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.

thanks for a lovely day!

The funny thing, Faustina, is that
in spite of the euphoria one feels upon entering paradise, cloaked in miracles, surrounded by angels, love, and unimaginable beauty, it gradually becomes all they know, commonplace, ordinary, and then, shockingly... invisible.
Yep, I'm talking about life on earth. Right?

Yippee-kai-yay,
The Universe

Today, that was the message I received.
Sometimes, they are more spot-on than others, especially in retrospect. You know, with hindsight being 20-20 and all that.
But today, I heard the messages in between the lines.
"Enjoy the here and now."
"Appreciate the life you have."
"See the beauty all around you."

Mama must have been instrumental in the timing of that one.
My outlaw Bunny started my day with the simple text: "Love you, Tina."
How wonderful to know someone else was remembering that it was my mother's birthday!
I posted the significance of the day, and Mama's Christmas photo that Frank had given to us the Christmas after her death, on facebook, then signed off.
I had a luncheon to attend.
That was a most excellent decision on my part. I had set it up quite a while ago, knowing December 10th was not just some ordinary day for me.
No.
So, steps had to be taken to distract me, albeit gently.
In other words, the company of strangers was needed.
Who better than the Lunch Ladies? The meetup was scheduled for a venue close to hand, not downtown. That was a plus! I didn't know how many to expect, but I knew there would be at least a few familiar faces of women of various ages. That was another plus!
I like having a range of ages around me - I find it reassuring. Megan, Debbie, and Jackie have been at several of the lunches I have attended and I truly like them. I wouldn't go so far as to call them "friends" yet, but they are certainly more than "acquaintances". As good fortune would have it, all three were at the table when I arrived slightly late and a little teary-eyed. There were others there, like Agnes and Betsy, that I knew more glancingly, as well as two newcomers.
None pried. All allowed me time and space to regain my tether.
At some point in the conversation, about books and movies and televised shows, I mentioned Mama, just to let them all know. I also shared how thankful I was to Megan and Debbie for our conversation about the Junior League Thrift Sale at an earlier luncheon. Thanks to them, when my first niece invited me a few days later to go to the sale with her, I complied. Moreover, I snagged lots of baby items and two Graco high chairs for my nephew Michael's upcoming twin girls. What a coup! And for less than twenty bucks, total!
I was feeling pretty good by the time lunch was done. And, look! Plenty of time until I was due at the school to give a make-up Final Exam to two students! (Yes, another activity deliberately scheduled as a distraction on this special day.)
The grocery store, a new one I had only been in once, was right there. (That's an inside joke with the bfe. Remind me to tell you about it sometime, if I haven't already.)
While there, I grabbed a few things for my upcoming soiree - sodas, clementines, cubed cheese - all on sale. Yeah! And while I was there, a special promotion allowed me to buy $145 worth of kitchen goods for only $39. Wow! I have two weddings coming up next year, so these will be fabulous gifts for the new couples!
Timing. That was such excellent timing!
I returned home in plenty of time to put away the three half-gallons of lactose-free milk and other refrigerator-stored items. In fact, I had time to set up the radio on the new station I so enjoy, SC 103. Its music selection is so diverse!!! They play a lot of old tunes, mixed in with new songs, and have an occasional holiday favorite thrown in for good measure.
Then I had to race out to the college, as I had lost track of time. Oops! That's okay, I made it there only five minutes late. The students were just glad I showed up! I read the student newspaper, marking errors in it along the way. When they finished their exams, I considered going to a movie, but finally decided against it. Why not check on the physicist, see if he was still in the house?
Turns out he was! I delivered the magazine that had the article about the movie we had seen last week (about another physicist, Stephen Hawking), then offered him a ride downtown (no, not like the cops on "Law & Order" do), as he was leaving, too. He accepted and we had one of our "random trains of thought crashing about" conversations along the way and, then, for another half-hour in front of his apartment. Very nice!
I then headed toward dinner, most likely at Sisters of the New South. (I have an incredible deal that nets me four free meals per month there and they have the absofrickinlutely best fried chicken on this planet.) As I pulled in, at o'dark thirty, I wondered: should I invite my brother Ronnie?
So, I called him, to let him know I was thinking about him on this day of our late mother's birth. He was obviously drunk and completely unaware of the significance of the date. After talking with him for about fifteen minutes, I signed off, not mentioning where I was or extending an invite.
No. I was not dealing with him, in that state, on this day.
So, I called my brother Smitty, to share that I was thinking of him on this day of our late mother's birth. I got his voicemail. Recalling that the day was the one on which he met with a group for Mexican fare, I headed toward the restaurant I thought most likely.
No. He was not there, nor did he ever call me back.
Strike two, as it were, for dinner plans.
Back to home, to cook and dine "with" four of my favorite nerds. You know, Leonard, Sheldon, Howard, and Raj. Very nice!
Then, I ventured out of the house once more. That Psychotronic Film fellow was screening another item gleaned from television of the 1970's. Good move on my part! Jack Klugman was the main draw for me in "Poor Devil", but Sammy Davis, Jr. was a treat to watch, too! I was in good company at the film, with the owner of the "Singin' In The Rain" poster there to share a chocolate cookie, and laughs, with me. Amanda was there, too, and gave me an enthusiastic greeting and personal invite to the librarian's baby shower. Super nice!
And now, I am home again, after enjoying this day of cheer and friendship and surprises.
Thanks, Mama!

happy 77th, Mama - wish you were here

just visiting

Odd, but blue-sky days can be the most difficult.

just one look and i fell so hard, oh ohhh

Today, I've had my own little film festival. Three movies at the local multiplexes: one foreign, one musical, and one drama.
Let's just say this day has run the gamut of my emotional range and I am wiped out.

