Author Archives: Susan

THE WAITING ROOM

2 Replies

I arrive fifteen minutes before my appointment. The parking lot is packed. I drive round and round looking for a place to park. Waiting for someone to leave so I can park in their spot. No luck. And then I see three isles over someone is about to get into their car. I head over in that direction as quickly as I can.

Just as I arrive at the aisle, I see a Mercedes Benz pulling into the aisle from the other end. They practically fly towards the parking spot and wait while the car backs out. This pisses me off to no end. I pound on my steering wheel and yell out,” damn.” I arrive at the parking spot, and the guy who stole my spot is out of the car and locking his car. “Hey, that was my spot; you stole my spot.”

The Waiting Room

He looks over at me and shrugs his shoulder and starts walking toward the doctor’s office. I yell, “jerk.”

I decide to drive to the parking lot in the business complex next door. I find a spot in the Merrill Lynch parking lot. It just so happens that this is the building where my investment broker’s office resides. So, if anyone questions me, I can just say that I stopped in the office to speak to Tod Pinto. Parking spots in this business district are rare.

I lock my car and walk towards the doctor’s offices. As I walk through the door, I realize I’m late for my appointment and that it doesn’t matter because the waiting room is full, packed to the rafters, overflowing.

This is my first appointment at this office. I see a sign that says Sign In at the main reception area. I get in line. Yeah, I have to wait in a line to sign in. I realize this is going to be a long morning. After ten minutes, I step up to the Sign In window and wait there. After a moment or two, the person behind me says, “just sign in they’ll call your name when they are ready for you. After you see the doctor, you go to the sign-out desk. That’s when you pay and show proof of insurance.”

I turn around and look at the person who’s talking to me, and she is ancient. No, I’m not exaggerating she’s as old as the hills, older than dirt, on her way out. “Thanks for telling me. This is the first time at this office.”

“Oh, a newbie, well good luck finding a seat. You have to get here a least a half-hour early or more to get a parking spot. And it’s the same for getting a seat. Sometimes you have to wait until someone is called into the doctor’s office and then jump into the seat immediately.”

“What, you have to be kidding me. They should just move to bigger offices. This is ridiculous.”

“This is their new office they’ve only been here for a little over six months. This practice has the best eye specialist for macular degeneration, diabetic retinopathy, and glaucoma in South Jersey. There’s a waiting list to come here.”

“Yeah, I had to wait for a cancellation to get an appointment. This is nuts.”

“Well, good luck. Oh, hey, somebody just got called into the exam room. Grab the seat before somebody else does.”

I mumble, “thanks.”

I literally throw myself into the empty seat. In fact, I almost topple over into the row of people behind me because of how hard I hit the metal chair. I hear someone say, “lookout, he’s going to fall.” And all the people jump up in anticipation that I’m about to descend on all their frail and decrepit old bodies.

My chair rocks back and forth, back and forth. But at the last moment, I manage to stabilize it. I say out, “Jesus that was close. I turn around slightly and say,” Oh, sorry, folks. I didn’t mean to scare the shit out of you, my bad.”

I hear some old lady, saying,” Oh dear, oh dear.” I honker down in my chair. I don’t move for about ten minutes; then I realize that I have to go to the bathroom. I know I will lose my seat if I get up, but I don’t think I’m going to be able to hold it in much longer. I start squirming around in my seat like a five-year-old. The lady next to me looks at me with some concern on her face. “Are you alright? Are you sick or something?”

“No, I just have to go to the bathroom. I didn’t go before I left because I was late leaving.”

“Oh well, I’m just waiting for my husband to come out. I’ll put my purse on your seat. And if anyone says anything, I’ll just tell them I’m saving it for my husband. And he’s going to be right back.”

“You would do that?”

“Of course, we all have to help each other out when we can don’t, we? Or, where would we all be?”

I look over at her. She is smiling, and her blue eyes are twinkling. That’s the only way I can describe it. Her eyes were smiling too. She looks at me and says,” Go on, it will be fine.”

