Carpe Diem
Generally translated as “Seize the moment,” it means: “the enjoyment of the pleasures of the moment without concern for the future” according to Miriam-Webster’s on-line dictionary which goes on to say it literally means, “Pluck the day.” And I rarely do. And we all need to.
I just called a friend of mine who I met thru a Sacred Dance class that I took some years ago, and I usually see her at an annual week-end retreat we often attend. The retreat is put on by the ADT – Alleluia Dance Theatre. You can like them on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/AlleluiaDanceTheater btw.
Anyway, when Kathy didn’t answer the phone, I started to leave a message. I hadn’t been able to attend the week-end and I’d wanted to see if she’d gone and how it went. She leads a dance group for young women at her church, something that I’ve wanted to do for years, and I was going to ask her if I could practice with them once in a while as my teacher no longer holds classes and I just don’t seem to have anyone to dance with.
While I was leaving my message, a phone call came in from her. You know how cell phones do that. Anyway, the woman on the end of the line explained that she was Kathy’s caregiver. And, of course, she is not at liberty to tell me what’s happened to Kathy to cause her to need a caregiver.
We last danced together almost a year ago, in October I think, at a local music festival that was held at St. Mary Star of the Sea, a small Catholic church nearby. We’d been recruited by our former teacher, Emmalyn Moreno, who is one of the most gifted people I’ve ever met. She, too, has a web site http://musicbyemmalyn.com/index.html. She sings like an angel, plays the piano flawlessly, and is a truly wonderful dance teacher always meeting her students where they are and even encouraging them to do some of their own choreography.
I can’t imagine what arrow has befallen my friend Kathy and I pray warring angels around her right now – on all four sides.
Raised by a really strict Catholic mom, I thought the idea of sacred dance was a bit far out, if not downright sacrilegious when I first heard of it. I appreciated that Emmalyn welcomed people of all faith backgrounds, but when she included African drumming, I had some serious doubts and wondered if this were something I should be involved in. But it has been a huge blessing and I was hoping to take it up again on a more regular basis, until my friend didn’t answer her phone.
There is, of course, scriptural authority for dance, as you probably know including perhaps the most well known from Ecclesiastes 3:4 “A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance;” I hope and pray that Kathy still has time to dance. Or you may be from an even stricter background that disapproves of dance altogether. I understand. I just finished my MBA in 2012 at Point Loma Nazarene. And the male profs there were fond of saying, “Don’t drink, don’t dance and don’t go with girls that do.”
Not into the spiritual realm? Fine. Take the words of Steve Jobs who wasn’t either, but he said, “Don’t wait.” And went on to say, “Time is all you have.” I often tell my students this. Time is all we have. And you can either invest it or waste it. The choice is yours.
What about you? When was the last time you took the time to do something that brings you joy and didn’t fret about what you should have been doing.
Sometimes I can’t remember when or even how, but then I get nostalgic – as often happens in September. Tomorrow would have been my husband’s 69th birthday. He passed away when he was 50, but he’d lived much longer than anyone expected. He was diagnosed when he was 29 with the disease that would kill him.
The day after his birthday, the 17th, would have been our 49th anniversary. Actually, we were legally separated for many years before he finally filed for divorce, but both decisions were largely for financial reasons. And, besides, you never really stop loving your first love. He stole my heart. And, then, too, he is the father of my children. No one will ever replace him in my life. And with the softening of time, I only remember him in the fondest of ways.
We met when I was just 15. And we married the day after he turned 20 because he didn’t want to be a teen-ager when he got married ;) We had our son a few years later, but not before people began to tease us. Why folks thought our childbearing was their business I don’t know, but we both came from large families and were quite sure that we wanted some time together before the babies came. And then we only had two. We talked about three, but I had a miscarriage very shortly after my second daughter was born and that – I don’t know – kind of make me think.
I’ll leave you with another favorite of mine. A quote from William Purkey,
“You've gotta dance like there's nobody watching,
Love like you'll never be hurt,
Sing like there's nobody listening…”
Tuesday, September 15, 2015
Thursday, August 13, 2015
You Might Miss Something
I went on a couple of errands today that turned into a bit of an adventure.
My first errand was to go get my phone fixed. I’d been told that there is a shop in Escondido that does nothing but fix phones, so I called them last week and finally made it over there today. I had already googled the directions, which I still print out because I don’t trust Siri. Anyhow, I always get turned around in Escondido and today was no exception. I drove right past the store and had to make a u turn to go back. Twice.
The owner had told me it would only take 20 minutes and suggested I go get a cup of coffee. So, I got back in my car and went in search of a place to kill some time. I passed a Starbucks as I’m not a coffee drinker and cannot understand why people pay $5.00 for a caffeine fix. Instead, I decided on Denny’s and went in and had breakfast where I paid over $2.00 for a cup of hot water basically. And after I’d brewed my tea, I ended up not drinking it because it tasted like soap. Yuk.
Meanwhile, I tried to pick up my phone about four times. Duh!