It started early this afternoon. Oh, but first, let me give a little introduction before I launch into my "today".

Early in September, I had found that Bollywood films were coming to Savannah! Well, close enough here for me! I'd gone to see "Raja Natwarlal" at the Royal in Pooler, having missed it on its short run here in town. What great fun! Imagine "The Sting" as a musical, then add lots of jingly-jangly costumes and a healthy dollop of humor - I loved it!!! It was the kind of movie that I would have gladly seen twice, given the opportunity.
Ever since, I've kept my eye (the left one, my "good" eye) on the cinema schedules of the Royal there and the Wynnsong here in town.
Finally my vigilance was rewarded! "Bang Bang!" would have its final screening in town today, before its weeklong run in Pooler.

So, that was my first order of business today. Go get some fresh Bollywood and maybe have leftovers next week! And, oh, am I glad I did! There I was, at 1:00 PM sharp, sitting in the cinema, watching "Bang Bang!" And getting totally hot and bothered. Totally. Lots of action, a plot involving spies and a case of mistaken identity during an internet-arranged blind date, lots of singing, lots of dancing! Lots of Hrithnik Roshan. Oh, my! I found myself on the edge of my seat, trying to get as close to him as I could.
Raawwwrrrr!
Three hours later, I found myself heading straight home to relieve some sexual tension. Straight home. No radio, taking the parkway as much as possible, concentrating only on the mission at hand. Seriously.
What a relief it was, too! It's been a while since I was that ...that ...you know what I mean! A woman has needs, especially after watching that man move and listening to that man talk and sing... oh, my, Y E S!!! And you know what the attraction was? He was built like a real man. Solid shoulders, solid haunches, great hair, incredible eyes... the combination was irresistible to me.
I will, most assuredly, go see this again next week.
Oh, yes, I will.
This definitely rates a trip out to Pooler.

So.. where was I? Oh, yes, talking about the emotional rollercoaster of my film festival today.
Well, that was the giddy high point.
Afterward, I took a little break before heading back southside. I had tried to get my friend Lauri to come with me, as I know she has a soft spot for World War II films, but she had other plans. Actually, I think she backed off when I said it was a musical.
Perhaps she was expecting it would be too lightweight if the players were breaking out in song? Not quite. Tim Rice's "From Here To Eternity: The Musical" was certainly full of pathos and realism. Anyone who thinks all musicals, Broadway or off, are simply farsical fun need to take another look, especially at opera. This work has a lot of serious pieces, more so than songs of mirth, as can be seen in this trailer. Robert Lonsdale and Ryan Sampson were especially good in this theatrical piece. If you ever get the chance, please do watch it.
I was glad I did, but saddened a little by it. My Great-Uncle Sam Grantham was over in Pearl Harbor on that auspicious day in 1941, a day that came to life again in this play-turned-film. I cannot even imagine what impact that had upon him as a young man. He died of colon cancer when I was a teen; I don't recall him ever talking about those days as a sailor in Hawaii. However, this musical brought home to me how great a shock it must have been to go from watching hula girls one day to trying to save your life the next morning.
Well, that was very sobering.

One last movie to finish out the day, I thought. Let's make it a new one, fresh from the West Coast! And in the very same southside cinema as the musical, too. More Regal points for me!
"The Judge" promised Robert Downey, Jr., in a serious role, as opposed to playing Marvel's Iron Man. (Please note: I love the Marvel films, I do! But I wanted to see Downey stretch a little, too.)
No one warned me that this was a father-son film in which the father was dying of cancer. That last little part was left out of the previews.
It certainly did allow for some stretching of acting skills for both him and Robert Duvall. Both were well-equipped for the challenge and did a stellar job. That made sure I would be in tears at the end.
As if I wouldn't have been reminded of my own father's death from cancer, just five years ago.

All in all, one heck of a day.
I'll have to do this again sometime.
It's good for me to stretch, too!

how I marked the 13th year

This past week has certainly been a time of remembrances of my days in the military. Ever since last Friday, when I discovered, to my horror, that the Naval stations I had spent my young adult years at were (long) gone, I have had the impact of the military on youth on my mind. During times of peace, the effect is minimalized, primarily manifesting as an increase in structure and responsibility. That's all to the good. Regardless of the reason a person volunteers for service, that time elisted can bring happy memories and long-term friendships.
Today was not to mark a time of peace. This country has been deeply involved in war and peace has been absent for thirteen years.
In honor of this great country I call home, I attended two events at Armstrong State University today.
The first was a fun learning experience. Titled "Star Spangled Banner", the lecture explored the origins of several patriotic songs, not just our National Anthem. One piece in particular caught my attention: "America The Beautiful". Based on the poem "Pike's Peak", written by Katharine Lee Bates in 1893, the lyrics give praise to the World's Columbian Exposition, better known as the Chicago World's Fair. She was a 33-year-old single woman, a teacher from Massachusetts, who had traveled to Colorado for a summer teaching job and stopped in Chicago along the way.
Why did this hold such importance for me?
Well, it appealed to my alter ego, Fliss of Kickstarter! In particular, the reference in the song to "alabaster cities", in conjunction with the knowledge of her trip to the Fair in 1893, immediately placed her in the context of the musical I had backed on kickstarter. 'Wait a minute!', I thought, 'I know that story about the Fair!' Indeed. Thanks to "The Dreamer and The Devil", I am rather familiar with the architect of that White City of which she speaks. I can certainly understand an intelligent young woman being quite taken with Daniel Burnham's gleaming dream, especially after the city grime she knew.
How fortunate for us all that she did not opt to stay at the hotel built by "Dr. H.H. Holmes" during her visit to the Fair. That establishment, self-billed as "World's Fair Hotel", came replete with dungeon, gas chamber, and moratorium, and was the site of at least 27 murders (possibly as many as 200). Had she rested her head on one of those pillows, we might not have ever had this paean to the beauty of America's diverse vistas.
Brrr! Did you just catch that chill?

