving Up

Sometimes in life you have to let go of people you love. It's the kindest thing you can do. It won't feel kind and you might be accused of being anything but kind. Regardless, when everything in you is telling you it's time, let go.

I have recently come to the end of a very long journey and have had to let go. This isn't easy and definitely not what I would have hoped for. In fact, I have done nothing but hope for years. Against all odds and more advice than I asked for. It just wasn't time yet.

It's time now. 

I feel a relief that I wasn't quite expecting to feel. It's as if I've been dragging a gunny sack behind me and adding grief and disappointment to it year after year. This isn't mine to carry or empty any longer. Actually, it never was. Once I made the conscious decision to let go of it, everything in life felt different.

Letting go is not the same as giving up. I will never give up praying and hoping. 

This isn't the first relationship I have had to let go of. It may not be the last either, although I hope it is. Either way, I am grateful for the lessons learned. I hope I've learned them well.

I got my first tattoo after my sister died. This may be hard to understand but it brings me comfort and has actually evolved in meaning through the years. It's bringing me comfort again, reminding me in letting go, everything really will be alright. 

The Value of a Nudge

My mother has been gone for nineteen years and for nineteen years I have kept her bins full of treasures stacked from ceiling to floor in two closets. Several times throughout the years I would start to dig through one of them only to get completely overwhelmed and have to quit. It was just too much emotionally. But I knew from the moment I read she had left all the papers and photos to me, that I had to go through every single one of them some day because there really was treasure in them. I didn't know what it would look like but I knew I would recognize it once I saw it. 

When I broke my ankle four months ago, I was pretty upset and it wasn't really because of the pain. It was much more about being unable to have control over everything. If you don't know I'm a control freak, do you even really know me? The first few weeks were pretty gross with being completely laid up in bed or the couch, ice packs and bedside commodes. It was so gross and depressing. The mental challenges were much harder than the physical trials, truthfully. Isn't that the way it usually goes in life?

Someone made a statement to me during that time that they wondered if God wasn't trying to slow me down. We laughed about it but I couldn't stop thinking about those words. So, I started to ask Him if there was something that I should be doing during this forced downtime and two things kept running through my head. Start writing again and go through my mothers treasures. Both of those things scared the crap out of me and I really didn't think I could face either of them. But, a few days before the New Year, I decided to attempt to do both. It might not seem like a big deal but it sure was to me.

So, here we are, three months later. I've written every day and I've sorted through and mailed hundreds of photos, along with letters and personal papers. I don't really know who all reads this mess of words I write but I hope, someday, this will all be important to my kids and grandkids. Then there are the photos.

I have sent photos and notes and never heard a word back from people. I have also sent photos and received emails, texts and messages from folks telling me how much the package meant to them, that they cried, how happy they were to have what my mother had saved and I had sent. I've had phone calls from family and friends and we have laughed and cried together over what is now their treasures. It's been a pretty great journey to be on and I'm so grateful my mom entrusted this to me. Then today happened.

I received a text early this morning from a childhood friend letting me know he had received the card and photos I mailed earlier in the week. He told me he cried when he saw the pictures of his parents because he didn't have any photos of them until now. This literally brought me to tears. To think I was able to give my friend the gift of seeing his parents again was overwhelming to me. I am so incredibly grateful that my mother passed this on to me and that God brought me to the place of dealing with the task at hand. Today was worth a broken ankle to me and I seriously mean that.

Anyway, all that to say, you know those things you feel in your gut that you are meant to do, please do them. There is a reason we have those nudges that won't go away. Someone out there in the world is waiting for something you have to share. It might be words, maybe old photos, or just a moment's kindness, but they are truly waiting for it. They're waiting for you, even if neither of you knows it, yet. 

And the journey continues.

Free Advice Friday

 Tonight's Free Advice:

I've been thinking a lot about what advice I need to give myself lately. Then tonight, it came to me so clearly that I knew this was what I had been waiting to hear. Maybe it's for you, too.

Loosen your grip. On everyone and everything.