Anyway, the adventure part hadn’t started, yet. After getting turned around – again – I found my way back to the Fix It store to pick up my phone. It looks great. Works fine. But I should have asked how much this repair was going to cost before I agreed. I expected it to be about $20 or $25 dollars and it was closer to $100.00. Whoops. To me, a $100 is a lot of money. I may have chosen to have it fixed anyway, but I should have asked…
Next I went in search of a bakery. I had discovered this bakery in class last semester when I had a group of students looking for local places to buy various goodies. And one group shared about Webekings Bakery. I was impressed with the name and decided I would pay them a visit, but they closed before my class started, so I knew I’d have to make a special trip someday. As Escondido is pretty far from Oceanside, I waited until I had two things to do in town.
With a map in hand, I had spent my time eating my breakfast and making sure I knew where I was going. Nonetheless, I drove right past it. Circled around the block and finally pulled over to call them. Turns out I was right around the corner, but it was worth the trip. Their pastries were to die for. Yummy!
So, where’s the adventure? The adventure is that the bakery is located at the intersection where I had turned to go to school four nights a week for the entire semester yet I hadn’t seen it. Even after our class assignment – when the students pointed it out on a map – I drove right by. Many, many times.
And I’m wondering how often we fail to see the wonderful things that are right in our path? How often do we drive right by? How often are we so intent on getting where we are “supposed to be” that we fail to take in our surroundings?
Life is an adventure. Slow down a bit. You might miss something.
My first errand was to go get my phone fixed. I’d been told that there is a shop in Escondido that does nothing but fix phones, so I called them last week and finally made it over there today. I had already googled the directions, which I still print out because I don’t trust Siri. Anyhow, I always get turned around in Escondido and today was no exception. I drove right past the store and had to make a u turn to go back. Twice.
The owner had told me it would only take 20 minutes and suggested I go get a cup of coffee. So, I got back in my car and went in search of a place to kill some time. I passed a Starbucks as I’m not a coffee drinker and cannot understand why people pay $5.00 for a caffeine fix. Instead, I decided on Denny’s and went in and had breakfast where I paid over $2.00 for a cup of hot water basically. And after I’d brewed my tea, I ended up not drinking it because it tasted like soap. Yuk.
Meanwhile, I tried to pick up my phone about four times. Duh!
Anyway, the adventure part hadn’t started, yet. After getting turned around – again – I found my way back to the Fix It store to pick up my phone. It looks great. Works fine. But I should have asked how much this repair was going to cost before I agreed. I expected it to be about $20 or $25 dollars and it was closer to $100.00. Whoops. To me, a $100 is a lot of money. I may have chosen to have it fixed anyway, but I should have asked…
Next I went in search of a bakery. I had discovered this bakery in class last semester when I had a group of students looking for local places to buy various goodies. And one group shared about Webekings Bakery. I was impressed with the name and decided I would pay them a visit, but they closed before my class started, so I knew I’d have to make a special trip someday. As Escondido is pretty far from Oceanside, I waited until I had two things to do in town.
With a map in hand, I had spent my time eating my breakfast and making sure I knew where I was going. Nonetheless, I drove right past it. Circled around the block and finally pulled over to call them. Turns out I was right around the corner, but it was worth the trip. Their pastries were to die for. Yummy!
So, where’s the adventure? The adventure is that the bakery is located at the intersection where I had turned to go to school four nights a week for the entire semester yet I hadn’t seen it. Even after our class assignment – when the students pointed it out on a map – I drove right by. Many, many times.
And I’m wondering how often we fail to see the wonderful things that are right in our path? How often do we drive right by? How often are we so intent on getting where we are “supposed to be” that we fail to take in our surroundings?
Life is an adventure. Slow down a bit. You might miss something.
Wednesday, July 8, 2015
I Wish I'd
I Wish I’d
All of us have lots of “I wish I’d” - I do - things I wish I had done, things I wish I had said, things I wish I had seen. And as we get older, the list of wishes grows. When I think of all these, I am reminded of the words from the Lion King’s theme, The Circle of Life…
From the day we arrive on the planet
And blinking, step into the sun
There's more to see than can ever be seen
More to do than can ever be done
Thus we must choose wisely those things we will do, those things we will see.
On my first trip to Europe, I went with a friend from high school. June had been to Europe before and was kind of acting as my tour guide and travel agent all in one. She was the person who told me to pack only one medium sized suitcase, so we could get on and off the trains fairly easily. And she’d decided when we’d go and to a large extent where we’d go, and, thus what we’d see. Of course, there were a few givens. I wanted to hear Big Ben, I wanted to ride in a gondola, and I wanted to see the Eiffel Tower.
We first went to visit an old high school friend who had moved back to England after we graduated. Although she was born in the states, she’d grown up in and around London and she had really missed it when her parents moved back to the U.S. Besides, this was the seventies and the British music scene was happening. The Beatles were still the rage along with the Stones. And Shirley had always loved music.
After our time in London, on our way to the mainland, we stopped in Dover. I don’t remember why, but we ended up in a little place not far from the famous white cliffs having a bite to eat and I got my usual order of hot tea. And as our meal progressed, I mentioned to June what a wonderful cup of tea it was. And she looked at me as if to say, “Duh?” And while I admit it wasn’t on my list - having a cup of tea while gazing at the white cliffs of Dover is pretty cool.
