In Memory of My Baby Noah ... A Little Heart ... and Rainbow Bridge....

Our little Noah had to leave us on Friday, August 29. I wasn't ready ... don't know if I ever would have been ... but it was time, to keep him from suffering and deteriorating further.

Noah was my sweet "baby" ... already an old dog when we adopted him a year ago, older even than the Shelter Rescue people had indicated. But to me, he was still my "baby" ... and I am so grateful for the year we had and for the sweetness and unconditional love he brought into my life. I have believed from our first day together that little Noah came to me for a reason, and his gentle loving nature and unreserved affection have greatly added to the lessons I believe I am supposed to learn in this life.

By Wednesday of last week, I knew the time to part from him was coming ... so much faster than I wanted ... and on Thursday evening, as we sat together on the couch with his head in my lap, he kept looking up into my eyes with his dear brown eyes, and I could see how tired he was ... and I believe with all my broken heart that he was telling me in his sweet patient way that it was time to let him go ... that he had done for me what he was intended to do ... and that he was ready.

On Friday morning I called my friend KC because I knew she would help me do the right thing for him, and not waver as Yahn and I both might have. Just before it was time to go to the vet, Noah rallied enough that we could have one of our special "dances" ... as best he could manage ... and hope tried to catch my heart again ... but then I could see how exhausted he was from the effort. I will treasure the memory of that "dance" ... his gift to me even though he was so tired ... as I will always treasure the memories of my baby Noah.

KC went with me to the vet, and stayed with me as I held Noah while he went oh so gently into that good night. I have been something of a basket case since and unable to write about him until now, except for a few e-mails to some very close friends.

On Saturday morning, as I was grieving his loss, the sweetest, truly mystical (and true) thing happened. I went to have coffee with KC since Yahn wasn't up ... and at one point in our conversation she jumped out of her chair and said: "I've wondered why I've had this for 14 years, and now I know. You are supposed to have it." She retrieved something from a shelf and came to me and handed me a beautiful little blue and clear "art glass" heart ... just big enough to cup in my hand. And when I did, and looked down at it, with the morning light from the windows illuminating it ... I saw little Noah at the bottom of the heart, in the play of light. He was standing in profile (his left side) with his little head up and his little poufy tail high, like it was when he was happy. Of course I cried ... but I so knew then that he is all right now. KC had not seen that image ... it's not a part of the design or any permanent occlusion in the glass ... just said she knew somehow that I was supposed to have the little heart....

When I brought the heart home with me, I put it in Yahn's hand and told him to look at it and tell me if he saw anything. He looked for a few seconds and said: "Oh my god, it's Noah." And then he described Noah's image, just as I had seen Noah in the glass.

Some of you may think my grief over losing Noah is excessive, and dismiss it with "he was just a dog" ... but he was oh so much more. He was pure, unselfish, selfless love ... and he did teach me so much about that enviable state.

Also on Saturday, I received from three friends (KC, Jim Spradley Sr. and Christopher Watts, an owner of The Petropolitan, who with his partner Todd Fisher, and James Donovan and Shawn Harper helped make Noah's last weeks so good for him) a story called Rainbow Bridge ... and I want to share it with you, in memory of my Noah. If you have seen it, I imagine you won't mind reading it again ... and if you haven't, particularly if you are an animal lover and have had your own heart broken by the loss of a wonderful companion, I think you may find some hope and comfort in the words.

Rainbow Bridge

Just this side of heaven is a place called Rainbow Bridge.

When an animal dies that has been especially close to someone here, that pet goes to Rainbow Bridge.
There are meadows and hills for all of our special friends so they can run and play together.
There is plenty of food, water and sunshine, and our friends are warm and comfortable.

All the animals who had been ill and old are restored to health and vigor; those who were hurt or maimed are made whole and strong again, just as we remember them in our dreams of days and times gone by.
The animals are happy and content, except for one small thing; they each miss someone very special to them, who had to be left behind.

They all run and play together, but the day comes when one suddenly stops and looks into the distance. His bright eyes are intent; His eager body quivers. Suddenly he begins to run from the group, flying over the green grass, his legs carrying him faster and faster.

You have been spotted, and when you and your special friend finally meet, you cling together in joyous reunion, never to be parted again. The happy kisses rain upon your face; your hands again caress the beloved head, and you look once more into the trusting eyes of your pet, so long gone from your life but never absent from your heart.

Then you cross Rainbow Bridge together....

Author unknown...

I believe with all my immortal soul that through that small glass heart Noah let us know that he is all right now, and waiting for me near Rainbow Bridge, that he will one day see me coming toward him, and that we will cross that bridge together into the next life, our next stage of existence, another world, another time and times....

Many thanks to all who have sent words and thoughts of comfort. And I hope that when you make charitable contributions, you may think of all the wonderful animals who are deserving of our help, even as they give so much to us ... and that you will give some back to them....

I haven't stopped crying yet ... but I know one day I will ... that one day all my good memories of Noah will warm me and bring so many smiles....

Noah's cremated physical remains will come "home" again this week ... and he will always be in my heart ... always be "my baby Noah"....

)O(

It's Yesterday Once More....

Traces, faded, folded pencil sketch ca. 1974-1975

I was recently taking my usual afternoon ride with little Noah ("our" ritual), singing along with the radio (Noah is indulgent and sometimes even enthusiastic) and beginning to ponder just what I might do to mark the August 27th anniversary of my initial topic post on the blog (Blue Room, Hot Wheels, Purple Prose and the No. 4 Chili Cheeseburger..., although my first comment was published on August 15 in response to Nicki's inaugural post of August 13, Reflections on a Teacher at CHS). As Noah and I cruised the local drag (yes, I still do that), while I was contemplating possible "takes" ... the crystalline voice of Karen Carpenter (dead at 32 of anorexia nervosa) filled the car with the haunting words:

When I was young
I'd listen to the radio
Waitin' for my favorite songs
When they played I'd sing along
It made me smile.

Not only did those particular lyrics, that specific song, make me smile then, they conversely and concomitantly brought tears to my eyes, along with that breathtaking tug on my heart as so many years instantly fell away ... like those pages falling off calendars in old Hollywood movies to indicate the passage of time. So many different years, so many diverse images ... volatile times, kaleidoscopic places, memorable faces, a beloved twindred soul ... impossible to actually count or relate just how many memories (some good, some not so much) crowded my mind in the space of only a few moments....

I prudently had the presence of mind (and the opportunity) to swing into a convenient Sonic Drive-In just ahead, order a cherry limeade (another memory trigger) and then close my eyes and let the rest of the song work its wistful, beautiful, sometimes bittersweet magic.




