HALF WAY/GARAGE ATTIC EMPTIED

          Well, I’ve made it…365 divided by two equals 182.5. Yesterday’s post was #182 and the first part of this post is the point 5. How about that? Who knew I could manage to write something to post every single day? I certainly didn’t think I could get this far without giving up and I must admit there were days when I didn’t want to continue. But I have and did and will until I have nothing else to say that anybody might want to read. So, congratulations to moi for reaching the half-way point.

          Now, to continue with Post #183. Both sons and granddaughter were here on Monday to finish cleaning out the garage attic. I have to tell you it was a trip down memory lane, a lane that had it’s beginnings when we moved into this house 51 years ago. I saw things I thought were long gone, some of which pissed me off a lot because I had asked about them and John said he had no idea. I’m sure there will be more surprises when Haley comes back on Wednesday and we begin to sort through the boxes.

          The items that annoyed me the very most were the zinc wash tubs. My mother used them to do laundry when I was a kid and growing up. When she got her first washer-dryer combo, we took those tubs off her hands. For a time, they were used to hold ice and drinks when we had parties. Then, they disappeared, never to be seen (or heard of) again. All those years, they were at the back of the garage attic. In addition to the two from my mom, there was one larger one with handles. I have no idea where that one came from. Thor took the tubs home with him. Once they’re cleaned up, he envisions them as good homes for the turtles his family rescued.

          The first inclination I had about the rocking chair I purchased when pregnant with AJ was AJ holding two rocker feet. Then, sure enough, down came the body of the chair, the cushion and the base for the cushion. It was a used rocker when I bought it as the result of some ad in the paper. John and I went to a home just north of Northgate and right on the freeway. I had no idea until we visited that house that the freeway was so very LOUD. I used it for AJ, and then I thought it went to Goodwill. Apparently not. The cushion went into the garbage and Monday was garbage day.

          There were two old wood sleds with metal runners. Each of the boys took one home with them. AJ plans to wax the heck out of his runners and go for a joyride in the next snow. Thor didn’t indicate what he wanted to do with his, but it went into his van. There were also two cases of old soda bottles. Supposedly people collect those, so they’ll go into the garage sale. And, speaking of the garage sale, I’m cautiously planning to have it the weekend following Labor Day weekend. It won’t include the whole house because I don’t want people tramping throughout, so it will just eliminate, I hope, the stuff in the garage, or lead to another dump or Goodwill trip.

          The pile of stuff destined for the dump has grown larger, and depending on how much time it takes to sort on Wednesday, perhaps we can load it all into Haley’s truck and get it out of here. Thor took a van load of stuff home with him and AJ took a truckload of wood and metal he’ll recycle. None of us, including both his sons, can believe some of the stuff that was saved back in the darkest corners. The way it worked is Haley went up onto the plywood planks and pulled and pushed boxes of stuff to Thor who stood on the ladder and handed the boxes and stuff down to AJ. Me, myself and I just stood around or did other stuff because we were just in the way.

          Toward the end, AJ and Thor got to reminiscing about their days at Lake Forest Park Elementary, Kellogg and Shorecrest. Ten years in between and yet some of their stories sounded very similar. They also shared stories about some of the crap in the garage and their father. Some of them I hadn’t heard before and perhaps didn’t need to hear now. Still, it’s nice to see my boys laughing, joking, remembering and working together. It brings back some wonderful memories of their growing up years. I’m very grateful for every single one of those and today as well.

HOT WATER, LASAGNA AND POPPIES

          Today, Sunday, I’m especially grateful for water that comes to my house, gets warmed up in the hot water tank and allows me to shower. The reason I’m especially grateful is that it’s going to be a two-shower day. I showered and shampooed first thing so I could go grocery shopping. Once back home, it was time to pick up after the dogs and get the garbage ready for pick up tomorrow.

          My neighborhood gets yard waste picked up every week and there wasn’t a lot in my tote. So, I decided I’d just go ahead and clean out the flowerbed that’s in the shade. My tote still isn’t completely full, but that one flowerbed is a lot tidier than it was and I am dripping with sweat. Have I ever mentioned just how much I hate to sweat…no?...well, it’s probably my least favorite thing in the world. So, before I get in bed tonight, it will be shower time again.

          My glass half-full program seems to be off to a great start. When I begin to see less in the glass, I remind myself to just knock it off and think of something that’s more uplifting and positive that the negatives that inhabit the days that are behind me. And, okay, it’s only been a couple of days, but I’m happy to have two in a row and will push for three and beyond.

          Something else I’m happy about is frozen lasagna. I love lasagna, but what an ordeal to make an entire pan. And, yes, I could make an entire pan and then cut it into pieces and freeze single helpings for future dinners. But, I can purchase a frozen lasagna that’s just the right size for me. Something like seven minutes, maybe more, and it’s hot and ready to go. I do add extra mozzarella to the top when it’s done and put it back in the microwave for another minute or so. That’s what’s for dinner tonight with a couple slices of leftover garlic bread I froze a few months ago…and a salad.

          In my garden, I have these gorgeous red poppies. Many years ago, on my walks to Lake Forest Park Towne Center, I would pass this woman’s garden. I admit I stole a couple of the poppy seed pods from her.  Every year they come up and have managed to seed themselves into almost every single flowerbed. And, it seems like every year, they get bigger with more flowers per stalk. When they’re done blooming, I cut the seed pod off and leave it to dry in an open container. Then, I shake the seeds out. I’ve given these seeds to lots of folks.

