Happy Birthday

John Edward Crews would have been 93 yesterday, had he not died in early December, 1984, shortly before his 70th birthday. He never saw me graduate from college or get my law degree or make it to a successful and happy marriage. But I hear his voice in my head whenever I do something good or right. He always tells me I'm a good girl.

We shared no DNA, no blood in our veins, but I pride myself on being his daughter. I look for characteristics within myself that mirror those in him. Once, while searching for my birthmother, I learned that he had known her, she had been a patient of his practice. I got this notion that maybe he was my father and that it had been covered up all those years. In response to my question of whether he was my birthfather, he replied, "No, but I wish I had been."

He was known by various names: Doodle to his sons, Daddy to me, Pakum ("PAH-kuhm") to his beloved grandsons, Dr. Crews to his friends, Jay to Mother, and Jake (for his initials, JEC) to his brothers and sister. He left the house at 6:00 a.m. every day to make rounds at Florida Sanitarium & Hospital. He would usually arrive home at 11:00 p.m. My sophomore year in high school I had to catch the bus at 6:00 a.m. and he'd drive me two miles to the shopping center where the bus would pick me up. We'd sit in the car and talk for ten minutes. That was the most time I ever spent with him in my life, and I loved every minute of it.

He always stood up for me. We lived on Lake Maitland, and my brothers, five and seven years older than I, were avid and skilled water skiers. But they couldn't be bothered with their little sister. Daddy would always make sure they gave me a chance to go skiing, and frequently on his Wednesday afternoons off, he'd pilot the boat to pull me around the lake.

He was an avid antique collector and patients would frequently tell him of a clock or a fabulous chandelier that he needed to see. My clock collection and the gorgeous light fixtures in my living and dining rooms are constant reminders of his good taste.

He was an impeccable dresser. The walk-in closet in the house my parents built in 1951 had skinny drawers just to hold all his ties. He collected old cars. We had, at various times, a 1915 Model T, a 1927 Model A, and a 1938 Chevy that he had restored and upgraded with rolled-and-pleated leather upholstery in the trunk and a Corvette engine under the hood. Recently I spoke to an old boyfriend from high school who said, "I should have paid more attention to Dr. Crews' daughter than to his cars."

He turned into a different person when his grandsons were born. Never were two children more cherished and loved than by this man who had been so busy and absent through his children's early lives. When Tyler was born and had many health problems, Daddy would leave the office early three days a week and stop by my house to just hold and rock and observe Tyler. After Terry and I moved to Texas and then divorced, Daddy made it a point to call them every Saturday morning, to maintain their special relationship across the miles. When Scott/TJ was around two, Daddy drove a Chevy Blazer and would always have Scott sit on the elevated console between the two front seats. He called it the "Buddy Seat." (Long before the days of mandatory seat belts!) He loved teaching them to fish and taking them for rides on the lawn tractor at the cottage on Lake Mabel.

You wonder how I stay so energized and keep so many projects going. Here was my model: After a long day standing over the operating room table, Daddy would relax by overstimulation. He would sit on the recliner in his den, jazz on the stereo, a ball game on the TV, and a crossword puzzle in his lap.

When Daddy was a small child, he got tonsillitus. His parents were too poor to have his tonsils removed, so it developed into rheumatic fever and severely damaged his heart. His first heart attack came at age 58. He ultimately died of heart disease.

The three quotes that I remember the most were these:

1) "Don't believe anything you hear and only half of what you see." (I always thought this was directly from his mouth. Years later I learned that the quote is variously attributed to Will Rogers or Mark Twain. Now as I Google it, I learn the actual quote is: "Believe only half of what you see and nothing that you hear." The author is Dinah Mulock Craik, a British author and poet, who wrote these words in 1858.)

2) "The two biggest obstacles a child has to growing up are his parents."

3) "You may be right." (Ever the diplomat, when someone said something to him that he thought was laughable, stupid or downright wrong, he would gently say, "You may be right.")