We took the ferry to Calais and the train from there to Paris. And we wandered about, got a hotel, caught a glimpse of the Louvre and then took the el across town if I recall correctly. And when we emerged from the subway station, we were standing so close to the Eiffel Tower that I didn’t see it. I’d expected to see if off in the distance, not barely 50 feet away from me. Anyway, I glanced quizzically at June and said, “Well, where is it?” And she pointed upwards. And I looked up and back down and up again, and my eyes filled with tears. Perhaps, I’d thought I would never see it. Perhaps, I was just grateful to see it. I don’t know, but I was overwhelmed with emotion. If you haven’t been to Paris, and you’d like to go, may I suggest you do.
The tea in England is amazing. And there’s nothing quite like pizza in Italy or Bratwurst in Germany. If you’re shopping – French perfume, Italian leather, and, of course, German automobiles.
My first trip included Spain although I never made it to Portugal which is where my mother’s family is from. Indeed, Lisbon remains on my list of places to visit. Along with the pyramids. And the Nile.
So, I leave you with words from Patsy Cline’s song, You Belong to Me
See the pyramids along the Nile
Watch the sunrise on a tropic isle…
See the market place in Old Algiers
Send me photographs and souvenirs…
Please.
All of us have lots of “I wish I’d” - I do - things I wish I had done, things I wish I had said, things I wish I had seen. And as we get older, the list of wishes grows. When I think of all these, I am reminded of the words from the Lion King’s theme, The Circle of Life…
From the day we arrive on the planet
And blinking, step into the sun
There's more to see than can ever be seen
More to do than can ever be done
Thus we must choose wisely those things we will do, those things we will see.
On my first trip to Europe, I went with a friend from high school. June had been to Europe before and was kind of acting as my tour guide and travel agent all in one. She was the person who told me to pack only one medium sized suitcase, so we could get on and off the trains fairly easily. And she’d decided when we’d go and to a large extent where we’d go, and, thus what we’d see. Of course, there were a few givens. I wanted to hear Big Ben, I wanted to ride in a gondola, and I wanted to see the Eiffel Tower.
We first went to visit an old high school friend who had moved back to England after we graduated. Although she was born in the states, she’d grown up in and around London and she had really missed it when her parents moved back to the U.S. Besides, this was the seventies and the British music scene was happening. The Beatles were still the rage along with the Stones. And Shirley had always loved music.
After our time in London, on our way to the mainland, we stopped in Dover. I don’t remember why, but we ended up in a little place not far from the famous white cliffs having a bite to eat and I got my usual order of hot tea. And as our meal progressed, I mentioned to June what a wonderful cup of tea it was. And she looked at me as if to say, “Duh?” And while I admit it wasn’t on my list - having a cup of tea while gazing at the white cliffs of Dover is pretty cool.
We took the ferry to Calais and the train from there to Paris. And we wandered about, got a hotel, caught a glimpse of the Louvre and then took the el across town if I recall correctly. And when we emerged from the subway station, we were standing so close to the Eiffel Tower that I didn’t see it. I’d expected to see if off in the distance, not barely 50 feet away from me. Anyway, I glanced quizzically at June and said, “Well, where is it?” And she pointed upwards. And I looked up and back down and up again, and my eyes filled with tears. Perhaps, I’d thought I would never see it. Perhaps, I was just grateful to see it. I don’t know, but I was overwhelmed with emotion. If you haven’t been to Paris, and you’d like to go, may I suggest you do.
The tea in England is amazing. And there’s nothing quite like pizza in Italy or Bratwurst in Germany. If you’re shopping – French perfume, Italian leather, and, of course, German automobiles.
My first trip included Spain although I never made it to Portugal which is where my mother’s family is from. Indeed, Lisbon remains on my list of places to visit. Along with the pyramids. And the Nile.
So, I leave you with words from Patsy Cline’s song, You Belong to Me
See the pyramids along the Nile
Watch the sunrise on a tropic isle…
See the market place in Old Algiers
Send me photographs and souvenirs…
Please.
Sunday, July 5, 2015
Christmas in July
Christmas in July
As a business woman, I’ve always gone along with the assumption that the idea of Christmas in July was basically a marketing ploy to boost retail sales during the traditionally flat summer season when folks are spending their money on vacations rather than gifts, but when I thought about writing this piece, I looked it up. Trust Wikipedia to set me straight. It seems the concept can be traced back to an opera of 1892. The opera is based on Goethe's book The Sorrows of Young Werther. I’m not familiar with either the book or the opera, but I do like discovering that the phrase is not just some slogan.
I’ve always wanted to commemorate the idea if not actually celebrate it because the Christmas in December is always so full of rushing about that I often don’t get to appreciate it until after the tinsel decked tree has been put out for the green folks to pick up. Toward that, I may have actually sent cards one year in July which I was thinking about doing this year. OK. Maybe it’s a crazy thought, but at my age I am allowed a few of those. Wouldn’t you agree?