Just like The Tower of Terror, chokeholds on people or things won't stop the bottom from falling out now and then.

Sure, you might go into a freefall but you'll recover and be stronger for it. It's true. I promise.

Stop listening to the negative. More importantly, stop reacting to it. Most of it will never happen. 

Just keep going. You don't want to miss a minute of what's waiting out there for you. It's ok to be afraid but keep moving forward. 

Smells Like Heaven

Have you ever noticed how powerful memories are when you smell certain things? I remember walking into a Woolworths after my Aunt Sisi died and instantly blubbering because of the smell of moth balls. Sisi's closets always smelled of moth balls so there was always something comforting to me about that. Until the day I walked into that store and fell apart in public. Nothing could have prepared me for the gut-punch I felt and there was absolutely nothing I could do to stop myself from falling apart. Sisi was the closest thing I had to a real grandmother and she was also the first huge loss in my life as an adult. I was thirty in age but instantly ten in heart the day she died. It was life-changing for me.

My mother, me, Aunt Sisi and our dear family friend, Eleanor Garcia. 

This was at the wedding shower Sisi and I hosted for my sister Kelly. This was taken at Sisi's house, early 1980's I think. See the dress Sisi is wearing? She made it. She made all of her dresses, most from the same pattern with a little change here or there. When she died, I stood in her closet and buried my face in her dresses, sobbing. After weeks of this, Bob ratted me out to my cousin Mickey who came over and said enough. She helped me pack all those handmade dresses into boxes and took them to Goodwill. It was for my own good, everyone said. But me being me, I was able to sneak the gray dress in this photo into the bottom drawer of my dresser under all my clothes before Mickey noticed. That gray dress stayed there for more years than I will admit to. It was sniffed and cried into many a time. I finally was able to say goodbye to the dress about ten years ago. I still have her cat eye glasses, however. Every once in awhile I slip them on and laugh because I know she is yelling at me from heaven. "Take those damn things off and act your age!" 

I'll tell you a secret. Sometimes, like today, when I have a wave of sadness wash over me because my mother is gone, I open her china closet and take a deep whiff of the interior. I know that sounds crazy but the smell inside that cabinet that once belonged to Bernice brings me right back to her. I remember her fussing with the glassware making sure it was put back just exactly so, as it was before our Thanksgiving or Christmas dinner. I can see her touching the glasses that still sit on the top shelf as they have since the 1940's. I can picture the china closet's matching table, now sitting in our dining room, set with my mothers wedding china throughout the years of my childhood. I remember my aunts, uncles and cousins gathered round the table, eating, drinking and laughing as if it was just yesterday. I can see it all, see them all, because of that glorious smell. 

Someday, I hope one of my children will want the pieces of our past. It's not looking good, though. They all have grown up with healthier outlooks on things and memories than their mother. I'm grateful for that in a way but I'm also glad I'll be dead when they Goodwill all my crap. Which reminds me of a dream I had after Bob and Mickey took all of Sisi's clothes to Goodwill. I dreamt I was sleeping in the back room of her house when I heard a knock on the front door. I got up and ran down the hall to answer it only to find Sisi standing there in a hospital gown. She was really happy to be home so she could put on her own clothes. As she headed down the hallway to her room, with me following behind in a panic, I woke with a jolt, covered in sweat. I just remember crying and yelling at Bob for taking her clothes to Goodwill. Yeah, it's funny....now.

I couldn't step foot inside of a Lowes or Home Depot for a few years after my father died. The smell of lumber would almost knock me to my knees with grief. I was instantly a kid again, going to Boyles Lumber in Cayucos or Buena Park Lumber with him. I loved going to the lumber yard with my dad. He always let me help pick out the lumber, nails and tools we might need for his latest project. My dad loved to build things and was constantly coming up with a new project. He was that guy that could never look at something without seeing how to make it better. I think I got that from him. We might not be right but we sure always thought we were. I still do so the legacy lives on. My parents got a good laugh when I took my career placement test for college. My two top placements were carpenter and forest ranger. Go figure.

