cold day, hot men: part 2

Subtitle: Thanks, James Van Der Beek, for making a hero move.

See, I figured out why this special from December of 2024 was re-aired.

On February 11th, that actor who'd been in "Dawson's Creek" died.

James would have been 49 years old next month on March 8th.

That's him, second from the right, in the brown pullover and tam.

The woman to the left is Mandy Moore, the choreographer of their burlesque dance routine to Joe Cocker's "You Can Leave Your Hat On."

Starting from the left, the men are Bruno Tonioli, Taye Diggs, Anthony Anderson, Chris Jones, James Van Der Beek, and Tyler Posey.

As diverse as their ages (in 2024) are their distinguishing features.

Bruno is the 68-year-old Italian dance machine of the stars.

Taye is the 53-year-old hunk that once helped a new divorcee find her strengths and get her groove back.

Anthony, at 54, represents the chunky boy next door that could always make you laugh and feel pretty, as a game show host always should.

Chris, that tall drink of water in the middle, at 30 years old and a three-time Super Bowl champion with the Kansas City Chiefs, fulfills every woman's fantasy of making it with a buff football player.

James, 47 years old, was the genteel white dude who had been a teen-bop heart throb on television.

Tyler, the tattooed 33-year-old Latino with the musical background, is the perfect addition for the six-man team. 

Together they represent a flavor for every female fantasy, which was obvious when Bruno, Tyler, Chris, Anthony, James, and Taye took the stage for that one-night performance in Los Angeles.

But let me set the record straight: this was not a Chippendales strip show.

Anthony Anderson had lost his father and three brothers to cancer and wanted to do something to encourage men to take action.

He knew that men, no matter what race, have a problem with associating going to a doctor with stripping down and showing weakness.

What might put that action into proper perspective than to strip down with a few others, in front of an audience, and to bare all in the name of fighting prostate, testicular, and colorectal cancer?

He went ahead and booked the theater where the show would be held.

The problem, then, was trying to get other male celebrities to bring their star power for that fundraiser.

The first to show up was Taye Diggs, unsure of whether he really wanted to strip down, but wanting to honor the deaths of his mom and dad to cancer.

Bruno Tonioli was the next to walk through the door for the training session; he'd come to honor his friend and mentor.

Chris Jones showed up just a few days before the show, to replace a man who'd had to leave; Chris was there to honor his coach.

Tyler Posey's mom had died of breast cancer, having postponed going to the doctor until it was too late.

That had almost been James Van Der Beek's story, but with him being the one who had waited until almost too late.

As he finally told the others at dinner a few nights before the show, he had known something was wrong, but he didn't want to see the doctor, afraid his worst fears might be true.

That sounds like exactly what Daddy had done in 2008, and like exactly what Mother Pat had done in 2006. 

Both of them were dead within a year.

Now, James Van Der Beek has died, after a three-year battle.

The re-airing of the 2024 special was done to continue to raise awareness.

Fox even kept the QR code onscreen at all times, encouraging viewers to donate to support colorectal cancer research.

That truly is a disease that should claim no lives and cause no heartbreak, as a simple screening can lead to its discovery and treatment.

Want to be a man that takes care of his loved ones?

Get a colonoscopy.

Have a prostate exam.

See your doctor on a regular basis so they know you.

Cancer doesn't discriminate, it's an equal opportunity killer.

GOB: Company

This Sondheim musical was all about friendship and love and the changes that occur over the course of time.

I felt it was speaking directly to me!

After I married and moved back to Savannah, I was out of step with most of my college friends, as they'd moved and married and had children.

Fortunately, my husband ran a trivia game at Sam Fink's Deli and soon I had the beginnings of a new group of friends: Doug, Monica, Rob, Jason, Kristen, Sue, John, Lynita, JinHi.

Within that first decade, they'd become couples, like us, but we'd still all get together regularly for Sand Gnats baseball, playing pool with Doug, swimming pool parties with Rob, going to theatre featuring JinHi, parties at Monica's A-frame, cookouts at our place.

Things slowed down when the children started coming, but our group of friends were locked in, solid, always there for each other.

Then Jeff and I divorced.

I tried to maintain those friendships, but one of the wives didn't want me around playing pool anymore... and Monica was kicked out of that club, too, for being single... and Sue was in Okinawa... John had moved to Pooler... and the dynamics were gone.

So I got involved with other groups: Philo Cafe, Drinking Liberally, Mensa, No Kidding!, Wednesday Night Suppers at Asbury Memorial.

Between the four of them, I started having a new group of close friends: Barbara, Sandy, Lauri, Lynn, Christa, Bonnie.

Most of them were in other groups, too, that I joined: Women's Social Network, Couples and Others, plus a few more on the Meetup.com site. 

However, it remained true that Barbara, Sandy, Christa, Lauri, and Lynn really hit it off!

The five of us, being over 40, really were tight, going out to eat or to shows or to movies, having parties at each other's houses, together almost every weekend.

Then, a few years ago, Lauri and her mom, Lynn, moved to Kissimmee, having wearied of life on Tybee and the Bananas' circus.

Christa died in December of 2022.

Barbara was killed in July of 2024.

Of course, I have other friends I've made along the way, but not close ones.

Science has shown that true friendships take a minimum of 200 hours together to form; close friendships, like best friends, take much more than that.

That's a lot of time.

That's why making friends gets harder with age, because careers and family life take away from time needed to build new relationships. 

That's why most close friendships are those formed at school, whether high school or college, as the same groups of people in a major are together in the same classes for several years and manage to find other common bonds.

I still have best friends from those days, though much physical distance separates us.

However, of the two closest friends I have now, one rarely drives due to narcolepsy, and the other's car is so full that no one can ride with her.  

My brothers don't understand how it is that I have a problem finding a ride now that my car is in the shop.

They know I know a lot of people, but don't get it that I don't feel that I know anyone enough to ask for a favor like picking me up, taking me somewhere, and than returning me home.

Barbara and I handled that for each other.

Sigh.

However, on Friday, while talking with Smitty at dinner, I had the thought on how to get a ride to Asbury for today.

After all, this wasn't just a regular Sunday.

This was the first Sunday of the month, meaning we would have Communion as well as the Big Coffee Hour.

Plus, this being October, it was the first God On Broadway sermon! 

So, I checked on the event page on fb for others who said they would be coming, then I chose one to message for a ride.

Sherry Giddens, who I'd dined with on multiple occasions during WNS, contacted me right back!

Yes, she would gladly give me a lift!

And, so, I was there!!!

Sherry sat in the back with a woman named Marty, but I moved up to the fourth row, on the right.

