3 Friends, 5 Days, 10 Years

"A friend is one who knows you and loves you just the same."   Elbert Hubbard

 

Ten years ago this week, I lost three of my dearest friends within five days of one another.  Each was in his/her early 50s.  Each had cancer. 

 

Doug and I on his 40th birthday

The first to go was my friend Doug.  He died ten years ago yesterday of  colon cancer.  He was and still is the funniest person I have ever known.  Friends since high school, we hung with the same crowd in the parking lot of a coffee shop known as Dyles.  We christened ourselves  "the Dyles gang" although we weren't  a gang, per se, just a group of teenagers with similar interests:  drinking, smoking cigarettes and pot, going to the beach, going to any party we might hear about. The friendships began for some of us as early as junior high and are still going strong.  Doug, who began his tenure in the group as a slightly built, straight man to his overweight sidekick nicknamed "Wally", eventually became the king of one-liners & witty responses.    He told anecdotes and, like Jerry Seinfeld, most were based on truth;  those we'd experienced and those he embellished.  He was so funny he should  have done stand-up.  I think it was his secret passion. My life was never so hilarious as when portrayed by this guy.  He met the love of his life in his early twenties.  They married, had children and were supposed to live happily ever after.   Ten years after his passing,  she's still alone and in love with him. 

Mazatlan ca 1984 or 85
 the way I like to remember Doug, beer in hand

 



Maui, ca 1980  Dari & her then BF

The second loss came the next day when my best friend's sister, Daria, died of breast cancer.  She and Doug knew one another and surprisingly were diagnosed with their respective cancers within weeks of one another.    Each  fought their illness for five long years.  Daria comes from a medical family and she explored every available avenue, including, finally, a bone marrow transplant from her doctor brother.  She was a free spirit.  Unlike her three siblings, she did not follow the dictates laid out by her rigid father.  She was the only one to smoke before she was 21, forgoing the $1000 he promised each child if they made it.  She moved to Maui in her early twenties, lived at the beach, taught school, bartended and had a very cool life.   She married later than most, meeting her dream man in her mid-thirties.  After many years of shuttling between Maui and Lake Tahoe, where she was a black jack dealer, she settled for a more conventional life with her handsome, boyish husband, moving to a tiny town in Wisconsin to live on his family farm and teach school. She was unconventional to the end and I picture her turning the tiny town in which she passed her final years on its ear with her beautiful brave ways.   I consider myself privileged to have spoken  with her numerous times before she was too weak to talk.  Her death left a void in that family that can never be filled.

 



Randy & Pat ca 1984
Old Towne Mexican Café
San Diego

The third loss was two days after Daria's.  My very close friend, Pat, whom I met and worked with in my mid twenties, was one of the kindest, gentlest most thoughtful people I've known. She was a great listener.  When we first met, I was getting divorced; then I was dating (all the wrong men); then I was partying too much; then I was diagnosed with epilepsy; then I was in love and so on.  Pat listened to all the stories with great understanding and humor.  She was married to her soul mate, Randy, with whom she's grown up just outside Milwaukee.  I know she lived vicariously through many of us because we were "out there" and she was not.  But I never detected anything but interest and her advice was wise beyond her years.  Pat and Randy were family to me back in those days.  Pat had a wonderful gift.  She never forgot a birthday.  I never failed to receive a beautiful card and I looked forward to those cards because I knew, wherever I was living, she'd send one.  She was beautiful inside and out.  When she and her wonderful husband, finally left San Diego to return to their families and make a home in Milwaukee, my husband and I threw a wonderful large going away party for them.  Everyone in San Diego radio and TV  came because everyone loved Pat.  She had a way of making me feel like I was brave and funny.  I was a better person seen through her eyes.

 

Three friends.  Five days.  Ten years ago.  It seems as if it were yesterday.