          Another time my friend, Claudia, and I were at some event, maybe the Lavender Festival. There were these gorgeous lavender poppies and, once again, I committed the crime of stealing a couple of seed pods. I haven’t had as much luck with the purple ones as I did with the red ones. I had a single plant one year and then nothing until last year. Then, I noticed some very small purple ones that apparently seeded themselves because I’ve more this year and one of them got rather big with more than one flower pod. I do seem to remember the ones I stole were more lavender than purple and bushier like the red ones. Maybe in time. It would be wonderful if the two colors seeded themselves way more and together. Imagine how lovely that would be.

          Well, I’ve cooled off now and the next episodes of “Heartland” are calling my name. I’ll get myself some iced tea, and continue rolling pennies while my television entertains.

GRATEFULNESS

             For a couple of days, I was fairly miserable and gave serious consideration to just quitting this blog. Then, I realized I was looking at it from the glass half empty view rather than the glass half full. So, I’ve adjusted my attitude because I’m the only one that can actually do that.

          A year ago this coming Christmas, at least I think it was a Christmas gift, a friend gave me a book about being grateful. There were 365 reasons or explanations for why I should be grateful, one for each day of the year. I faithfully followed this book and each and every night, I wrote down five reasons why I was thankful for that very day. It wasn’t all that difficult, although there were days when I had to really concentrate hard to find something for which I was grateful.

          Then, I knew someone who was having a very difficult time. She’d broken a bone and had to go to rehab with the idea that she might not be able to return home on her own. She’s also the kind of person who likes books like the one I was given, so I passed it on. I figured she needed it at that point much more than I did. Looking back, perhaps I should have hung on to it and used it to remind myself this week and during the past months about what I do have to be grateful for…NOW.

          I do not have the capability (damnit anyway) to go back and change a single thing that’s happened in my life. All I can do is let the hurtful memories go and be super thankful for the great ones that remain, and there are tons and tons of those. So, I need to adjust my gratefulness scale. I need to look around myself at all the things and people for whom I am most grateful. I need to take a few minutes at the end of each day, as I used to do, to write down five things that made me grateful that very day. Depending on what they are and how my writing goes, perhaps I’ll even share some of them with all of you.

          And, to get me started, for today, Saturday, I am grateful for:

1.     Rain for giving all my plants a drink without my having to be the waterer.

2.    My garden. Even though it rains, I can sit inside or on the deck under cover and enjoy the beauty that’s the result of my planting and care. There I also find peace and quiet as well as the sound of my water feature and birdsong.

3.    I’ve decided to be grateful for the crap-fest John left behind. It’s given me my granddaughter one day a week for the last couple of months. I so enjoy her delight in the various finds she’s made and lunch always tastes better when you share it with someone. Her organizational skills impress the absolute hell out of me.

4.    The ability to look at my life and choose what I want to cherish and what I want to simply forget or at the very least, to forgive.

5.   I started this post early in the day and now the end of the day has arrived. So, the final grateful for the day is for this blog. It helps me see things more clearly; and I’m very grateful for each and every one of you who take the time to read and comment.

TODAY...

I had a post all prepared, but I’ve decided not to publish it for now. So, I really don’t have anything to say. Perhaps today I’ll be able to corral my thoughts and send them through my fingers into some kind of post for tomorrow.

FROM HAPPY TO PISSED AND SORROWFUL

          Do you dream? Do you remember your dreams when you wake up? I’m asking because I do dream and I don’t always remember the dream. I had one Thursday morning and I’m not sure what it was really about because I can’t remember much. I do know that I woke up laughing. I got up to go to the bathroom and sitting on the toilet, I laughed and laughed and laughed. It was the kind of laughter that would have had other people joining me if I hadn’t been alone. I wasn’t sure I was going to be able to stop, but I eventually did. Back in bed, I went back to sleep, still giggling a bit and surely smiling.

          When I woke up again a couple of hours later, I could remember laughing so hard and practically being unable to stop, but I couldn’t remember much about what was happening in my dream. I know it had something to do with horses (probably because I’m watching “Heartland”), that the horse was pulling a wagon or sleigh, and there was mud or dirt. The conveyance stopped dead and the horses continued on. I wish I knew something else about the dream so I’d know why it I thought it was so funny that it made me laugh so hard for so long. I do know I woke up happy.

          I have a friend who almost always remembers her dreams in vivid detail, can identify the people who inhabit her dream, and sometimes has an orgasm depending on what she’s dreaming at the time. She doesn’t tell me much about those dreams…guess they’re private.

          For me, I hardly ever remember the dream or who was in it with me. I know I’ve had sexual dreams, but no orgasms that I can remember. Some people think you should keep a pad and pencil nearby so you can record your dreams as soon as you wake. That would work well if I could remember the dream when I wake up. It’s very unusual, in fact, I think this morning has been the only time in my life I’ve woke up laughing and kept laughing for a time. It was fun and I loved laughing like that and wished there were folks that could have joined me because it was the kind of laughter where you stop, look at someone and break down laughing again.

          And, who knows, but perhaps it was my body’s or brain’s way of relieving some of the angst I’ve felt the last few days. My reasons for the angst are in relation to my ability to complete my hour’s walk each morning. My need for a bathroom has cut my walk in half every morning this week. Plus, I have a sore spot on the bottom of my right foot. I have a tele-appointment with my doctor today, so perhaps she can provide some insight to my problems.