“Oh, good, you’re back. Have a seat.”

“Thank you, that was kind of you.” She shrugs her shoulders and smiles again.

Just then, the automatic door opens up, and a man moves slowly into the room. He is using a walker. He takes two steps forward and then stops to rest. Then another two steps and stops. I realize he is using some kind of breathing apparatus.

I mumble under my breath,” dear god.” He slowly, excruciatingly makes his slow and painful walk up to the Sign-In desk at the front of the office. I watch him attempting to sign in. He has trouble because he has to take one hand off his walker to sign in. He wavers a little. It looks like he is going to fall. He’s rocking back and forth. I jump up and run to the desk.” Hi, I say. Can I give you a hand?”

He slowly turns his head and looks at me. “Yes, I would appreciate that. My niece was supposed to come with me today, but her baby got sick and she had to take him to the doctor.”

“Did you drive yourself here?”

“Yes, but it was slow going, especially since my vision isn’t what it used to be.”

I looked at him and thought dear god, should he be driving? “Listen, why don’t you take my seat over there? See that pretty lady with the white hair. Oh, wait, all the ladies in here have white hair. I ‘ll show you. You can have my seat, it’s almost time for my appointment, and I don’t mind standing for a while.

“Oh really, young man, that is thoughtful of you. I would love to sit down.”

“Ok, why don’t we head over to the seat, and you can rest up before name is called in for your appointment.”

As I follow him over to the seat, I notice several of the people in the waiting room are watching our slow progress across the room. And the strangest thing is that they are all smiling and nodding their heads at me. For some reason, I feel a lump rise in my throat, and my eyes well up with tears. I have to wipe one tear away as it threatens to run down my cheek. For some reason, I feel better at that moment than at any time in the recent past.

“Here we are, why don’t you let me help you sit down and I’ll put your walker at the end of the aisle. If you are still here after I go in for my appointment, I’ll wait for you to see the doctor and help you out to your car.”

“You would do that?”

“Of course, where would we be if we don’t help each other out?”

“Thank you, young man, do you mind telling me your name?”

“My name is Mathew Muller. But you can call me Matt.”

“Well, that’s a weird coincidence my name is Mathew too. Thank you, Matt.”

“You’re welcome. Mathew.”

I move out of the aisle and stand by the window. And then I look all around the room. And I see people, just people. And I think these are just people not unlike myself. They have families that love them and friends. They have problems sometimes. Not so different from me, they have just lived longer than I have. Probably, people that I could learn a lot from. I lean against the wall and, then I hear a young woman call my name. “Mathew, Mathew Miller.”

I walk up to the front of the room and she asks.” Are you Mathew Miller?”

“Yes, yes, I am.”

“How are you today Mathew?”

“I’m fine, just fine. Thanks for asking.”

“Well, Mathew Dr. Sarnow is running a bit late today so you may have a bit of a wait in the exam room. But I will start the tests before he comes in, and by the time, I’m finished he should be coming in to see you, all right?”

“Yes, that is just fine, thanks.”

__________________________________

MAMA’S BOY

1 Reply

Little Mama slowly opens her eyes and squints at the bright morning sun. The wind has died down. Last night she listened to the eerie melody the trees made as the wind blew its way through the woods. She made a nest of leaves and sticks and spent the night there as the storm rages on.

It isn’t raining anymore. Everything looks and smells differently. Branches are strewn all over, and a few trees have fallen onto the ground.  Little Mama stands up unsteadily. She peers through the tree branches in search of a fallen bird nest.

Kitten up a tree

Photo-sspiche3-Pixabay

If she’s lucky, maybe she can find a baby bird or two. Late yesterday when she left the nest in search of food, she knew there was a storm brewing. But she was hungry. She needs to eat so she could nurse her babies. They were sound asleep when she left.

But that was yesterday; anything could have happened to them by now. The kittens recently opened their eyes. As she is about to give up, she spies a baby bird lying lifelessly on the ground. She smells it and determines it hasn’t been dead that long and swallows it whole.