 



Happy Birthday My Son

My son, his girlfriend 2011 Anna Maria Island

My sons are on an extended trip Down Under.  They plan to be away at least one, possibly two years.  This is the birthday email I sent to my youngest who turned 25 last wk.

Son, 

Every birthday, every year, takes me back to the first few years of your life.  I loved my pregnancies and took great joy knowing I was going to have children.  Believe me, once upon a time,  I could have been voted "Least likely to have children".  But you and your older brother are the blessings Dad and I were given.  

The day of your birth I was frightened, as was your father, not because there was anything wrong with you; you were quite perfect.  We just thought ourselves so lucky after the birth of your brother, I think we wondered if lightening could possibly strike twice.

It did.  His name is Fletcher.  He is you.

Twenty five is a benchmark of sorts, but it may not be the turning point of your life.  You'll probably not remember, in later years, why you expected it should be so.  I know I cannot remember my 25th birthday at all.  

You need not have your life mapped.  Twenty five is a compass.  It's pointing you in directions.  You have to choose the road on which to travel and go go go.  I think you and your brother are doing this now on your extraordinary trip to Australia and beyond.  A year or two away from home is a life changing experience.  If it seems haphazard at times, remember, life can be complicated and messy and difficult.  It can also be sweet and simple and it is God's greatest gift.

Use your talent, your brains, your personality and make things happen.  Trust iin yourself, even when you make mistakes.  A mistake is simply taking a path that didn't work out.  Take another!!!  You don't stop hiking when you come to a dead end.

I'm proud of you and the man you've become.  You're generous, kind, loving, smart, artistic and you think out of the box; not an easy thing to do.  For once in my life, I'll credit your father with that trait.

I wish you love and happiness.

Mom

Disneyland Opening Day July 17, 1955

This brings back memories from the "happiest place on earth" as Walt Disney liked to call his Magic Kingdom.  Disneyland opened in Anaheim, CA on this day 58 years ago.  There had never before been anything quite like it. Walt kept it simple:  Main Street USA, Fantasyland, Adventureland, Tomorrowland.  

What kid couldn't remember that?    

I first visited the park within a year of its opening.  My father worked in the broadcast industry;  the original ABC studios were across the street from his office on Hollywood & Vine.  ABC helped finance the park.  One of their early hits was "Disneyland", later to become "Walt Disney's Wonderful World of Color" in 1959.  At that time, ABC was a fledgling network taking on the mighty CBS & NBC, competing for advertisers, viewers and loyal media buyers. As a national broadcast rep, Dad helped sell advertising onto the network working with buyers in LA, NY, Chicago, etc.    He was regularly spiffed with tickets to Disneyland and we went every year from the time it opened.  He'd take us out of school.  He hated crowds and waiting in line.  

My brother and I would wait with baited breath for Dad to announce our trip.  He usually took us in the Fall.  Enroute, after we connected from the 101 to the 5 Fwy aka the Santa Ana, my brother and I would start the game,   "Who can spot the Matterhorn first?"  The Matterhorn opened in 1959 with a bobsled ride.  They were thrilling!

As a kid, one of my favorite rides was the Autopia.

We'd pretend we were real drivers in real cars.  We could steer,

we could brake, we could bump the car ahead of us.   The track was enclosed and safe but we always felt we had control.  It was amazing! 

My childhood and teen years are wrapped up with Disneyland.  After I was old enough to go without the folks, a gang of us would go to ride the attractions during the day and dance at night.  They had dancing pavilions and it was fun.   They also had strict dress codes.  Boys had to tuck their shirts in. No mini skirts on girls.  We could wear shorts during the day but if we wore a skirt or dress it had to come to the middle of the knee.  Of course, we thought that was stupid.

Many Southern California high schools held their Grad Nights at Disneyland, including ours. The park would close to the public at dusk and reopen around 8pm as busloads of graduating high school teens arrived, unloaded and took over til dawn.  It was unbelievable.  I went to three grad nights with three graduating boyfriends. Lucky me!