          It’s really really annoying to do everything right and proper for all the appropriate reasons and have my body sabotage my efforts. I mean, seriously, does it want to just sit and vegetate on the couch and have the grim reaper come calling a lot sooner than wanted? If that’s not the case, then why is my body not cooperating in my efforts to stay active and healthy? Perhaps the laughter from my unremembered dream this morning is my body’s way of saying sorry and releasing some of those happy endorphins I hear about? I loved the laughter and it made me feel wonderful, but an hour’s walk without having to cut it short or having my foot hurt with every other step would also make me feel good. Why can’t I have both???

          Then, my happy really took a beating. I was going through the last cigar boxes of John’s stamp stuff and found two things that were very upsetting. First, I found letters from some woman named Karen. She lived in California and their relationship began in 1973 or thereabouts when John was down there visiting people who I thought were friends to us both. Apparently not. Apparently they were only John’s friends because they assisted with the communications between John and Karen. Then, judging by the postmarks, this Karen and her family moved to Tennessee and the letters and phone calls continued. This was through the early 1990s. I had found other email communiques when I cleaned out the file cabinets, but nothing quite as blatant as this.

          The other surprise, except it wasn’t a total surprise were purchase orders from a Seattle firm for more than $20,000 in gold. Now, I knew John believed gold was a good investment and at some point, he finally told me about it and showed me what he had on hand. The surprise was that he began purchasing gold back in the mid- to late 1990s. And, just so no one thinks I have a pot of gold here, John apparently cashed it all in before he died because there hasn’t been a single piece of gold to be found anywhere in this house…I’ve looked and looked.

          Finally, I hope you have happy dreams and remember them. I hope your body cooperates with whatever you wish it to do. And, lastly, my advice to anyone reading this is to be upfront and communicate well about EVERYTHING before it’s too late. And, if you are having an affair and exchanging emails and/or snail mail, may I suggest you very carefully destroy it so the living partner doesn’t find out what an absolute fucker you were during the marriage.

ZIP, ZERO, ZILCH...

is exactly how much writing I accomplished yesterday. Haley came and we again went through a bunch of crap. In one box were the speakers from the first stereo system I ever purchased. There was another speaker that undoubtedly lived in some place like a restaurant or something else. And, wonder of wonder, and how horribly exciting, another entire box of cancelled stamps various folks had saved for John. Steve my stamp friend is going to have more fun in the not too distant future.

          So, apologies for such a short post that’s not very entertaining or informative. Maybe tomorrow’s will be better.

DUST

          Do you hate to dust? I absolutely hate to dust and you’d know that if you came to visit, if you could come to visit. If you did and looked around at all the crap, I mean important to me stuff, that sits around on every single available surface, you would think the highlight of my life would be dusting all those wonderful glass pieces so they’d sparkle and shine. You would think wrong.

          I’m not sure I understand how all this came about or if it’s just a factor of getting older. I remember my mom’s house was always pretty decent, but there were always a couple of areas as she aged that she simply didn’t clean or dust very often. They weren’t important areas like the kitchen counters or dining table, but I noticed and wondered at the time why she didn’t pay more attention.

          Well, now I think I know…I’m older and simply don’t care about the dust. It always comes back no matter what you find to dust with that’s supposed to make it so easy. I watch those Swiffer commercials and want to beat those “I’m so happy I dusted people.” about the head and shoulders with the other end of the Swiffer stick.

          I can think clear back to my first apartment, our first house and now this house and how I used to clean up a storm. You could, quite possibly, have eaten off my floors without getting some kind of disease or even dog hair in your food. You could gaze out my sparkling windows rain or shine and not have your view blocked by dirt. And, dust, oh my word, I dusted every single Saturday, every single thing in the house.

          Now, it’s just me, myself and I, plus the two doggies that have the run of this house (well the doggies don’t, I keep them out of the bathroom and bedrooms). You would think my cleaning habits from decades ago would kick in and I’d have a sparkling house from floor to ceiling. Well, I don’t.

Back when I could entertain, having family or friends over was a great excuse to drag out the vacuum, follow that with dusting and cleaning the floors. In the time since I’ve been sheltering in place, I’ve done very little major cleaning. My windows could use a good wash inside and outside. I could hire the man down the street who’s in that business. I could even save up and have the Molly Maids return for a thorough cleaning of every single room.

But, you know what? I simply don’t care if everything sparkles and shines. I do keep the big chunks picked up. I do clean the bathroom and kitchen regularly. I do vacuum every couple of weeks and clean the floors if the doggies have tracked mud all over. But, dusting, well it’s on my list and I’m sure that one day I’ll wake up energized and excited to drag out the dust cloths or Swiffer stuff to whisk the dust away until the next time everything looks extremely dull and well, dusty.

SORT OF OUT-OF-SORTS WITH SORTING

         Seriously, I love AJ and Haley, but their visits tend to leave me both on the verge of a major depression and unbelievably thankful they are so willing to come here and help me. They came on Monday and spent an hour or so pulling boxes out of the other side of the garage attic. Then, AJ showed me photos of what’s still up there and it’s just unfuckingbelievable!!!!

          Besides what you see in the photo, AJ’s truck was filled with old pieces of molding, other pieces of wood and old drapery rods and other kinds of metal pieces for who knows what. The wood will be cut down to firepit size (or garbage depending) and the metal rods recycled. AJ said he couldn’t believe the entire pile didn’t ever fall from the top of the cabinet where they were stored. All the door openings and shuttings should have sent it right down on someone’s head. And, let’s not forget the HUGE TV box from the last TV we bought about 10 years ago.