She leaps over the branches and debris along the path and makes her way back to her nest. Frighten that one of her kits wondered off. Last winter she had lost a litter due to her near starvation. Winter is never a good time to give birth. But she has little control over when these things happen.

As she makes her way over to the nest, she smells each of her mewling kittens. She realizes that one of them is missing. The one who always tried to climb out of the nest? Her heart sinks a little at the thought of another lost kit. Nature is cruel, and she’s learned the best way to deal with losses was with acceptance.

She’ll take care of the rest of her litter as best as she can until they’re able to take care of themselves. When they’re about six weeks old, she’ll begin to teach them how to hunt. She’ll wean them off her milk.

She lies down on her side in the nest. It’s a little damp but warm from the five kittens that lie sleeping bundled together. As soon as they sense their mother, they crawl over and find a place to nurse. They push and shove each other out of the way. Until finally, they all taste the sweet, warm milk, safe and warm. Little Mama sighs and falls into a fast sleep exhausted from her stormy adventure.

Big Red stumbles and cries. His stomach’s aching from hunger. He has looked for his mother all night. Finally, he gives up his search. He finds shelter in a hollow of a tree under some fallen leaves.

When the morning light wakes him, once again, his stomach’s growling, he has no memory of ever feeling this gnawing pain. He really can’t think about anything else. He even stops wondering what has become of his mother.

Just as he’s about to give up, he sees something fluttering just above his ahead. He doesn’t know what it is, but his instinct tells him to get it. He jumps as high as he can and grabs it with his sharp claws. He can hardly believe it. And he chomps down on it, and it stops moving. He swallows it. It tastes good.

It’s warm and fills his stomach the same as his mother’s milk had. He decides to find a place to take a nap. He starts walking through the woods until he sees another tree. Looking for a hollow place to sleep. He finds it and crawls under the musty leaves. He feels satisfied with himself.

He wonders what he’ll do next. And with that thought, he falls into a fast asleep. He dreams of how he caught the fluttering thing in the sky. And how he swiftly captured it. He feels safe.

He wakes up to an odd sound. He senses danger and looks from right to left. Trying to find the source of the strange noise. Without any warning, there is a movement right next to his bed. He lets out a frightened meow. And that is when he hears the strange noise again.

There’s a huge creature snuffling around him. Big Red is afraid that the creature will eat him, just as he had eaten the fluttering creature in the sky. He quickly ducks his head under the leaves and tries not to move.

“Daddy look., I think I just saw a little kitten in the leaves over here.”

“I doubt that, Chrissie,  what would a kitten be doing out here in the woods all by itself? Come on, let’s go; your mother will be wondering what’s happened to us.”

Chrissie leans over and pushes the leaves out of the way. She yells excitedly.” Daddy look. It’s a kitten.”

Big Red knows he needs to get out of here. Or these giant creatures will surely make breakfast out of him. With that thought, he burst out of the leaves and runs through the wet leaves, and brush. He leaps over broken branches like the devil himself is chasing him. Of course, Big Red doesn’t know about the devil, but he knows something is chasing him. Something was about to make him their breakfast.

The next thing he knows, he is on a branch at the top of the tree. He has no real memory of climbing the tree. Let alone how he will ever get down again. The ground seems very, very far away. Big Red settles on the branch and digs his nails into it. But to his surprise, it’s comfortable. Maybe this will be his new home.

Chrissie and her father look up the tree. “Daddy look. The kitten is way up at the top of the tree. How will he get down? He’ll fall on the ground. Can you help him get down?”

“Chrissie, of course, he can get down by himself. He climbed, there didn’t he? He ran up there to get away from us. When we leave, he’ll come down out of the tree. And his mother is probably nearby and will come to get him. Let’s go home now; it’s getting late.”

“Oh, Daddy, please, please, please let me keep the kitten. I promise that I’ll take care of it.”

“No, Chrissie, that’s the same thing you said about the fish, and look what happened to him. Maybe when you are older, you can get a pet. Let’s go; it’s getting late.”