And I'll leave you with more words from Dinah Mulock Craik, from her novel "A Life for a Life", published in 1859.

Oh, the comfort --
The inexpressible comfort of feeling
safe with a person,
Having neither to weigh thoughts,
Nor measure words -- but pouring them
All right out -- just as they are --
Chaff and grain together --
Certain that a faithful hand will
Take and sift them --
Keep what is worth keeping --
and with the breath of kindness
Blow the rest away.

How Bad Do You Feel?

I had an appointment to get my hair color tuned this morning and I sat there with cough drops in my pocket and Kleenex in my lap and a water bottle at my right hand.

Then my friend Shawn Campbell called, asking if I wanted to come play in her closet to help her decide what to wear for the New Year's Eve Moveable Musical Feast at Arizona Inn. Playing in Shawn's closet is one of my favorite things to do. She has impeccable taste, can find exquisite garments on sale like no one I've ever met, and had this little size 2 body. She trusts my eye and my knowledge of fabric and craftsmanship, so we have great fun together. She heard my voice when I answered the phone and said, "never mind". If I would turn down a chance to play dress-up with Shawn, you know I'm sick.

If you'll excuse me, I'll go back to the couch and Mahler Six.

P.S. To add insult to injury, — err, illness — the rain made my pipes back up. There's gunk in the tub and the plumber can't come until Tuesday. Yuck!

Memories of Lives Past

As I sit here on my bed waiting for my NyQuil to kick in and tossing spent Kleenex on the floor, two memories come whirling at me.

First, the tossing of spent Kleenex onto the floor is something I picked up from my daddy. If you don't know, I adored my daddy. He made me think I had some intrinsic value. No one else, until John Ross, gave me that sense. Daddy had severe hay fever (as we called it in those days). I can remember his lying on the bed, head propped up on a pillow, white handkerchief lying at the ready on his chest, waiting for the next sneeze or blowing of his nose. And what a nose he had! My brothers joke about being glad they didn't inherit Daddy's schnoz.

I was talking to my friend, Bill, in Fredericksburg, VA, last night. He has two grown daughters whom he adores, and the feeling is mutual. I've been with him in various European cities as he bought gifts for his daughters. All I can say is "Wow"! The man has a gift for giving. In the course of our conversation last night, he asked how my mother is doing and when I might come east again. I shared with him how I don't enjoy my visits to my mother. I call her daily and visit her once or twice a year because it's the right thing to do. Truthfully, I am relieved when she doesn't answer my morning calls because she's out shopping or walking or whatever. Whenever I spend more than 48 hours with her, I'm thirteen years old again, gawky and dumb, ugly & incompetent. But it was never that way with my daddy. And Bill and his daughters share a similar bond. Is it the opposite sex parent bond?

So to the other memory that came to me so strongly tonight and made me laugh out loud. Do you know the plural of Kleenex? This is such a classic John Ross-ism. I'll tell you after TJ and Ty weigh in — I want to know if they remember this at all. It's one of a whole basketful of warm memories of a joy-filled man.

Another Day, Another Nickel

I guess I should check in, although I'm still feeling pretty puny today. Headache, sore throat, coughing — all that head cold nastiness. But I'm at work, even though I would rather be home in bed. I'm out of sick leave (my company only gives us 40 hours a year, and those were all gone two weeks ago), and if I'm not here, I don't get paid.

Yesterday we had a fabulous rainstorm. (When one lives in the desert, every rainstorm is pretty fabulous.) My roof leaked. I called the home warranty company, who kindly informed me the roof wasn't covered on my policy. Then I called — who else — Frank. He came over an hour later, looked at the leak, told me the problem, then came back this morning and fixed it.

There's something good, I think, about having an ex-suitor come over to fix something. That's the fact that I didn't fix myself up for his arrival. I had showered in the morning, thinking I would go to work, then got back in my jammies and crawled back into bed. When he arrived around 3:00, I was still in jammies in bed. I didn't brush my hair or anything, and just stayed clad in the Very Unattractive Victoria's Secret gray t-shirt jammies. Even stripped off my top to reveal a camisole with no bra underneath each time a hot flash hit me while he was there. And I didn't care what I looked like. Eureka!

