Random Thoughts

Thanksgiving with my family, aunt, close friends ca 1963 using a Brownie camera with Kodachrome film


It occurs to me the Instagram craze is silly. Let's face it, women of a certain age have only to look in their photo albums, shoe boxes, drawers stuffed with old square Kodak
instamatic shots for the real deal.  And it wasn't that great back then...



Why was Marion Jones sentenced to jail time for juicing and finally admitting her deception to the IOCC but A-Rod and so many others get a pass?  Does gender have anything to do with it?  Lance Armstrong continues to suffer more slings and arrows and will most likely be broke as well as stripped of his titles.  He is probably the most vilified of athletes although Marion Jones paid the highest price by serving jail time.

 

More and more people I liked and was influenced by are passing on.  What was once a distant possibility is now a daily reminder:  life is finite.

Karen Black died this week.  "Five Easy Pieces" was a seminal film back in 1970.





Dennis Farina, actor and former true life cop, died at age 69 of a blood clot. That's only 8 years older than me!
I just loved his gruff manner and wise cracking manner. His hair and moustache are so like my husband's.

  



None of these comments have anything to do with one another.

That's why they're "random".  

And All That Remains...

And all that remains

Are the faces and names

Of the wives and the sons

And the daughters.

"The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald"

Gordon Lightfoot

Searching for images to match the final stanza of the song, I found these incredible photographs in a post written two days after the death of Osama bin Laden, "Standing in a Room of Mirrors" .  She writes a particularly poignant post.

Memorial Day: Why We Remember

We need to bring our soldiers home alive; not in a box.  War benefits no one.

Amy Winehouse Dead at 27

Amy Winehouse was found dead yesterday in her London home.  They are reportedly doing an autopsy as early as today.  Sadly, it will be no surprise if it turns out to be drugs and alcohol, her addiction gone too far.  She was an incredible talent.  It's tragic she'll never become a woman of a certain age.

 Amy Winehouse photo from Huff Post article

Gone But Not Forgotten

A few weeks ago, I received an email from the daughter of a man I once dated.  The news was not good.  He had died unexpectedly in December.  She was in New York, going through his email contacts and found my name.  She wanted me to know there was to be a memorial service at the NYU Alumni Club in the Princeton Club in Manhattan.  

I was shocked by his death as he and I reconnected a few years ago when another broadcast person from San Diego, where I'd worked, had died.   He was completely surprised and happy to hear from me and we'd been emailing ever since.  

This man was a leader in the radio industry in which I worked for 28 years.   I met him early in my career when I was a buyer for a nationally known photofinishing company.  I was a client for several years as I was in charge of radio and newspaper advertising in markets across the U.S.  

He courted me after I was divorced and we had a relationship which, when I look back, was one that filled a void on both sides.  It never took off but we remained good friends for many years.  We lost touch until I saw his email address and contacted him two years ago.  He was in good health, happy, retired and completely absorbed by his grandchildren.  A different man than the work-obsessed person I first knew.  In those days, he was divorced, his children far away and his life dedicated to his job and probably climbing the ladder to reach the pinnacle, president of the company.  That always bothered me. 

In the few weeks since his passing, I learned he became a man dedicated to his children and grandchildren.  Once he retired, he was free to resume his relationship with them.  I heard from his daughter twice;  I was also contacted by another close friend of his, someone I did not know who worked for him.  She filled me in on her positive experience with him as her boss and mentor. 

His death represents the passage of an era that has been long gone but one I recall with great fondness.  The broadcast/advertising industry was so much fun.  I was lucky enough to be part of it during the last great years; to experience the incredible growth and diversity of radio stations before the corporations took over reducing radio to the "one size fits all" formats you hear today. 

We had fun.  The work was challenging and rewarding.  We enjoyed expense accounts, lavish parties, trips, weekend retreats, in depth ongoing training.  People were free to be creative, try new things.  Most of us loved our jobs.  I remember driving to work most mornings and thanking God for my life.

The imprint a person leaves on another can be life changing.  He was the only person with whom I was
involved I stayed in touch with.  That says something about us both.  

 

Elizabeth Edwards 1949-2010

 Wedding Day 1977

 

Young Couple in Love

 

 Happier Times

 Cancer

 

In Memoriam

Miner Has Premonition Leaves Note for Girlfriend

CNN interview with the mother of a young miner who died in Monday's explosion.  He told her of the "bad ventilation" and left a letter for his girlfriend and mother of his young daughter.  This poor woman lost her brother, nephew and son.  She is a forgiving loving person who, to me, epitomizes the word "charitable".