My dad's Boyle Lumber yardstick on a table he made when I was in high school. It's now our kitchen table and I couldn't love it more. Which is funny because I thought it was awful when I was younger. I don't know. Dead people things have that effect on me. 

What smells bring memories flooding for you? 

Baby, You Can Drive My Car

My dad loved cars. It was always a Cadillac for him and an Impala for my mother. He leased for decades because he wanted new cars every two years. It drove my mother nuts and eventually, after he retired, my dad finally agreed to pay for two cars and drop out of the musical cars game. He bought a Cadillac for himself and a Mercedes for my mom. My mother was so happy to finally own her car. 

I vividly remember my parents getting into it a few times when my dad would disappear with my mother's car and show up with a new one. My mom was not appreciative of losing the car she was happy with for a new model. Without her knowledge, no less. I really wonder how she never snapped on my dad sometimes. But dammit, Mr. CFC was going to go big or go home and that included extravagant gifts for the people he loved whether they liked it or not. He even tried having the car dealer deliver a new car and pick up her "old" one once, hoping to avoid any drama. Yeah, how'd that work out for you, old man? My mother became friends with the car salesman and started inviting him and his family to parties and dinners but didn't speak to my dad for quite awhile. Bernie and her silent treatment. Now there was a good time. 

I actually never understood how my mother could be what appeared to be so ungrateful for her fancy new cars. Until my husband disappeared with a few of our cars and showed up with new ones. Unlike my mother, I was not a stewer or steamer. I was a snapper. Bob and I found our common ground regarding cars pretty quickly after the second vanishing car act and that was the end of that malarkey.

This guy. He was seriously a lot to handle but boy do I miss him and the wonderful tomfoolery that followed him wherever he went. I really hope when he got to heaven God didn't mind when Mr. CFC disappeared with his chariot only to show up with a new Cadillac.

My dad also had a thing about Jeeps. I think they made him feel like the hunter/cowboy/macho man he actually was. He loved them and bought one as soon as he bought the little cattle ranch in Oro Grande. This is when I learned to drive. I loved that red Jeep. It was a blast to drive and since we were out in the middle of nowhere, my dad, after giving me a few lessons at just thirteen years old, handed me the keys and turned me loose. I wasn't allowed to cross the railroad tracks which lead into town but otherwise I was free to drive the square mile that our ranch was a part of. It was glorious freedom for thirteen year old me. My mother disagreed with my dad and didn't like her unlicensed kid behind the wheel of a vehicle with no roof no less. At the time, I thought my mother was really mean to my dad and of course, I worshipped my dad. Now, looking back years later, I realize my mother knew what she was talking about and was trying to save me from killing myself. She wasn't wrong. I may have been a bit brave once or twice and crossed those tracks. I may have even lived to regret it without my parents ever finding out. But that's a story for another day.

Ella

I sorted photos for hours tonight. I'm pretty sure it would have taken me half the actual time I spent if I hadn't had so much help from Ella. She is seriously the weirdest cat that has ever owned me.

This explains why there is cat hair all over the photos I'm sending out. I seriously hope nobody is allergic and if you are, you can thank Ella Hansen for your sneezes and sniffles. I try to keep her out of my work but she's like Tigger. She just bounces right back to the spot she was evicted from and then gives me the side eye. 

I hate cats on the kitchen table. Hate it. Almost as much as I hated when the goat got on the kitchen table. I mean, come on! We eat there, man!!

Do you think Ella cares that I don't want her on the kitchen table? She does not. I can put her down and she bounces right back up. Try to swat her, she thinks your playing and you will lose. This cat is a menace. Oh sure, she's very cute and her fur is the softest kitty fur in the universe but underneath all that crazy coat is the heart of a real jerk. I mean, look at her.

We even tried spraying her with water because you know how much cats hate water so surely that should have worked, right? Wrong. This weirdo loves water.

Every single time I take a shower, this is what I deal with. I turn the water on and Ella immediately jumps up on the shelf and waits for me to get in. She literally lays there watching every move I make.

