Adventure 139: Las Vegas, Nevada/Hitchin' Post RV Park, Motel, and Saloon

Seatac was quite busy at 6 A.M.. The plane was full.

Kudos to my Bunny. Even limping (Douglas shot four of her toes off yesterday for cheating at cards) she's better than most people. She arranged for us to board a jet plane this morning at 6 A.M.. She coaxed our daughter to get up (Libby is not a morning person) to drive us to the airport. She negotiated a return on some of the money we paid to store the truck and trailer. She cleaned the refrigerator (While I did the shopping), She made lunch. She ably navigated us through the morass of freeways northwest of Los Angeles. She took pictures along the way. AND she danced like a Vegas showgirl on the picnic table after we set up the trailer. What a gal!  We arrived in Cathedral City about nine thirty in the morning. We were on the road before eleven, and we pulled into Vegas about four thirty. We're tucked in safely at the Hitchin' Post RV Park in the north part of Las Vegas. I've always been amazed that through the miracle of flight a person can begin the day in one place and be just about anywhere on the globe by night fall. We live in the best of times. Our trip was uneventful. I think it was actually a blessing to be traveling the roads we traveled today on Saturday. The only really thick traffic was near downtown Las Vegas, which we traversed right about rush hour (If there is such a thing in Las Vegas). Tomorrow, we plan to leave as soon as the rosy fingers of dawn raise the veil of light. By nightfall, we should be as far as Wells, Nevada. I've never traveled the road we will drive tomorrow, but my guess is that it will be us, the truckers, a few fellow adventurers, and the desert critters. We won't see them, but they'll notice our shiny silver bullet zipping by. Douglas reported that Nora had as good a day as possible. Her sister Peggy, a nurse by profession, arrived, and was able to provide some loving sisterly care. Judy and I commented, simultaneously as it turned out, that it felt good (If a little strange) to be back on the road. It will feel good to tuck ourselves into our little corner bedroom. I have to say, also, the desert heat feels good, as does the sun. We watched another excellent sunset before we had dinner at the Hitchin' Post Saloon tonight because the walk was short, and we didn't want to cook. It was quite good,and it was warm enough to eat out back in the beer garden, which was good because the smoky saloon odor was so strong it brought back my dishwashing days at the Pancake Paragon where I had to clean up after nasty, filthy, disgustingly puking, chain smoking drunks (What a guy wouldn't do for $1.25/hour). Tammy, the bartender and our waitress told me that in Las Vegas, a person can drink alcohol twenty-four hours a day! it seems ironic that the first sign a traveler reads as he crosses the Nevada border is This is a zero tolerance state. All I can say is, "Boy am I glad I'm not drinking." Guys like me who have no off switch live dangerously in places like Las Vegas (I think they made that into a movie). No worries, the Bunny did our drinking tonight, and the beer garden behind the saloon was very pleasant. In the course of dinner, Judy swilled down a glass of red wine that was the size of a big gulp (They don't mess around in Vegas), and now she's sleeping it off. Watching her "carp out" as we call it reminds me that life is good, especially today.


 Pulling Fric and Frac out of the storage unit in Cathedral City, California.

 "Sin City" is somewhere over them there mountains.

 Fric and Frac were humming with the big boys today. California drivers allow no indecision, hesitation, or pokiness. Pedal to the metal today!

 We had quite a bit of company heading to Las Vegas. I'm sure we're the only ones who didn't leave any money behind at the slot machines.

 This is the largest thermometer in the world. It commemorates the hottest temperature on record (125 degrees).

 We saw no signs indicating what these shiny things were. There were three installations of some wort of solar gathering. Very bright.

 Though time seems to have passed this place by, it is well run and very clean.

Twilight in the desert is most always pleasant.

 Our spot for the night.

 My art shot of the pine cone show girl dancing (Judy declined my invitation to film her dancing).

 A nicely prepared ribeye dinner, which we shared.

If you look closely, you can see Judy's hand making a move toward the glass (Notice the Wily Cager smile).

Adventure 138: Seattle, WA/Post I

Hey, Map Boy! Where's Waldo?