Sen. Edward Kennedy 1932-2009

Official portrait 2006

Doris Kearns Goodwin, a respected historian, was interviewed yesterday about Sen. Edward Kennedy, who had just died. She told an apocryphal story.

When JFK was elected president, he gave his youngest brother a cigarette case inscribed "And the last shall be first". She pointed out the prophetic aspect of this quote.

So the last shall be first, and the first last: for many are called, but few chosen. Matthew 20:16

Now, I've heard the second part of this quote"...many are called, but few are chosen." ascribed to the Kennedys many times, I'd never heard this story.

She went on to describe how Ted Kennedy was called "Caboose" by his brothers and family. He was the last in a line of accomplished Kennedy men. It is ironic, as Ms. Kearns pointed out, he was the only one to live out his life, to achieve his full potential in spite of all the tragedy, and to carry the burdens of the Kennedy family on his shoulders. " So the last shall be first". Ironic indeed.

















Kennedy Brothers, Hyannis Port, circa 1960

Friends Indeed Part 2

My husband wrote this to include in all the thank you notes we will now write.

"Friends in need" may be "friends indeed" but friends in a time of need are truly the best friends. My sincere thanks, to one and all, for your kind thoughts and gentle words.

My Father's Service:

Given his lifelong lack of religiosity, we decided to celebrate my father's passing into the Great Beyond with a "Bon Voyage" party, rather than through a more traditional service. Monday night, thirty or so people gathered in remembrance. We ate good food, drank expensive booze, and thumbed through photos and memories (mostly true) from back in the day. The life and times of my father were well represented. When it came time to pop the corks on the champagne and offer a toast to the man and his times, his presence was palpable.

My father's favorite author was Oscar Wilde. As part of Monday's sendoff, I spent some time gathering quotes from the author that seemed to best represent his life view. I hope that those of you who knew him well concur with my choices.


It is absurd to divide people into good and bad. People are either charming or tedious.


Life is far too important a thing ever to talk seriously about.


I can resist anything but temptation.


Children begin by loving their parents; as they grow older they judge them; sometimes they forgive them.


I like persons better than principles, and I like persons with no principles better than anything else in the world.


I love acting. It is so much more real than life.


Nowadays most people die of a sort of creeping common sense, and discover when it is too late that the only things one never regrets are one's mistakes.


Moderation is a fatal thing. Nothing succeeds like excess.


The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it. Resist it, and your soul grows sick with longing for the things it has forbidden to itself.


To get back my youth I would do anything in the world, except take exercise, get up early, or be respectable.


I think that God in creating man somewhat overestimated his ability.


We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.


A fond d'adieu, avec un bon voyage et plein de bonne fois papa.
(I don't think resting in peace is in the cards).

Friends Indeed

Monday night, we threw a celebration of my father in law's life at our home. While not a lot of the people who came knew him well, he had met many over the years as he was always a presence at our parties. So, when my husband published a beautiful obit which ended with an open invitation to our home, he underestimated the response. He expected 10-15 people and I just looked at him and said, "You don't know our friends."

About thirty of our closest friends came, bringing great food and lots of love. I had set the table with my mother's china and silverware; we had a full bar serving everything in crystal glasses. We had a huge spread, from appetizers to several
desserts. The flowers we'd received were placed around the living room and my husband set up the CD player with Frank Sinatra, Billie Holliday, Ella Fitzgerald and Count Basie, his father's favorites.

The music played, the food was plentiful, the drinks flowed. Our minister came by, my husband's tennis partner, my in law's neighbors, and my son's friends. Everyone made a contribution by their presence and their gifts. When the time was right, my husband served champagne to all and called for a toast. It was short and sweet as he told everyone this was his father's 85th birthday, how much their being there meant to us, and how much his dad would have enjoyed the party. It was wonderful.

I had been out to dinner the night before with a few of these friends and talk of funerals, death and wakes was the topic. One of the "girls" told a story about a recent wake she'd attended at the very elegant restaurant where we were eating. The daughter of the woman who died had ordered all her mother's favorite food, chief of which were grilled cheese sandwiches and macaroni and cheese. Everyone started talking about what food they'd want at their own wake and one person said, "I think we should have the wake before we die so we can enjoy it." We laughed like hell at the concept.

It's so good to have friends.

Watercolor by Laura Trevey

Holes

One of my favorite Beatles' songs has always been "Fixing A Hole" from Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, their seminal 1967 album released when I was 15 years old. My friends and I spent day after day listening to it, deciphering the lyrics, exploring the musical overlay of tracks and sound that made this album unique. I loved this song because I thought the tune was beautiful and the lyric poignant. Popular conjecture made it about shooting heroin, doing drugs, etc. But I took it to mean filling a void in one's life and making time for the little things.