Head shots from Grad Night 1969 Disneyland

When our boys were young and we'd just moved back to San Diego from Virginia, we took them to Disneyland.  It's a rite of passage.  By that time, the evil emperor, Michael Eisner, was CEO.  Roy Disney was off the board.  Walt was long dead.  Eisner turned Disneyland into a commercial money machine with product lines galore from every conceivable movie made.  He retired the great artists long considered filmdom's finest animators, cheapening the resulting product.  Our boys loved it, of course.  My husband and I found the park a bit more sterile, not as tidy and disappointing.  Was it the magic of our youth we no longer saw?  Or was it simply the new corporate "look" too often duplicated?  I vote the latter.

People talk about Disney World in Florida.  I've never been.  My children are grown now and the likelihood of going to DW is slim.   For me, it's Disneyland in Anaheim that will always hold a special place in my heart.

Reprise: My Dad

I posted this tribute one year ago today. I can't think of anything more to add so I'll reprise.

I love this photograph of my father because it doesn't resemble the man I knew in any way shape or form.

The man I knew smoked only an occasional cigar and drank an occasional sherry or glass of wine, barbecued weekends, loved Chinese food and take out, and dressed like Don Draper every work day of his life because he was an ad man.  

This photo was probably taken when he was in the USAF during WWII.  The hair cut, the shirt, the hard-ass look.  I thought this was Frankenstein the first time I found it in the drawer of his high boy dresser.  I was probably 7 or 8 and it scared me to death.  He had to reassure me it was just a photo taken when he was young and he was definitely not a monster!

Dad, circa mid-1940s





I remember my father is as a loving but stern, old-fashioned man with a very rigid set of principles.  He was born in 1910, another era light years from the Sixties when I was coming of age.  We did not see eye to eye.  Yet, he instilled his faith in God, his work ethics, his frugality and his loyalty in my brother and me.  We are the better for those things.


Me, Dad, Mother at Butchart Gardens British Columbia   Summer 1969  Mother & I wear nosegays of violets from Dad



Dad loved an occasional cigar, a pancake breakfast with bacon on the side, a good walk, his dog(s), nature, God and country. He was never so proud as when his two grandsons were born.  I think they were the light of his old age.
 

D

Dad & Grandsons 2005 (age 95)

He was nutrition and supplement minded before it was fashionable.  He read the Rodale books and followed a predominantly naturopathic road when I was young.  I remember him ingesting Tiger's Milk, fish oil, B supplements, high fibre food, whole grains, raw honey.  He walked that walk.  He lived into his late 90s and was still mobile.

Dad presenting retirement document to a retiring Colonel Vandenburg AFB, 2004

For those of you old enough to remember, "My Dad" sung by Paul Petersen on The Donna Reed Show 

 

I Remember Papa

I love this photograph of my father because it doesn't resemble the man I knew in any way shape or form.

The man I knew smoked only an occasional cigar and drank an occasional sherry or glass of wine, barbecued weekends, loved Chinese food and take out, and dressed like Don Draper every work day of his life because he was an ad man.  

This photo was probably taken when he was in the USAF during WWII.  The hair cut, the shirt, the hard-ass look.  I thought this was Frankenstein the first time I found it in the drawer of his high boy dresser.  I was probably 7 or 8 and it scared me to death.  He had to reassure me it was just a photo taken when he was young and he was definitely not a monster!

Dad, circa mid-1940s





I remember my father is as a loving but stern, old-fashioned man with a very rigid set of principles.  He was born in 1910, another era light years from the Sixties when I was coming of age.  We did not see eye to eye.  Yet, he instilled his faith in God, his work ethics, his frugality and his loyalty in my brother and me.  We are the better for those things.


Me, Dad, Mother at Butchart Gardens British Columbia   Summer 1969  Mother & I wear nosegays of violets from Dad



Dad loved an occasional cigar, a pancake breakfast with bacon on the side, a good walk, his dog(s), nature, God and country. He was never so proud as when his two grandsons were born.  I think they were the light of his old age.
 