Early morning errands helped fill the spaces of our minds this morning. We took Elizabeth's car into the shop for a check up and an oil change. While we waited for the car to be serviced, we walked to our longtime favorite Seattle eatery, the original Dish Cafe in Ballard. We have eaten twice at the new Dish near Elizabeth's house this past week, but as is often the case, the original is much better. Maybe it's the trauma of trying to keep up with the older sister. Emotional trauma can cause all sorts of mischief. Today, for example, my Bunny, otherwise known as Waldo, left her phone on the front seat of Elizabeth's car. It's really hard to hear the phone when it's over a mile away. We called the Subaru dealer and they said they'd put it in the glove box. I thought, "Good, that should make it so much easier to hear." For those of you who don't know Waldo (Wally), he famously loses things as he travels. The gimmick is to find his backpack, his ax, his binoculars, or whatever else he's lost along the way in the midst of incredibly detailed scenes. The books play to the obsessive/compulsive nature of just about everyone who has ever had the misfortune of picking one up. I'm not sure Wally carries a cell phone, but since I'm making this stuff up, I guess I can add one. I do know that making sure Judy has her cell phone has been number one on our checklist during this adventure (We've become as dependent on it as any junkie is to his "stuff"). It didn't really matter this time because we used my phone to call the car dealer (While not smart, my old flip phone is a reliable backup, and I almost never lose it). After LIbby's car was finished, we drove over to Douglas and Nora's to continue the vigil of Nora'a passing. She was up briefly today, long enough to receive two visitors. One was young Miss Kate, a close family friend. It felt good to watch Nora's smile as she held Kate's hand. The other was her co-worker Graham, who has been on Nora's team for over fourteen years. Again, his genuine love added a measure of solace. Nora managed about a half hour before she retired. The visitors left, and to pass the time, Douglas, Judy (The Wily Cager), and I played cribbage. As Douglas is my witness, the Wily Cager tried every cheating trick she knows (We're so proud of her), including a new one when she forgot to deal me any cards in the three man game we were playing. Douglas is a registered gun owner, so he pulled out his nine millimeter pistol, and while I  held Judy's legs over her head (She's really flexible), he shot two toes off of each foot. Her balance was a little impaired afterward, but she promised not to use any more creative math, especially when playing cards with a couple of toothless Idahoans like me and Douglas. Actually, we had a good afternoon playing at cards. We let a meaninglessness game act as a foil for some good humor. It's either laugh or cry at this point. We did a little of both. Nora, who is with us less each day, rested peacefully in the next room. Late in the afternoon, we left in order to let Elizabeth into her apartment. She has just one precious set of keys, which is good because it makes her apartment building that much more secure. After she got home from work, we drove over to Ballard to a BBQ joint named the Bitterroot. It was medium. We topped the evening off with a bowl of frozen yogurt for dessert. Tomorrow morning, Elizabeth (Not a morning person) will drive us to the airport so we can begin the process of recovering Fric and Frac. Our plan seems no crazier than any other stupid human trick I've ever done: Fly to Palm Springs Saturday; drive to Las Vegas Saturday night; drive to Wells, Nevada Sunday night; drive to Baker City, Oregon Monday night; drive to Spokane, Washington Tuesday night; return to Seattle/Queen Anne, Washington Wednesday; continue to relish the fact that life is good, especially today.

 This eatery, The Dish Cafe, is on Leary Way in Ballard. It consistently prepares an excellent breakfast experience.

 The Dish places Aardvark hot sauce on each table, but they offer a plethora of other choices to be enjoyed by a knowlegable connoisseur. 

 May I speak to Waldo?

 Thin gruel notwithstanding, I continue to drink the hard stuff. No butts about it.

 Fitting on the eve of a fourteen hundred mile power drive that we should eat in a restaurant with a map for a menu.

Though passable for Seattle, this weren't Texas, Dewie.

Adventure 137: Seattle, WA/Post H

Every body needs a safe place.