Karen Carpenter (1950 - 1983) and her brother, Richard

Anyone who has read some of my blog posts, or who otherwise knows me well, apprehends that music has always been important in my life. Some of my most wonderful memories are bound in silken, sensuous chords or silvery, sussurous words, sometimes intricately woven, mellifluous, moving slowly like warm aural honey through the canyons of my mind ... soaring, close harmonies ... psychedelic screams or insensate mumbles symbiotically clashing with primitive percussion and ripped guitar riffs to savage the senses ... cry-in-your-beer but ultimately soothing and cathartic country ballads plaintively detailing love and loss, or the efforts by some Desperado to hide his Lyin' Eyes, or ...Make It Through the Night to another Tequila Sunrise with some Angel of the Morning, or to hang in just a little longer For the Good Times without thinking of What Might Have Been. (It is worth noting here that recent scientific studies have indicated that crying in response to sad songs is indeed therapeutic and should actually be encouraged as a means of feeling better, as many who have spent time drowning their sorrows and feeding the jukebox in some dark, smoky places can attest.)

I've always had a broad appreciation for sometimes startlingly different types of music ... I remember as a small child listening to Big Band music and the songs which were popular in World War II at home with my Daddy, who also introduced me to purported Peruvian/Inca exotica performed by Yma Sumac of the five-octave vocal range; hearing my mother (a wonderful pianist) play from her sheet music and sing; and watching Your Hit Parade every week with either my parents or grandparents, and with my brother Scott. But I must note that it is often our old music ... oldies, if you will ... the music that was being born and growing to maturity at the same time I was beginning to sense the inchoate yet questing nature of my own soul ... which moves me most.

And there was so much coool music those years after the advent of Elvis in the mid-'50s (see The Times of Our Lives: August 16, 1977 ... Elvis ... and Heartbreak Hotel ..., published August 15, 2008) ... Jerry Lee Lewis, Fats Domino, Little Richard, Frankie Lymon, Little Anthony and the Imperials, the Flamingos, the Marcels, the Five Satins, the Mystics, the Platters, the Crests (an unusually integrated group for that time, consisting of one Italian, two blacks and a Puerto Rican, who nailed the classic 16 Candles), the great Roy Orbison, the super-great Ray Charles and so many others.

Those were such happy times
And not so long ago
How I wondered where they'd gone
But they're back again
Just like a long lost friend
All the songs I loved so well.



Statue in Ray Charles Plaza, Albany Georgia

I remember Carl Lee and Truett Ball (both CHS Class of 1962) and later Jerry Huddleston (Class of '64) when they DJ'd at 1510 KCTX Radio in Childress ... as I recall, their shift was 3:00 p.m. until sign-off (which was dependent on when the sun set ... when so many of us then changed the dials to 1520 KOMA in Oklahoma City) ... and I remember singing along with the girls (or often just by myself) in the car to Patsy Cline, the Shirelles, the Drifters, the Ronettes, Jackie Wilson and Jerry Butler and Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons, and Peter, Paul and Mary and the Beach Boys ... feeling an absolutely spiritual connection and uplift whenever I heard Ferrante & Teicher's powerful instrumental Theme from Exodus ... sighing softly along with ethereal instrumentals like A Summer Place (Percy Faith and Orchestra), Wonderland by Night (Bert Kaempfert and Orchestra), Moon River (Henry Mancini and Orchestra), Stranger on the Shore (Acker Bilk) and Sleepwalk (Santo and Johnny) ... and groovin' and movin' to Green Onions (Booker T. and the MG's), Midnight in Moscow (Kenny Ball and the Jazzmen), Washington Square (the Village Stompers), Rebel Rouser (Duane Eddy), Wipe Out (the Surfaris), Walk, Don't Run (the Ventures), Misirlou (Dick Dale and the Del Tones) and the truly cooooool Pipeline (done by the Chantays, only one of any number of one-hit wonders).

Every Sha-la-la-la
Every Wo-o-wo-o
Still shines.
Every shing-a-ling-a-ling
That they're startin' to sing's
So fine.

I have such vivid (and verbatim!) memories of so many old songs ... from grade school and Junior High School, from my years at CHS and in college, through all the intervening years and the intermittent tears ... the genuinely warm glow spreading throughout the body, or the quick stab to the heart, when a particularly strong mnemonic suddenly sparks a half-forgotten or half-buried moment or a day in the life. Memory ... the kind that lights the corners of [the] mind ... is a true gift, though not unlike the gift of rain in that whether it is ultimately good or bad depends on how it is used or deployed. When coupled with the honest assessment of your actual feelings and thoughts, proper use of these keys may help determine your future path, and may help clear obstacles you may encounter otherwise.

Bearing in mind the strong, killer karmic injunction not to cause pain to the innocent, I nevertheless think failing and/or refusing to quietly look at and discreetly examine the past is a profligate waste of the gift, perhaps even a thwart to destiny ... and further begs the question(s): If you don't remember who you truly were at some certain significant time(s) of your life ... what you really felt ... if it has been colored or distorted by outside influences ... then how do know who you really are now??? How do you contemplate who you may be(come) in the future???

I remember the love songs that meant (and still mean) so much to me ... I remember all the words and the melodies ... I remember all the ephemera detailed by the Classics IV ... the Faded photographs, covered now with lines and creases/Tickets torn in half, memories in bits and pieces/... souvenirs of days together/... pages from an old love letter ... so many things gone now in ritual cleansing flames or in the natural attrition of almost half a century encompassing moves and spring cleaning ... and still there remain old totems and anonymous traces like a ballpoint pen, an empty cigarette pack, champagne corks, pressed flowers, hotel receipts, matchbooks ... things that when I stumble across them, I smile to think that I kept such innocuous things, which mean absolutely nothing to anyone but me ... but to throw them out would be somehow to throw away or devalue the memory. And that I will never do. I am reminded that if we cannot or will not remember, we cannot know ... we struggle to learn ... we impede our own progress....

When they get to the part
Where he's breaking her heart
It can really make me cry
Just like before
It's yesterday once more.

[Sidebar: I've always loved the 1966 song Elusive Butterfly, by folksinger/songwriter Bob Lind (another one-hit wonder), which as someone once said to me was the closest thing to pure poetry I ever heard set to music. ... "You might wake up some morning ..." and it goes on from there, making as concrete as is humanly possible all those intangible, surreal (yet so very real) moments of stasis in the midst of constant flux that we call love.... Sidebar Addendum: I almost wrecked the car the other day (perhaps a slight exaggeration, but not much) when the female afternoon drive-time DJ on the usually wonderful Platinum 96.7 station here played the gorgeous, evocative Grammy-winning Misty (recorded by Texas-born Johnny Mathis and released in 1959), and then went on to state oh so erroneously that the song was specifically written for the movie Play Misty for Me, starring and directed by Clint Eastwood (his directorial debut), released in 1971 ... a twelve-year gap. Jeez! Do a little research, for god's sake!!! I cringe to think of the people who will now tell other people that the song was written for the movie.... And I hate disinformation, even in such small matters.... Grrrrrr.... But I digress....]