The second event I chose to mark time in America's history was this evening.
The Armstrong Masquers performed
"A Piece of My Heart", the play written by Shirley Lauro. Her work was adapted from six stories of the twenty-six women in the 1986 book by Keith Walker. The six stories selected cover a broad range of women who served in Vietnam, during their time there (in the late 1960's) and up to the completion of the Vietnam Veterans Memorial (in 1984).
Some of these women were so young! Martha, a daughter of a career military man and Army nurse mother, and Sissy, who had just looked for escape from her Pennsylvania hometown, were 18 and 19 years old when they enlisted.
MaryJo, a Texas entertainer in her early 20's, thought a contract to entertain the troops would advance the careers of herself and her band. That was the story her agent told her.
LeeAnn was a hippie and a war protester, thinking that being a military nurse was a way to help folks - especially as she had been told she would be going to Hawaii.
Whitney, in her mid-20's, was an idealistic Ivy-leaguer, volunteering as a nurse for the American Red Cross.
They all believed the stories on the radio, on television, in the newspapers and magazines. America was winning the war over there, but could still use help.
The only one who truly knew what was going on was 35-year-old Steele, a 17-year intelligence specialist in the US Army. Of course, she found out that being a black female was not going to get you too far, regardless of the information you brought to the general's attention.

Yes, I cried.
I wept when the young nurses were thrown into the horror pit of war, forced to learn how to start an iv through OJT. Add to that scene the sound of helicopters,
the endless screaming and noise, and the sight of men, their age and younger, missing limbs and bleeding out before their eyes.
Horrific.
I wept when a dying young man gets to talk to his mom for Christmas.
I wept when the veteran in the group tries to stave off the Tet offensive and failed.
I wept when they all sought solace at the bottom of a bottle, both in Vietnam and back at home again.
Their return to the States was met with more tears, because I know the greeting they received from the civilian world here.
I am so grateful to be a supporter of the Armstrong Masquers.
Keep up the good work, y'all.

litany of 1st world woes

Ta Dah!
I'm here! How are you doing, Tony?
I've been a little blue lately. Actually, ever since Robin Williams' death, I've just not quite had my joie de vivre going. I had my annual blood work drawn last Friday and I go to the doctor on the 10th to get the results. I'll talk to her about this general malaise I have and see what she recommends.
Maybe I'm just tired of being in a hot house. That is definitely becoming a drag. Ah, well, it's my own choice - if I really wanted to have the the AC fixed, I could just knuckle under and spend the money. As it is, there's only about another month of hot days, then we should be done with that. These highs in the 90's are rough.
Sorry to hear about the old man dying there. The VA has had quite a bit of that in the news, with folks dying while waiting for an appointment. There have even been cases of people dying while waiting to get on to a surgeon's schedule! Absolutely bad. I have found that I sometimes have a two or three month wait before I can see my VA doc - but that isn't much different than the wait I used to have for my civilian doc. Or for my dentist.
Anywho - I'm going to Tallahassee this weekend. Yeah! Secrest and I are going there for the Southeast premiere of a movie I helped support. That's right - when they were looking for funding on kickstarter, I added my $154 to the pile and they were successful! Now, two years later, the musical is done, it's won some awards at film festivals around the world, and it is traveling from England to the US to theaters around the country. Cool, right? I am excited about that. I'm hoping Penny and her family will go see the film with us, as well as Aunt Linda. It'll be shown twice, on Saturday and Sunday, one time each afternoon. I hope to attend both screenings, but we shall see.
Okay - time to get my silly self in gear and drive on out of here!
with my love