D

Dad & Grandsons 2005 (age 95)

He was nutrition and supplement minded before it was fashionable.  He read the Rodale books and followed a predominantly naturopathic road when I was young.  I remember him ingesting Tiger's Milk, fish oil, B supplements, high fibre food, whole grains, raw honey.  He walked that walk.  He lived into his late 90s and was still mobile.

Dad presenting retirement document to a retiring Colonel Vandenburg AFB, 2004

For those of you old enough to remember, "My Dad" sung by Paul Petersen on The Donna Reed Show 

For those of you about to be new fathers...  

I Love You Mom

I miss my mother every day.

She's been gone 15 years.  

Every time I hear the song, "Stardust", my eyes well with tears.  It was her favorite.  She was from Indiana.  Hoagy Carmichael, composer of "Stardust" and many other great standards was also from Indiana.  

My mother loved with an open hand.  She didn't judge me.  She supported me.  I did alot of dumb stuff as a teenager and twenty-something and she forgave me without condemning me in the first place.  I am sure she was dismayed by a number of my activities but she didn't show it.  She understood.

Here's a really fine recording of Hoagy Carmichael playing what became one of the most recorded songs in the 20th century.   

or my favorite rendition below.

Happy Mother's Day Mom.  

60 Is the New 40

.  

One of my favorite bloggers, injaynesworld, commented on my October 15th Women of A Certain Age post about "turning" sixty.

"60 is the new 40!" she enthused.

I don't know if that is true or not but my bones aren't buying it.  

Last October, six of my oldest friends and I flew to New Orleans to share our mutual 60th birthdays.  Some live on the West Coast, one lives in the Keys, I live in New England and we all grew up together in SoCal.

We took full suites at the luxurious Windsor Court Hotel downtown.  Here's a sample view from our rooms on the 17th flr.

We were a ten minute walk from the Quarter.

And walk we did.

  

The minute you get to NOLA, you want to hit the Quarter.  You want to find a bar or restaurant.  You want to have a local drink and some of that Cajun/Creole food you've heard about all your life.

You want to see the sights:  the grill-faced balconies, the shot gun houses, the brick buildings, flower baskets, parks with lush tropical plants.

It's a hot flower of a place is New Orleans.  If you're having hot flashes, it's even hotter.

We had four days to check it all out.                    

You can have any kind of food you like but the seafood and local cooking is the best.  It just doesn't get any fresher or more delicious than here.

The music is the greatest.  It's everywhere, street corners, cafes, the obvious jazz places like Preservation Hall, open air patio restaurants.  There are so many truly fine musicians in New Orleans.  They say it's in the water and the blood.  

                                                                                   

                                                                                             

The atmosphere on Bourbon St is just what you expect: maniacally happy.  After a couple of cocktails, so are we!  I had Sazeracs, a favorite since my first visit to the city in 1981.  One of my friends tried a Hurricane, the rest drank their usual and missed out on the fun of Mint Juleps and the like.  We were feelin' the love just the same.                                                                  

This is the famous statue of  Andrew Jackson, my mother's cousin, many times removed.  Behind him is St. Louis Cathedral in Jackson Square.  

Personally,  I like the horse's face. 

                                                                                   

Breakfast at Cafe du Monde is a must. 

Beignets and chicory cafe au lait.  Heaven.   Fresh seafood, local cooking are the best ways to experience the true flavor of the area.  Our finest meal was a seafood place called G.W. Fins.  Other choices that come highly recommended are Acme Oyster House, Arnauds, Antoine's.  We had reservations at Galatoire's but somebody changed the game plan, much to my dismay.  Lucky for me I've dined there before as well as Brennan's, where bananas foster was created.  Lunch at Mr. B's was nice.  It's owned by the Brennan family too and is a gorgeous, wood paneled, elegant place.   