Cairns Birdwing, the largest butterfly in Australia

I think (and have ventured to say on the blog) that memory ... revisiting times and places and things and people who were once (and may still be) important to us ... is vital as we continue to grow and learn in this life. If we cannot "tap into" the person we were at age 16, or 25, or 34, or 43 ... then how in the world do we comprehend not only whether we have changed, but the extent and nature of the change ... whether the change has been good or bad for us and our ultimate spiritual growth ... instructive or stunting in the development of our lives and our souls ... a comfortably-padded and well-accoutred prison or a true liberation allowing us to be all that we can be? I know some people will immediately think "Oh, but you can't live in the past" ... and of course that is true. It is dead and gone ... but not forgotten ... and I am certainly not proposing that anyone try to dwell in that ghost town, to the exclusion of the present and the future. But ... but ... I believe remembrance and true, unclouded examination is as necessary for our eternal, living souls as air and water and food are for our temporary, temporal bodies....

Lookin' back on how it was
In years gone by
And the good times that I had
Makes today seem rather sad
So much has changed.

One of the greatest things (in my mind, at least) about the blog is that in addition to contemporary topics and catch-ups and reunions ... here in this small space in the vast ethereal universe ... it is ... it can be ... it has been ... yesterday, once more. The blog provides an impetus, if not an imperative, for us to return to a place and time, now vanished except in memory (I am reminded of Margaret Mitchell's halcyon fever-dream of the Old South), to revisit things that happened to us then and in the years thereafter, and to analyze them ... both the beautiful and the painful ... in the light of the knowledge we have gained in our life journeys since then. It provides a place for us to reach out to each other, when a saving hand might be welcome, or necessary, or easy to to proffer.

I had an e-mail exchange with Clemi Higley Blackburn shortly before her shockingly swift and untimely death this past February. Despite an estrangement between us, I had e-mailed her to verify some information for my December 31, 2007 post Bobcat Treasure: Jade ... Candles ... and Auld Lang Syne..., and Clemi graciously answered my e-mail and those questions she could. Always looking (with Nicki) for "new voices" on the blog, I wrote again to Clemi, asking if she might be interested in doing a topic post for us, and she e'ed back that she didn't have a clue what she'd write about even if she was interested in undertaking such a project. And so I answered: "Oh, just whatever might be of general interest, or some happy memories you have from school, or something like that." And I felt a literal, physical pain when she wrote back: "I don't have any happy memories from high school, so wouldn't be able to write anything that would be of interest to your readers."

I was absolutely stunned. No happy memories from high school??? Zip, zilch, nada? I had some pretty ugly, painful memories of my own from those days ... as did many of us. But to say you had absolutely no happy memories? That you had not managed to separate and salvage the good from the bad??? Clemi and I were not good friends in school, but we did take dance lessons together for some years, and we worked on The Corral together my Junior and her Senior year, and I was frequently at her house visiting with her mother Carol during my last year of high school (and after) ... and I know that there were happy memories that she might have found there, if she had chosen to access them ... had made the effort to look ... if someone might have reached her ... if she had been able to consign the bad memories to the black hole where terrible memories should go. But as it was, less than two months before she died, Clemi said and remembered she had no happy memories of high school after 45 or so years. And that made me cry ... then and soon thereafter, when I heard of her death.

It was songs of love
That I would sing to then
And I'd memorize each word
Those old melodies
Still sound so good to me
As they melt the years away.



Spider lily and butterfly

The blog gifts us with visions and memories of yesterday, once more. It is a place to come together to share our lives and our thoughts and our acquired wisdom and compassion ... to reach out to each other in these years when love and friendship may be more important than ever. The blog gives each of us the opportunity to reconstitute the complex, layered individual essence of our past, present and future ... it helps us perfect the essential "blending" of the florals and woods and ambergris and spices acquired as we've walked through this life ... to meld the strong but fleeting "top notes" (aromas which are apparent immediately upon application of a perfume but dissipate soon thereafter) with the "middle notes" (the "heart" or "core" scent which begins to emerge as the top notes fade), and the more subtle but deep and rich "base notes" (formulated to emerge as the middle notes begin to fade, but also to pair with and sustain the middle notes to engender the lingering signature of the essence) ... our quintessence, if you will.

All my best memories
Come back clearly to me
Some can even make me cry
Just like before
It's yesterday once more.

I have been privileged to be Nicki's partner on the blog during this past year and I thank her so much for her invitation, for her trust in me and for her support. I have enjoyed sharing my thoughts with you, have been delighted by your comments, and I look forward to the future with anticipation. And, even if some of us don't always agree, I believe we may continue with an adult respect for diverse opinions. I am humbled and so stoked by some of the wonderful thoughts and insights many of you have shared, whether or not it was for publication on the blog. I remain hopeful that more of you will find your own "voices" here, either in topic posts or comments. And I am fortunate and truly blessed to have been able to "reconnect" after so many long years....

And as ever, I so hope that we each are able to take something from here ... to cherish the good things, and consign the "bad things" to the darkness, to build and plan for days to come ... that we may continue for a long time to share our past and present lives, our commonalities of history and circumstance, and our dreams for the future.

Thank you for all ... for everything ... for oh so much ... you have given me ... and for the eternal, immortal connection....

)O(

The Times of Our Lives: August 16, 1977 ... Elvis ... and Heartbreak Hotel....

Elvis Presley in his 1968 Comeback Special,
reproduced here for informational/educational purposes only,
citing "fair use" provisions of applicable U.S. Copyright Law

Well, since my baby left me,
Well, I've found a new place to dwell
Well, it's down at the end of Lonely Street
At Heartbreak Hotel....

In 1956, a true, culture-bending/shattering phenomenon burst onto the American music scene. His name was Elvis Presley ... a poor boy from poverty-stricken Tupelo, Mississippi, transplanted to Memphis, Tennessee ... and he would be a major factor in altering the face and tenor (no pun intended) of American music, and the relationship of kids, adolescents, to their own brand of music, actually a new concept ... forever.

Some have posited that the Beatles had the most profound effect on the world of music in the 20th Century ... but I must respectfully disagree. There was nothing like Elvis ... before or since ... nothing like the absolute liberation and joy and sense of unfettered abandon and all the possibilities and dreams he brought to our music and our lives.

Some may contend That's All Right Mama and Blue Moon of Kentucky, recorded under the aegis of the legendary Sam Phillips at Sun Records studios in Memphis on July 5, 1954 were the true rhythmic harbingers of the coming youthquake. Others wax absolutely rhapsodic over the nuances and influence of Mystery Train and I Forgot to Remember to Forget, recorded at Sun July 11, 1955 and released in December of that year. Aficionados or specialists in Elvisiana will hold that "the (once and forever) King" first impacted the national consciousness in a significant way with the releases of his cover of Big Mama Thornton's Hound Dog and Don't Be Cruel, recorded at RCA Studios in New York City and released in July 1956.