I know why this has crossed my mind again. It’s because I’m feeling nostalgic and when I feel nostalgic, of course, I think of you – my friends old and new who are spread around the globe and with whom I rarely make contact anymore and when I do, often as not, it’s via the social media which are convenient for sure, but are not really very sociable. I’d rather share a meal with you or at least a cup of tea. In lieu of that, then, I may just send you a card.
Later this week, my high school friends and I will celebrate our 50th reunion which seems unimaginable to me. I never expected to live to be 50, let along live long enough to celebrate being out of high school for half a century. OMG! 1965 was a long time ago. And the world is truly a different place than it was then. It would take an entire book to muse about that, so I leave it for another time.
I’m also feeling a bit sad this week because one of my grandkids is at the fair with his pig for probably the last time. He’s a senior now and it’s unlikely that he’ll do another FFA project. Both he and his older brother have participated in the county fair for many years, but those days are coming to an end. And as crazy as fair week is, I will miss it. We’ve celebrated the 4th of July at the fair for so many years, I don’t know what we’ll do next year. Something different, surely.
I don’t like different. I like same. I like comfortable. When I had to do my first report for my MBA way back in ’04 I choose the tiny little book Who Moved My Cheese? It is a discussion of the effects of change and how most of us stay in denial about the need to change until the last possible moment. Or longer.
I’m facing a change at my work that may not sound all that big, but one that has had me in tears many a night since it was announced last January. My 4:30p class was cancelled and I was left facing unemployment. Fortunately, a position opened up, but the new class begins at 7p and runs til 9:20p and it’s in Escondido which isn’t much further for me, but the traffic is horrendous. It’s bumper to bumper for 10 miles. Those of you who know me, know how much I hate traffic. My students in the new class were great, but they weren’t the same. My classroom was great, but it wasn’t the same. My boss was great, but he wasn’t the same. I want my old class back, but it isn’t going to happen. I’ve been told by several of the powers-that-be to give it up. It isn’t going to happen. Let it be.
Those are “crystal words of wisdom” that I find difficult to accept.
I thought about playing some music this afternoon and I was going to kick it old school and choose a vinyl, but when I turned on my reproduction of an old record player, the cd light was on. Curious, I didn’t open the door, I just hit play. And Elvis started crooning the words to Blue Christmas. It’s a sign! I’m going to send cards. You’ll get one if I have your snail mail address. If you’ve recently moved – yet another change – you’ll need to give it to me. J and J, you know who you are.
I used to spend a lot of energy choosing my Christmas card, but I find them much easier to choose these days. In years past, I would have them imprinted with everyone’s name, but I stopped that in 1992. I don’t know why, perhaps because I was alone then, but I do remember the imprint. It said “Grandma-to-be” in celebration of one of the biggest changes of my life. And like most changes, I came to the knowledge of it kicking and screaming! And discovered, as many of you have, that being a grandma is the best present in the world!
So, here’s to you my friends. I can’t tell you to embrace whatever changes you are facing, but I can tell you that you will survive them and in many cases they will help you to thrive!
Merry Christmas!
As a business woman, I’ve always gone along with the assumption that the idea of Christmas in July was basically a marketing ploy to boost retail sales during the traditionally flat summer season when folks are spending their money on vacations rather than gifts, but when I thought about writing this piece, I looked it up. Trust Wikipedia to set me straight. It seems the concept can be traced back to an opera of 1892. The opera is based on Goethe's book The Sorrows of Young Werther. I’m not familiar with either the book or the opera, but I do like discovering that the phrase is not just some slogan.
I’ve always wanted to commemorate the idea if not actually celebrate it because the Christmas in December is always so full of rushing about that I often don’t get to appreciate it until after the tinsel decked tree has been put out for the green folks to pick up. Toward that, I may have actually sent cards one year in July which I was thinking about doing this year. OK. Maybe it’s a crazy thought, but at my age I am allowed a few of those. Wouldn’t you agree?
I know why this has crossed my mind again. It’s because I’m feeling nostalgic and when I feel nostalgic, of course, I think of you – my friends old and new who are spread around the globe and with whom I rarely make contact anymore and when I do, often as not, it’s via the social media which are convenient for sure, but are not really very sociable. I’d rather share a meal with you or at least a cup of tea. In lieu of that, then, I may just send you a card.
Later this week, my high school friends and I will celebrate our 50th reunion which seems unimaginable to me. I never expected to live to be 50, let along live long enough to celebrate being out of high school for half a century. OMG! 1965 was a long time ago. And the world is truly a different place than it was then. It would take an entire book to muse about that, so I leave it for another time.
I’m also feeling a bit sad this week because one of my grandkids is at the fair with his pig for probably the last time. He’s a senior now and it’s unlikely that he’ll do another FFA project. Both he and his older brother have participated in the county fair for many years, but those days are coming to an end. And as crazy as fair week is, I will miss it. We’ve celebrated the 4th of July at the fair for so many years, I don’t know what we’ll do next year. Something different, surely.
I don’t like different. I like same. I like comfortable. When I had to do my first report for my MBA way back in ’04 I choose the tiny little book Who Moved My Cheese? It is a discussion of the effects of change and how most of us stay in denial about the need to change until the last possible moment. Or longer.