That's about where I try to sit each time, near the windows and the choir.

From the very first song, I realized that I knew "Company" after all!

Right place, right time. 

"Another Hundred People" sounded so much like "Beautiful" that I knew it, too, was inspired by all the moving masses in New York City.

How did newcomers there make friends so they would have a support network? 

Through work and church, mostly, same as most adults that move to a new location where they know no one.

That wasn't the case in this musical, though.

'Bobby' was turning 35 and his best friends, all female and now married, threw him a surprise party to celebrate.

That got him thinking about his options with the girlfriends he was dating.

How to decide on marriage or continued single life?

Ryan McCurdy was back from NYC for that role, to our good fortune.

I do so love how much he gives to his portrayals!

Many thanks, Sherry, for your kindness today!

I do look forward to becoming a true friend to you.

(smile!)

that bucket - i mean, bouquet - woman

Eric Mitchell posted on fb that Patricia Routledge died yesterday.

She was 96 years old, which is quite an age to achieve!

I responded, "I thought maybe they'd all died already. Nice to be wrong!".

And why had I thought they might all be dead?

"Keeping Up Appearances" originally aired on BBC from 1990 to 1995.

That's better than three decades ago, and none of the characters were children.

Also, by the time it ended, 'Richard' had retired, so I took that to mean the character was at least 60 years old.

Or perhaps he just seemed that old because wife 'Hyacinth' had worn him out?

(smile!)

I liked that all the daughters had been named for flowers.

I like to imagine that their father, or perhaps the mother as well, had been a botanist or gardener. 

All we ever knew about 'Daddy' was that he had been in World War II, he lived with 'Daisy' and 'Onslow', and he liked to get out and pinch women on their butts.

(smile!)

George Webb, the actor who played the flower girls' father, was 83 (in real life) by the end of the series and died in 1998, three years after it ended.

Mary Millar, the loose-heeled 'Rose', who also lived with 'Daisy' and 'Onslow', died in 1998, too, just a month before him, of ovarian cancer.

She was only 62 years old.

Cancer of the prostate, in 2012, took Geoffrey Hughes, the shirtless, vest-wearing 'Onslow', at the IRL age of 68.

His sexually frustrated wife, 'Daisy', Judy Cornwell, still lives and is 85 now.

Clive Swift, the long-suffering and very-patient 'Richard Bucket', died in 2019 at 82.

'Elizabeth', the next-door neighbor who spilled coffee and biscuits only in the Bucket house, was played by Josephine Tewson, who died just three years ago.

She was 91.

David Griffin, who played her divorced brother, 'Emmett', is 82 and still living.

Those were the principals in this show that I began watching regularly during the pandemic, when I focused on the PBS and SCE TV channels.

"Keeping Up Appearances" was shown on Saturdays, so I knew which day of the week it had to be if that series was on.

I still watch it for that very reason... and I still laugh out loud at the antics! 

(smile!)  

Now, the actress who portrayed 'Hyacinth', the woman who kept the others on their toes, has passed away at 96 years old.

What a life Patricia Routledge has led in the 46 years since she was cast as the would-be society maven, hosting her "candlelight suppers with the Royal Doulton tea service with the hand-painted periwinkles" - what a life!

And what an inspiration she was during that latter part of her life -  

learning Italian in her 60's so she could sing opera in its native tongue -

doing Shakespeare in her 70's so she could take the stage "simply being" -

using watercolors in her 80's with each painting "a memory made real" -

writing letters by hand and baking bread in her 90's.

Here are her own words, written after her 95th birthday.

"Growing older is not the closing act. It can be the most exquisite chapter — if you let yourself bloom again.
Let these years ahead be your "treasure years".
You don’t need to be famous. You don’t need to be flawless.
You only need to show up — fully — for the life that is still yours."

(smile!)

Now, the episode is about to begin where she has convinced Richard to move into a tiny apartment up in the rafters of a mansion.

Happy Saturday to all!

snakes on a plane?

That is the phrase that popped, unbidden, into my head, and would not leave.

I tried passing it off to folks as a joke.

"Had steaks on a grill at Tony's and Laura's. I keep thinking 'snakes on a plane'. Lol!"

Cousin Penny said, "Yummy! Haven't had a steak in a while! Love you, honey bunny. Have a great week!"

My first niece sent a laughing emoji.

I had no response to that from anyone else.

(Sigh.)

I'll be so glad when April is over.

Grandma's death on April 1, 1997, marked the start of Mama's descent right after her less than four years later.

Then, in 2007, Mother Pat lost her battle to cancer, with her passing hastening the dissolution of my marriage to her son before the year was done.

It's been a stressful month for me ever since 2009, when Daddy and Blaxstone, aka Sam Johnson, both died within a week of each other.

Jean Marie's death in 2017 didn't help, marking the month as something to just get through as best I could, between bouts of teary sobs and general ennui.

I go through the same thing in October. 

(Sigh.)

I would have preferred to have Easter in March, not today.

Getting snubbed by Smitty and Mary and not asked to join the family gathering at their house was just the last straw yesterday.

I hadn't known until I called Tony, to see what he was doing for the holiday.

That's when he told me he thought I'd be going out to Dutch Island.

I haven't been to our brother's house there since... Easter of 2023.

Tyler and Hannah had The Pip and family gatherings for that branch moved to their place instead, as it was easier for the baby boy to keep his schedule.

At least, that's the story I choose to believe.

I know Mary unfriended me on facebook, but I don't know why.

I told Tony and Laura about that today.

I had been in total disbelief when I found she had done so.

However, as I told them, I had called her at home to ask why, leaving the question on their home answering machine, and she had almost immediately friended me again.

Neither Laura nor Tony had any comment at all about that.

Strange, right?

(Sigh.)

On Saturday, I had looked forward to seeing the Hinesville peeps at their Nana's house, here in Savannah, for an egg hunt and cookout.

Instead, the gathering had moved to Ellabell to Tammy's house... and, after looking at the map, and knowing my Garmin Nuvi was dead, I just couldn't chance getting lost in the dark bowels of Georgia countryside again.

So, I had missed out on that.

I had missed out on the Smiths & Kamerons Friday Fiesta.

And now I was missing out on Easter with my brothers.

Ah, but not quite.

Although Tony and Laura had "the kids" over for burgers and hotdogs late Saturday afternoon, they were available to cook out on Sunday.

Tony said they'd get some steaks and we'd do that.

Instead, I told him I'd buy the steaks, as I still had SNAP to spend.

I don't know that he caught that, but he told me Laura loved ribeyes...

so that's what I bought.

The four of them ran just over $35.

Wow.