But IMHO ... in my memory and my judgment and personal preference ... Elvis was forever seared into the folds of our collective brains, engendering a mass media mindmeld, with the release of the hot, heavy, mournful but edgy, sexually charged Heartbreak Hotel, recorded at RCA Studios in Nashville and released in January 1956. (I must add here that I've always been very fond of Lawdy, Miss Clawdy, released by RCA in August 1956 ... which my brother Scott, all of five years old at the time, used to wail in a pretty good imitation of Elvis while "strumming" a tennis racquet at the Saturday morning Birthday Club talent competitions at the Palace Theater. Some of you will remember.... But I digress ... for the moment....)

Those smoldering, piercing eyes ... that curling, promissory yet cautionary lip ... those unbelievable hips rolling and those legs shaking as if they were somehow separate entities from his body ... all seemed to explicitly guarantee that this mad, bad and dangerous man would indeed take you down a honky-tonk road to that hotel for the broken and the broken-hearted ... that you would gladly take the ride ... and that you would love the trip ... if possibly poetically and tragically regretting it later when your seducer had moved on to new conquests.

I was nine years old when Elvis "hit" with the 1956 records (I would turn 10 in October of that year, just before he wiped us out again with the release of Love Me Tender in November) ... and yet he spoke to me ... and to my friends ... in a visceral, primordial language ... and we felt the power, even if we couldn't have articulated very well then just exactly what it was we felt.

Until the day she died in 1983 (also in a relatively young ... age 56 ... tragic, needless, substance-abuse related death), my mother never tired of telling the story of how that one year ... 1956 ... only one of several that the girls and I participated in Camp Fire Girls ... that one year that mother and Neysa Davenport (Pat's mother) decided to sponsor our troop ... that one year of maternal sacrifice on her part ... just had to be the ELVIS YEAR. (As if it had been preternaturally and specifically arranged that way as a personal affront to her and her intermittent, fitful motherly instincts....) It frustrated mother and Neysa to no end that they could not, despite dire threats and wheedling entreaties, get us to work on Camp Fire projects ... all we wanted to do was listen/dance to Elvis Presley records. I don't even have to close my eyes to visualize all of us now, in our Camp Fire blue skirts and white blouses and neck scarves, dancing dancing dancing to record after record, and then repeating and repeating the records, in Pat's living room ... and mother and Neysa pleading with us to please turn off the record player and come work on our scrapbooks, or whatever. I am not exaggerating this ... Yahn heard my mother tell the story many, many times ... always in the same tones of aggrieved consternation and disapproval, tinged ever so reluctantly with a subtle acknowledgment of the overwhelming nature of the Presley mystique.

My grandmother was 56 when Elvis initially appeared on The Ed Sullivan Show. (I think it is worth noting here that in early 1956, Sullivan stated unequivocally: "I wouldn't have Presley on my show at any time" ... before introducing Elvis to his audience for the first time on October 28, 1956.) I think my grandmother developed a bit of an innocent, matronly crush on Elvis. I know she always liked him after that original cropped-at-the-waist outing ... always called him "that sweet boy" ... always made time to watch when he was a guest on someone's TV program, or later in his televised specials including the black leather "Comeback Special" in 1968 ... and the Elvis: That's the Way It Is documentary special released November 11, 1970 ... and the Aloha from Hawaii special in 1973.

My grandmother, who lived almost two years after Elvis died, was saddened by his untimely demise ... and despite his much-publicized problems in the years before and after his death, she always retained a soft spot for "that sweet boy" ... always enjoyed the special magic of his music.

In many ways, my grandmother was a "better" Elvis fan than I, certainly more constant, because I somewhat condescendingly put him aside when he was no longer as "hot" ... or "cool" ... as he once was ... after a string of truly egregious movies negotiated by his manager, the wannabe "Colonel" Tom Parker (ne Andreas Cornelis Dries van Kuijk) ... after a string of marginal and downright bad records ... but Mamaw remained steadfast in her appreciation for him.

It was with Mamaw that I sat down to watch the 1968 special ... and found myself captivated once again by the sheer talent and inimitable musical styling ... the sight of that black leather, and that bad-boy hair and hunka-hunka snarling lip, that promise of danger and the unknown ... that seminal rebirth combining pop and gospel music, and including the wistful Memories, as well as the moving and hopeful If I Can Dream ... which was actually substituted for the more wonderful and now standard I'll Be Home for Christmas.

It was after I "came back" that I developed enough maturity and compassion to look at the man as well as the stratospheric/Stygian career ... to celebrate and acknowledge the undeniable talent (and yes, he was sui generis) while beginning to comprehend how the pain inside him helped drive him to the heights he attained and the depths he plumbed ... without the mental or emotional supports he needed to navigate the rocky terra incognita of fame.

Oh, although it's always crowded,
You still can find some room
For broken-hearted lovers
To cry there in their gloom....

[Sidebar: There was one bit removed from the "comeback special" which was deemed too risque by NBC network censors ... a segment set in a bordello featuring a pretty much unknown song titled Let Yourself Go.... Though the first airing of the Burbank recording sessions comprising the "comeback special" aired in December, only one seasonal song, the haunting and truly classic Blue Christmas, was included ... and that was replaced when the show was rerun in 1969. Further, it is worth noting that some believe the "comeback special" was the model for the later MTV series Unplugged....]




Elvis in 1970, reproduced here citing "fair use" provisions of U.S. Copyright Law


If anyone is interested in a complex, thorough analysis of Elvis and his career and his music, I recommend Peter Guralnik's wonderfully researched and written duo Last Train to Memphis: The Rise of Elvis Presley (published in 1994, and the better of the two books, IMHO) dealing with Elvis's early career, and Careless Love: The Unmaking of Elvis Presley (published in 1999), chronicling the later, darker side of his life ... both much better, more factual and more insightful than some of the scurrilous and self-serving biographies of so-called friends and/or the "Memphis Mafia" which have been written for selfish (largely pecuniary) reasons.

Of the day Elvis died ... August 16, 1977 ... I am sure there are many in our class ... our generation ... generations either side of ours ... who can tell you where they were and what they were doing when they heard the news (although it was certainly not in the same category as the JFK assassination on a "shock and horror" level). I was in my office, drafting a presentation for submission to a governmental regulatory authority, listening to the radio as I did throughout my working life (which is one reason it was always helpful to have my own office ... grin) when the announcer interrupted the record to say that Elvis was dead.

As is usual in such moments (the death of Marilyn Monroe August 5, 1962 springs readily to mind), the initial reaction was complete and total disbelief. No way!!! Not Elvis!!!! (Nor Marilyn, nor....) He was young! He was an absolute icon! He was part of our lives and our youth! He was Elvis, for god's sake ... therefore ipso facto immortal!!! If he could die, we could die!!! It simply could not happen!!!! (And under no possible imagined scenario could the King have died falling off the toilet after a drug-induced cardiac arrest ... how gross!!! ... but we would have to wrap our heads around that later....)

Now, the bellhop's tears keep flowin',
And the desk clerk's dressed in black
Well, they been so long on Lonely Street
They'll never ever look back....