I’m facing a change at my work that may not sound all that big, but one that has had me in tears many a night since it was announced last January. My 4:30p class was cancelled and I was left facing unemployment. Fortunately, a position opened up, but the new class begins at 7p and runs til 9:20p and it’s in Escondido which isn’t much further for me, but the traffic is horrendous. It’s bumper to bumper for 10 miles. Those of you who know me, know how much I hate traffic. My students in the new class were great, but they weren’t the same. My classroom was great, but it wasn’t the same. My boss was great, but he wasn’t the same. I want my old class back, but it isn’t going to happen. I’ve been told by several of the powers-that-be to give it up. It isn’t going to happen. Let it be.
Those are “crystal words of wisdom” that I find difficult to accept.
I thought about playing some music this afternoon and I was going to kick it old school and choose a vinyl, but when I turned on my reproduction of an old record player, the cd light was on. Curious, I didn’t open the door, I just hit play. And Elvis started crooning the words to Blue Christmas. It’s a sign! I’m going to send cards. You’ll get one if I have your snail mail address. If you’ve recently moved – yet another change – you’ll need to give it to me. J and J, you know who you are.
I used to spend a lot of energy choosing my Christmas card, but I find them much easier to choose these days. In years past, I would have them imprinted with everyone’s name, but I stopped that in 1992. I don’t know why, perhaps because I was alone then, but I do remember the imprint. It said “Grandma-to-be” in celebration of one of the biggest changes of my life. And like most changes, I came to the knowledge of it kicking and screaming! And discovered, as many of you have, that being a grandma is the best present in the world!
So, here’s to you my friends. I can’t tell you to embrace whatever changes you are facing, but I can tell you that you will survive them and in many cases they will help you to thrive!
Merry Christmas!
Sunday, June 21, 2015
Is There Anything More Precious?
Is there anything more precious
Than those first coos and goos
Those ten tiny toes
Before they can wear shoes?
Is there anything more precious
Than those tiny peals of laughter
So much like tinkling bells
I’ll remember forever after?
Is there anything more precious
Then that unspoken look of trust
So deep they see right thru you
And care for them you must?
Can anyone imagine
something silkier than
The soft downy fuzz upon that little neck
For this – a million miles
You’d trek
Or something warmer than
a baby’s breath upon my check?
Your grasp so sure and firm
The day you found your mouth
That sweet sucking sound
As you fed about the breast
Those silvery tiny lashes
The brows furrowed in wonder
Your tiny hand upon my neck
so fragile; so content
Asleep in granny’s arm
Now permanently bent
Lord, I’d no idea
What a gift you had in store
Once mine passed thru the rapids
(of the teen age years)
And landed safely ashore
And married and had babies
For me to now adore.
Some laugh and say the wonder
Is to send them home at night
But oh how much I miss them
Once they’re out of sight
Lord I’d no idea
What a precious treasure was
Take anything you want from me
Save these tiny few
Is they anything more precious
Then their face when they were new?
And now he comes bouncing in
With yet another question tonight
His preface?
Grandma, you know everything, right?
No.
But I do know that I love you - more than anything!
Than those first coos and goos
Those ten tiny toes
Before they can wear shoes?
Is there anything more precious
Than those tiny peals of laughter
So much like tinkling bells
I’ll remember forever after?
Is there anything more precious
Then that unspoken look of trust
So deep they see right thru you
And care for them you must?
Can anyone imagine
something silkier than
The soft downy fuzz upon that little neck
For this – a million miles
You’d trek
Or something warmer than
a baby’s breath upon my check?
Your grasp so sure and firm
The day you found your mouth
That sweet sucking sound
As you fed about the breast
Those silvery tiny lashes
The brows furrowed in wonder
Your tiny hand upon my neck
so fragile; so content
Asleep in granny’s arm
Now permanently bent
Lord, I’d no idea
What a gift you had in store
Once mine passed thru the rapids
(of the teen age years)
And landed safely ashore
And married and had babies
For me to now adore.
Some laugh and say the wonder
Is to send them home at night
But oh how much I miss them
Once they’re out of sight
Lord I’d no idea
What a precious treasure was
Take anything you want from me
Save these tiny few
Is they anything more precious
Then their face when they were new?
And now he comes bouncing in
With yet another question tonight
His preface?
Grandma, you know everything, right?
No.
But I do know that I love you - more than anything!
Saturday, June 20, 2015
Today I Met the Boy I'm Going to Marry
School had just gotten out for the summer and I was glad it was over. My sophomore year had been my first year in high school, junior high was 7th – 9th grades back in the day, and the transition had been traumatic. Although my junior high was big, nothing could prepare you for a class of over 1,000 kids. I had been swallowed up, and it was good to be at the beach with a couple of close friends, just soaking up the sun.
We didn’t though. My friends and I were not into glamour that much and so we spent lots of time in the water not worrying about getting our hair wet or mussing our mascara.
I remember the black two piece swimsuit I was wearing that by today’s standards would be considered very conservative. And as this was just the beginning of the “Itsy Bitsy Yellow Polka Dot Bikini” days, it was fairly conservative even by the standards of the early sixties.