I also brought over the package of mini muffins that had been destined for the Easter egg hunt and cookout at Nana's.

What a lovely luncheon we had, with a Caesar salad, baked potato, and pasta salad!

Afterward, we sat in the back yard for a while, until I knew it was time to go.

 

How so?

Both of them broke out their phones!

Hey, I could take a hint.

They packed me out with the 4th ribeye and the rest of the pasta salad, throwing in two cheeseburgers and three grilled hotdogs from yesterday.

 

I walked back down to my house, as it was a gorgeous day.

Being with family and getting multiple hugs has helped restore my spirit.

The knowledge that the week ahead has my kind of weather helped, too.

i thank You, God.

farewell to harry

I would have liked to have known him better.

He would have been 70 years old next month, making him barely three years older than I.

He and Robin met while I was in college in the middle 80's and married while I was still away at FSU in Tallahassee.

They just hit their 36th anniversary.

All I really knew of Harry Jenkins was of him as the love of her life and the co-host and chef for their annual, family-oriented, BYOP parties.

He died of cancer early this morning.

That news is what brought me out into the bitter cold, to be there to give solace and big hugs to my brothers and my sister-in-laws at our usual Friday night haunt.

Laura was raised with Robin, so she knew Harry from the start.

Mary and Robin were neighbors in an apartment complex, so she knew Harry at the beginning of their romance, too.

Robin and Harry met on a blind date.

Amazing, right?

That's exactly how my Aunt Linda and Uncle Bob met.

It was Parkinson's that took away Uncle Bob, but the end result is the same: loss adjustment after decades of togetherness.

My heart goes out to Robin, now, and to Aunt Linda, still.

100 days and Mother's Day

Today marked the fifteenth Mother's Day since my mother's death and the first motherless one for the Unemori family.

This day was also the 100th since Panda Ann died.


What better day could there have been for a remembrance ceremony for a mother who so loved Japanese culture?
The 100 day funeral ceremony is a Buddhist practice. It s purpose is to provide final prayers before the soul passes on to heaven or is reborn here on Earth. During the ceremony today, there were no chanting monks to beseech Buddha on behalf of the departed.
Rather, her two daughters and her one son had arranged to share bits of their mother with us. On the table above, photographs of her throughout her life were strewn, inviting a closer look at these parts of her life unknown to most of us. Her as a child, her as a young woman in love, her as a mother. What a wonderful experience!
Her now-grown children also shared her favorite foods with us.
A selection of wines, including merlot, graced the dining table.
Also present were two cheese pizzas from Panda's favorite pizzeria, a pecan pie from her favorite bakery.

Best of all, they had made copies of her two published stories.
The tales had been included in an anthology from the Savannah Writers Group, in which she had once been quite active.
The copies were on this table, along with a book for us to write our remembrances of their mother.
I had wished I could have known her better.
Today, I was allowed to do so.

brevity is the soul of w;t

No, that isn't a typo.
The play follows the last few months in the life of a professor of English literature, dying of ovarian cancer. She has given her body to science, while living. That is to say, she has agreed to undergo radical chemotherapy for eight months, knowing the treatment will not cure her, but agreeing to allow the doctors to use her as a test case for their research.
Thank God she had a nurse with both a conscience and a heart.
It's important to note, at this point, that the bedside manner of physicians has undergone a major overhaul since the early 1990's, when this play was written.
It's also of importance to note that the doctors are not the only ones dwelling in ivory towers, with limited exposure to the real world. The author, Margaret Edson, probably modeled the lead character after herself, as far as educational background is concerned. Both women, the real one and the fictional one, went straight from high school to college to graduate school and then into university as a teacher. Pardon me; I meant to say "Professor".
(smile)
Believe me, that distinction matters to many of those who have lived in the halls of academia their entire lives.
That's where the snobbery towards the bard comes into play. After all, Shakespeare wrote in the words of his day, the everyday language of the working man. "Hamlet" is chock full of lines which have lived on into usage still, such as my title quote. The same is also true of many of his other plays, too. I can recall being surprised when reading "Macbeth" at the number of lines I already knew!
I'm also familiar with the works of John Donne, a late sixteenth- and early seventeenth-century poet who struggled mightily with his own religious beliefs, raised Catholic but converted to Anglican to avoid death. Hence, his poems reek of suffering and pain and loss - and an interesting use of punctuation to alter perception. Later studiers of his works described him as the founder of "metaphysical poetry".
I would have liked to know his take on that.
His "Holy Sonnets", written after the death of his wife (during the birth of their twelfth child), are at the heart of "W;t". The lead character has studied his works for more than half of her life, teaching them for the last three decades.
I have to wonder about the purposeful use of a semicolon instead of the letter "i" in the play's title.
Did it represent the loss of the individual to the disease?
Does it reflect the impersonal use of the patient as an item to be studied?
Was it meant to remind us of the temporary nature of being an "I"?
Or are we to remember its cousin, the dash, and the usage of that small item to document the length of a life?
I'm going to close with a poem, written by Linda Ellis, in 1996. I've read it several times in emails, but never did it bear more meaning than to me than now.

​The Dash
by Linda Ellis copyright 1996


​I read of a man who stood to speak
at the funeral of a friend.
He referred to the dates on the tombstone
from the beginning…to the end.

He noted that first came the date of birth
and spoke the following date with tears,
but he said what mattered most of all
was the dash between those years.

For that dash represents all the time
that they spent alive on earth.
And now only those who loved them
know what that little line is worth.

For it matters not, how much we own,
the cars…the house…the cash.
What matters is how we live and love
and how we spend our dash.

So, think about this long and hard.
Are there things you’d like to change?
For you never know how much time is left
that can still be rearranged.

If we could just slow down enough
to consider what’s true and real
and always try to understand
​the way other people feel.

And be less quick to anger
and show appreciation more
and love the people in our lives
like we’ve never loved before.

If we treat each other with respect
and more often wear a smile,
remembering that this special dash
might only last a little while.

​So, when your eulogy is being read,
with your life’s actions to rehash…
would you be proud of the things they say
about how you spent YOUR dash?