As the creatures start walking away, Big Red’s heart begins to beat more slowly.  Suddenly a squirrel jumps onto the branch next to him. Big Red is so startled that he runs down the tree and is on the ground in a moment. He scampers over to his hiding place in the leaves.

He’s staring out through the leaves when something runs across his front paws. He lunges at it and grabs it with his sharp little claws. He holds it down. It is a strange creature, nothing like the giants that loomed above him earlier.

This is stranger yet, it’s small, and it feels hard and has many legs protruding from under its hard shell. Big Red tries to put it in his mouth. He feels it moving, not an all-together unpleasant feeling. He bites down on it. He finds it difficult. He opens his mouth slightly to get a better grip on it. Just as he is about to bite down again, he feels a sharp pain in his tongue. He opens his mouth wider, and the hideous creature makes his escape. Big Red decides to find something to eat that doesn’t try to swallow him first.

He feels and hears a weird feeling in his stomach. He knows it is because he needs to find something to eat soon. He looks around in every direction. He doesn’t even know what he’s looking for now. But he knows that when he sees it, he will know then.

As he looks out from under the leaves, he hears a weird noise like something is moving near him. He looks toward the sound, and he sees something is moving near his feet underneath the leaves.

He jumps up, and all but flies onto the moving leaves. He slams his paws with their little sharp nails into the leaves. He captures whatever was moving.

He pushes the squirming thing into his mouth and bites it. It isn’t moving anymore, He swallows it. It stops moving. Soon his stomach stops aching, and Big Red decides to look for a safe place to live.

He stealthily heads through the forest in search of a new nest and something to stem his thirst and hunger, which doesn’t seem to rest for long. He spies an enormous tree surrounded by piles of leaves that have recently fallen from above. As he makes his way closer to the tree, he hears a familiar sound. He isn’t quite sure what to make of it.

__________________________________

WIND CHIMES

2 Replies

As Marie sits on the porch, the wind blows gently through the chimes. The sound doesn’t make Marie feel happy. Instead, there is an empty aching feeling that deepens. A tear slides down her face. She doesn’t bother to wipe it away.

Wind Chimes- Pixabay

The sound of the chimes brings back memories of her life with her husband, Harry. At times it feels as if he has been gone a hundred years ago. And at other times, she feels as if he might walk through the door at any moment. He would be wearing his red and white, Banlon striped shirt with a pack of Pall Malls in his pocket.

Harry Carlyle was a creative man. He had many hobbies, but by far, his favorite hobby was making wind chimes. He was a voracious reader. He read on every subject. And although Harry wasn’t a religious man. He never attended church, nor did Marie ever see him pray. He was a spiritual man. He studied all the religions of the world, including Christianity. At the end of his life, Harry seemed to believe in Buddhism and often quoted the teachings of Buddha.

Harry believed that bells and chimes attracted positive energy and repelled bad luck. He believed in living in the moment. that the past is gone, the future hasn’t happened yet. Harry began feverishly, making chimes, and they hung all over the entrances of their small home. On windy or rainy days, the chimes and bells would ring with great fervor. It set Marie’s teeth on edge. But Harry lived for these moments.

Harry and Marie were unable to have children, and Marie built her life around Harry. Content when he was home, but she felt isolated and lonely when he went out. Marie continuously checks the windows to see if Harry had come home.

Harry’s sudden and unexpected death paralyzed Marie. She feels an emptiness so deep it must travel through her body and reach the center of the earth. Marie made the decision after Harry’s funeral that she would go on as if Harry were still among the living.

The next day Marie arose at her usual time and washed her face and brushed her teeth, and made breakfast. She finished her household chores as usual. She even caught herself making comments to Harry out loud.

Months have passed since then: unfortunately, Marie has found it harder and harder to keep up the façade. One day in the middle of changing the sheets, Marie happens to find Harry’s lucky coin under the bed. It was from China, and it had a hole in the middle and some incomprehensible symbols on it.