Haley will return on Wednesday to help me sort through all those new boxes (including the ones not photographed). As for the others still up there, son Thor is going to need to come at the same time as Haley and AJ so the remainder can be brought to ground. Then, please God, light a candle, rub Buddha’s belly, do a crap-fest dance, whatever will help bring all this wading through 50 plus years of crap to an end. 

While they were here Monday, they also managed to tip over the five-gallon glass water jar full of pennies without breaking the jar. Now, when Haley isn’t available, I can have a real fun time rolling all those damn things. And, actually, the bank will undoubtedly be happy to see me once they’re rolled because I just read in the paper yesterday there is a coin shortage…and I’ve probably got the market cornered on the pennies.

MORE SAD

          Sunday morning, I looked at my email for the first time since Friday. I was just so very very busy on Saturday…hah. I wasted, if you want to call it that, the entire day watching “Heartland” on Netfliks. I began before 9:00 am and didn’t stop until after midnight. I did take bathroom and food breaks and wrote my post, but spent the day in my nightie with one or both of the doggies on the couch staring at the television. Don’t ask me why because I honestly don’t know. I just did it.

          In some ways, I’m very sorry I ever started watching “Heartland.” It has 11 seasons and so far, 18 shows per season. I think I just finished the fourth season. It’s produced in Canada and set in Alberta. I’ve never been there, but the scenery is gorgeous and I do so envy the folks who star in this program. It’s set on a ranch called Heartland with an entire family from Grandpa to the baby just born in the last episode I watched. The ranch has beautiful horses and one of the granddaughters is a “horse whisperer,” who becomes known as “The Miracle Girl.” I would absolutely love to live there and ride horses all the dang time.

          Perhaps I just needed to escape for the day between John’s birthday and Father’s Day. That’s what I’m going to attribute it to. I spent the day in Alberta with a group of friends I really love. Spending virtual time with them made me feel good and didn’t allow me to think of much else.

          Back to Sunday morning and my email. The second email in my feed was from Judy, the wife of a man with whom I went to high school. Her email was to inform me (and others) that Dale had passed away early Saturday morning. Like John, Dale had been battling health issues for some time, and I know their lives had not been easy. Still, when one of you suddenly, even if you expect it, has gone on ahead, it’s very difficult. I sympathize deeply with this friend.

          Dale and I both went to Lincoln High School. We didn’t have many classes together, but I knew him. When he went off to the Air Force, he wrote to me for a time, and then we lost touch. Years later, John and I became great friends with Dave who had met Dale at North Seattle Community College after he, Dave, moved to Seattle. In any case, Dave brought Dale and his wife back into our lives. It was good to see an old friend, and we always saw them at least once a year at a July 4^th picnic.

          Twelve years ago, at that picnic, Dale wanted to know where I’d been in June. Turned out our high school’s 45^th reunion had been held then. Obviously, I wasn’t there, but told Dale I’d go to the 50^th with him. And, I did and it now seems impossible that it was only seven years ago. So few years really, when both Dale and John were in good health. So few years, and now they are both gone.

          I know there won’t be a picnic this July 4^th because of the pandemic. I also know there most likely won’t be a funeral or memorial for Dale because of the pandemic. In some ways I’m happy about the picnic not happening because not only would I miss John’s presence so very much, but now I would also miss Dale. I think I’ve reached that point in life where there are going to be more and more people whose absence will be noted and missed by me until the time comes where I’m absent as well. I know it’s all part of living, but dang it, I sure don’t like it much at all.

HAPPY FATHERS' DAY

My dad came into my life when I was two years and 8 months old. It is, I think, just about the first memory in my storage bank and one I treasure still.

          My mom was a widow and she and my grandma moved with me from Tennessee to Idaho when I was a year old because that's where two of Mom’s brothers were living at the time. I don't remember riding the train, or a lot about anything that happened before I met my dad. I do remember the little shack we lived in before he joined us, especially the bathroom, but that's a tale for another day.

Anyway, there we were, me and Grandma, just hanging out, maybe reading a book. The room was dimly lit by an oil lamp, sparsely furnished and Grandma was sitting on a wooden chair near the metal stove that provided heat. The door opened and my mother came in, followed by someone I'd never seen before. I scurried behind Grandma, shyly peeking around her at this new person.

My mother smiled and said, "Don't be scared, Paula. This is your new daddy."

And, there he was, right up beside her in the room with a big smile on his face. He looked all friendly and nice, but once I grew up and looked back at that memory, I realized he may have been smiling, but he was probably even more scared than me. After all, he didn’t just marry mom, he took on her mother and a little daughter. He had to have loved my mom so much to have taken on wife with so much baggage. And, once I grew up and could look at my parent’s relationship as an adult, it was quite apparent they loved each other until death they did part. In fact, my mother continued loving daddy for another 20 years and looked forward to being with him again.

I don't remember my response to this strange man upon our first meet and greet, but he was the best daddy my mom could possibly have found…the only thing missing on a “want” list would have been lots of money. But, the money wasn’t important, what was way more important was that never once did I doubt daddy loved me, even when mom gave him a son and daughter. He always made me feel special, called me, "Little One," and believed I was capable of accomplishing anything I set out to achieve.