Then, once I'm in the shower, she not only watches me but tries to get in. She'll start by sliding her front paws down the tile inside the shower until she reaches the towel bar. If I'm not careful and I get too close to the back of the shower where her towel bar perch is, she'll try to hitch a ride on my head. She is trouble.

Don't even get me started on my cows from Switzerland. When we stayed with my cousins in Giubiasco a few years ago, they gifted me with some wonderful wooden cows. I love them so much. My cousins and the cows. I put them up high on the top of my parents china closet in our dining room. I wanted them to be safely out of reach of the grandkids. I was obviously concerned about the wrong people messing with my Swiss cows. Yeah, Ella uses my lovely wooden Swiss cows as pillows. Forget the fancy expensive cat tree hotel thing I talked Bob into buying for her. No! She'd rather hop, skip and jump across all the furniture to reach the top of the china closet and invade Switzerland.

I bet a real Swiss cow would be less trouble than this cat. I'm just saying.....

What If?

Bob mailed thirteen more envelopes for me today. Thirteen packages of photos and memories along with a quickly handwritten note in each. Thirteen more times of reliving and then letting go. This has become a real journey for me. Much more than I think I realized or anticipated. Today, for some strange reason was really hard. I kept wondering what was going to happen when I finally came to the end of all these photos which is ridiculous to worry about at this point because the end is nowhere near being in sight. There are still more bins full of memories than I can face most days but what if?

What if the memories end when the photos are finished being sorted and sent and catalogued? What if I have nothing to say again? Will it even matter? It will to me. The years of silence in my head after Kelly died were some of the loneliest times I have ever known. 

You can be in a room full of people, smiling and laughing with them, and still be absolutely alone. 

So, tonight after Bob went to bed, I sat and thought and then walked the house and thought and finally just allowed my fingers to say whatever my heart told them. And there you have it. 

I'm living in the past a lot right now. It's part of the journey. But, what if all this is leading me to my future?

What if?

Thelma and Louise

I had the best day today. My friend Mindy from Oklahoma blew into town, as she is known to do, and started making plans for us to meet for lunch. Mindy never shows up in Florida without asking me to get together. That is a true friend. When you find that person that actively seeks to include you in their life, hang on to them. They are gold. But be ready. Sometimes they include you in things that are permanent, like tattoos.

Mindy and I have been Disney annual pass holders for years, so it's normal for us to meet in Orlando several times a year for a girls weekend. Once in awhile, our husbands will join us but usually, it's just the two of us. About five years ago, on our way to one of our girls weekends, Thelma got the idea we should go have a peek in a tattoo parlor. I didn't say no but we both agreed we were just there to look around.

I was not planning on getting the tattoo that I had been planning on getting but you know how sometimes you're just minding your own business and the next thing you know you're sitting in some strange guys chair and he's needling you? Then, the needler is such a nice young man and is so polite that, what can you do but just go with it and pretend you aren't going to cry and possibly faint. 

Of course, after watching Louise get inked, Thelma has to do the same because everyone knows those two always go off the cliff together. 

Anyway, we went on our merry way and had a lovely weekend other than spending quite a bit of time trying to figure out how to convince our husbands that Disney now required all Mouseketeers to have ink before entry. Mindy's husband Lain still blames me and threatened to not let us play together anymore. Good thing I'm not afraid of husbands. 

Honestly, I love this girl so much. She's at least fifteen years my junior so the perfect little sister age. We've been friends since she and Lain were newlyweds, more than twenty years and five kids ago. Because of the age difference, our friendship has been a pleasant and unexpected surprise to me, over and over again. But because of our similarities and differences combined with our love and respect for one another, our friendship has always worked really well. I'm so grateful.

The Wide Mouth Frog

 This is one of my closest high school friends, Lauren Schooling Dessero. I found this picture of Lauren last night and have been flooded with memories ever since. Lauren passed away from cancer. It was like being punched in the gut when I heard the news. Fifteen years later, I still have trouble believing it's true. 