​Copyright 1996 Linda Ellis
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

www.Linda-Ellis.com
- See more at: http://lindaellis.typepad.com/my_weblog/2007/11/the-dash.html#sthash.Ir1pAGCU.dpuf

final farewells to fellow beach lovers

Farewell to you, Panda Ann.
Why attach that sobriquet to her given name?
She would have it no other way.
Of that, I am certain.
She chose to be known as Panda, ostensibly because of the huge tattoo on her left side.
Or was it on her right?
She had revealed it one night at the post-Philo Cafe-discussion at Chili's, but that was long enough ago that the details are lost to me.
Perhaps her wardrobe was carefully chosen to reflect that choice in her new identity.
She was always sporting the black hat with her dark clothes.
When did she get the tattoo?
I don't recall ever knowing that.
Was the work done here in town?
Somehow, I doubt it.
I think it more likely that it was done overseas.
Ann Kropf Unemori.
Now, her ashes will travel to Sandusky, Ohio. (That is also the home of the Merry-Go-Round Museum which I visited during my Midwest-Canada Adventure in 2012.)
Her presence will remain here, though, in the form of her son and two daughters. Two of the three have been active in the philosophy group for the past few years. At last Monday's meeting at Savannah Coffee Roasters, her son even proposed a topic that she had requested of him for the coming Monday's discussion. Now, he will chair the upcoming meeting, as her topic was elected by those of us present.
What topic, you may ask?
"What impossible thing has occurred that you never thought would happen?"
I wonder if Daniel will have an answer from her to share with us. I imagine he will, since she had requested that he broach the subject.
I wonder if her answer will involve dying at age 55 while both of your parents are still alive.
Regardless, that should make for a lively round of ideas. I would imagine, though, that the term "impossible" may need to be defined first.
(smile)
Some of her other favorite topics? "Is it better for your enemies to lose or for you to win?" "Who will be left alive when the aliens come?" "Is revenge best served cold or hot?"
Ah, yes, her contrariness will be missed.
And how did I know about her fondness for the beach?
Her son told me.
On Monday, as the six of us (me, Cedric, Connie, Gwen, Ellen, and Daniel) were continuing in each others company at Chili's, as is our wont, he was talking about his mom and her last few days. He related that Cedric had brought his guitar to Hospice and played "Amazing Grace" as the last song. He said how much that song had meant to all of them.
He also spoke of a kindness on the part of the team transferring his mom from the hospital to Hospice. When they asked if there was anywhere she wanted to go, she had responded that she would like to see the ocean, as it had been a while. So, down to Tybee they went. They didn't stay long, but they did set her up so she could enjoy the view one more time.
That was very good of them.
I know she appreciated it greatly.

Marlin was a beach lover, too.
She had found Tybee to her liking thirty years ago and decreed it as her new home.
Living down there and dancing on the sand certainly agreed with her.
I had no idea she was 75 years old.
That's almost Mama's age.
I had thought she was just a few years older than me.
This photo shows how wrong I was about that.
I had snapped it as part of several to commemorate the occasion at the August 11, 2009, ballgame. Dr. Cedric Stratton, the British contingent of Philo Cafe, was to sing the national anthem in his rich baritone and some of us fellow philosophers had come out for morale support.
None of us knew that Carl Fleischaker, the former sailor sitting beside her, would be dead in just three short months.
Marlin took his death very hard. She was especially hurt that the news took so long to get to her. She even quit coming to the philosophy group for a couple of years.
Now, she's gone, too.
Marlin Jeanette Brown-Gordon.
The news about her traveled to interested parties much faster. She would have been pleased about that improvement in communication.
(See? Facebook is good for something, after all.)
I will miss seeing you at the Sand Gnats' games, your mass of platinum curls bowed over the score sheet, your Pink In The Park jersey announcing your presence behind home plate and three rows in front of Mister Willie on the green-painted wooden bleachers.

I will miss both of these women.
I wish I could have known them better.

death takes two more

This is turning out to be one hell of a year.
Two of my philosophy friends died today.
I'll have more to say soon.
But not today.

farewell to an Irishman

Here he is, eating one of his favorite meals at one of his favorite places, MacElwee's Seafood House on Tybee.
Notice that smile on his face? That's because he was sitting beside his favorite daughter, who was visiting from San Diego.
No matter that she was lecturing him about his smoking.
She was there, at his side.
Oh, did I say favorite daughter? Actually, she is his only daughter and the only child that he and his beloved wife, Maggie, ever had.
What was the occasion?
Well, it was August 9th of 2013.
His 69th birthday was on the way.
Her 45th birthday was coming up, too.

Now he's gone. A stroke on New Year's Day laid him low, leading to his death yesterday morning.
No more trips to Virginia to visit his brother and family.
No more high school reunions to attend.
No more hunting and fishing.

He'll be missed at the American Legion meetings in Thunderbolt. Post 36 is the one we shared. At one time, he and Maggie spent a lot of time there. At one time, he served as the Post's Chaplain.
He hasn't spent as much time there in the past few years, so he and I rarely saw each other.
At the news of his death, though, several people have spoken up with words of remembrance of him and words of solace for his daughter.
That is a good thing.
Memories are all that are left now.

the grand delusion

Sadly, my little sister is married to a bigot.
'Tis true.
Her wife is bigoted against Southerners in general, Georgians in particular, and Savannahians specifically.
She is especially bigoted toward heterosexual Southerners.
Like me.
You see, in her narrow-minded opinion, all Southerners are backwards, stupid, racist, and biased towards homosexuals.
It's very sad, considering my little sister is Southern and still has ties to Savannah.

Her wife is from California. Except for a period of time when she was actively heterosexual and engaged to a guy and living in Italy, she has been where she is now.
So, not always a lesbian, not always in San Diego.
According to her, everyone in California is accepting of homosexuals and same-sex marriage.
Of course, she must be overlooking all the Proposition 8 hoopla in that state. Flipflopping between legalizing same-sex marriages and banning them, the latest vote, as of only 2013, is again in favor of marriages between any persons, regardless of gender.
In fact, when she and my little sister wed in 2005, they had to go to Canada for the official ceremony. Sure, back home again in San Diego, they were entitled to domestic partner rights, thanks to 2003's AB 205 in that state.
But they were not recognized as wife and wife.
Not even in California.
Even now, not all people in San Diego, much less the entire state of California, embrace the rights of LGBT people to marry. I had a conversation with my visiting friends from San Francisco concerning homosexuals and they explained, in no uncertain terms, that Islam regards homosexuality as a sin and homosexuals as an aberration. Period.
And they live in San Francisco, generally regarded by the world as a mecca for gays, lesbians, transsexuals, and bisexuals.
Last time I checked a map, San Francisco is in California.

Sure, Georgia does not yet allow same-sex marriage, but Georgia Equality is working on that. However, domestic partner rights are extended to all married couples, regardless of gender. Sure, statewide, that may be a reflection of the IRS' recognition of marriage rights for taxation purposes. However, here in Savannah and larger cities in this state, the First City Network has been paving the way for thirty years to make sure LGBT employees have businesses which welcome them, openly, to their workforces.
Go ahead, check the listings on their page. I'll wait.