While many of us may not have felt ... or come to feel ... the identification and affinity with Elvis that others of us did ... I would still speculate that there is at least one Elvis song (and probably more) which resonates individually with the majority of us in the Class of 1963 ... and the Class of 1962, and 1964, and other years ... which threads through the intricate tapestry of our memories and reveries and dreamscapes ... that there is at least one song rendered in that honeyed, melting caramel-smooth, stroking-stoking voice ... at least one song that compels you to recall kissing your girl or guy for the first time ... for the last time ... for a long time ... that you got engaged, or broke up, or yearned for someone to get engaged to or break up with ... in other words, there is at least one Elvis song ... somewhere, over all the years of his remarkable career ... that meant something in your life.

And I would wager that you will all think of that one song which is special to you ... or more than one, if applicable ... during the televised shots and stories this weekend from Graceland, at the culmination of another Elvis Week in Memphis, a true American cultural happening that has taken root in the years since Elvis's death ... arguably making him a bigger star ... and inarguably making him richer ... in death than he ever was in life.

Elvis week ... and particularly August 16 ... is always unusually difficult for me. Not only do I have all the cultural, aural baggage and touchstones which weigh on me with regard to the King ... not only is Elvis a formerly living, breathing and now real gone allegory for many of the problems which have beset our generation ... but there are more personal connections and memories which are triggered for me as well. My brother Scott ... my only blood sibling ... a talented musician in his own right, a singer with a strong voice and a "magic" understanding of how to play many musical instruments ... brought to grief and premature death by immaturity and substance abuse and addiction, as was Elvis ... also died on August 16 ... in 1981 ... at the age of 31.

Scott played and sang with bands around the Childress area for years, but despite a couple of efforts was never able to break away from that area of the Panhandle and the bonds which tied him there to seek a wider audience. Some of you (I know some of my friends) heard him play and sing and knew that he had a special talent ... perhaps not as incandescent and otherworldly as Elvis's ... nevertheless, a true talent for music.

I loved Scott very much, despite the usual cliched sibling rivalry ... but he was in many ways a sad, tragic figure ... and I really had not-unwarranted (valid, as it turned out) concerns about his prospects for surviving to middle age. Nevertheless, when he died, it was a complete shock and surprise ... ultimately mystical, in truth, and perhaps ordained as the universe is sometimes wont to do such things, as Scott's death (and relative, relevant occurrences) helped set me firmly on the metaphysical path that I have traveled since, where I believe I am meant to go. But that is another story ... and I digress....



Elvis in the Aloha from Hawaii special, 1973,
reproduced here citing "fair use" provisions of U.S. Copyright Law


The deaths of Elvis ... and Scott ... did help teach me ... solidify in my mind ... one of life's greatest lessons, which has been articulated several ways by different people, but I will posit thusly: Don't judge anyone else ... how they've lived or died ... until you have literally walked that metaphoric mile in their shoes ... inside their head ... until the same demons which may have been their frequent companions are on a first-name basis with you. Otherwise you lack understanding ... comprehension ... empathy and compassion ... anything which might possibly and broadly be construed as giving you any sort of right to judge someone else. As a historically-noted Jewish carpenter with a vision is said to have taught: Judge not lest ye be judged....

Well, if your baby leaves you
You got a tale to tell
Just take a walk down Lonely Street
To Heartbreak Hotel

Where you will be
You'll be so lonely, baby
Well, you'll be lonely
You'll be so lonely you could die....

Today ... August 16 ... once again I will listen to the radio and the ubiquitous Elvis tributes ... and I will watch the television news programs do their stories featuring Elvis Week and the annual candlelight ceremony at Graceland ... and I will let the music and the feelings wash over me, and through me, and carry me to someplace outside myself for just a little while ... and I'll think of long, long ago when I was young and hopeful and not too cynical ... and of a sometimes confused man-boy who yearned for and sang about and knew of love, and loss, and need, and the quest for the perfect complementary soul ... and I will remember ... mostly the good things, because I think if we are wise these are the memories we choose, and not the ones of crushing, crippling sadness....

I wish you good memories this weekend ... even if they sometimes bring a quick, illuminating, purifying tear ... and every other day....

)O(

Elvis ... Darryl Morris ... Priceless....

Darryl Morris and unidentified hound dog companion, 1956


After posting The Times of Our Lives: August 16, 1977 ... Elvis ... and Heartbreak Hotel (below) we received a note and the above picture from our blog friend and former teacher, Darryl Morris, who has allowed us to share the photo, along with his brief commentary, in blue. Many thanks to Darryl for this priceless moment in the times of his life.

)O(

Yes, Elvis touched many lives--mine most certainly included. This is me in 1956 lip-syncing "Hound Dog" at some sort of program at the Community Center in Wellington. I think it was part of the entertainment at the Miss Wellington contest. I don't remember who furnished the dog.

Another Year Over: The Blog Year One

The Blog is Born


Because I have an intense interest in technology and a strong desire to stay current with the latest developments, especially those relating to education and classrooms, I was curious and delighted when I found a book entitled Blogs, Wikis, and Podcasts, and Other Powerful Web Tools for Classrooms, written by Will Richardson. I must also confess that my delight in finding the book and bringing it home related somewhat to recognizing it as an opportunity to both horrify and tease Jim a bit with the title because he has always thought me to be a bit “weird” in some of my interests relating to technology.

I have previously had a lot of experience with designing and maintaining web pages, and while I had heard of blogs and blogging, I had no experience even though I had made a couple of half hearted attempts at various times. Reading Richardson’s book rekindled my curiosity and solidified my opinion that blogs have real application to not only classrooms but to our daily lives. Unlike regular web pages, blogs hold the key to allowing users to post unlimited information, opinions, ideas and other resources to an audience that in turn can easily and quickly respond. In the book, Richardson writes,

“I will never forget the first time I posted my opinion (on a blog), and the first time someone responded to it. There was something really powerful about easily being able to share resources and ideas with a Web audience that was willing to share back what they thought about those ideas."

Additionally Richardson states:

“Weblogs are not built on static chunks of content. Instead they are comprised of reflections and conversations that in many cases are updated every day…… Blogs engage readers with ideas and questions and links. They ask readers to think and to respond. They demand interaction.”

By the time I had finished reading much of what Richardson has written, I became consumed with learning to become a blogger. In the back of my mind I wanted to become proficient with a new skill that I might someday apply to the writing of curriculum designed for online learners. I turned to Blogspot.Com and was pleasantly surprised at how easy it was to setup a blog in my name. Somehow I knew that my intended audience was to be the CHS Class of 1963. The idea was there in my mind and I had a vision of what I wanted to do.

Amazingly, it all came together on Monday, August 13, 2007, one year ago today! “Reflections on the Way Were: Childress High School Class of 1963” was launched.