-------------- ------------ ------------- -----------

I have lost my joie de vivre. I cannot seem to shake this general malaise which has beset me.
Robin Williams' death still saddens me deeply.
I'm tired of writing loans to myself and rocketing my debt higher and higher. I had really banked on getting a full-time teaching position this fall. I did not, and I do not believe I will ever be allowed to do so. After all, it is well known that the department head wants that chemistry series to be gone. Maybe that has changed since he has been teaching the class this past year. I doubt I will ever know.
I've been put into a position of leadership for the Light The Night team for the College of Science and Technology. I had named the team four years ago and my friend decided that was reason enough to put me in charge. I cannot even muster enough support to get a job in that college. How on Earth can I convince them to donate to this cause?
The ever-huggable Hai has unfriended me on fb... and didn't even bother to let me know he was doing so. He has not yet responded to my new request for friendship on that site.
These highs in the 90's are making me hot and sweaty all the time. No escape in my hot little house with no air conditioning.
My ex may have damaged his pancreas with his alcohol use. People think just the liver can be affected, but it's the pancreas that has to deal with regulation of sufficient insulin to handle that influx of liquid sugar.
My middle brother continues to live in the woods, starting each day with a '40' and ending it that same way. He complains about the heat, too. I am concerned about him, but he refuses to get treatment. He refuses to even consider it.
My house is a mess. At least I finally washed dishes last night.
My life is a mess. That's probably why my house reflects that.
My deck is rotting. I have become afraid to go into my back yard through my back door, for fear my foot will fall through another rotten board. I had thought my older brother might help with that repair, but not so far.
I miss the oak tree that was outside my bedroom window.
I regret that so much that was important to me in my younger years is now lost. In particular, I would have liked to see the naval stations I served at one more time before they were torn down. Instead, I found out about their demise too late to have been able to do so.
My weight loss program is going nowhere. I need a sponsor, someone who will hold me accountable. Actually, I need someone who will cook and grocery shop for me, so I will only have healthy, filling meals.
My last boyfriend has a new live-in girlfriend. Harry contacted me just days ago to thank me for an email I had sent about his fb account. It's not that I regret pushing him away three years ago - I don't - but it's sad that door is closed. Maybe we can actually be friends now.
My youngest brother is still in prison and will be there for some undetermined future amount of time. It's difficult to determine what to do with him when he is released until we know when that will be.
My boys of summer lost their bid at being champions two years in a row. A bad call at home plate is to blame, but that doesn't help them. They played well, but lost because of someone's bad decision. That is sad. I almost cried when the fans stood, turned toward their dugout, and cheered for the good baseball the team had given us.
My youngest brother's grandkids did not even once go to the baseball games. I had bought their memberships in the Gnats' kid club, which would have magically granted them access into all seventy games this season. Their mom would not ever agree to meet with me. Very sad for the kids to be have been deprived of this summer entertainment and for me to have been deprived of their company.
My stepmom is far too busy for us to have our time together. I miss her and our grown-girl talks.
I seem to be crying more than usual lately. I think I am spending too much time alone. I know I definitely need cuddling, but that is not forthcoming. I am very tired of that lack in my life.
I haven't seen my "little sister" and her kids in at least three years. I had hoped to meet up with them midway-ish this summer, but they did not travel out of California after all. My little sister was supposed to have come to Savannah last month, but I heard nothing from her.
My BFF is finally separated from her emotionally abusive husband. She wants divorce, he is refusing. The emotional abuse continues, in the form of his seduction of women he wishes she was. I think that is the most cruel move of all.
I don't even know who to talk to about these things. I hate to rain pain on anyone else. I'm hoping that throwing this out there from my beach will turn this grief into lagan.
My first niece is so inundated with family issues that I cannot even seem to hold a conversation with her. I actually stopped a topic in mid-discussion while she handled a phone call and she didn't even pick up the trail afterward.
I had the same issue arise with my BFF this past weekend.
In general, I don't seem to hold anyone's attention for long enough for them to hear ME.
Tomorrow makes a year since the death of my stepbrother George.

I keep taking on too much responsibility for other people's happiness.
I need to stop being such a control freak.
I need a hug that lasts until I stop it.

Bitch, bitch, moan, and complain.

death of an oak

Here, I pay homage to the oak destroyed on July 15 and 16 of this year.
Even though I am the one responsible for its loss to my world, I am gladdened to know I have these photographs to document its existence.

Day 1, Tuesday, July 15: work begins.

Day 2, Wednesday, July 16: continuation and culmination.

panegyric for an oak

Planted
by a forgetful squirrel
before the house changed hands in 2001,
the acorn
from across the street
grew into a small tree between the two houses. Although trimmed repeatedly
(by yours truly) over the ensuant years, the tree continued to grow, eventually attaining a height which would have required the use of a ladder to keep its boughs in check.
Notice that use of the phrase "would have".
The tree, no longer beset by pruning tools, flourished.
Oddly, no birds claimed it as home. Ever.
The mockingbirds preferred the shelter of the nearby azaleas, cloaked by blackberry brambles and thorny vines.
The neighbor in the house on the other side of the tree began complaining about two years ago. He claimed the upper branches were having a deleterious effect on his roof. I reminded him that I would have been able to afford to have the tree trimmed when he had the tree cutters eliminating the pines in his back yard, about five years earlier. He did not recall.
Every few months, a card from a tree surgeon would be left on my door.
Time passed.
The tree continued to loft its weighty limbs into the air, reaching its fingertips toward the sun, the moon, the stars. Its leaves caught each passing breeze, rustling and singing.
Its roots continued to spread, taking shelter under the houses of myself and my neighbor. Eventually, that would be a serious problem, I knew. The roots of an oak reach out as far as do its limbs. The overlap of the branches atop the two roofs were evidence of the roots' encroachment upon those foundations.
Action would eventually be necessary. I knew that, but kept granting clemency to the oak.
After two of my neighbors called the city about my back yard, I decided it was time for action against the tree.
Time for the mighty oak to be felled.
"Mighty" was hardly the correct description. The tree was still so young! It should have had a couple of hundred years of time ahead of it.
Instead, the tree surgeon of my choice was called, a man recommended by my dear artist friend.
On the afternoon of Tuesday, July 15, 2014, Ervin came. After we agreed on the cost of ending the tree's life, work began.
Immediately.
I may have expected more time for me to accept the concept of killing the oak. At least I was aware that this was most likely the only time I would deliberately have a living tree destroyed.
I documented the act with photographs.
The tree surgeon was surprised, but did not discourage me.
He has a deep respect for these trees he fells.
I like to think he knew I had a deep respect for this oak.
I like to think I did, too.
I miss the sight and the sounds of it.
I don't think I realized what a loss I would feel.
I certainly did not realize what impact that loss would have on me.
Now, every morning, I am reminded that the oak is gone. The rising sunbeams, no longer blocked, beat against my bedroom window, seeking admittance, bidding me awaken at a ridiculously early time.
Now, all day long, the sun sends its heated rays toward that window, increasing the temperature in my already hot, un-air-conditioned, little house.
Now, every day, I am reminded of my death sentence on the oak.
Sigh.
Loss adjustment is still ongoing.
Perhaps, as the days cool and the nights lengthen, I will welcome the additional sunlight.
For now, the loss is still fresh and I am daily reminded: I had a living tree destroyed.
I don't know if Joyce Kilmer would have approved, but I have to believe he would have understood.
And none of that logic makes it any less sad.