See all the religious sites that openly welcome all people, regardless of gender?
Agape Empowerment
Asbury Memorial United Methodist Church
Congregation Mickve Israel
St. Paul's Episcopal Church
Unity of Savannah
Unitarian Universalist Church of Savannah
Unitarian Universalist Fellowship of Statesboro

That's right, even here in the Bible Belt, sanctuary may be had by all of God's people, regardless of race, gender, or even religious beliefs. That second church on the list, Asbury Memorial UMC, is the one I've been part of for the past ten years.
I've been a member of First City Network for the past eight years.
And, when I was stationed at the naval base in Imperial Beach, a southern suburb of San Diego, I was a member of PFLAG (Parents and Friends of Lesbians And Gays). That was in 1983.
No one who knows me would ever claim I was closed-minded.
Everyone who knows me know I support equal rights for all.
When I was in high school in the mid-1970's, I even debated with my Grandpa the issues concerning the rights of homosexuals to marry.
So, you see, fighting for equality is part of my moral fiber. It's as much a part of me as my bones are.

My little sister's wife doesn't understand that about me, even after all these years.
Because I live in Georgia, I must be narrow-minded.
You know, like she is.
Though, in truth, she has boxed herself into this bigotry as a result of the choices she has made. No doubt, because of those choices, her current lifestyle has generated a narrow view of "normal".
She lives in Azalea Park, a gay-borhood developed back in 2003. The three children she and my little sister adopted all attend San Diego Cooperative Charter school, a gay-friendly school. She chooses to only frequent gay-friendly businesses and my little sister owns an LGBT-counseling business.
In other words, everyone she comes into contact with in this enclave are gay-friendly people (i.e., PFLAG), if not themselves LGBT.
Thus, given the limited exposure to general population and immersion into a skewed lifestyle, everyone around her and her family in San Diego, all 3 million of them, as well as everyone else in the state of California, embrace LGBT individuals, gay rights, and same-sex marriage.
My question to her is this: Why is there a need for counseling of LGBT people, if all is so lovely and accepted? How is it that my little sister's business has grown by such large numbers, if San Diego is such an egalitarian place for people of all genders?
Answer: Bigotry and narrow minds exist everywhere, even in California.

I think Cyndi's biggest problem is with the friendship Sue and I have.
I think she cannot fathom why my little sister has such a close friendship with me, if we were never lovers.
I think she resents the memories that Sue and I have, because she was not part of that history.
That is sad.
History is not something which can be changed. Everyone has a past peopled with some who are no longer present, some who are, some who have moved on. No one is going to meet someone in their twenties or thirties who doesn't have a past that included this new person. That's simply life, n'est-ce pas?
This isn't my first rodeo. I have met people before who are jealous of the unshared past of their lover. All you can do is keep presenting yourself honestly and hope that one day they will accept you.
Well, it's been nine years.
I'm still waiting.

Now, my little sister's alcoholic dad is dying, here in Savannah. She had called me last Friday, shortly after I had returned from a long drive from Ormond Beach. She had explained that her dad's house was a mess, as his bowels had released in several areas, according to the paramedics who had extracted him from the house on New Year's Day. She was concerned about getting the house cleaned. Could I help?
Of course I told her I would. I said it might be a day or two, but I would handle it.
The very next day, she sent me a panicked text. When was the work to be done? She was concerned about salvaging the floors, especially the fairly new wood floors. I explained that body fluids do their damage within hours, and it had already been at least two days. No amount of hurrying would change their status at this point. I had arranged to go to the house on Sunday afternoon for an estimate to be done and would get the key from the neighbor then.
And that is what happened. I met with my first niece and her mom, who had cleaned the house a couple of years earlier, again when Sue's dad was in the hospital. We assessed the situation, gave Sue a call and an estimate, and left, to return on Monday at noon, for what we thought would be a couple of hours of work.
Somehow, on Sunday, we had missed the front bedroom, which was inundated with various body fluids.
I had arrived first on Monday and kept smelling a foul stench in the hall, across from the closed bathroom door. I opened the door across from the bathroom and immediately was repulsed - and chagrined. I texted Sue with the bad news: I had missed this room. The carpet, the mattress, the pillows, the bedding - all would have to be destroyed.
I received no response from her.
Instead, her wife called me to talk about it.
I never spoke to Sue again.
I almost felt that I had been bamboozled into helping her. Perhaps Cyndi had her call me that day, to ask for help, knowing I would not deny Sue any assistance?
Who knows? If I were a paranoid person, I might believe that scenario.

So, on Monday, I washed, dried, and folded five loads of bedding, towels, and clothes. I washed, dried, and put away two loads of dishes in the dishwasher. I helped my first niece and her mom haul bags of refuse out to the truck, to haul to the dump. I helped them move the furniture in the trashed bedroom to allow the ruined carpet to be cut into strips for hygienic removal. Those were piled into the truck, for a second trip to the dump.
And I spoke to Cyndi at least twice.
Just before 5:30 PM, we called it a day. The dump was full and could not take the carpet and mattress. I was exhausted, physically and emotionally. The impending death of a dear friend's parent is very hard on me, body and soul.
That evening, about 9:30 PM, I decided, justthatfast, to go to a movie. Did Boo want to join me to see "Wild"? Yes, she did! And so we went and thoroughly enjoyed the story and the pacing of the film and, especially, the soundtrack. What a perfect way to unwind after such a stressful day for both of us!
My soul was restored, serenity was mine.
Then I turned my phone on.
I should have left the damned thing off.
I had three accusatory text messages from Cyndi concerning the "before and after" photos I had posted for her to see. I also had a very disturbing voice message from Sue, who wasn't even supposed to have seen the photos. In her message, she even threatened litigation if her dad's house were to be broken into as a result of people seeing the photos and knowing he wasn't home.
I deleted all of the messages from my phone. If only I could have done the same in my mind.
I checked on my fb photo album. Had I mistakenly tagged Sue? Her dad? Anyone besides me, Cyndi, my first niece and her mom?
No.
No, I definitely had not.
Then how had Sue seen the photos?
Only one way that could have happened: Cyndi had shown her.
I changed the access to the photos to "only me", then signed off and went to bed.
Not to sleep.
Oh, no.
Not without tossing and turning, my mind running 90 miles per hour.
Then I slept only a couple of hours before awaking, my mind again racing through the remembered hateful messages and accusatory words. Had I deliberately tried to embarrass Sue's dad? Had I purposely put his property in jeopardy? Had I wanted to cause her that much more anguish at this troubling time?
Of course I had done none of those things.
I was mortified and deeply hurt that she would have thought me capable of such malice.