Depending on word of mouth and the few email addresses that I had for former Childress classmates, I published the first post for the blog. In trying desperately to come up with a topic with wide appeal I wrote Reflections on a Teacher at CHS. The two goals I set forth were to publish new posts at least once a month and to get Jim involved in writing for the blog as well. The first goal has been met thanks to much help from Jennifer who came on board August 27, 2007 with her post entitled Blue Room, Hot Wheels, Purple Prose and the No. 4 Chili Cheeseburger ... The second goal involving Jim has been less successful, even though he has blessed us with one post entitled Life is a game; Basketball is Serious: Jim Wilcoxson. However, his behind the scenes support, and interest have been invaluable.

To this date we have published 92 posts. In an effort to provide a variety of topics of interest to everyone, we have enjoyed multiple posts entitled Cat’ Tracks which focused on the travels and trips of various classmates, posts entitled Bobcat Treasures which focused on every individual member of our class by incorporating bits of information from the past and present, The Times of Our Lives which cover memorable events which have affected all of us, and Blast From the Past which happily once more bring to us articles written by Jennifer in the Corral including her column “As You Like It.”

In the beginning the posts focused on “the way we were” in 1963 by reliving the junior and senior banquets and good times with old friends. The Naughty Nine as well as Childress HS athletics, band, and cheerleading were spotlighted in posts. We revisited the “blue room”, drag racing, and Halloween past and present. Not surprisingly over the year many of the posts have moved to the issues that we in the Class of 63 face today such as aging, caring for elderly parents, grandchildren, and living the good life of retirement.

Sadly, we have found it necessary to take the time to mourn the loss of too many of our friends and classmates including two who died during this year, John McConnell in 2007 and Larry Clifton in 2008.

Room for Expansion

In January, 2008, the Reflections Blog was linked to a new blog named “Show and Tell” which serves as an online yearbook for our class. The goal is to showcase each class member of 1963 with a brief updated bio of life after graduation up to “today”. Fourteen of our old friends have graciously responded. I still have hopes that we will be able to add more in the next months.

In February, 2008 another piece of the puzzle was created in the form of another linked blog called “Short Notes.” We want a place to share information and short posts on a wide variety of topics. 32 short notes including Childress information, art works by former classmates and a trip to Paris. This blog is one we would like to “do over” a bit, but it has been a successful way to share information about other classes at CHS, reunion information, and much more.

The newest planned linked blog will be called “Celebrating the Journey: The Power of Love” which is designed to spotlight and celebrate the marriages of our former classmates as they share their secrets of a great marriage. At this time we have published a post from Kay Eatherly and Gayle Whitten on the Reflections blog. When new posts are received, the new blog will become active.

We Couldn’t have Done it Without You!

So many people have helped us in so many ways. Posts were written by Joe Hopkins, Clara Robinson Meek, Linda Kay Bridges Cook, Kay and Gayle Whitten, Darryl Morris, Lynn Purcell Durham, Mike Spradley, Yahn Smith, Raenell Wynn Smith, Phil Tutor, and Betty Smith Merritt. We appreciate you more than you can imagine!

In order to get the word out about the blog, we had a great response from the following people who shared email addresses, home addresses and phone numbers of former classmates. Thank you so very much to Raenell Wynn Smith, Jennifer, Linda Key Rothwell, Joe Hopkins, Classmates.Com, Kay Eatherly Whitten, and other Childress people.

To everyone who cared enough and took the time to comment on posts over the last year—we remain eternally grateful to you.

To all of you who emailed your support and good wishes over the year, thank you so very, very much!

To each person who is in the spotlight on the online yearbook, thank you for stepping up and sharing. It has been so much fun to read about you and your families over the years. Carolyn Loter Barlow was brave enough to be the first up. Each life story has been such a blessing to all of us.

A special thank you to Kay and Gayle. You didn’t disappoint me! I owe you big time!

Thank you to Harold Simmons for your contributions to Short Notes! It is always good to hear from you.

Thank you, Betty Smith Merritt, for blessing us with your story and your poetry.

Thank you to Driscilla Dehtan Storrs for your emails and your encouragement.

Thank you to Mike Spradley for your wit, your stories, and your drawings. You were such a blessing in the beginning. We look forward to your return to the blog in the future.

Thank you to Clara Robinson Meek for your friendship and for sharing your art and your wonderful stories. More please!

Thank you to Pat Davenport Shapiro for having us to your home. It was such a wonderful time and so wonderful to see you again.

Thank you to Lynn Purcell Durham for your story of survival in the hurricane. It was awesome! You remain in my thoughts and prayers.

Thank you to Bill Bailey for getting in touch with us and for so willingly sending your bio to Show and Tell. We appreciate you!

The Big Disappointments

We were disappointed but not down and out by the unsuccessful drive to have our 45th reunion in Las Vegas. It would have been so much fun, but we are anticipating seeing many more of you in Childress. Thank you to everyone who is planning on making the trip.

We are sad that a few of our classmates remain on the Lost rather than the Found lists. Juanita Foster, Linda Ham Stephenson, Gerald Holeman, Darrel Manuel, Woody Maggart, Barbara Moore, Bruce Patterson, Linda Richie Cook, Juanita Taylor, Rex Wheeler, and Eddie Worthington are missed. Can you help us locate any of them?

Sadly, many of our classmates that we have managed to locate have not gotten in touch with us. Every person is important to us and we would love to hear from everyone.

Great Rewards

Locating Phil Tutor in Arizona and meeting Phil face to face along with his wife Winnie was so much fun. Phil has “grown up” : ) very nicely and we look forward to hearing from The Bish again.

Reconnecting with so many of our other classmates via email, telephone calls, or face to face is wonderful!

Seeing so many of our classmates reconnect with old friends because of the blog is terrific, too.

Getting to see “Jersey Boys” in Dallas with Linda Bridges Cook and her husband Wayne Cook! Linda, you make both Jim and me laugh with your wonderful wit and stories.

Having the occasional Sunday lunch with Jan and J.R. Bell.

Saving the Best for Last

Jennifer, your posts, your encouragement, your great ideas, you wonderful titles, your wit, your passion and zeal on so many levels all mean more than I can say. Thank you for your friendship. You have blessed every one of us in so many ways.

What is Next?

With the support, suggestions, and input of our "audience" we will continue One Day at a Time.

A Final Look Back

John Lennon’s, “Happy Christmas (War Is Over)” remains one of my favorite songs. Three of the lines in particular always make me stop and think and even though the song is a Christmas song, I want to apply those lines here because I love them. They are not in the order that they appear in the song, but they are reflective of the first year of the blog for me.

”Another year over
And what have you done”

It has been a great year. It has been my pleasure to create a blog that hopefully has served many of you well by transporting you back to a much simpler time when we were young and full of hopes and dreams. However, I would hope most of all that as we share our stories of today with one another we can once again re-establish the bonds of friendship and respect based on the adults that we have become today.

"Another year over
And a new one just begun"

With the new year of the blog, dare I hope that we will see more of each one of you actively appearing on the blog? What a gift that would be for all of us.