The only memory I have of our being at odds with each other and fighting was when I was in high school. It was spring or summer and I don’t even remember what we were arguing about. Daddy was on one side of the dining room table and I was on the other. I got so exasperated with him, I picked up the vase of flowers I’d picked and put on the table and threw it at him. I was immediately horrified by what I’d done, and that might have been the first time he’d ever hit me if I hadn’t looked so ridiculous. When I grabbed the vase, I did it with two hands and raised it over my head. The water and flowers cascaded over the top of my head. As daddy came around the table, I grabbed up one of the flowers. Its stem was broken and as daddy approached me, I shook it at him and the flower bobbed up and down.

“Don’t you dare touch me!!! Don’t you touch me.” I yelled, then dropped the flower and ran from the room.

How daddy managed to keep a straight face at my appearance I have no idea. We never talked about that incident and I met my mother at the bus that night so I could prepare her for homecoming. Daddy acted as if nothing had happened and had cleaned up the flowers, water and broken vase. I don’t know if he and mom talked about it later or had a good laugh, but she never said anything to me either.

Daddy left me after 30 years. He was diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumor the day after my 31^st birthday and it took his life 18 days before my next birthday. But, 30 years, three decades, is a lot of time and it is chock full of memories I cherish. I could probably type for hours and still not provide a title for all the slides in my personal PowerPoint. We danced...my small feet on his when I was very small and again at my wedding. We camped and fished...caught my first catfish on Lake Pend Orielle even though daddy had to bait the hook and take the fish off.

Growing up, the entire family laughed and commiserated every single day it was possible at the dinner table...a practice I brought to my own marriage and family. We shared the highs and lows and the joys and sorrows of each day there. Some of the memories created at table still have the power to make me smile, laugh or even cry. We went as a family on picnics, family reunions and even a few vacation trips. Those trips weren’t anything fancy, just car trips to places in the Northwest. I do remember the trip to Crater Lake and the one to southern California the summer after I graduated high school. I didn’t want to go, but my mother didn’t drive and I did, so I went as daddy’s relief driver.

When John came into my life, he and daddy got along as if they were old friends. Daddy walked me down the aisle and gave me away to John. Daddy was a baker, so he took vacation time and made and decorated our wedding cake…it was very special to me. For the next 11 years, all of us went camping, shared family dinners and played cards. From something John said years later, I think he was as devastated by daddy’s death as I was.

When it came to fathers, I was extremely luck in having John as a daddy. He carried on some of the traditions with which he’d grown up. I once asked John where he learned to be such a good dad because I knew his own growing up experiences had been awful. He told me he learned from the Watkins family. The amazing thing about that statement is the parents ended up divorcing and the kids did not turn out very well.

I think John learned from my dad as well. They had some great times together, were both die-hard sports fans, and liked to fish. The year daddy was dying, he would not give up driving no matter what I said or did, including not allowing AJ to spend the night at my parents because I couldn’t trust him not to put AJ in the car and drive. My parents came to watch the Sonics win the championship and I don’t know what John said to dad, but when he drove himself and mom home that night, he hung up the keys.

My tale of fathers doesn’t end here though because I also had a biological father. I was unable to identify and find him until I was 69 years old. Imagine finding out you have another whole family at that age. That man was no longer alive, but I met his son, my half-brother, most of his sisters and brothers, and his best friend. Based on what I learned about this man and the kind of man my brother is, I would say he was undoubtedly a great father as well.

I so wish I could have had daddy in my life for another 30, 40 or even 50 years. I wish he could have seen his first grandson, whom he loved dearly, grow up to be the wonderful, compassionate and beautiful man he is now, a father in his own right. I wish my younger son could have experienced that special grandpa-grandson bond that so enriched his older brother's life...I feel as though he was cheated of something very special. I know our granddaughter had a great relationship with her Pa; and, again, I wish John had been allowed more time to be a Grandpa to his grandson.

Heck, as long as I'm wishing, I wish I could, just once more, hear daddy's voice call me "Little One." No one has called me that since I was 31 and I miss it...I miss him...still. I wish John were here so we could argue about when to have his birthday dinner. When the boys were growing up, we always celebrated his birthday on Father’s Day…a two for one. John had a hard time letting that go when his own sons became fathers and needed that special day with their own progeny.

Happy Father's Day to all the daddies of my life. Biological daddy thank-you for giving me life and a wonderful brother. Daddy, thank you for raising me with love and for loving my mom. John, thank you for being such a good daddy and partnering with me in the creation and raising of two amazing men. Thanks to all three of you, I have a filing cabinet full of memories I will always cherish.

HOT AND SWEATY PROGRESS

        It’s getting late in the day on Friday and I don’t know what the temperature is, but the sun isn’t shining very much at this point. I got busy and left the deck door open after the sun rose over the hill and now the house is hot and humid. I’m a bit annoyed with myself, but a gin and tonic once I’m through here should make me better and cooler.

          I spent most of today organizing another of John’s collections. I’m sure he was totally surprised to hear me cursing at him after being so nice to him the last couple of days. I wouldn’t have bothered, but I moved everything into one location which was on my dining room table and I want the table back. I had it kinda semi-sorted, so didn’t just want to throw it all back in a box and then have to start completely over, so I persevered.

          Excel wasn’t a particularly good program for me when I was working. I could do it, but there was some muttered cursing when things didn’t go well. I believe I’ve used Excel more since I began organizing John’s stuff than I ever did at work. The only good thing is I don’t have to mutter the curses, I can scream them if I really screw up.