Tonight is for you, Lauren. I love you.

I met Lauren my first day of Freshman year at Pius X High School in Downey, California. I was so excited to be there but also extremely awkward and nervous. Meeting Lauren that day was an absolute God-send for me. She was pretty and popular from day one. More importantly, she was the most confident girl I had ever met in my entire life. I was completely in awe of her from the moment we met.

Even the way we met left an impression that follows me to this day. I was wandering the halls lost,  trying to find my locker. I'm sure I looked like a weirdo. I absolutely felt like one. As I was searching the long hall of lockers, I could feel tears welling up out of frustration when this booming voice behind me asks if I needed any help. It was Lauren. She was not a quiet girl. At all. I answered like I did a lot of the time back then by tripping over my words because I was so freaked out in the moment. Lauren continued gabbing away as she took the slip from my hand, immediately found my locker which was just steps from hers and started loading my things into it. Once everything was locked inside, she asked, "So, you wanna hear a joke?" Before I could answer she told me what will forever be known to me as "Lauren's Joke."

There was once a wide mouth frog who had babies but didn’t know what to feed them. So, she went to the cow, talking with her mouth REAL WIDE, she said, “COW, WHAT DO YOU FEED YOUR BABIES?” The Cow said, “I feed my babies milk.”

Then she went on to the horse and asked with her mouth REAL WIDE, “HORSE, WHAT DO YOU FEED YOUR BABIES?” “I feed my babies hay.” said the horse.

Finally she came to a snake. Talking with her mouth real wide, she said, “SNAKE, WHAT DO YOU FEED YOUR BABIES?” The snake said, “I feed my babies wide mouth frogs.”

So the frog said, with her mouth really small, “Oh, is that so.”

The fact of the matter is, Lauren had a very wide mouth making this the perfect joke for her. Her telling was spectacular. Watching her widen her mouth with every word the frog spoke, the words loud and clear. Until the end, when she pinched her mouth tight as she almost whispered the ending. It was hilarious but not even the best part of that first telling. The best part was her laugh that followed. 

Lauren Schooling had the loudest, longest, drawn-out hee-haw of a laugh I have ever or will ever hear in my entire life. It was like hearing the friendliest donkey in the universe. It made people stop, stare and laugh at her laughing. It was magic and it never left her throughout her lifetime. Here I was that first day of high school trying to find a hole to climb into so nobody would notice me and there was Lauren inviting the entire world to not only see her but to enjoy every moment of life with her. To this day, I'll never understand how someone so young could be so outgoing and confident but I'm sure glad she was.

After that first meeting, we continued to grow together as friends, calling each other constantly, spending the night at each others homes and even vacationing in Cayucos together with my family. I left Pius X after my Freshman year. I wanted to go to a public school, something I had never done. My parents fought me on it and so did Lauren, but I was determined. My last three years were spent at South Gate High School, a decision I later regretted but would never admit. Even though Lauren and I no longer went to the same school, our friendship continued. The day I got my first car, the first place I drove to was Lauren's house. 

The night I met Bob, Lauren was with me. I had set up a double-date with my friend Carl. He was bringing Bob to meet Lauren. The four of us had a great time that night going to the local Azalea Festival and then back to my house at midnight for pizza and Don Kirshners Midnight Special. I told Lauren later that night that I was going to marry Bob Hansen. She laughed at me and called me stupid which only made me jump up and down on the bed singing, "I'm gonna marry Bob Hansen! I'm gonna marry Bob Hansen!" On my wedding day, Lauren laughed her hee-haw laugh while reminding me of that night, four years earlier.

Through the following years, Lauren was always there. When she met her husband Steve, she called to tell me all about him and a few months later brought him to Cayucos where we lived, for a long weekend. It was wonderful, the four of us together in my favorite place on earth. When they decided to marry, I gave Lauren her wedding shower at my parents house in Fullerton. My mom loved Lauren and helped make it one of those usual Casas events. I love the pictures of that day so much, with Lauren smiling her wide-mouth frog smile and laughing her hee-haw laugh. She was really happy and I was so happy for her.