Remember that carnival game where you stand in front of about a dozen holes with a couple of mallets in your hands and wait for cutsie little mechanical moles to pop up so you can whack them over the head. The game has a time limit (Sort of like life), and the object is to whack as many moles as possible in the prescribed time. I think they even have a sound track that has the moles giggling as you try to keep up. I wonder which has more impact: the popping moles, or the mocking giggle? What I do know is that we can't  afford to lose poise. I always cringe when I'm driving and some confused little fluffy tailed critter dashes into my path. I'm always glad NOT to hear the crunch of bones under my tires, and I've often wondered which survival tactic is the most successful. Does the little rodent that zigs and zags live longer than the one who sits still? In times of great stress, it's easy to over react, like the nervous rodent. It's harder to hold a firm place like the stationary rodent, and I'm pretty sure more mistakes have been made through rash behavior (Not that I've ever been rash) than have been made through logical deliberation. But here's the rub. Life often hurls large masses of uncontrollable force directly into our path. Free thinking time is quite often taken away. Here's the point of this ramble. If you ever find yourself trying to cross a dangerous street in a time of great stress: Look left, then right, then left again…and then trust your best judgment. In that light, Judy and I have decided to forego our planned mission trip to Honduras. We plan to fly to Palm Springs Saturday morning, and drive straight home. In that way, we'll think we'll be in a better position to support our loved ones. We can only hope this is the correct decision, and either way we pray our trip north will be uneventful. It's a little under thirteen hundred miles from Cathedral City, California to Spokane, Washington. On the beeline, it will take three and a half days. On the positive side, the high plains we'll be driving through have a certain kind of beauty, and it's another part of this magnificent West we've not seen. That alone means that life is good, especially today.

                                   To be sure, our Lord has taught us about suffering.

                                                  He has allowed us to express doubt.

                                                He has given us the power of prayer.

He has shown us the wisdom of perspective.

                                               He's allowed us the power of choice.

                                   He's given and He's taken away (Anne and little Libby).

Adventure 136: Seattle, WA/Post G

Today, the clouds gave way to shiny.

Seattle, Washington may be the most beautiful city on earth when it's shiny. This morning, the shiny morning presented us with a clear view of the Olympics, the majestic presence of Mt. Rainier, and the glassy mirror of Puget Sound. The torrential rains of the previous day were but a damp memory, and nothing but warm promise welcomed the new day. It must be so because I skunked the wily cager for starters (She made the mistake of leaving the room), and then we met our friends, Ross and Dinah Coble for breakfast. Dinah retired as our Librarian at Sacajawea two years ago, and Ross led the way into retirement about seven years ago (He's been the guide for the rest of us). They are in the midst of a life change. They're selling their home of thirty years in Spokane and moving into a new home in uptown Ballard so they can be near their first grandchild. If that's not shiny, I don't know what is. We shared the morning, enjoyed looking at a few pictures of "Rex", and took a tour of their new house. In the midst of life's circle, it felt warm to be near two people so eager to begin a new chapter in their life. Later, while I was at Douglas and Nora's, she was visiting with old friends, so I took the opportunity to go to the basement. One of my favorite programs, Charlie Rose, was being broadcast. His guest was the Director of a new movie, American Hustle, which is up for ten Oscars. David O. Russell, the director, said an interesting thing. When asked what he wanted to accomplish with his cinema, he said, "I'm most interested in presenting the emotions people are willing to live and die for, and I'm most interested in the rebirth after great trial ." So often we move through life not willing to risk either emotion. We're not willing to really risk what's necessary to really live, nor are we willing to face the very real possibilities of death. The result is that we often plod through life saying stuff like, "Same shit, different day." This world view protects us from involvement (And maybe some pain), but it also limits possibility. Our own fears prevent us from remaking ourselves. In recent days, I've asked myself, "What is truly important?" I've come to the conclusion that supporting my family and friends is one of the truly important things. It's like my favorite daughter said at dinner tonight, "I may be living on one branch of my family's crazy tree, but it is a kind of crazy I understand."  A few years ago a singer named Simply Red had a hit song in which the line, "Everybody Hurts" was prominent. It is true. There is suffering in the world, but there is also great joy. There is the joy of a firm handshake from your oldest son. There is the joy of a hug from your favorite daughter. There is the joy of keeping a promise. There is the joy of watching a grandchild's first step. There is the joy of unyielding hope, and there is the joy of unconditional love (Who can call any of that crazy?). I can't explain very much of anything, but I can tell you that when I watched my friend flipping through the several hundred pictures of his grandson on his phone, I couldn't help but believe that joy is real, so real it makes life good, especially today. 