          At some point, my plan is to use the Excel spreadsheets to see if any of the crap I’ve organized is worth any money. I’ll start that once I’ve gotten all the crap organized, so it may not be utilized until next winter. At least I’ll have it. I did try looking some stuff up, but so many sites can be confusing and I’m not sure which one would be the best when it comes to determining value.

          One of the sites I visited a couple of months ago reached out and got in touch with me. For a small fee of $30.00 per item, they’d be happy to determine the value of stuff. Well, what if they determine the value is $1.00? If that happened and the way all John’s treasures are adding up, it would be more likely I’d be out $29.00.

          So, more progress in a different area and all on my own. It doesn’t seem much like the various piles are dwindling, but they are indeed going down. So, while I might sound a bit cranky here, I’m just hot and sweaty. Think I ‘ll stop and go make that G&T and read a few chapters in my book.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY DINNER WITH JOHN

John at Table

          Yesterday was a bit of a sad day, but I turned it around and made it a good day. I decided John and I would go out to dinner. If Tony Roma’s had still been open, I would have made a reservation there, but they disappeared some years ago. Then, we moved celebrations to the Black Angus in Lynnwood, but they closed due to the light rail coming through. Our default celebratory place then became Arnie’s in Edmonds and I called and made a reservation for one for 5:00 pm. It was a beautiful day for dinner on the waterfront. Then, I put John’s Orb and light in my purse and took him with me. We started with a Gin & Tonic, then had Caesar salad and Northwest Seafood Fettuccini. The only difference in what John would have ordered was I had fresh ground pepper on my food. I declined the dessert because I was stuffed and didn’t even get it to go. I’ll have leftovers for lunch today.

John & I Sharing G&T & Bread

          I thought I might be uncomfortable as a party of one, but the spacing Arnie’s has to do made that a non-problem. I sat by a window and watched life passing us by down below. I couldn’t believe how many people were out walking about without wearing a mask. I wouldn’t take such a chance. And, there was one altercation I would have loved to hear. Some woman had a little boy on a leash. She was with another woman who had a baby in a stroller. Apparently, the leashed little boy’s daddy (a male person anyway) took great exception to the leash. They all disappeared except for the lady with the baby. Eventually they returned with a stroller and ice cream cones and everyone walked down the boardwalk and out of sight. It was kind of fun, like being in an aerie watching people come and go.

          Both John’s boys, our sons, called me to talk a bit about their dad and the fact it was his birthday. Their thoughtfulness and love for their dad did make me get all teary, but they really weren’t tears of sadness. If we hadn’t done such a good job as parents, they wouldn’t have remembered to call and check in on this, the first birthday without their dad.

          I also pretty much took the day for myself and John. I had trouble going to sleep Wednesday night, so didn’t get up and walk first thing. I really just wanted to snuggle on the couch with our doggies, which is exactly what I did. Once I got moving, I went out to the garage and brought in the scrapbooks one at a time. Since they were kinda damaged and dirty, I wore gloves as I went through each one.

          The scrapbook of polio memories was a bit sad, and I could tell where John’s mom had input. There was a whole section titled, “Friends I Made in the Hospital.” It was clipping after clipping about children who’d had terrible accidents, i.e., pulling a pot full of boiling water off the stove; a hidden, loaded gun that went off; a child hit by an automobile on her way to spend her allowance, and that’s just the few I remember. I didn’t read beyond the headlines of the articles and they were all depressing as hell. I really wanted to ask John if he actually met and knew those kids or if he even remembered. I wonder why his mom would have put such negative articles, and there were many, in his book of memories. I would think John would prefer to just forget the entire experience which is perhaps why he never brought that scrapbook from the box in the garage.

          There were lots of cards that had been taped in place from his parents and sisters, aunts and uncles and cousins and his grandma. It appeared that John was hospital schooled some and later on had a home school teacher/nurse who came to the house. There was a letter approving the surgery on John’s foot that allowed him to walk normally again. There was also information about a camp for handicapped kids in Idaho that John apparently attended the summer of 1951. He would have been nine then, but he never mentioned going to camp in the entire time I knew him. More questions that will never be answered and perhaps additional memories he’d just as soon were gone.

          The other scrapbook had photos of family members and friends whose names and faces I didn’t recognize…I did recognize family members, but not the other friends. There were lots of pictures of Mike, John’s dog. He did talk about Mikey now and then over the years. I think that was his first dog and he loved Mikey to pieces. John had also saved a bunch of information about his father, Jack Otto Karlberg. All of his awards and certificates from his navel service. Apparently, he ended his career as a Lieutenant Commander in the Navy as the head honcho at the Guantanamo base in Cuba. Again, I wish I had known enough to ask questions and get more history, but there’s no one available now that could provide a single answer, at least as far as I know.

We watched ferries come and go

          Anyway, we’re back from dinner now and I’m going to finish up this post so it’s ready for the morning. I think John and I celebrated his birthday very well for our first time out and about. My sister has her husband in an Orb as well and I laughed when she told me she takes him places. Well, I’m not laughing any longer now am I. Until next June 18^th and John’s 79^th…we’ll really have to do something extra special for the 80^th.