I remain your humble blog servant or perhaps I should say, I remain your humble blog slave! : )

Nicki

Aging ... Exploding Eggs ... and 115 Pennies....

Yahn and Hanuman in Bali, October 2004

This has been an interesting week ... in the sense of the old Chinese curse "May you live in interesting times." My dear Yahn has been ill since this past weekend ... having had to be rushed to the emergency room, where we spent several hours before being allowed to come home ... with the instructions that he is prohibited from leaving the house until he sees the doctor again this coming Monday. The heat, high ozone and unusually high humidity combined to pretty much shut down his lungs ... admittedly not helped by his diagnosed COPD, likewise not helped by an almost literally lifelong habit of smoking ... still, it was and is a scary experience for both of us. I cannot help but reflect that we have wonderful insurance, for which we are thankful ... but I must remember that there are many who don't....

As far as any finger-wagging "I told you so" type comments ... it should be noted that I smoked cigarettes (joyously, I must say ... I have always enjoyed smoking, health threats notwithstanding) for about the same amount of time and in pretty much the same quantity as Yahn has ... and yet, as verified by recent X-rays and CT-scans, my lungs are quite clear (amazingly so) and functional. I do not say this to imply that smoking is okay ... it really isn't ... but just to draw a comparison. (It is also worth noting that for many, many years cigarettes were advertised and promoted extensively, and tobacco growers were actually subsidized by our government ... and oddly enough, they still are....)

So ... obviously there are other factors at work (like genetics) which play a large part in determining how we will age, and the debilitating conditions to which we will be most susceptible as our bodies and (more frighteningly, at least to me) our minds decline with age.

A recent study presented at the 2008 Alzheimer's Association's International Conference in Chicago found (as other studies have hinted) that whether you are single or divorced in midlife seems to have a major influence on your risk for developing that dreaded disease. One of the unusual things about this particular study was that it began tracking people at the age of 50, and then followed up with them 21 years later (at 71, for those who are mathematically challenged, as I am) to assess the long-term risk. The report asserted that those who were living with a spouse or partner at midlife were 50 percent less likely to develop dementia during their older years. Those who had lived alone their entire adult lives doubled their risk, but those who had been married and subsequently divorced who remained single in midlife were three times as likely to develop cognitive problems. Obviously this study and others are ongoing ... nevertheless, it does seem to show a correlation of elder mental health and functionality with socialization and companionship in the allegedly "golden years."

In addition to the foregoing, and based on other studies, I must say I have also come to believe through my own observations that there is also a genetic factor that comes into play with Alzheimer's, and COPD, and diabetes, and alcoholism, and other diseases/conditions we may become more prone to as we age.

This week has also been a bad one for my little Noah. Those who have followed "Noah's story" on this blog know that we adopted Noah just about a year ago, as a shelter rescue dog who had come to his "last day." It was a surprise for Yahn after 40 years as "cat people" to suddenly be confronted by me leashed to this wonderful, sweet, loving little dog. But Yahn, as always, rose to the occasion magnificently ... and indeed has come to love Noah almost as much as I do, and almost as much as Noah loves me. Yahn has graciously accepted the secondary position in this love affair, as befits his kind and generous nature.

When I adopted Noah, I knew he was an older dog ... 8-10 years, the shelter people guesstimated (although the veterinarian told me this week that was likely a generous estimate and he is likely older ... he is almost certainly entering the geriatric phase of his life) ... and that he had experienced a very hard life (we will never know all of the things that were done to him ... and I truly believe there is a special place in hell or karma for anyone who abuses a helpless animal) ... but Yahn and I were both so hopeful that we could have a few good years with him.

Noah and I developed our little routines ... almost daily rides in the car, listening to music (his favorite thing ... and he loves oldies, but has a broad appreciation for other musical genres) ... "dancing" together in the house or on the patio ... little games known only to me and Noah ... who by the way doesn't know what a treat or a toy is ... he apparently never had them before. But despite everything that has happened to him, he remains a source of unconditional love and joy ... and he is my sweet little baby....

This past Monday morning, after he had been acting lethargic for a few days (and coughing and throwing up), I had to rush Noah to our wonderful vet ... who admitted him to the pet "hospital" ICU ... ran tests ... and found that Noah is exhibiting signs of renal failure. (We have known for some time that he has a heart murmur, and that it is only a matter of time before that may still his sweet, loving little heart) ... but the renal failure is something new. Noah spent two full days and part of another in the hospital while he was hydrated and medicated. I know that Dr. Dennis has done almost everything possible for him, short of prolonging his life to the point where it becomes torture for him ... but this morning I sit typing this, listening to him cough and sometimes softly cry ... and all the treatment (and the hope!) from earlier this week aside, I fear he will not be with us much longer. I am determined that I shall not make him miserable just because I can hardly bear to part with him ... but still, wrapping my head around this is oh so difficult, and I can barely face the prospect of not seeing his sweet little face and loving eyes every day. But I must come to grips ... and perhaps sooner than I thought, or would like....

Which of course begs the question: Why is it that responsible pet owners may choose to euthanize their beloved animals to prevent them from terrible pain and decline ... yet most states (I believe Oregon is still the only maverick here) refuse to allow terminally ill patients to choose euthanasia when they have reached a point where there is to be no cure, and that only terrible pain and/or mental decline awaits them? I know that many will cite religious reasons ... and I am certainly conscious that diverse people have diverse religious and/or ethical beliefs. Still ... it seems to me that no one is proposing that anyone be euthanized without his/her own informed consent ... and why should those who have no religious or other dogmatic hang-ups about such matters have to defer to those who do? Not trying to get an argument going here ... just sharing some musings on the subject ... positing a pondering point....

Misroscopy image of a neurofibriliary tangle, seen in Alzheimer's research

As with the Alzheimer's study cited above, and others, it appears that one of the things that we, as we inexorably age, should be most cognizant of is the need to remain "socialized" ... socially viable with a network of friends and optimally a spouse/partner, interested in a diversity of subjects, active to the extent that we are genetically permitted. I believe unequivocally that this blog is a means for doing that... It is also recommended that we develop new interests, new passions ... or at least cultivate and expand those we already have ... that we participate in "new" things and concepts.... And so ...

... in the past few weeks, I have also become involved with the local chapter of a human rights organization, which I plan to continue over the next several months at least ... through the election season and wherever else it takes me. One of the multifarious concerns of this organization is our aging population ... hey folks!!! that's us!!! ... and how circumstances change for the elderly ... how some, despite good planning, or as much good planning as they were able to manage ... come to the end of their lives without enough money, or enough family, or enough friends ... and must live sometimes in dire circumstances just to put some kind of roof over their heads and some kind of food on the table.

The man who introduced me to this organization (who has become a friend, and so supportive during this past week) challenged me not long ago to try to live for "x" number of days on an amount that someone who receives minimal Social Security would have to buy food. (Not worrying about housing costs, utilities, etc., of course those are daily considerations ... but just buying enough food....) I've never been able to resist a challenge (perhaps I should have on a few occasions), so I agreed. Obviously I did not insist that Yahn, or little Noah, or the three kitties (Calamity, Gaius Maximus and Antonio "Toody") go on short rations ... although I must say that at a certain point what even the cats were eating did begin to look rather attractive....