After a few years, Lauren and Steve separated. She drove the four hours north to my front door to tell me and to cry. We both cried and spent the weekend like we did in high school, staying up all night talking. Later, when I found out I was pregnant again, Lauren was one of my first calls. She drove that long four hour drive during my pregnancy just to be there with me, as I was in and out of the hospital, sick as a dog. She would lay her hand on my belly and talk to the baby like they were long-lost friend. It was during this second pregnancy that she admitted she was really sad fearing she would never have children of her own. I'd never believe or accept that and I told her so. I think it was what she needed to here.

Eventually, Lauren and Steve reconciled and had two children, a girl and later a boy. I was so happy for her. It was all Lauren ever really wanted. She had a very successful career, had traveled the world and now, she had the one thing she wanted more than anything, a family of her own. 

As time went by and both our families grew, mine more than Lauren's, we didn't see one another as often but we still wrote and called throughout the years. Our last conversation was really good. Lauren was happy. Steve was doing well and her children were her everything. She was so proud of them. She had become very active again in the Catholic Church and was singing during Mass. Lauren had always had the voice of an angel, even touring Europe with a singing group after high school. She was still in California but I had moved to Oklahoma. We talked about getting together next time I flew out to see my sisters. That would never happen. Lauren got sick and passed away shortly after on December 2, 2005. I never knew she was sick. 

When I hadn't heard from her in an usually long time, and my letters and calls went unanswered, I got this awful feeling in my gut. I searched the internet to see if maybe she had moved and I could locate a new address or phone number. I found her obituary. I immediately tried to reach Steve, with no answer. After a week of calling, I gave up. 

It wasn't until my own sister died that I understood, sometimes people just can't deal with others when they are grieving. I went into my cave when Kelly died. Maybe Steve had his cave, as well.

Every Christmas, I hang the ornaments Lauren handmade for us on our tree. I usually cry and talk to her, letting her know I wish I had been there with her. I also remind her to save my spot and not to worry about me getting lost when I arrive. I'll follow the laughter.

Free Advice Friday

Tonight's Free Advice:

Do all the things, say all the words, write down all the stories, now, because eventually, there is no later or next time or someday.

You are being lied to. You don't have all the time in the world and eventually, it will be too late. So stop waiting.

If you're waiting for the right time, it's found you. 

Every Pipe Needs a Plumber Now and Then

So, we skipped the ELO tribute concert tonight because of a summer storm. It really wasn't upsetting because we both agreed it wasn't worth the risk of me gimping along on crutches in the rain. It's been a long four months to get back to walking, even with crutches. I'm going to err on the side of caution for a bit longer. No joke, if I fell and broke an ankle again, you'd have to stick me on an iceberg and send me on my way because this seriously sucked.

We had a nice night even with missing our live music. I made nachos for dinner, we ate on the couch watching Star Trek, both fell asleep on the couch and woke up an hour later. This was the most old people night we've had in a long time. Which is why it shouldn't surprise Bob that the colon cleanse I ordered for us both showed up this evening. Nothing like a good colon cleanse for the old folks. What is happening to us? 

I've had a lot of time to up my usual reading while sitting with my foot on a pillow, hence, the colon cleanse. I read this is a really good thing for your body. We shall see if we really are full of what people have accused us of being full of. One warning, I would suggest not visiting the farm for the next three days for your own safety. 

Anyway, I went through my phone tonight looking at some of the concert pictures I took over the last few years. We heard some really great music and will definitely be out there hearing more, soon I hope. Bob wants to see Clapton in Switzerland next year and talk our cousins into going with us. I say, let's do it! Hopefully, travel will be open again by then. I really hope so because we have places to go and people to see.

My travel buddy, Patty, thinks the airlines might require proof of the vaccine in order to fly. I really hope she's wrong but I'm concerned she could be right. She usually is. I hope not this time. I still won't be taking the vaccine due to my own health concerns from past reactions. Bob said to stop worrying about it and just wait and see what happens once travel opens back up. I think it's cute when he thinks he can tell me what to do. 