The year was 1963 and I wasn’t old enough to get a driver’s license yet, so my friends and I had taken the bus. I think it was a little less than 15 miles, but the bus didn’t go to the “cool” beaches of Orange County. Rather, it dropped us off in downtown Long Beach near the old Pike amusement park and we had quite a walk to Linden Beach. But there was sand and surf and that’s really all I cared about.
I hated to see folks carry their entire patios to the beach, so we came with sparse supplies: a beach towel, some coco butter, and a couple of dollars to get something to eat.
And we never brought bottled water, but I don’t remember ever being thirsty. Still can’t figure that out. Is it in the air?
Anyhow, I was laying on my back, eyes closed when someone said, “Hello.” I opened my eyes to see quite a good-looking boy standing next to me. I glanced about and saw a couple of his buddies taking it the exchange. My friends were probably also watching, but I didn’t look in their direction. Rather I met his eyes, which were a brilliant blue, and said, “Hello.”
Mind you, I was not the flirty type. I’d only been on a couple of dates and those were to chaperoned school dances. And though I had a mad crush on a boy who lived across the street, he only saw me as one of the kids who played hide and seek until the street lights came on. Besides, as a senior, he would never have given me a second thought. I did dream, however.
Still, I was new at this, but before long, the young man with the gorgeous blue eyes sat down beside me and we talked for a while, but it must have been close to the time we needed to leave because I don’t remember our going in the water again. And, soon, we were headed back to the bus stop.
On our way, we would pass the Pine Street Café, a typical 50s style diner, and my friends and I would usually stop in for something. So, we all went in. I ordered a piece of coconut cream pie. He didn’t order anything, and I’m pretty sure I paid my bill after sharing my pie with him. That should have told me something, I think, but I chose to ignore it. Besides, it may have given me the wrong message because, as it turns out, John was, if anything, a good provider.
We finished up and went to the bus stop. He and his friends waited for us until we got on the bus. They had driven down, and may have offered to drive us home, but we knew it wouldn’t be right to accept a ride from virtual strangers.
My friends and I lived in Lakewood while he and his friends lived in Norwalk. I googled it recently and found out that it’s only about 15 minutes by car. But, back then, without a car and without a license, it seemed like an impossibly long distance.
When I got home, I told my mother that I’d met the boy I was going to marry. And I think I sang along with Darlene Love and her song of a similar name from then on.
Although I don’t remember, I must have given John my phone number because this began the anxious waiting-for-the-phone-to-ring agony for the first time in my life. I cringe every time I watch the movie, “He’s Just Not That Into You” because I was crazy obsessive about him. Why?
To this day, I have no idea. Why do we obsess? Why did I obsess? I was 15 years old. What was I worried about?
Perhaps it doesn’t matter. We grew up a bit. Got married. Had a family. And lived, well, maybe not happily ever after, but we had a good life. And I will always remember June 20th.
We didn’t though. My friends and I were not into glamour that much and so we spent lots of time in the water not worrying about getting our hair wet or mussing our mascara.
I remember the black two piece swimsuit I was wearing that by today’s standards would be considered very conservative. And as this was just the beginning of the “Itsy Bitsy Yellow Polka Dot Bikini” days, it was fairly conservative even by the standards of the early sixties.
The year was 1963 and I wasn’t old enough to get a driver’s license yet, so my friends and I had taken the bus. I think it was a little less than 15 miles, but the bus didn’t go to the “cool” beaches of Orange County. Rather, it dropped us off in downtown Long Beach near the old Pike amusement park and we had quite a walk to Linden Beach. But there was sand and surf and that’s really all I cared about.
I hated to see folks carry their entire patios to the beach, so we came with sparse supplies: a beach towel, some coco butter, and a couple of dollars to get something to eat.
And we never brought bottled water, but I don’t remember ever being thirsty. Still can’t figure that out. Is it in the air?
Anyhow, I was laying on my back, eyes closed when someone said, “Hello.” I opened my eyes to see quite a good-looking boy standing next to me. I glanced about and saw a couple of his buddies taking it the exchange. My friends were probably also watching, but I didn’t look in their direction. Rather I met his eyes, which were a brilliant blue, and said, “Hello.”
Mind you, I was not the flirty type. I’d only been on a couple of dates and those were to chaperoned school dances. And though I had a mad crush on a boy who lived across the street, he only saw me as one of the kids who played hide and seek until the street lights came on. Besides, as a senior, he would never have given me a second thought. I did dream, however.
Still, I was new at this, but before long, the young man with the gorgeous blue eyes sat down beside me and we talked for a while, but it must have been close to the time we needed to leave because I don’t remember our going in the water again. And, soon, we were headed back to the bus stop.
On our way, we would pass the Pine Street Café, a typical 50s style diner, and my friends and I would usually stop in for something. So, we all went in. I ordered a piece of coconut cream pie. He didn’t order anything, and I’m pretty sure I paid my bill after sharing my pie with him. That should have told me something, I think, but I chose to ignore it. Besides, it may have given me the wrong message because, as it turns out, John was, if anything, a good provider.