"I'm taking the time for a number of things
That weren't important yesterday"

This song came to mind last night when I heard Walter Cronkite had died. I thought of my father in law and my son's close friend, dying the same week. Great gaping holes are left in our hearts and souls when someone close to us dies. Holes are left in our culture and world when an icon of import, particularly someone who made a lasting contribution, dies.

So what do we do? We go about filling the holes, trying to find a way to ease the pain and emptiness. We try to replace what has been lost. And maybe, we start taking the time for things that "weren't important yesterday."

Life and Death

Yesterday was a sad day for our family. My husband's father, who was recently felled by a massive stroke, died early in the morning. He was about to turn 85. His passing is a blessing; he was confined to a nursing home, bedridden, paralyzed on one side, unable to speak. None of us were sure of his comprehension other than the light we saw go in and out of his eyes. My mother in law is devastated. He was part of her life for sixty years and she is bereft. As the mother of another friend of mine, after losing her husband of 47 years, said recently,

"Half of me is gone."

That is a powerful statement. It made me stop and think about the feelings I will have if my husband goes before me. I've known him since I was 16. While I remember life without him, we were married, divorced, re-married, I don't want to think about that any longer. A long lasting relationship does get taken for granted. The after shock of this sinks in once we are irrevocably parted.

A real tragedy played itself out yesterday as well in the life of my elder son. Over the weekend he called home full of concern about one of his best friends. He had gone away without explanation after his girlfriend broke off their relationship. He'd talked about suicide and my son was concerned enough to contact the police. My son spoke with the ex girlfriend and she too was concerned, having contacted the boy's parents who lived in other parts of the country. Everyone's worst fears were confirmed when the news came yesterday afternoon this boy of 23 years, just graduated from college, son of a well-to-do family, had locked himself in the family garage, got in the car, turned on the engine and gave up his life.

My son called last night sobbing. He'd lost his grandfather in the morning and a dear friend that afternoon. It was just too much to bear. I sobbed along with him, unable to comfort or hold him; my heart breaking.

I lost a close friend like this ten years ago. She was unhappily married, living in Las Vegas, away from her beloved San Diego beaches. She drank too much. She called sporadically. But she never reached out. She just went in the garage one day, turned on the car and passed out in the seat. That was ten years ago and I've never understood it nor stopped missing her.

Losing my husband's father, the boys' grandfather, is sad but it is part of the life cycle. He lived a long and full life; most of it quite happy. The terrible act of suicide is tragedy; the implications heart wrenching and far reaching. Everyone is affected. We choose to remember the departed in good times but it is the death that haunts us.

Wondering always, "Why?"

Endings

Yesterday morning, at 9:30am, with his family surrounding him, a man I really adored died of cancer. He was 66 years old. He was everything I like in a man: big, strong, funny, challenging, sarcastic, headstrong, steady, steadfast, loving and kind. He was the father of six girls and one boy who did not live past childbirth. He left behind the girls, now women, his wife of 47 years and twelve grandchildren, ten boys, two girls. He was the father of my best friend in New England. He was a man's man.

He was a Massachusetts State Trooper. He had great stories. Man, he could tell great stories. Two Autumns past, I had the great good fortune to spend five days in Nantucket with him and his wife and my best friend and her husband. The days and nights were filled with his stories of growing up on Cape Cod, learning to fish, police anecdotes and the like. He was a character out of a novel such as Richard Russo would invent. A real guy. He had his faults, plenty of them. He was away from his wife and daughters for long stretches of time during their youth; they were raised without the constant presence of a man, which they sorely needed. There was disappointment and resentment toward him as the girls grew up and he tried to re-instate his influence. His daughters, you see, are as pig headed as he. It was bound to happen.

His cancer diagnosis came too late. He was mis-diagnosed for two years with lower back pain. He had prostate cancer, something we've come to believe is easily contained if caught in time. By the time his was discovered, it had entered his bones. But he fought it all the way.

His family rallied round. His wife took him for the almost daily radiation. His daughters took turns helping out. He lost 80 lbs right away; then more. He wanted to stay in his home til the end and he did, surrounded by the things he had helped his wife collect and build during their long relationship.

In the end, he was with the people he loved the most, his family. They spent Easter weekend at his home waiting for the end. The day before he let go, he told one daughter to pack his things... he was "going fishing."

"Are you going to Cape Cod," she asked.

"Yes."

"Are you going to see Gramma and Grampa?"

"Yes."

She said he smiled and was happy. Fishing was the great love of his life. It was his passion.

I picture him now, standing at surf's edge, with his line in the water, a cigar in his mouth, waiting for a bite.

God rest.