elephant cages

Early this morning, just after midnight, I was catching up on fb before wandering off to bed.
My little sister's wife sent me the following story:
Navy's mysterious 'elephant cage' retired
Say what???
I spent 15 months of my life there, from December 1982 to March 1984.
I was 24 years old.
That was my last duty station as a Cryptologic Technician, Maintenance, for the United State Navy. My time in San Diego was memorable, from the all-day concerts in open-air stadiums to the drives along the magnificent coast and points all around.
Then there were the trips I made!
Out to Barstow to see my high school friend Josie and her family, then onward for my first view of Las Vegas, sparkling like jewels on black velvet on the night-time road.
Up to Los Angeles to visit Arturo Koenig and George Cherry, fellows I knew in my Okinawa days.
Another trip in that direction, to Anaheim, to visit the family of Jeff Petrell, a friend stationed with me in Panama.
Then, for Christmas of 1983, up to San Francisco, to see my best friend Lizz, my jarhead of Okinawa (I was her squid!)
of course, I also drove across the border to Tijuana, just about ten miles away from where I lived in Imperial Beach, which was in easy walking distance from the station.
You see, NSGA San Diego was physically located in Imperial Beach, just ot the south of town. Until the early 1970's, it was known as NSGA Imperial Beach and many around there still called it that when I was there.
Apparently, it last saw sailors in September of 1999.
On July 27, 2005, it was disestablished.
What a word: disestablished.
Stripped of its official status as an integral part of the US Navy.
Rather similar to a marriage being annulled, isn't it?
Now, the Wullenweber antenna array, a structure the size of two football fields, is to be dismantled, to be disappeared from the spot on which it has stood since 1965.
I sat right here in this chair and sobbed.
Disappeared???
Part of my history whisked away into nothingness???
That can't be right... can it? We're talking about a military station, for crying out loud! No more sailors working there night and day to help locate folks lost at sea or people trafficking in drugs or humans? No more?
Apparently.
The site has been known as the Silver Strand Training Complex ever since its dismissal from the military. Odd, I don't recall seeing that name on it when Cyndi drove me by it in 2008, on my February visit to San Diego. I was too busy drinking in the sights, overall, for such a detail.
It was originally scheduled to be removed in 2007.
Perhaps it had been left there for me to visit, one more time.
Now, it's stay of demolition has been lifted. Funds have been found and it will be deconstructed this very month.
The 390-foot diameter, circularly disposed antenna array will be removed. The two-story, windowless, concrete block building at its heart will vanish, to beat no more.
I sat here and sobbed, wiping my eyes as I read its obituary.
Then a thought struck - what about the other duty stations of my youth? Were they safe from demolition? Surely...they were in other countries, on foreign soil and in locations not as hungry for beachfront land as California is.
A few simple searches with goodsearch confirmed my fears. The obituaries were right in front of me.
Naval Security Group Activity Galeta Island, Panama: closed in March, 1995. Disestablished a scant three months later. Given to Panama on New Year's Eve, 1999.