And so I threw myself into the "experiment" ... thinking and planning and doing what I could to stretch each dollar as far as it would go (as anyone who knows me is aware, this is not behavior that comes naturally to me). I figured out that eggs are cheap (and really quite nutritious and good for you despite the bad-rap on cholesterol a few years ago), so I bought eggs. Had to forgo the whole-grain bread ... and indeed even standard Mrs. Baird's white bread (a staple of our childhood and the Birthday Club at the old Palace Theater) is almost $3 a loaf now. Jeez Louise!!!! Forget fresh produce ... fresh fish (although I did manage to find one small salmon fillet on a distressed, "must go today" sale, and it only tasted a little funny) ... and anything resembling beef as most of us know it. I did find a pack of chicken thighs (4 of them ... and I prefer breast meat) for under $2. And of course, there is peanut butter and jelly, if you buy the cheap stuff, which does have some nutritional value (almond butter is better for you, but more expensive).

Well, one day I decided to make egg salad (gotta say I cheated just a bit by already having the vinegar, mayo, mustard, etc. in stock) to try to "stretch" the eggs, so I put the eggs on to boil. And while I was waiting for that, I got sidetracked ... not difficult sometimes ... with blog things, and telephone calls with friends (at least I was socializing), and little Noah, and Yahn ... and when it occurred to me a looooong time later that there were eggs on the stove, I ran in to see that they had boiled dry and the shells were beginning to burn. I grabbed the pan off the stove, hit the cold water tap, thrust the pan under the faucet ... and two of the eggs exploded!!!! Exploded!!! I guess fortunately they were by that point beyond hard boiled, so the mess was easier to clean up ... but I am still shaking my head over the exploding eggs ... and the fact that I frittered (no pun intended) away eight precious eggs when my food was so limited. (And before anyone writes ... yes, I know enough not to put water on a grease fire....)



Honore Daumier painting of older gentlemen playing chess for intellectual stimulation

In the Sunday paper (also cheating I fear, because many financially-deprived seniors wouldn't be able to afford the daily newspaper) I found a coupon in Target's advertising insert. The coupon said that if one transferred a new prescription, a generic prescription ($4 maximum charge) to a Target store during that week, one would receive a $10 Target gift card. Well, as it happened, I had a generic prescription that needed refilling at that very time ... and fortunately (unlike many seniors) I drive a gas-easy Toyota Prius, so the gasoline to go to and from Target didn't totally negate my $6 net on the deal. I used the gift card to buy a few necessities, including toilet tissue (not food, but an expensive necessity, at least as far as I am concerned), which was on the list of things I was expected to provide for myself. Of course, many seniors couldn't take advantage of this offer because they have long ago given up prescription drugs in favor of other necessities, like food and shelter....

As I came down to the end of my period of enforced penury, I found I had $4.15 in a variety of change ... including 115 pennies ... and I was running out of bread among other things ... so as I pondered, and pondered, and pondered, what I could get (what I needed) to make it through, I anguished over how I was going to use those 115 pennies. (Going to my bank and exchanging them was out of the question because many seniors don't have bank accounts). And I thought with much chagrin of having to go to a store where I was known, and counting out change ... particularly 115 pennies ... and let me tell you, the thought was embarrassing. And yet there are people (our contemporaries, or nearly so) who go through these soul-killing exercises every day.

So, I looked at the Wednesday paper (cheating, cheating) and the grocery special inserts ... and lo and behold, I discovered one store (which I never patronize) in the immediate area which was offering several specials on 2 for $1 canned "mystery" meat, etc., and I thought: "I can go to that store!!! They don't know me and I'll never be back." (A luxury not enjoyed by many of the elderly....)

And so I went to that store, and bought four cans of "processed" sausage (so healthy ... unknown animal and insect parts ... yech!!! ... low sodium ... haaaa!), two cans of pork 'n' beans (88 cents, and you don't want to know the provenance of that pork ... nor did I) and one loaf of the store's generic, really questionable white bread for $1.09. As I approached the checkouts, this sweet little girl stepped out and said she could take me at her register ... and I told her she would be sorry she offered.

Nevertheless, with great courtesy (it occurs to me that she must see a lot of seniors in less than optimal circumstances in that store) she scanned my items and then began counting my change (to the great annoyance of a guy who had come behind me in line). That tally ... particularly the 115 pennies (which I insisted that she use before some of the other change, just in case I needed a dime or a nickel later ... for what???) ... was among the seemingly longest times of my life.... Face red, actually glowing and giving off heat I think, I escaped to my Prius (the guy who had been in line behind me looked at the car quizzically) ... and the experiment came to an end two days later ... just as I was beginning to run short of provisions again.

As Bette Davis said: "Old age is not for sissies." Nor apparently for those who weren't fortunate enough (admittedly some may have been short-sighted) to put enough away for retirement ... or for the period when they were no longer physically or mentally able to work. I've also read several studies recently which suggest that the Baby Boomers (of which I am one) who planned sensibly for retirement are going to be most unpleasantly surprised if they don't have the good sense to drop dead quickly enough.

Please spare me that some people "should have" earned more money ... or put more aside.... We all are not "created equal" ... not equally gifted as to intelligence and circumstance ... when it comes to being able to make a living. Working hard ... even three full-time jobs at minimum wage (which accounts for 24 hours, with no time at all to sleep or try to better oneself or interact with one's children) ... is not always enough, even if physically possible. And when you have children, particularly if you are a single working mother (not always by choice or caprice) and the question is whether to feed your children or save for retirement, guess which option will (and should) win out??? Or perhaps some did prepare as they "should have" (under assumptive but not necessarily realistic criteria) ... but then early onset Alzheimer's or some other debilitating condition robbed them of their ability to make reasonable decisions ... or exorbitant unforeseen medical bills wiped out carefully tended savings.... Some of us seem in real need of an apparently missing or dysfunctional compassion chip.... But I digress....

(Last minute sidebar: Just as I was about to publish this, after I wrote the above paragraph, I received e-notice of a New York Times op-ed piece on "Compassion Deficit Disorder." Seems to be a lot of that going around, in some rosy circles in particular....)

Little Noah on the patio (I know I've used this picture before, but he is hesitant to have pictures taken ... tries to hide from the camera ... so this will have to do....)

Good thoughts and wishes are gratefully accepted on behalf of Yahn and little Noah ... who I know is thankful for every good thing that comes his way.

I am just hoping we can get Noah into/through the fall, so we can go "dance" in the parks and run through the changing, falling leaves once the terrible heat breaks.... And lest anyone think I am not equally (or more) concerned about Yahn ... I am not having to contemplate euthanizing him ... anytime soon anyway.... (grin)

)O(