Beautiful Edmonds Day

A 55-YEAR-OLD FAIRY TALE

          Today would have been John’s 78^th birthday. Happy Birthday John, wherever you are. It’s going to be a little strange (would have been anyway with the pandemic) not going out to dinner, making a cake or wrapping presents. It’s the first birthday since John turned 23 that we haven’t been together to celebrate his presence in the world. I, in fact, found the story I’d wrote for him for his 23^rd birthday. Here it is:

          Once upon a long time ago, if you measure the years by old Father Time’s calendar; a short time ago if you  measure by the many adventures and experiences one must cram into the short space known as a lifetime, there was a man, a woman and a girlchild who all lived together under the name of Karlberg. They lived in a town known as Seattle and were quite happy.

          Then one day, a weary traveler and rather friendly old bird stopped to rest at their home. He went by the name of Mr. Stork. His stop was of no importance, or so they thought, but they made him welcome just the same. Only after he had continued upon his travels did they realize that their lives had been lacking something.

          You see, this Mr. Stork had a rather bad habit in that his memory was poor and he often times left a home without packing all his belongings. To add to the confusion, his packsack was magical in that it could replace whatever Mr. Stork forgot immediately upon the resumption of his journey. It was a good thing too, because he left at least one of his possessions in each home at which he stopped. So, Mr. Stork continued upon his merry way, stopping here and there, forgetting this and that and making many friends—depending upon your point of view, of course.

          Soon after his departure, the Karlbergs discovered what a valuable possession their odd visitor had left behind and realized immediately that there was little chance of ever finding the odd old bird or of returning what they had decided must be a boybaby. So, they decided to make him a part of their family unit which was eventually completed some years later with the addition of another girl.

          The Karlbergs decided to call him John Hjalmer and included their family name of Karlberg also to make it complete. Then, too, this would aid them in identifying him if he were ever lost. They did, as you see, realize what a valuable possession they had acquired and took all the necessary precautions to ensure his safety and security.

          Johnny, as he was called, soon captivated all those who came in contact with him. First, he was tiny, warm, soft, and cuddly. Everyone loved to hold him and love him. In addition, he had big golden-brown eyes which laughed and flirted—especially with the women—from beneath reddish-blond eyebrows. His mouth smiled often, his skin was fair and sweet, and his hair gleamed a red-gold. Indeed, he was a beautiful boybaby.

          As he grew, Johnny smiled, gurgled and laughed often. He brought much happiness to the Karlberg home. As time passed, Johnny learned walk, talk, and before long grew into boyhood. As he grew, the qualities which babyhood and boyhood hinted at became realities. Johnny exploded into a handsome, gregarious popular young man.

          John, as he was then called, became a leader in all he undertook. His friends looked up to and respected him. They followed his example and whatever John tried or did, they had to try or do.

          As for being popular with the women, the years hadn’t changed that fact or any other than to improve upon and mature it. Now, instead of being soft and cuddly, he was big and strong. He wasn’t tiny and cute any longer, but handsome and virile. Only his eyes had not changed. They were still brown flecked with gold and while they still laughed and flirted, they had learned to promise, caress, love and conquer. Why, just one certain look with the left eyebrow raised just so and the women fell into his arms. With these positive qualities, John soon became an adept and proficient lover, as you can well understand.

          So, now on this 18^th day of June 1965, exactly 23 years since that weary traveler Mr. Stork stopped to rest, we find that his lost possession has grown into a fine specimen of a man. True, he has his faults—thinks he is a mechanic for instance—but so does every man and they are easily overlooked if one loves enough. Besides what he lacks in some ways he more than makes up for in other ways.

          John has become through time considerate, gentle, understanding, kind, loveable, fun, sweet, silly, crazy, responsible, faithful, trustworthy, good; and at times, impossible, slightly unbelievable, disgusting, terrible, ornery, horrible—in summation just a little bit of everything which makes him interesting, slightly fascinating and so much fun to be with.

          Perhaps you wonder how I know so much. The answer is very simple if you read between the lines. I am the girl who is wildly, passionately, hopelessly in love with him.

          So, today on his 23^rd birthday, while she doesn’t know or can foresee what the future years may bring him, she sincerely and lovingly wishes and prays that each coming year may bring him endless love, happiness and contentment.

          She hopes that he will have a mate who will love him as a man, husband, lover, sweetheart, father, child, boy and baby; and as the one and only man for her until the days they were meant to share have past.

          She also hopes that he may experience the wonder of loving a woman as woman, wife, mistress, mother, sweetheart, child, girl, baby and as the only woman for him until the time they were meant to share has past. She hopes he will be able to share his hopes and dreams with this woman as never before without the fear of being laughed at or having his innermost thoughts told to the neighbors.

          In other words, she hopes that John will find the perfect mate so that no matter what problems arise or how much time may pass, they will always be able to solve their problems and share a tiny bit of heaven here on earth by merely thinking of, talking of, or being with each other.

          For John, this girl wishes and prays that the blessings that God bestows upon him and those he loves may be plentiful, that his life may be rich and rewarding, that he may be happy, loved and content for all time.

          In addition, she gives him her heart and her love.

Happy Birthday Darling, Paula

There you have it, written 55 years ago some time this week. There are many things I would change and correct now with regard to wording and punctuation, but I didn’t have the education I later gained. In reading this, I do think that all I wished for John did come to fruition. Maybe not so much in the very last difficult years, but for the majority of them, I think my wishes and prayers for John were fulfilled.

MORE PROGRESS

         Well, you never know what you’ll find when you begin opening boxes that have probably been in the garage attic for close to 50 years. To say I was amazed by some of the finds would be underutilization of that word. Haley found a box with a bunch of cards and stuff in it. She grabbed one up and began reading, then started laughing, and told me there was too much sex information in it and handed it off to me.