Now, reduced to rubble.
This was taken in April, 2008, by Dave Peck on his visit there.
From military outpost with
US Marines on the roof
to rotting tourist site
in a mangrove swamp.
For all I know,
the structures are
completely gone.
I sat and sobbed.
NSGA Galeta Island was my first duty station. I was 19 years old and newly wed.
I was the first woman to be stationed there. The one bathroom had a sign to be switched from "Men" to "Women" to "Open". Funny what memories come to mind!
My first husband and I spent our honeymoon driving there, starting in Pensacola, Florida, then to Laredo, Texas, and the US-Mexico border. We spent some time in Mexico, dodging vehicle collisions in the massive roundabouts, climbing the Pyramid of the Moon in Teotihuacan, listening to the mariachi bands on the gondolas of Xochimilco's Floating Gardens, admiring the beauty of the cathedral in Oaxaca.
Then, onward along the Pan-American Highway to Panama, paying exit fees and entrance fees all along the way. We were living on peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for the last few days of our trip! We arrived in April of 1978 and were there until April of 1980.
My last dog was a Panamanian version of Heinz 57, with German Shepard being dominant. Toffee was aptly named. She was a sweet, smart, girl with heavy mascara all around her eyes and dark hairs scattershot throughout her coat. She came with us when we left Panama, spending her month in quarantine in Miami before joining us in Savannah.
Coco Solo was home while down in Central America. Disco dancing, shag, square dancing! Movies on reels to watch as often as we wanted, over in the Officers' Quarters! Shopping and festivals in Colon! Exploring the thorn trees on Fort Davis! Riding the train to the PX at Rodman Air Base on the Pacific Ocean side! Hopping a ride on new Navy and Marine vessels as they traveled through the locks of the Panama Canal! Sunbathing at the secluded Playa Diablo!
No more.
Coco Solo, the smaller towns, even the Army base at Fort Gulick - all swallowed up by the now-city of Colón. I wonder if the restaurant where I first dined on ceviche and dorado is still there?
Early this morning, I was not consciously thinking of any of these memories. I was in shock at my loss.
Tears coursed down my cheeks as I viewed the list of stations I knew.
Groton? London? Naples?
Closed, closed, closed.
What about NSGA Hanza, in Okinawa?
Closed. The last sailors had left by June of 1998. The antenna array and ops building were demolished in June, 2007.
Nothing to mark its place now.
Gone.
I wept in a daze, wiping my eyes with the backs of my hands.
March of 1981 to December of 1982, my room was on the third floor at Torii Station, facing the ocean. I rode a bus to go up the hill to the "elephant cage" for my 2-2-2-80 shiftwork. I rode the Okinawan buses in to Kadena, Naha, Nago, for dining and shopping and barhopping with the guys.
I took USO-organized trips to Hong Kong and Kowloon province China, to Taipei, Taiwan, to mainland Japan. I took an overnight ride on an Asian passenger ship from Taiwan back to Okinawa, being treated to a night sky with more stars than I could have ever dreamt possible.
My first experiences with theatre were in Okinawa. Army Community Theatre On (the) Rock, aka ACTOR, was a source of civilian sanity and socializing in the heart of Torii Station. Janet Leary and Mark Engler taught us all to have fun while entertaining others. I am especially fond of our production of "Bell, Book, and Candle", in May, 1982. No, I wasn't part of that one. I saw it after successfully lobbying the Navy to grant me a tubal ligation. The abdominal surgery left me unable to laugh without wincing, so I had to clap instead!
Such memories of good times...
... at a place now gone.
Even Torii Station has changed, offering recreational activities and beachside entertainment. I remember not being able to go on the beach because of the mines still buried in the sand.
This morning, I wept until I was exhausted and my eyes were nearly swollen shut.
In need of diversion before bed, I looked to the television world.
I caught the last 15 or 20 minutes of the last episode of "Friends". In the final moments of the show, they are leaving the apartment for the very last time, placing their keys on the kitchen counter.
I couldn't have asked for anything better, something to alter my perspective in a positive way.
Change is part of life.
Coincidence? More like my Grandmama looking after me.
By the closing credits of the show, I was calm once more.
The time was 3 AM.
"Futurama" was coming on.
Time to relax with an Outshine lime popsicle and those folks of the future.
Then I was off to bed, for sure, and peaceful dreams.
And today has been a new day.

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!

well, i can't chain him, can i

"I brought you into this world and I can take you out."
Uttered by Bill Cosby, the line is hilarious! After all, he's recounting a conversation with his son, probably teen-aged, during a moment of extreme boorishness on the son's part. However, we all know it would be a cold day in July before he would ever ACT on that threat. That means, of course, that the boy's life is safe in his father's hands. Right? As long as he's in the Northern hemisphere, that is.
Now, consider a case of a parolee, just released from prison. In the movie, we're not told why he was incarcerated; that's not the point. Suffice it to say that's he's been gone at least two decades and the small boy he left on the other side of the bars is now a grown man.
But... in the father's mind, the mental image of his son is frozen at that young age, that preschool innocence shining from his face. The picture of the boy is front and center in the dad's memories. Time stood still for that aspect of the man's life.
Now, consider that the very day the father is released on parole, he is informed that his son is dead, killed while burgling an occupied home. Moreover, on the day of his release, the son is being buried. The father never actually sees the son's body, so the mental image he carries is preserved, carrying over into a need for vengeance against the homeowner who killed the son.
Things get complicated, though. The father becomes aware that the man buried was not his little boy, but some random guy. His son, his all grown up son, has mob affiliations and has been whisked into witness protection until his testimony against the mobsters.
The father wants to see his son, wants to have a new image of the boy who grew up without him. Only this image is nightmare fuel. The man he sees is a serial killer of young girls, a brutal animal who is the star of many snuff films.
And the father makes a hard decision, but the right one. The son must be put down, as he cannot be chained.
Great story.
If you get a chance, see "Cold In July". The ending is exactly right.

dusting off the golden rule

The following were from my fsilm, via email, naturally.

Real-life stories

1. Today, when I slipped on the wet tile floor, a boy in a wheelchair caught me before I slammed my head on the ground. He said, 'Believe it or not, that's almost exactly how I injured my back 3 years ago.'

2. Today, my father told me, 'Just go for it and give it a try! You don't have to be a professional to build a successful product. Amateurs started Google and Apple. Professionals built the Titanic.'