We finished up and went to the bus stop. He and his friends waited for us until we got on the bus. They had driven down, and may have offered to drive us home, but we knew it wouldn’t be right to accept a ride from virtual strangers.
My friends and I lived in Lakewood while he and his friends lived in Norwalk. I googled it recently and found out that it’s only about 15 minutes by car. But, back then, without a car and without a license, it seemed like an impossibly long distance.
When I got home, I told my mother that I’d met the boy I was going to marry. And I think I sang along with Darlene Love and her song of a similar name from then on.
Although I don’t remember, I must have given John my phone number because this began the anxious waiting-for-the-phone-to-ring agony for the first time in my life. I cringe every time I watch the movie, “He’s Just Not That Into You” because I was crazy obsessive about him. Why?
To this day, I have no idea. Why do we obsess? Why did I obsess? I was 15 years old. What was I worried about?
Perhaps it doesn’t matter. We grew up a bit. Got married. Had a family. And lived, well, maybe not happily ever after, but we had a good life. And I will always remember June 20th.
Wednesday, June 3, 2015
Plan A
As the melody of Pomp and Circumstance comes to a close, as the last graduate walks across the platform, and after the mortars are thrown into the air, your education comes to an end and your “real” life begins. This same new beginning also happens when the echo of Here Comes the Bride quietly ends, and the bridal party leaves the church, and after your dad makes a toast. And it may also happen when your newborn’s cry welcomes you to parenthood. Graduations, weddings, births – all of these mean new beginnings and the end of what is familiar. Change can be both exciting and scary.
If you’re finishing high school, you may be going on to college. Are you starting at the local community college? Do you know where you’ll transfer? Or did you choose a four year university? Do you know what you’re going to major in? After you get a bachelor’s degree, will you go on for a master’s? In what? So many questions. So many answers. But none that haven’t been considered by every generation before yours. And none that yours won’t find answers to.
I graduated from high school 50 years ago this month. It’s so hard to believe. Our mantra was, “Never trust anyone over 30.” And here I am in my late 60s. Those were heady days of hippies and pot and the Beatles. And it was John Lennon who said, "Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans.” I was soon to discover how right he was - as perhaps you are just now discovering.
There weren’t many career opportunities for women when I finished high school. Basically, you could be a secretary or a teacher or a nurse. If you didn’t want to go to school any more, you’d probably opt to become a secretary, although you still needed some training. Most secretaries needed to be pretty good typists and many took a night course in stenography at least. Stenography was an abbreviated spelling system that allowed people to write down information that was dictated to them – before tape recorders. Anyway, as I wasn’t much good at typing, I was down to two choices. And as I couldn’t even imagine four or five more years of school, I didn’t consider teaching. So, I headed for nursing.
At the time, nurses were trained in what was a three year basically on the job program at a hospital, but a new avenue was just beginning. The community college had just started offering a degree in nursing that took only two years. In order to prepare for that one had to take a bunch of science and math courses in high school which I’d done. And then I’d applied for the new program at the local community college. I had a plan.
For my high school graduation, I’d given myself a trip to the east coast to visit my boyfriend who was in the Navy and stationed just outside of Boston. My Godparents lived on Martha’s Vineyard and would be doing the chaperoning. Things were different then, you know. After visiting with him, I’d planned on seeing my two older sisters. One lived in Chicago and the other in Fort Madison, Iowa. I was going to be gone a month.
While I was gone on my trip, the college called my home to tell me to come in for an interview. My mother called me in Massachusetts. I asked her to call the school back and reschedule my interview. I’d scraped and saved for nearly a year to pay for this trip; I wasn’t going to cut it short.
When I got home and the time came for my rescheduled interview, the woman in charge told me that the nursing program was closed for that year and though I was well qualified, I would have to wait until the following autumn when a new class would begin. It was as if someone had hit me in the stomach – hard.
At 17, being told to wait a year was like being told to wait 10. Years did not fly by then as they do now. Now I would surely realize that a year is not such a long time, but then it sounded like forever.
I’d taken biology and physiology. I’d taken enough math classes to be an engineer. I had it all planned. I’d finish my nursing courses in two years just when my boyfriend would be getting out of the service. Then we’d get married and I’d get a job at a hospital and… That was my plan and it did not include waiting around for a year to get into school.
The woman who’d given me the bad news suggested that I take some of the general education classes that I would have to take anyway, so I enrolled for a few classes. My heart was not in it though and I dropped out after a few weeks. I hadn’t realized there was a “drop” procedure when I left school. A couple of my teachers took pity on me and gave me a W, but my English teacher gave me a D. Why she didn’t just give me an F, I have no idea, but I still have that darn D on my transcript. What next?
But life doesn’t wait for you to make up your mind. And my mom and I got into it about something, so I decided to leave home. I got a roommate and an apartment. We couldn’t even get a phone because neither of us was 18 and, therefore, couldn’t sign a contract. But it was fun and scary.