Against my better judgment, we opted for a three hour bus tour of the city.  It turned out to be educational, enlightening and fun.  We learned much and saw the remains of Katrina's devastation which is still shockingly extensive; visited the Ninth Ward now under some semblance of repair thanks to Harry Connick Jr. and his Musician's Village and Brad Pitts' 

                                                                                   

New Orleans City Park 

is 1300 acres and a cab ride from downtown.  It is worth a half or full day's trip.  Had we known and had the time, we'd have returned to take in everything from the Museum of Art to the Carousel Gardens Amusement Park and Storyland.   Photos are from the Botanical Gardens within the park.

          

The obligatory cemetery tour..  While stopped here, a full-sized bus pulled up and a ton of Super Senior citizens (meaning:  older than us) got out.  My best friend, who is usually not humorous, sarcastic or wry, commented

"That's out next trip."

We weren't sure if she meant the people on the bus tour or a trip to the cemetery.

FUN FACT:   Woldenberg Riverfront Park is a beautiful scenic stretch of land along the banks of the Mississippi.  There is an aquarium, aviary, IMAX theatre, lawns and walkways with comfortable benches.  It was funded by the Great Uncle of one of our group.  She wanted us to see it and I envisioned a little park.  Wrong. It is a long stretch of walking, biking, sitting and playing parkway bordering the river. Her Great Uncle Mal has been dead many years but she remembers him fondly. Seems he scandalized the city when he married a black woman and left his millions to her, after her funded the park.  (snort!)

One of the hundreds of  small parks within the Quarter with statuary, fountains, benches and deep shade in which to "set a spell."

THIS is what I thought my friend's uncle bequeathed.

This is the first night get-together in the bar of our hotel.  They make them some "fine" cocktails and we didn't hesitate.  We partied like it was 1999...well, more like 1969.


Many things change as you age; your jowls, butt and boobs descend, your face begins to crease here and there, your hair greys and your stamina ain't what it used to be.  But a lifetime of friendship remains no matter how grumpy, drunky, barfy, and silly we may be when we're together.

If "sixty is the new forty", this is what it looks like.  Not bad.  Not bad at all.

College Educated & Happy to Have a Job

My almost 25 year old son came home last night with good news: he's landed a summer job as a barista at a popular coffee cafe in our resort mountain town. This is after months of looking somewhat fruitlessly at similar, less appealing positions. This is what many college educated kids are doing in this recession; not to mention living at home.

My son is an outdoor person.  He graduated with a degree in Environmental Studies.  He spent six years living in Utah, camping, hiking, river rafting/kayaking, snowboarding, skateboarding and taking on every new outdoor adventure come his way.  He's trying to figure out what to do for the rest of his life.

He and his brother are planning a trip to Australia in late Fall.  They're hoping to have enough money to travel, find jobs and stay a while.  I hope they get there and have a huge adventure.  I want them to experience the world, life, new situations, challenges.  My younger son's GF is just back from 2 months in India, BY HERSELF.  It has been life-changing.

While the current economic situation is not something I want to see prolonged, I'm anxious to see the way my sons react and adjust.  It's their first test of really being on their own and having to struggle.  Yes, they've been out of the house before and making their own way.  But it's different now.  They need to be on their own permanently.  They know it.  We know it.

Theme Thursday: Bubbles

This post was originally written March 10, 2008.  

There is a photograph on my desk of my younger son at graduation. It is somewhat of a closeup, shot from a side angle. My husband had walked onto the field, under the grandstand where the seniors sat in caps and gowns. Our son was several seats away from my husband's vantage point. The beautiful thing about this portrait is the way in which my husband captures the moment so exquisitely. Everyone in the photo is staring straight ahead towards a speaker on an unseen podium. The viewer sees only their profiles. But my son is caught looking at the camera. There are bubbles in the photo floating around him like so many dreams. I love this photo so much. It shows all the promise of the future with my child taking a last look, past the camera, at the world he'll leave behind.