 Do you think a bookshelf full of hot sauce is a life metaphor?

 Ross and Dinah Coble, looking brand new as Seattleites.

 This is Rex,  the cutest grandchild in the world.

 This is Ross, scanning the most recent photos of Rex, the cutest grandchild in the world. 

 See photo above. It may be where young Rex gets some of his good looks.

Adventure 135: Seattle, WA/Post F

Starbuck's is thinking of offering a "Hind Teat Latte.

What's a little more excitement? Judy and Elizabeth spent a few extra hours on the commute home from Spokane stuck on the side of the road with an overheated engine. It wasn't really car trouble. It seems Elizabeth's little Subaru stick shift didn't like inching over Snoqualmie Pass in bumper to bumper traffic through what was left of a twenty inch snow storm. I loved getting another call that put me in a position where I was helpless. The good news is that it turned out to be a mere delay. They rolled in safe and sound about eight thirty, just three hours late. Then we slept. The really sad part of the new day was that the wily cager spanked me into submission at my favorite cousin's house using his cards and his board. It was a brutally harsh start to the new day. We're now tied in the Queen Anne Open, but like the rest of our lives lately, the final outcome is uncertain. The day perked up as we enjoyed a nice day sloshing around downtown Seattle in the torrential rain with my youngest sister (Also Judy). She will return to her home in Uji City, Japan later in the week, so it was very nice to spend most of a day with her. Like regular idiot tourists, we ignored the torrents that were driven sideways by the winter wind. We were giddy as we enjoyed French pastries and coffee at Le Panier, delirious as we strolled through light crowds in the Pike Street Market, and absolutely orgasmic when we sipped Egyptian lentil soup in a cafe overlooking the Puget Sound. Metaphorically speaking, since life continues despite the rain, we couldn't have asked for a better day. Judy, my youngest full sister, is somewhere near six years younger than I am, but she is the proactive one in our group, which means she's made sure we've had contact over the years. She shared some of her perspectives, which filled in some time gaps in my memory. The bottom line, well wait there is no bottom line, but when sister Judy and I jump off our respective limbs of the crazy tree we come from, we find that our wings are working fine, and what's more, we realize we really have little reason to complain. After lunch, Judy caught a ferry and my Judy and I went over to Douglas and Nora's where we visited until it was time to meet our daughter, Elizabeth. A little later, I found myself feeling especially grateful to be walking behind my Bunny and my Boopie as we escorted Elizabeth to her second job. Some parents may be lucky enough to have their grown children living at home. As for me, I get to beam with pride as I watch my little "chip off the block" dig and claw her own way through this maze we call life, and even though I don't get to be with him today, I feel the same about my "favorite son". I'm easily the luckiest man on the planet., and it makes me smile. Smiles are good. Much in my life makes me smile, so once again I must say, "Life is good, especially today."

 Since my sister is a Japanese (Sort of) tourist, we thought it only right she visit the Pike Street Market.

 You can't even tell they were shivering, and they look pretty good considering they were as wet as drowned rats.

 Not to worry, thin gruel was available. These are savory broccoli filled pastries.

 This is some sort of French bear claw, filled with sweet cinnamon syrup and  covered with slivered almonds.

 Not to mention a very nice (And steaming hot) latte.

 These two are deciding  which to eat, the sweet or the savory.

 This is my sister, Judy, posing for a Coca Cola ad (She had to write off the trip some how).

 I wanted to go sailing. I have a boat that could have gotten out there in just an hour. They declined.

 Then I offered a ride on the Ferris wheel. Again, they declined. (It's hard to be a tour guide with these two). You'd think they didn't like Seattle sunshine.

 The Hoisington crib board was not my friend today.

As a second job, Libby manages clients at this exercise establishment. She is my favorite daughter, barre none.

 Here is the "Budmandoo", my favorite son.

And here's the "Boopie", my favorite daughter.