3. Today, I asked my mentor, a very successful business man in his 70's, what his top tips are for success. He smiled and said, 'Read something no one else is reading, think something no one else is thinking, and do something no one else is doing.'

4. Today, I interviewed my grandmother for part of a research paper I'm working on for my Psychology class. When I asked her to define success in her own words, she said, 'Success is when you look back at your life and the memories make you smile.'

5. I am blind by birth. When I was 8 years old, I wanted to play baseball. I asked my father, 'Dad, can I play baseball?' He said, 'You'll never know until you try.' When I was a teenager, I asked him, 'Dad can I become a surgeon?' He replied, 'Son, you'll never know until you try.' Today, after my own successful sight restoration surgery, I am a surgeon, just because I tried!

6. Today, after a 72-hour shift at the fire station, a woman ran up to me at the grocery store and gave me a hug. When I tensed up, she realized I didn't recognize her. She let go with tears of joy in her eyes and the most sincere smile and said, 'On 9-11-2001, you carried me out of the World Trade Center.'

7. Today, after I watched my dog get run over by a car, I sat on the side of the road holding him and crying. And just before he died, he licked the tears off my face.

8. Today at 7 AM, I woke up feeling ill, but decided I needed the money, so I went into work. At 3 PM I got laid off. On my drive home I got a flat tire. When I went into the trunk for the spare, it was flat, too. A man in a BMW pulled over, gave me a ride, we chatted, and then he offered me a job. I start tomorrow.

9. Today, as my father, three brothers, and two sisters stood around my mother's hospital bed, my mother uttered her last coherent words before she died. She simply said, 'I feel so loved right now.'
We should have gotten together like this more often.

10. Today, I kissed my dad on the forehead as he passed away in a small hospital bed. About 5 seconds after he passed, I realized it was the first time I had given him a kiss since I was a little boy.

11. Today, in the cutest voice, my 8-year-old daughter asked me to start recycling. I chuckled and asked, 'Why?' She replied, 'So you can help me save the planet.' I chuckled again and asked, 'And why do you want to save the planet?' 'Because that's where I keep all my stuff,' she said.

12. Today, when I witnessed a 27-year-old breast cancer patient laughing hysterically at her 2-year-old daughter's antics, I suddenly realized that I need to stop complaining about my life and start celebrating it again.

12. Today, a boy in a wheelchair saw me desperately struggling on crutches with my broken leg and offered to carry my backpack and books for me. He helped me all the way across campus to my class and as he was leaving he said, 'I hope you feel better soon.'

13. Today, I was traveling in Kenya and I met a refugee from Zimbabwe. He said he hadn't eaten anything in over 3 days and looked extremely skinny and unhealthy. Then my friend offered him the rest of the sandwich he was eating. The first thing the man said was, 'We can share it.'


* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

I don't know if any of the above are true or even what sources were used for the quotes.
I do know that I like the messages about loss adjustment.

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.

changing the tv channel

Seriously.
I think the changing of the television channel at The Distillery has flipped some kind of friendship switch into the "off" position for Hai.
Not for me. Just for him.
The day had gone well. He was without a car still (his had been wrecked), so I had picked him up about 5:30 and we headed to the Jepson Center. In celebration of the Marilyn exhibit, they were screening "The Misfits", a film I don't recall every seeing before. It was a western, of all things, and starred Marilyn Monroe, Clark Gable, and Montgomery Clift, in a screenplay crafted by Marilyn's husband, Arthur Miller.
It was a rather dark film, with all of the characters being damaged goods. In particular, the aging, alcoholic cowboy which Clark Gable played bore an uncanny resemblance to my middle brother. (Perhaps because that brother bears a likeness to the actor and has been bestowed with the nickname "Clark Gable" by Mr. Willie? Possibly.)
At any rate, I was a bit subdued after the film.
Hai was not. He was chomping at the bit to get to the eatery. Hungry? No.
You see, tonight they were featuring one of the breweries in their upstairs area. As a member of their loyalty club, he would be able to get some swag from the featured brewery.
So, we hopped on over there.
That's when the trouble began.
As soon as we arrived, he had to stop and chat with two fellows out front. The chat became extended, but he did not introduce me to them.
Fine, whatever.
Then, as soon as we entered the place, he jetted upstairs, with no fare thee well or anything. Just sprinted up the wooden steps as though they were giving away cash money and he was missing out.
Rather rude, right?
But he's a friend, not a boyfriend, and a rather young friend at that, so I would just let it slide.
I was hungry and thirsty, so I asked to be seated by the hostess, letting her know there would be two, eventually. I had noticed that "The Terror of Tiny Town" was on a couple of the huge tv sets and asked to be seated such that I could watch the movie. The hostess led me to a table with a great view of one of the bar tvs and all was well.
Briefly.
I placed my order and texted Hai to let him know what I was doing.
After all, The Distillery is one of his favorite places. I wanted to let him know all was okay, that they even had a fun movie to entertain me, instead of all the sports on the other ten thousand televisions there.
So, that's how things fared for about 15 minutes. Just long enough for me to get my iced tea and the hummus platter, still with no Hai in sight or responding to my texts.
But he responded to this one.
Damn. Some idiot just had them change the channel to THE SAME BASKETBALL GAME THAT IS ON THE OTHER BAR TV. Damn.
Seriously, the two tv sets are EACH at least five feet long and are set along the back of the 14-foot bar. What blind fool was unable to watch the game? What idiot of a bartender didn't bother to point that out or cut off the blind drunk?
I asked the hostess, my waitress, and another waitress to please have the tv channel changed back to the movie.
Nothing happened.
Both of the bar tvs continued to show the EXACT SAME GAME.
Then the waitress came and she had my order wrong. She had brought the sandwich when I had specifically asked for the salad.
Eventually, as I said, Hai showed up, his pockets stuffed with beer glasses.
Not beer mugs. Not beersteins.
Just regular-sized glasses with beer logos on them.
Ooooh. Aaaahhh.
Did he ask them to change the channel for me?
No.
No, he acted like I was somehow at fault and that I was going to sully his regard for the place because I was unwilling to be ignored and disregarded.