In order to rent an apartment I needed a full time job, so I quit my part time retail gig and got a full time job at the bank where my roommate worked. Before becoming a teller and then working my way up to the position of GL bookkeeper, I’d started out as a switchboard operator. And while there are still tellers in banks today, the telephone operators gave way to touchtone phones. As a bookkeeper, I used a huge machine called a nine out machine to do my daily calculations. It was a kind of adding machine, these being the days before calculators. It wasn’t long before the bookkeeping jobs were taken over by computers.
My boyfriend did get out of the service in two years, but I’d settled in at the bank and never did go to nursing school. And life has thrown me many a curve ball since that summer of ’65. As it will you. In fact, you can count on it. Just about the time you get settled or comfortable, something will happen to shake up your world.
One of my favorite old sayings is Desiderata which says that the world is no doubt unfolding as it should. It also says that you are a child of the universe, no less than the trees or the stars! Be gentle with yourself.
If you’re finishing high school, you may be going on to college. Are you starting at the local community college? Do you know where you’ll transfer? Or did you choose a four year university? Do you know what you’re going to major in? After you get a bachelor’s degree, will you go on for a master’s? In what? So many questions. So many answers. But none that haven’t been considered by every generation before yours. And none that yours won’t find answers to.
I graduated from high school 50 years ago this month. It’s so hard to believe. Our mantra was, “Never trust anyone over 30.” And here I am in my late 60s. Those were heady days of hippies and pot and the Beatles. And it was John Lennon who said, "Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans.” I was soon to discover how right he was - as perhaps you are just now discovering.
There weren’t many career opportunities for women when I finished high school. Basically, you could be a secretary or a teacher or a nurse. If you didn’t want to go to school any more, you’d probably opt to become a secretary, although you still needed some training. Most secretaries needed to be pretty good typists and many took a night course in stenography at least. Stenography was an abbreviated spelling system that allowed people to write down information that was dictated to them – before tape recorders. Anyway, as I wasn’t much good at typing, I was down to two choices. And as I couldn’t even imagine four or five more years of school, I didn’t consider teaching. So, I headed for nursing.
At the time, nurses were trained in what was a three year basically on the job program at a hospital, but a new avenue was just beginning. The community college had just started offering a degree in nursing that took only two years. In order to prepare for that one had to take a bunch of science and math courses in high school which I’d done. And then I’d applied for the new program at the local community college. I had a plan.
For my high school graduation, I’d given myself a trip to the east coast to visit my boyfriend who was in the Navy and stationed just outside of Boston. My Godparents lived on Martha’s Vineyard and would be doing the chaperoning. Things were different then, you know. After visiting with him, I’d planned on seeing my two older sisters. One lived in Chicago and the other in Fort Madison, Iowa. I was going to be gone a month.
While I was gone on my trip, the college called my home to tell me to come in for an interview. My mother called me in Massachusetts. I asked her to call the school back and reschedule my interview. I’d scraped and saved for nearly a year to pay for this trip; I wasn’t going to cut it short.
When I got home and the time came for my rescheduled interview, the woman in charge told me that the nursing program was closed for that year and though I was well qualified, I would have to wait until the following autumn when a new class would begin. It was as if someone had hit me in the stomach – hard.
At 17, being told to wait a year was like being told to wait 10. Years did not fly by then as they do now. Now I would surely realize that a year is not such a long time, but then it sounded like forever.
I’d taken biology and physiology. I’d taken enough math classes to be an engineer. I had it all planned. I’d finish my nursing courses in two years just when my boyfriend would be getting out of the service. Then we’d get married and I’d get a job at a hospital and… That was my plan and it did not include waiting around for a year to get into school.
The woman who’d given me the bad news suggested that I take some of the general education classes that I would have to take anyway, so I enrolled for a few classes. My heart was not in it though and I dropped out after a few weeks. I hadn’t realized there was a “drop” procedure when I left school. A couple of my teachers took pity on me and gave me a W, but my English teacher gave me a D. Why she didn’t just give me an F, I have no idea, but I still have that darn D on my transcript. What next?
But life doesn’t wait for you to make up your mind. And my mom and I got into it about something, so I decided to leave home. I got a roommate and an apartment. We couldn’t even get a phone because neither of us was 18 and, therefore, couldn’t sign a contract. But it was fun and scary.
In order to rent an apartment I needed a full time job, so I quit my part time retail gig and got a full time job at the bank where my roommate worked. Before becoming a teller and then working my way up to the position of GL bookkeeper, I’d started out as a switchboard operator. And while there are still tellers in banks today, the telephone operators gave way to touchtone phones. As a bookkeeper, I used a huge machine called a nine out machine to do my daily calculations. It was a kind of adding machine, these being the days before calculators. It wasn’t long before the bookkeeping jobs were taken over by computers.
My boyfriend did get out of the service in two years, but I’d settled in at the bank and never did go to nursing school. And life has thrown me many a curve ball since that summer of ’65. As it will you. In fact, you can count on it. Just about the time you get settled or comfortable, something will happen to shake up your world.
One of my favorite old sayings is Desiderata which says that the world is no doubt unfolding as it should. It also says that you are a child of the universe, no less than the trees or the stars! Be gentle with yourself.
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