Adventure 134: Seattle, WA/Post E

When I was a college student majoring in English, I was assigned many writing tasks. One, I remember was to analyze Emily Dickinson's poem: 372 (She didn't title any of her more than 1500 poems; editors did that later). I don't remember what I said about the poem then, and my perspective has changed a little over time, so I thought I'd do it again (Just for the great pain of it).

#372

After great pain a formal feeling comes-- The nerves sit ceremonious like tombs; The stiff Heart questions--was it He that bore? And yesterday--or centuries before? The feet, mechanical, go round A wooden way Of ground, or air, or ought, Regardless grown, A quartz contentment, like a stone. This is the hour of lead Remembered if outlived, As freezing persons recollect the snow-- First chill, then stupor, then the letting go.

After great pain a formal feeling comes--

Dickinson doesn't specify the type of great pain, nor does she define the gender of the sufferer. This suggests that whatever the pain source, the feeling is universal to the human condition. The great pain must be powerful, so powerful, it's like when an electrical power surge snaps a breaker. Everything is suspended (As a protective measure). Notice though, through the alliteration of  the f sounds (formal feeling), that the protective feeling is stiff and uncomfortable, as if the sufferer is attending a State dinner underdressed or ill-mannered. Even more powerfully uncomfortable are the rituals with which we surround our death ceremonies. Try to remember the last relaxed person you've seen at a funeral.  Finally, the feeling just comes; it isn't asked for, it can't be controlled, and it can't be stopped.

The nerves sit ceremonious like tombs;

Stiffness and discomfort are harsh, unwelcome feelings. Notice here that Dickinson dehumanizes the sensations. She takes sufferers out of their feelings. It takes a certain numbness to accept the fact that this ceremonious tomb has license to take a lover away.

The stiff Heart questions--was it He that bore?

In times of great pain, sufferers question the justice of things. Those who are religious question Jesus. Notice Heart and He. Here Dickinson points out that Jesus was the ultimate giver. It was He who gave His heart. It was He who bore the weight of our sin. Unfortunately, in the midst of stiffness, many sufferers don't feel all that 'saved'. They question the fairness of things (This questioning surfaces later in the poem in the form of danger).

And yesterday--or centuries before?

The questions get sketchy because when enduring great pain, sufferers  lose touch with the present. They can't tell if the pain happening now, or if it has it been happening for centuries, or, regardless of the age, if great pain has been the constant. The weight of it seems to envelop them like ashes burying the victims of a volcano eruption or an earthquake or a fire or an explosion or any of a number of possible calamities. There is a difficulty accepting the infinite nature of great pain, so often the only protective response is the dull non-feeling.

The feet, mechanical, go round

The second stanza reminds sufferers that regular life moves on. The days continue, however stupefied, and the feet plod, dehumanized, mechanical, often in circles of confusion. There is no passion, no love, no joy. There are no feelings at all.

A wooden way

Again Dickinson emphasizes the stiffness, the nonhuman expression, like Pinocchio before the miracle. And notice the alliterative 'wooden way', suggests a non living thing, a piece of dead wood cutoff from the living, which is just how a sufferer feels.

Of ground, or air, or ought

Not only do sufferers move about in otherness as stiff as dead wood, but daily things take on no importance. It's easy to fall into a "What's the use?" mentality: The things done on Earth (ground), the breathing (air), the talking, the things we 'ought' to do. Anything in a daily experience, anything that once meant something when shared takes on an absurd presence. 

Regardless grown

It doesn't matter how old, how experienced, how mature, how brave, how faithful, how accepting, how often others say it will be OK. Great pain hurts.

A quartz contentment, like a stone.

Here Dickinson emphasizes the absurdity of normalcy with an oxymoron. Just how content can a rock be? And then there is the multi-facets of quartz, each portion reflecting the light that enters, but never providing a light source of its own. Also note that this stanza is five lines long, which is Dickinson's device for stretching the unbearable rhythm of pain out. It makes the poem hard to read, rhythmically broken like the heart of the sufferer. It mirrors the feeling of endless pain, just like this crawling tense feeling that's moving up the back of my neck right now. Contentment? Really?

This is the hour of lead

In the final stanza, Dickinson changes the time frame from the eternity of centuries to an hour; however, this hour is long and heavy. The question here: How long must the sufferer suffer?