I've been doing a lot of reading on COVID like most people and found some interesting information that I've been following up on for the last four months on this website.

Front Line Covid-19 Critical Care Alliance

Looks like doctors are having great success with hydroxychloroquine and Ivermectin. The FLCCC Alliance just announced that their paper has been peer-reviewed and approved for publication in the American Journal of Therapeutics and will be online in a few weeks plus it appears even the WHO is rethinking their earlier stance against this protocol. I'll be seeing my doctor next week to discuss giving this a go.

Prophylaxis & Early Outpatient Treatment Protocol for COVID-19

Speaking of Ivermectin, I have a half gallon jug of the stuff on my back porch. I used it once a month on my goats to keep them healthy and it worked like a charm. I suppose I could skip the doctor and just douse my hind-quarters and back of the neck with what I have. Do you think people will notice the purple stain?

Happy St. Paddy's Day!

Happy St. Paddy's Day!

What a difference a pandemic makes. Bob and I hung out together at home and shared a beer over dinner. We've become wild like that with all this social distancing and fear-mongering. I'm the monger in our house mostly these days.

"Bob, did you wash your hands? Wash them again, just in case."

"Bob, use hand sanitizer. Just pour the whole thing over your body. You've been outside."

"Bob, don't touch anybody when you go to work. And wear a mask. And call me every hour so I can listen to your breathing."

Ok, I'm not really that bad. Just a little bad. Maybe mostly that bad. This isolation from people might be making me nuttier than normal. But really, who can tell because nobody's around. 

Just a few years ago, St. Paddy's Day was spent with two of our girls. Rachel and Bel came out to Florida for a week and we went crazy! Live music, dinners out, DisneyWorld, Universal, it was a blast. We were stewing in germs and loved every minute of it.

Poor Bel. I tend to embarrass her, I think. And yet, she still likes me and keeps coming back for more. Thank goodness. I can't help it. It's in my DNA. 

And then there's Rachel. She's not only good with her crazy mother's embarrassing ways, she encourages them. So, it's not totally my fault. Ok, it actually is but I'm not even sorry.

Bob was just happy to have two of his girls and beer. He's pretty easy to please. 

Then three years ago, we were in Rhode Island with John and Amy and the gang. It was Irish Catholic mayhem of the third degree. You have not experienced a true St. Paddy's Day until you've spent one in Newport, Rhode Island. Those folks know a good time because they are the good time. 

John and his mother drank beer together that St. Paddy's Day. They drank a lot of beer together. So did the stalker behind them. There was also a lot of singing and dancing and crying when the bagpipes showed up. You're my laddie, John. I sure hope we get to do this again next year because drinking beer and crying without the bagpipes and you just isn't the same.

Look at these wonderful humans! Look at the one with his cellphone open to FaceBook on his lap. One of these days I am going to run that thing over with the tractor. The cell phone not the stalker. Although, don't try me because this isolated life has left me a bit on the cranky side.

So, tomorrow night, Bob is taking me out for a late birthday/St. Paddy's Day celebration. It's a few days after the fact but I don't care. I love being with him and going out on old people dates together. This is our first big outing in seven months. That is so crazy to think about and so different from our normal. We're going to see an ELO tribute band and I'm pretty excited about it. I'm also a bit on edge. I don't want to be stupid but I also don't want to be a prisoner in my home. It's a tough balancing act we are all practicing these days. My friend Marie sent me this outstanding gift a while back and I actually thought it might work for concert attire tomorrow night.

Yes, this is me chasing my grandkids through their house a few years ago. Yes, I think this could actually work for my concert tomorrow night. It's like a mask for your entire body. If Marie is reading this, I promise you, she is yelling at her laptop right now, "DO IT!!" Yes, she would do it with me and this explains our friendship.

Anyway, here's hoping tomorrow night is full of fun and frivolity. If it's a mistake, we'll make better mistakes next time.