          I didn’t remember all the notes and cards and stuff I gave to John back in the early months/year of our relationship. And, as for the sex information, the cards didn’t contain anything explicit…you needed to use your imagination. I had no idea John had saved all of those. I figured if they weren’t in the trunk where I found a lot of other cards and notes, that he’d tossed them. I should have known better.

          We also found some of John’s grade school report cards. I sent those home with Haley for AJ to see and then AJ can pass them on to Thor. Also found and saved his original birth certificate, his baptism certificate and his confirmation paperwork. 

There is still a box of stuff for me to look through. There is a scrapbook that either he or his mother put together that's all about when he had polio. I just took a quick look, but it appears all the get-well cards and other stuff having to do with his hospital stay and recovery have been taped and/or glued into the scrapbook. 

There’s another scrapbook that John himself must have put together. Again, I just flipped the pages and looked at some of the loose material. It has photos of friends, and thank heavens, he identified the people in the pictures. For some of them I wouldn’t have any idea who the person was without that. There are a 1960 Senior Prom, a 1960 Shoreline Girls Club Tolo and a 1960 All-City Rainbow Tolo. Each one is in the little holder you get with the photo. I believe the girl in the photos with John is Susan Little, the girl he dated in high school. I also have to say that John was a rather sharp dresser for those times. He was also a real cutie pie…Richie Cunningham style.

Susan’s name came up not too long ago. She made a donation to the Lincoln High School Scholarship Fund in John’s name when she found out he had passed away. I still need to write her a thank you-note for that and I’m going to ask her if she’d like to have the prom/dance photos. If she does, I’ll send them on to her.

Again, I cannot understand why John kept this irreplaceable, and easily ruined by damp, stuff in the garage attic. It’s not like I would have been jealous over the prom/dance photos, or any other photos for that matter. And, having those scrapbooks full of cards and photos would have been well worth sharing with his sons at some point. I know my scrapbook of school memories is in the closet and the boys did look at it now and then.

I probably won’t sit down right away and look at the stuff. I’ve another project on which I’m working. I do have a week before Haley will return to do some more sorting. Unless she and AJ and Thor get stuff out of the other side of the garage attic, we’ll have to do the shelves underneath the big workbench. I think the majority of that stuff will most likely go to metal recycling. Who needs rusty nuts and bolts, eh? More progress…slow but sure thanks to Haley.

THE CRAP-FEST CONTINUES

          On Sunday, AJ and Haley came over and cleared out half of the garage attic. As you can see from the photos, Haley should have a ton of fun come Wednesday when she arrives to continue sorting with me. I’ve also a feeling that we’ll be taking a trip to the waste management facility. I’ve a couple boxes of stuff that can be put into metal recycling, and judging from the way AJ shook his head when he peered into some of the boxes, there will probably be boxes of stuff destined for a land fill. 

          I surely do wish John were here so I could ask him about some of this stuff. There’s a very weird looking heater that AJ says probably still works. It’s about the size of a small stove. I’m thinking I’ll send that to Goodwill, although AJ said I should put it into the garage sale I may have some day/year. There are a couple of tents that I never knew we had. Our camping was always with a rope and a large tarp. There was even a very small camp stove that had never been out of its box.

          How about a box of old porcelain tubes for old time electric wiring? I called the younger son to ask about it, first because he just bought an older house and second because he’s always finding and selling stuff in a variety of ways, most recently via an E-Bay account. He said to keep it; he’d take it. There are people on the lookout for such items and there isn’t much like that available out there.

          One of the things AJ pulled down sent me off in peals of laughter. I had to explain once I stopped laughing and Haley told me, “TMI, Nana, TMI.” Anyway, it was the first clock radio I ever bought once I had a real job. When I moved into an apartment, the apartment was furnished. It had one of those bookcase headboards. Since I used the clock radio as my alarm, I put it on the top of the headboard…perfect. Well, one day when John and I were having a rather great time, the motion of the bed caused the radio to fall down and hit him in the head. For just a moment, I’m sure he thought he was having one hell of an orgasm. It actually cut his eyebrow and the fun stopped so we could administer first aid. I hadn’t thought of that radio or that “fun” in decades. I’d like to ask John if he saved it because of the memory. I wonder if it still works?

          Another box came down that probably holds the furry seat covers to the old orange VW. Haley was a little excited at first because she figured she’d put them on the seats of her truck. I told her that if they didn’t fall apart in the washer and dryer, they’d probably be almost as good as new. Her enthusiasm waned and they’ll probably go to Goodwill or the garbage. AJ also found two more huge sets of keys and identified one as being to the orange VW. He took that one, but left me the rest. I have absolutely no idea to what these keys and about 50 others go to. I’ve a feeling John didn’t always return the key to the folks he did work for, and I think the majority of those folks are all dead as well. 

          I have no idea what’s in a bunch more boxes. Hopefully, there won’t be lots more tools or stamps and envelopes with stamps. I can’t imagine that John would store those in the garage…they might have gotten damp and he wouldn’t want that. But I’ll find out on Wednesday when Haley comes to continue with our crap-fest. I don’t think I’ll make our lunch just in case we do head out to the Waste Management Facility first thing. If we do, then Nana will buy lunch. 

          And, don’t worry. Should we find anything of any great value, I’ll be sure to include it in a post. Plus, we’ve the other side of the garage attic to haul down before the garage crap-fest comes to an end. I’ll beT you can hardly wait for more posts about all the fun I’m having.