Remembered if outlived--

Dickinson brings the question to a climax right here. Great pain can crush spirit; it can give license for hopelessness. It's the danger spoke of earlier. A sufferer can wallow in self-pity, can swim in despair, can walk on the edge of an emotional precipice. Great sorrow brings with it many currents, most of them capable of swallowing the sufferer. Things ride on a very sharp edge: remembered if outlived--

As freezing person recollect the snow--

At this point Dickinson shifts focus to the present. The person who is suffering is doing so NOW. Notice the persons 'freezing', not frozen. The process is going on right now. Nothing is finished. Nothing is certain. The final response has not been decided. In other words, those who feel the great pain of death also face the choice of facing the living.

First chill, then stupor, then the letting go.

When I analyzed this poem in college, I claimed that the last line spoke for itself. My professor disagreed, and gave me a B+. He said the last line was the most important one to analyze of all. I wanted to avoid it then, and I want to avoid it now, but I won't. The point is, even after the sufferer feels the harshest of pain, wanders through the daze of disbelief, and finally lets go….there is still no guarantee that things will get better. It is entirely possible that something even more terrible may happen tomorrow. This fact must be accepted by all of us because it's part of what it means to be human. It's why the opposite of pain is joy, the opposite of dark is light. The possibility of sheer bliss and pure despair always move together within the same sphere, and none of us "control freaking" humans can doing anything about either possibility. We must accept whatever we get (And like it--that's the hard part). That is why (paradoxically) life is good, especially today.

Speaking of good, Douglas and I had a manly afternoon yesterday when we went for our manicure (They call it a MANicure) and our pedicure. It was a first for me, and I must tell you, there was no great pain involved.

 Douglas and I with the owner of the shop (Lee). Surprisingly, three other men joined a gaggle of women for the treatment while we were there.

 The treatment feels great. The technicians are skilled. I plan to have a second experience. 

 My feet fresh off the treatment.

The joke (For men) is to pick a color. We both chose just a buff of our natural nails, but it was cute to hear all the Vietnamese women chattering and giggling like sparrows in a tree. We provided great joy for them. You can, too. Pick a color.

Adventure 133: Seattle, WA/Post D

My sister Judy brought these urns for Sandy's ashes.

My sister, Sandra, was remembered yesterday. Her friends and family gathered. We shared some stories and broke bread. The consensus was that she was a loyal, loving mother and grandmother who did the best she could. I hope at my demise the sentiments are as praiseworthy. Prompted by the event, I started writing, pouring out whatever came first in an effort to recall my relationship with Sandy. This is a view through my eyes, which calls the actual truth of things into something of suspect status. Nonetheless, it's one part of an ongoing story. Get the salt grains ready. Emily Dickinson's poem is for all of you who are facing, or have faced any form of great pain.

After great pain, a formal feeling comes – (372)

BY EMILY DICKINSON

After great pain, a formal feeling comes –

The Nerves sit ceremonious, like Tombs –

The stiff Heart questions ‘was it He, that bore,’

And ‘Yesterday, or Centuries before’?