Sigh.

We left shortly after we finished our meals.
I even tipped the bad waitress well, so as to not mess up his mojo there.
Somehow, I don't think I need to have bothered.
I think his switch has flipped to "off".

That will be very sad.
We have certainly had some grand adventures these past few months.

those little teacups from Limoges

This morning, I was putting some dishes away. Somehow, this one caught the corner of the cabinet door and squiggled right out of my hands.
CRASH!!!

Fortunately, I still have one blue fish.
Dr. Seuss would be pleased about that.
But here's the odd thing: it looks bigger when it's shattered all over the tile.
I guess that can be an analogy for the effect of loss.
When we lose someone dear to us, that broken state can easily swamp out everything else in our lives.
As I learned last year, the losses of family and friends can be overwhelming, throwing hurricane-force winds and tsunamis into our path, obliterating the light of day, the light of life.
It's important to remember this: you are not alone.
Others also loved the one who has passed.
Others are also caught in the storm with you.
Together, you can help each other survive.
Let the towering wave of loss wash over you, be mindful of its devastation. Then rise and walk on.
You still live.
Be mindful of those loved ones who still share this space with you.

Now, on a less serious note (literally and figuratively), I know you are wondering at least one thing.
To what do you owe the pleasure of this post's title?
I'm glad you asked!
Check out "You Broke My Heart". Sung by a fellow channeling Dean Martin, it's a rather nice diversion.
No, I am not familiar with the show, or game, or whatever it is.
I had stumbled upon the site while surfing and thought the ride was totally tubular, man.
It brightened my day!

visible trees

Sleeping while driving.
Y'all, please take notice.
What a needless loss of a man who seemed tireless.
Only 53 and already gone, healthy and in the prime of life.
According to the police report, his car hit several trees after leaving the highway pavement.
Perhaps he had the car on "cruise control" mode, so the gas pedal remained depressed until the engine was finally damaged enough to cease running, allowing the car to do the same.
We can only hope Mark Finlay felt no pain.
Unlike those left behind to mourn his loss.

chasing daylight

The peace Guy caught a ride into town last Friday. One of our mutual friends had gone up to his city to share a concert. She had stayed overnight with him, then visited another friend. When she returned here, she fetched him along. That gave us both a little time to visit, to catch up in person with the events of the past weeks.
On Sunday, I had returned him to his jet city. I cut short my final afternoon with ocean films to fetch him from yet another round of repairs at his rental apartment. Yet, even with a schedule in place, we ended up on the road a little later than planned.
My intention had been to return him in daylight, with no night driving.
That didn't happen.
Even with the days still having much length, the distance to traverse was easily a full three hours, plus a little extra.
Even driving at my speeds instead of his, the distance was not getting covered quickly enough to keep up with the waning of the sun.
Chasing daylight.
It's a favorite phrase of mine when I'm on the road, traveling as far as I can before night falls, hurtling toward an unseen goal hinted at on a map and road signs.
It's also a good euphemism for life, though, is it not?

anchors aweigh, dear George

Like myself, George was a former member of the United States Navy. As such, I know he would have appreciated having that song linked to memories of him, especially these lines:
"Anchors aweigh, my boys, anchors aweigh,
Farewell to college joys, we sail at break of day-ay-ay-ay,
Through our last night on shore, drink to the foam,
Until we meet once more, here's wishing you a happy voyage home."

He was the carver of the turkey at Thanksgivings when my mother and his dad were still alive and the whole family would gather for the feast and to watch the Detroit Lions lose. Sometimes the Lions would win, usually not. But George could always be counted on for a few ribald jokes in the carport while he had a smoke or two.

He was the carver of the ham at Christmas Eve buffets where first food was demolished, then wrapping paper on gifts for the many grandchildren the blended family gave to my mother and his father. Between him and his two sisters and my three brothers, there were eleven grandchildren by birth (Stephen, Christina, Damon, Jason, Zach, Jean Marie, Emily, Michael, Hope, Zaida, and Molly), one by adoption (Tyler), and three steps (Christy, Clint, and Chelsea). Incredible wealth of love and joy!

He always had a ready hug and a quick bit of humor. That will be sorely missed. For one of the last times that I saw him, I had made sure to bring a joke of my own. Of course, it wasn't the deep sea blue flavor he really enjoyed, but it was one he could readily share with anyone near. I'm sure he did, too.

Lung cancer has cut his life short. He would have been a speed limit himself, 65, next month.

I will miss his mischievous, little boy smile. I will miss the glint of an inside joke peeking out of his eyes.
I will miss him.