I waited until the next morning, then called Sue's phone. Of course I got her voice mail, she was working. I left a message, nearly sobbing, clearly hurt, about Cyndi having asked that I send her the photos, about the privacy settings I had on the photos, about what was clearly a misunderstanding on their part.
Then, I did nothing.
Nothing at the house, nothing involving San Diego.
Completely nothing.
When my first niece called about taking the ruined carpet to the dump, I told her "no rush, not today, maybe not tomorrow, either". She could tell something was amiss, but she didn't push. Her schedule was pretty hectic, so the respite was good for her.
Later on Tuesday night, my phone rang briefly, but cut off before I could pick it up. It was Cyndi, but she had disengaged before even the voice mail kicked in.
Good.
I sure as hell didn't want to talk to her.
Sue owed me a call. Our friendship surely meant enough to her that she would be the one to call... I hoped.
That didn't happen.
On Wednesday (yesterday), I had a luncheon in the area and had made plans with my first niece to meet after the lunch was over. Just before 2 PM, I contacted her: I was at the house, so she could come anytime. She was sending her husband, to help get the soiled mattress onto the truck.
And, as if on cue, Cyndi texted me. The old man across the street had not yet received the key. Did I still have it? He also said the truck had been driven. Why?
So, I explained about the dump being closed and the truck being used to get rid of the carpet. Would she rather the carpet stay in the truck and wait for Sue to take it to the dump when she came to town in a couple of weeks?
Yep, that's what she wanted, postulating that there was some uncertainty about what his truck insurance would or would not cover. She also was insistent about the key being given back to the neighbor for safekeeping.
Right about then, Jason had pulled up. I thanked him for his assistance, but we would be leaving the carpet where it was. I then determinedly crossed the street, knocked on the neighbor's door, and gave him the key.
I brushed my hands off, literally and figuratively, of the whole business.

This morning, I had an email from Sue.
Cyndi had misrepresented the photos to her, making her believe they were public instead of restricted access. Sue also explained that Cyndi had broken the news to her as she was leaving work, after a very busy day, and she had simply been overwhelmed by the responsibilities to her clients, her family, and her dad. She was sorry for the misunderstanding and hoped we could all move past the whole sorry mess.
I hope we can.
But the next time Sue needs something done at her dad's house, I'll be recommending that she call in professionals and leave me out of it.
Our friendship is too valuable to me.

there but for the grace of God

At least my youngest brother is still alive.
Sure, he's in prison, after killing his girlfriend, both in a drunken and drugged state, almost eight years ago.
But he's still alive.
For my long-time friend from our high school days, the same cannot be said of her youngest brother.

Both of us have had at least two decades of struggles with younger brothers making bad decisions. Both of our youngest brothers have had problematic relationships, exacerbated by the use of drugs and alcohol.
Problematic, hell. Let's call it what it is.
Abusive.
Any time one person is beating another person is not simply "problematic" - it's violent, brutal, and unacceptable.
When two people feel compelled to use brute force and threats of death on each other, they need to walk away while they still can.

Her youngest brother had been in trouble before for multiple threats, and actions, of violence against his wife.
My youngest brother would have been in the papers earlier, too, for those same charges, except his former girlfriends didn't come forward with any charges against him. They just left and didn't go back.
Except for Ann. She just couldn't stay away.
Sadly, she died and he went to prison.
My youngest brother will be out in 2020, if he serves the full thirteen-year sentence.
He'll be 53 years old.

My friend's youngest brother is now dead, by his own hand. He killed his recently-estranged girlfriend first, then killed himself.
He was only 48 years old, just a year older than my youngest brother.

Rest in peace, Tony Mooney.

farewell to Arthur

There he is, sitting in his personal seat at Grayson Stadium.
That's right - his seat.
You can see the metal nameplate peeking out behind him.
Good seat, too, right behind homeplate, up high enough in the bleachers to catch a nice breeze from the overhead fans on a hot summer night at the Sand Gnats' games.
He and Willie Smith, Jr., have been such faithful fans of Savannah baseball that they were rewarded with permanent seats there at the historic landmark.
This morning, Mister Willie spoke at Arthur's funeral.
Willie had called me on Thursday. Arthur's granddaughter, Jennifer, had just called him to tell him Arthur had died. So, as I usually share the space on those wooden bleachers with these two old men, Willie called me to share the sad news.
The Savannah newspaper didn't even have the obituary yet. The funeral notice didn't appear in the paper until yesterday.
That didn't give folks much time to arrange to be at the 11:00 AM funeral on a Saturday morning, this close to Christmas.
Even so, the church was full.
Arthur was that loved by all who knew him.
How very sad that he is gone.
I will miss his ready smile and easy-going sense of humor.
I do hope Jennifer will still make use of his seat this coming season.
Otherwise, it will be a constant reminder of the loss of this good man.

left dangling

photo source

I have to believe he would have smiled at my title for this post.
I had thought of several other possibilities, like "shazbot". But none of them quite expressed the great loss I feel.
That i feel.
I had never met him, I had never been to any of his shows. I have only seen him on large screens in darkened cinemas, on small tv sets in living rooms, in movies, in television shows.
True, I have been watching him for most of my life. Ever since he was 26 years old, on "Laugh-In" and I was a mere teen, on the cusp of twenty, I have been gladdened by his company.
Now, there will be no more new movies sharing him with the world. I am so grateful that the next "Night at the Museum: Secret of the Tomb" will still have him as President Teddy Roosevelt, striving to keep the museum alive once more.
I will probably have to sit there in tears, in the cinema, after the movie's credits have rolled.
I know me.
But I am grateful to have that bright spark to light the night once more.

I know that part of the reason his death has hit me as it has is his age.
He was only 63 years old, as was my mother when she died.
His birthday had been less than a month before his death.
That coincidence is also shared with Mama.
The Parkinson's Disease was something he shared with my Uncle Bob.
My Uncle lived with the ever-increasing ill effects of the malady for more than twenty years. My mother's sister was by his side all the way, watching the man she loved lose his ability to officiate at barbeques and participate in camping trips, seeing his quick smile and glib tongue brought nearly to a halt.
I'm sure Mr. Williams could not bear the thought of his family having to watch his wit become trapped in an unresponsive body.
I have to believe he shared that concern with his wife and grown children.
I know too well of the link between depression and illness. As I wrote to my youngest brother, I suspected a physical ailment was behind Mr. Williams' death by suicide. I've seen two die who would still be living if their doctors had performed complete physical exams instead of applying anti-depression medications as a quick fix.
Depression should be considered, always, as a foreshadowing of serious, life-threatening, physical disease.
Always.

at the end of his rope

Dear Tony,

I'm at the school, passing a bit of time between events, so I planned ahead and I brought this.