The Feet, mechanical, go round –

A Wooden way

Of Ground, or Air, or Ought –

Regardless grown,

A Quartz contentment, like a stone –

This is the Hour of Lead –

Remembered, if outlived,

As Freezing persons, recollect the Snow –

First – Chill – then Stupor – then the letting go –

The last Christmas I remember with my biological parents was in 1957 in Lewiston, Idaho. At that time, I was seven years old, which made Sandra about three (Tom-6; Judy-2). I have a copy of picture of the four of us sitting sitting together on a couch, smiling.  Though our parents tried to live the dream, they had married young (Under the duress of my conception) and they couldn’t handle the load. I remember one scene in which George came home to an angry Chris. She reared back like a major league pitcher and let go of a salt shaker, which was shaped like a bishop in a chess set . The shaker was made of white glass, opaque, and had a domed silver helmet. It stood about four inches tall and made for a hefty projectile. Mom over rotated, so the shaker skipped on the linoleum floor, missing dad but clipping Sandra who had just toddled into the kitchen. Of course, she yelped, causing both parents to launch verbal assaults as to who was to blame. Our parents split not long after that, which marked my initial separation from Sandy (And Judy). I don’t really know the details, but I’ve pieced together a plausible scenario based on the facts I do know. I know we moved out of the big yellow house on seventh avenue. I know that Dad, Tom and myself moved into my Grandparents house on fourth and fourth. I know mom, Sandy and Judy left for the coast (Edmonds). What I don’t know is the legal arrangements. It could be that my parents decided to “share” responsibility with dad taking the boys and mom taking the girls. It could be that the court had to catch up on its case load. It could be something else altogether. At any rate, this split arrangement lasted until the end of my fifth grade year. At that time, mom showed up in a faded gray automobile with suicide doors, dusty cloth seats, and a three on the tree transmission. I remember it clearly because we drove from Lewiston to Edmonds (Before Freeways) across the Washington desert and beyond. I remember it being long and hot. My guess is that the court “awarded” my mom with custody. All I know is that I was ripped from the comforts of my Grandmother’s three story house in Lewiston where I had my own bed to a shabby shack in lower Edmonds (All mom could afford) where my brother Tom and I shared one of those click click couches they marketed as an instant guest bed. The armrests hard been taken off (Most likely so it would fit through the door of the lean to addition we called a bedroom). Those old enough can remember those kind of couches. The selling pitch was that with just a click, it could be turned into a comfortable bed for guests. (If it sounds to good to be true, it is because it is too good to be true). The couch didn’t quite lay flat, and the durable but coarse nylon upholstery was as rough as sandpaper. I can also remember heating hot water on the stove for baths, drinking powdered government milk, eating government cheese, and food stamps. Trying to survive in my own little world left little emotional energy to share with my siblings. We were like ships traveling in the same crowded channel. Danger surrounded us on all points, and we all were competing for navigable space. Each of us was so concerned with the dangerous waters, we could only look out for our own survival. 

The spring of my sixth grade year, my mom packed all of us into the old automobile, which was now bright red (Amateurishly hand painted by brush), and she drove us to Spokane. We arrived in late afternoon, depositing ourselves on the doorstep of her sister, Barbara (The Old Lady we called her). The Old Lady had four kids who mirrored my siblings exactly. We cascaded in pairs: Robin/Tim-oldest;Joan/Tom-2nd;Douglas/Sandra-3rd;Daniel/Judy-4th. I remember not long after we arrived in Spokane, Bob Hoisington, Barbara’s husband, came home from his job in the woods. I don’t know the dynamics of he and Barbara’s relationship, but I do remember him driving up in his faded green Ford, walking into the house, packing a few things in one of those cloth and cardboard suitcases with the brass fittings, and driving off without a word. I never saw him again. Left with no men, the two women forged on, using their strength, dogged determination, and undaunted courage. They were hard workers who proudly tried to make their own way, but life is hard for single mothers with only food service skills. The ten of us lived on $250.00/ month. The two women sacrificed much and the eight of us kids attended Catholic School (I think they realized education was the way out of poverty). We lived in this alternative family setting for two years, but again, during that time I had little or no contact with Sandra (Or my other siblings) except for the fact that we were sharing the same time in the same house. (I’d love to get  the group together to share perceptions of those years, but it’s less likely than aliens arriving with an answer for World Peace).

Sometime before my ninth grade year, the sisters split into separate households (Who knows why?)  Mom married Jack Eckhaus a year later, but not before my biological parents made one more effort to reconcile. Their bonding moment lasted about as long as a duct taped wing would hold on a transcontinental flight, but it did manage to rip me (And everyone else, I suppose) to shreds. I felt like a bird getting sucked into a jet engine. There wasn’t much left of my psyche except for a few tattered feathers floating wherever the wind chose to blow. I was collateral damage: wrong place, wrong time. Needless to say, my response to a new step father (Not his fault) was lukewarm. By my senior year, the only thoughts I could muster involved moving out, and ironically, my salvation was to move in with my father. Apparently, I had caught my mother’s can’t avoid the pain disease (Same song, different verse).  