This must be why all the ex-girlfriends maintain their friendships with him. He knows how to do everything around the house and does it cheerfully. I told him I'd have to take him out to dinner to thank him, and he said that could be arranged. I then called him a scoundrel. Ah, but he does it so well!

Men! Can't live with them, can't live without them.

Meant to Be? Nah!

My subscription on Match expires today or tomorrow and I will not renew. So I thought I'd search one more time. Lo and behold, there was a man from work to whom I had been introduced six months ago by my CTG manager who thought we would really like each other. He also works with another dear friend of mine who transferred out here from Gaithersburg 15 years ago.

So I wrote him a note, asking if he remembered meeting me. I got a very disinterested note back from him (yeah, okay, so at least he responded) saying he did remember meeting me and was surprised I had found him on Match as he just joined in the last day or two.

This disinterested note matched his total lack of interest when we were introduced in the cafeteria.

Are we getting the feeling that Tucson is not my home?

I'm home sick today with bad sore throat, coughing, and general cold junk. To add injury to illness, Marcello just bit my leg. Waaah. Nobody wants me.

Stories

Okay, Kiddies, you've been good lately so I'll tell you two stories today.

First, from Short Stories and Nightmares:

Frank and I were talking recently about the power of words, and how people can say cruel things to their friends and lovers that just live on and on.

On my 22nd birthday, way back in 1972, I took the day off of work and spent the day sewing for myself. I made the cutest little shorts set. (I weighed about 125 pounds at the time.) It was a sage green cotton knit with white 1" high anchors knit into the fabric, spaced about 2-3" apart. This memory is so strong I can still picture the fabric. The pattern was a sleeveless tunic top with a pointed sailor collar and round neck. The hem of the tunic top left about an inch of the shorts exposed. The shorts were very short, but cute, not revealing, not by any means indecent. I don't know how to do indecent — didn't then, don't now.

The following Saturday my husband of nine months and I were running errands I was proudly wearing my new outfit, and hopped out of the car at the Maitland post office to drop a letter in the slot. When I got back in the car, he said to me, "You look like a slut."

End of story, but I remember every moment of that incident 34.5 years ago, and remember how horribly hurt I was that this man to whom I had pledged my life could be so cruel to and judgmental of me.

As I told this story to Frank, he popped right back with, "Hey, do you still have that outfit. I wanna see you in it." Ah, I do love being around men who possess a sense of humor.
- - -
And from Short Stories and Warm Memories:

This morning Marcello tucked himself in the small of my back as I was waking up, and in a flash I was back on Lamont Street and Irving Street in the Mount Pleasant neighborhood of Washington, DC. John and I were together. He would get up at 5:00 on Saturday and Sunday mornings to go either to Andrews Air Force Base or Hidden Creek Country Club for his "oh-dark-thirty" tee time with Dicky or Dennis.

We always slept spooned together, John in back with his left arm wrapped around me. As he got up, he would take his down pillow, smoosh it up, and tuck it into the small of my back to replace his belly against my back. He knew that I could then go on sleeping while he went off to tackle eighteen holes.

Wonderful, warm memories of a man who knew how to live life with great gusto.

Wise Man Came From the East

Okay, so three miles to the ENE. On Christmas day my phone didn't ring once, until 7:00 when Mr. Match called to see what I was doing! He came over, we had a couple of drinks. Go figure.

I had not seen him since September 25th. Is this the new definition of three-month relationship for my life? I meet someone, get involved with him, then don't hear from him for three months? Ouch.

Oh, by the way, it was wonderful to see him. I thought I had no more feelings. Oops. I still have feelings. I accused him of carrying his broom everywhere he goes — to sweep me off my feet.

Watch this space . . . .