This morning, the Faculty and Staff Convocation was held. That's all university-speak for "Pep Rally". President Bleicken's speech was to encourage us "to lead our students to inspiration" this school year. Oddly, my department head was not here for the message. Actually, that is not odd. The only students he is interested in leading are the 15 (or less) who will be chemistry majors each year. There are hundreds that he teaches, but if they are not chemistry majors, he believes he is wasting his time.

The university presented a very nice luncheon after the pep talk! Lots of fresh veggies that I did not have to wash or cut up - just enjoy! There were also little sandwiches: roast beef and cheddar on a mini pretzel bun; Tuscan chicken salad on croissant; grilled mushroom and onion wrap. Such good variety!

Isn't it so sad about Robin Williams? I find myself thinking about him, and how much life he seemed to have, rather frequently. I first heard he'd died on Monday evening. I have to wonder if he might have had a long-suffering disease he was trying to shorten. Many times, depression is caused by a physical ailment, like cancer. That's how it was for Daddy and for Jeff's mom.

Well, that is certainly not the direction I had thought I was going! But it feels good to get it off my mind, so I thank you for listening.

with much love!

farewell, Olivia

Fare thee well and sweet dreams, Olivia.
I would have liked to have had the opportunity to know you better. Sadly, that will only occur through the stories told with love by those you left behind.
I would have liked to have held your hand in mine as we ran back and forth in the living room of your home. My bfe shared that story with me. Your Uncle Patrick, my former student and present honorary nephew, shared a similar story with me.
Your funeral today was quite lovely and was just right. Nothing over the top, not too subdued, with plenty of people who either knew you or knew someone your life had touched.
I hope you don't mind that I came. I know you did not know me at all. But you knew my bfe and you knew your Uncle Patrick and they are both dear to me.
I was there in lieu of my bfe, as he is away in Canada, tending to his research, and will not return until mid-June.
I was there in support of my friend Patrick, especially after he had helped carry your small coffin out of the church and to the waiting hearse.
Such a sad sight, that small coffin.
Such a sad reminder of a life lost too soon.
Thankfully, I was also there for your dear honorary grandmother, Sara Georgialis, the mother of your mom's best friend from her college days. She is a sweet person that I know through our common friend, the peace Guy. I spotted her in the church, downcast after the service, and even went to the burial to be with her, to stand beside her and lend her my emotional and physical support.
I very much enjoyed the song your mom had requested. "I'll Fly Away" is a lovely spiritual about rising above current troubles on the hopeful wings of future. I can ceratinly understand your affinity for the song.
I think it helped everyone feel a little better, to have an emotional release, to sing the song you had so loved.
After the burial, to my surprise, I suggested to Sara that she join me for an arthouse film. She had accepted, to the surprise of both of us, and we will even meet before the film for lunch.
I hope that will lend her a sufficient emotional buffer this afternoon. I think it was more than coincidence that led me to be at your funeral and burial today, that allowed me to be a surrogate daughter for someone else's mom.
Thank you for helping me to be right where I needed to be today.

You can fly away now, oh, glory, hallelujah.
No more seizures, no more slippery tubs of bathwater, no more struggles.
Just peace, love, and understanding.

* * *

For those who wish to help autistic children like Olivia to have a helpful, hopeful, holiday from school, please consider a donation to the Summer Therapeautic Enrichment Program of Savannah (S.T.E.P.S.). My first niece volunteered with the group for several years when she was younger and can vouch for its usefulness.
I find it quite a coincidence that the local news had shone a spotlight on S.T.E.P.S. less than two weeks before Olivia's death. Timing is important. Let's hope that others will benefit.

Miss Asbury

Joe Hunnicutt.

Harold Wiley.

Nell Hagins.

When my (then) husband and I first started attending Asbury Memorial United Methodist Church in 2005, they were the three ElderBerries who welcomed us in. Sure, everyone was friendly, but these three went that extra step to personally greet us every time we came.
Joe died in 2009. A World War II veteran, like my stepdad, he was 93 years old. Sadly, his poor health had neccessitated his move into a nursing home, so he wasn't able to make it to the church very often for the last few years of his life. Still, his loss was deeply felt by those of us who knew him.
Harold, also a WWII veteran, died in 2011. He was 88 years young, still passing out hugs in his role as greeter at the church. Those hugs, and his genuine smile while bestowing them, have been missed.

Now, Nell has left, too.
Today, the church held a Celebration of her Life, to acknowledge the many contributions she made to keeping the faith, and the church itself, alive.
You see, at one point, not so very long ago, the church was dying.
Twenty-five members, most elderly, were all that were left. Enter Reverend Billy Hester in 1993, splitting his Sundays between two churches of roughly the same size and age group. With the assistance of the ElderBerries (get it?), he helped turn Asbury Memorial into a shining beacon once more.
Nell's light was a big part of that effort. Whether it was handling the office duties, constructing clown dolls as one of the Busy Bees, or greeting all comers, Nell was a regular Gal Friday.
Not that those were her only areas of activity. I knew her as part of the Hospitality Team in the kitchen, which is where she recruited me into an active role. How better to get to know people than to be serving alongside them?
She was also present at some of the Shekinah Spiral meetings. Those are for women only, encouraging bonding through frank - and confidential - discussions. That was a safe place for me to try to work through the loss of Mama.
Today, all of those groups are still going strong, providing not only spiritual support to the women of the church, but also financial support through the organized sale of personalized clown dolls and theatre tickets for the many productions performed here.
I am glad I was there for this tribute today at the church.
I just wish more of the new folks had known her.

90 mph to zero and back again

Monday, 21 April, 7:50 to 9:13 PM
me: My first early night home!
Hai: Congratulations!!! You finish that test yet you slacker!?!?!?
me: Did not have a chance this morn. Will do later tonight. For now, I eat cantaloupe!
Hai: Again, it's a good thing you're not Asian. There would be no cantaloupe for you until you're done with writing that test.
me: Then I am VERY glad to not be Asian. I do like the cantaloupe.
Hai: You should be -
me: I really didn't have any say in that. It is not something I could CHOOSE, like religion or politics or fav color.
Hai: Again be grateful.
me: But it is not something which can be changed. It is best to accept and to use one's heritage as an asset and a strength.
Hai: Sounds like soft hearted white folk talk to me.
me: Actually it is eldest daughter of an alcoholic and an overworked mom. That means i had to be the responsible one at all times. part of the reason i enlisted.
Hai: You're not the only one. Again yous ain't Asian.
me (starting to fray at the ends): And i can never be Asian. I can no more change my skin or heritage than anyone else can. People would do well to remember that. Down with bias!
Hai: Actually you can. Pigmentation surgery and yous Asian. BOOM!!!! Again more soft hearted white folk talk.
me (really unraveling): That is not right.
Hai: It's just life.
me: I do hope you are just yanking my chain. I am NOT just some kind hearted 'white folk'.
Hai: Tsk tsk jumping to conclusions again.
me: Well, it is hard to catch a teasing tone from a text.
Hai: Exactly.
me: That's why I really do not like texting.
Hai: You and everybody.
me: No, not true. Secrest only texts, except to his parents.
Hai: Again, text tone.