When I left for college, Mom, Jack and the kids moved to the coast, and once again, I lived a life separate from my siblings. Sandy and Judy were still school girls, and Tom, a year younger than me followed our father’s example and married his pregnant girlfriend (Unlike our father, Tom and his bride have stayed together). Two years later, I quit college and married my high school sweetheart (Anne O’Brien-1971). Anne and I moved to Seattle  where she went to the UW and I worked at Smitty’s Pancake House (The Old Lady was my boss). We moved back to Spokane a year later. I went to work for Chapter Eleven Steak House where I rose as rapidly as the chain grew until I was General Manager. During those years, Anne finished school at Eastern. Steve was born in 1976, and Odessa was born at basically the same time. I do remember that Anne and Sandy got along well. Anne often babysat the babies. Sandy, who had completed school as a hair stylist, cut my hair (I had a few wisps then). Lovar, the father of Sandra'a children, and I often played pick up basketball. And life continued to twist and turn. I quit management, returned to college full time, and worked four days a week as a waiter to pay the bills. I graduated from Whitworth with a teaching degree in 1981. During that time, Sandy and I had quite a bit of contact because we were both living in Spokane. Annie and I moved to Centralia when I landed my first teaching job. Not quite four years later, after Elizabeth contracted cancer, Annie and I decided to move back to Spokane to be nearer her family (For Support). Around the same time, Sandy moved to the coast, which meant we were again like passing ships, but this time we were on opposite courses, and it also meant that I mostly missed the early years of Damon and Mercedes. The next summer, with Elizabeth in remission, Annie dropped dead of a brain aneurism, another shredding session, but my attitude has never been why me, it’s always been what now as in what are my choices now. At that time, I chose massive doses of self medication, and things would have likely deteriorated if Judy (My Bunny) hadn’t come into the picture. 

Two years later, we began forging our new life together (Twenty-five years this summer and a another story as well). Through these years, I had only the occasional connection with my siblings. All of us had survived the passage through the narrow channel (More or less), and we were all sailing the open sea of life in crafts of our own making. We usually gathered once a year at mom’s for Thanksgiving (This was more usual after Jack died). Things went on that way for a number of years, including Elizabeth’s recurrence, her ensuing loss of a kidney, chemotherapy, and her eventual miraculous cure. 

Then mom died of surgical complications. We’ve managed to gather a time or two in the ensuing years, but frankly our ties are so tenuous, it became much harder to gather with mom gone. I do remember that Tom and I helped Sandy move into her house some time back. I don’t really remember when, but I think mom was still alive. I could be mistaken (Actually, this entire time line is suspect, but not for lack of trying).

This brings us to last summer. Sandy began to struggle more with her diabetes. Dialysis was imminent, if not already in progress, so Judy and Sandy made a visit to Madras to see our father in a gesture of attempted reclamation. I used to tell those of my students who were suffering through their parents breakup that you either have a relationship with your parents, or you want one. In that sense, I think the visit was good, albeit late, and I hope it made Sandy feel better. Last week she finally succumbed. My wife Judy and I were in Phoenix when Tom called with the news. We arranged to store our trailer; we suspended our adventure (Ain’t retirement great--What schedule?); we bought plane tickets, and now we’re here (Both for Sandra and Nora as it turns out). The bottom line is that I didn’t know my sister, Sandra, very well. I had minimal contact with her life, even when we were living the same days in the same place. This stroll down memory lane started as a way to find Sandra’s place in my life. It’s turned out that not just her, but also my other siblings passed like ships in the night. Like someone said, “You can never step in the same river twice.”  But since this is about Sandra now, I can say this. She tried as hard as she could. She loved as hard as she could. She dreamed as hard as she could, and even though she lived through many disappointments, she had a giving heart and a strong will. She will be missed, especially by those whom she loved. I would say another thing to her “babies” based on what I heard a friend of Sandy’s say at her memorial. The friend said, “Sandy didn’t settle.” I liked that, and I agree. Don’t settle. Live in a way that would make your grandmother proud because she will be proud of you no matter what. She was noting if not an unconditional lover. And I would say more. Life is often hard and it’s often unfair, but it’s always what you make of it. Above all, life is good, especially today.

 

This would be us at the peak of the family dream.