That's when I found myself in tears and elected to stop participating in the conversation. I had gone from perfectly elated at having most of my Monday evening back in my possession (yeah!!! no more labs!!!) to utterly inconsolable and unclear of the origin of my sorrow.
Then I realized why. Five years ago today, I was at work that Tuesday morning when my cell phone rang.
Caller: "Hello, may I speak to Jeff McDermott?"
Damn. Someone who didn't know we were divorced and I had ported over the old home number as my cell number.
me: "He cannot be reached at this number anymore. We are divorced and he is living in Mississippi. I could give you his new number."
Caller: "I'm calling from the dialysis center. Sam Johnson had given us this number to contact."
me: "Oh. I know Sam. Is there anything I can do?"
Caller: "Well, he didn't show up this morning for his dialysis appointment. Usually, when he isn't going to make it, he calls to reschedule, but he hasn't and we haven't been able to reach him."
me: "I know his brother Anthony was to pick him up today to take him there. Have you spoken to him?"
Caller: "Yes, we talked to him, and he is on his way to Sam's place now."
me: "Okay, I'll see if I can contact him, too."
Caller: "Thank you. Please have him call us and let us know what is going on."

What the hell...
So, I called Sam's phone number.
A depressed voice answered: "Hello?"
Me, voice cracking: "Anthony??? This is Tina. Why are you answering Sam's phone???"
I knew the answer before he spoke.
Anthony: "He's dead. I came here to pick him up and he's dead."
Me, sobbing: "Anthony, I am so sorry. The dialysis center called me to say he hadn't shown up this morning and I didn't know why he would have missed his appointment..."
Anthony: "Tina, I'm going to have to call you back. I can't talk right now."

And my day in 2009 had gone from perfectly fine, cruising at 90 miles per hour with windows down, to a heart-crushing halt.
Perfectly understandable. Sam had been my rock, my beacon, my voice of sanity, guiding me down from the ledge of pure crazy many a night in the past two years.
Why had a simple verbal tousle with Hai had such an effect on me???
I ended up running off to the cinema, which, miraculously, had a 10 PM showing of "Rio 2", an animated film which would be guaranteed to brighten my smile and ease my heart.
Just so you understand what an incredible stroke of good fortune this was: the cinema which was showing this film only has late movies on Fridays and Saturdays. For all other days of the week, the last film begins in the 7 PM time slot.
Why they had this film at this time on a MONDAY was beyond me, but I was truly grateful they did.
Moreover, I had a Groupon for the cinema, so I was able to go with no money in hand. I got free popcorn, too.
Definitely an angel was looking out for me.
So I laughed and smiled at the silly jokes and sang along with the sweet songs and admired the bright, dancing color displays and aerial acrobatics.
Then I came home, mood elevated, and turned on the television to find... ABRACADABRA!!! A musical! Specifically, "That 70's Musical" was on!!! And it even had Roger Daltrey in it!!! He even ate a cheeseburger in the smoky Foreman basement!!!

Ah, my angels were working purely sweet magic for me!
Not only did I watch the episode, gleefully, from start to finish, but I also took pictures of several scenes! Then, after it ended, I immediately searched online to find it so I could watch it AGAIN! And AGAIN I took pictures!!! Wow!
I was up until almost 4 AM.
I slept the blessed sleep of one who is cherished, while visions of dancing and singing Foremans and Fez and company twirled and swayed in my dreams.

Today, while waiting for students to come during my Office Hours, I wrote down the texts which ran along the ether highways twixt me and Hai, so I could remove them from my phone. As I did, I understood what had caused my psyche to swerve into a ditch two days ago.
me: I just figured out how i went from okay to in tears from our conversation on Monday.
Hai: How so?
me: I was looking back at the texts and when i got to the one where you said 'BOOM!!!', that is what triggered it. Made me think of Sam.
[He liked to say BOOM goes the dynamite!]
Hai: Ah got ya.
me: Monday marked five years since i got the call from the dialysis center looking for him.
Amazing how just one word can rouse so many memories.
Hai: The mind's a powerful thing.
me, trying to lighten the mood: The surplus of exclamation points didn't help. Just one would have sufficed.
Hai: Sorry, extra exclamation points are my thing.
me: No way, Jose!!! They are MINE, all MINE!!! White person prerogative.
Hai: Again, the white folk stealing everything.
me: Bwah ha ha, Hai!!!

Thank God I leave tomorrow for a trip of distraction, in memory of Sam and Daddy and David and Ann.
I will still have to finish writing the test on my return.
Especially as I am giving it to my students on the 28th.

a last thank you

On Sunday, Darcy Ray breathed her final breath without her dear husband at her side.
You see, he died years ago.
She has been waiting for her time to join him once more.
I knew her through my dear friend Deborah. A few years ago, when I was particularly losing my mind in my AD years, Deborah had let me "borrow" her mom, who was living with Deborah's brother and his family here in town.
Darcy had not been happy about being moved to Savannah from Maryland. I don't think I would have been very happy about such a move, either. You see, Deborah and her brother went up there for Thanksgiving one year and packed up her stuff and packed up her and came back here. She was not consulted about the move; she was told that was just the way it was going to be.
Deborah had thought it would be good for her mom to meet me, and the friendship would certainly be helpful to me. And Darcy and I hit it off pretty well, despite the great difference in our ages.
Heck, I'm not afraid of an age difference.
No, let me rephrase that.
I'm not afraid of an age difference for women in friendship situations.
I think I am still adjusting to the idea of differences in age for me and any guy I may be romantically interested in. I am seven years older than my ex and ten years younger than the Charleston bird I saw for two years. Still, I think Deborah is setting a good example for me, as she is about twenty-five years older than her soon-to-be wife.
I think Darcy would have been very happy about the upcoming first wedding of her elder daughter. Since her stroke a few months ago, Darcy has been much happier about many things. Perhaps she knew her long solitude was drawing to a close and her dear companion would once more be at her side.
I am sure she did.