Marie walks out to the front porch and slumps into the chair. She sits and looks out over the overgrown Rose garden. Oh, how Harry loved roses. She can barely look at them. She feels like pulling the rose bushes out by the roots. She considers her life. She doesn’t believe she has the strength to get through one more day. She feels empty and so alone.

Unexpectantly she hears a small voice call out, “Hello, hi, I just love your chimes. I walk by your house every day on my way to school. I’m in the fifth grade. This is the first time I’ve seen anyone on the porch.”

“Well, hello, I’m glad you like them. My husband, Harry, makes them. I mean used to make them.”

“Doesn’t he like to make them anymore?”

“My husband died several months ago. You know you are going to be late for school, you better go.”

“Oh, I have a few minutes. I go to the Ben Franklin School. I’m in the Special Classes.”

“What kind of Special class? What’s your name anyway?” I don’t remember seeing you in the neighborhood before?”

“My name is Lizzie. My family just moved here from Philadelphia a while back. My daddy had to change jobs.”

“What about this Special class of yours?”

“Oh, my mom told me it is because I have trouble learning. Sometimes when I try to read all the letters get mixed up. It has another name, but I can never remember it.”

“Oh, that must make it hard for you.”

“Sometimes, but there are kids in my class who have even worse problems. My Mom tells me to do my best. I better get going, or I will be late. See you later.”

“Bye Lizzie, it was nice talking to you.” Marie watches Lizzie walks and skips down the street. Marie takes a deep breath and is surprised that the heavy feeling in her chest feels lighter. She decides to work in her garden. “I have really neglected these roses, look at these aphids.”

While Marie works in the rose garden, she thinks about Harry. She knows he wouldn’t have wanted her to give up on life. She knows that she had put up a wall so she wouldn’t feel her grief.

The more she thinks about it, she realizes that she put that wall up a long time before Harry died. It began to happen when she made Harry the center of her existence. Harry had brought the world to her. Once he passed, she found herself alone inside the walls of her home and the walls she created.

For the first time since Harry died, the tears ran freely down her face. “Oh, Harry, what will I do? I don’t want to live the rest of my life alone.” That night as she lay in bed, she realizes that there was still hope for Marie McFarland. And realizes she hasn’t thought of herself as Marie McFarland since she was married thirty years ago.

The next morning after she gets out of bed, she gazes at herself in the bathroom mirror and says, “Marie, you don’t look too shabby for a sixty-something lady.” And a smile spreads across her face.

After breakfast, Marie keeps glancing out the window. She doesn’t realize at first what she’s looking for. Then she thinks of Lizzie with her big blue eyes and her long braids hanging down her back. And her crooked smile. At that moment, Marie hears tapping at the storm door. She finds Lizzie standing at the door with her hand thrust forward. “Hi, this is for you. I know it isn’t as good as your husband’s, but I hope you might like it. I made it with all the broken colored glass my father gave me. He makes stained glass. It’s a wind chime.”

Marie swallows hard, because of the lump in her throat. “Lizzie, this is the nicest gift I have ever received in my life. Could you stop by for some cookies before you go to school tomorrow? What’s your favorite kind? I’ll make them for you?”

“Oatmeal raisin is my absolute favorite I love them, I could eat a million of them.”

“Oatmeal raisin it is then, I’ll see you tomorrow. You know you can call me Marie, that’s what all my friends call me.”

BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU WISH FOR

2 Replies

I knew it was a mistake when the words came out of my mouth. But unbidden, they slipped out of my thoughts and into the cold light of day.

“You don’t talk to me. Not when we are in the car. Not when we go out to eat. And not even at our own dining room table.”

photo by G. Altman-Pixabay

“What are you talking about? I talk to you all the time. Why, just this morning, I asked you if there was any coffee left and if you had washed my Hawaiian shirt, the one with the dragon on it?”

Katie looks at him with her eyes wide in disbelief. “You know that’s not what I’m talking about, Ron. I mean real conversation—the kind most men have with the wives that they supposedly love—the kind where you share your thoughts, your dreams, your hopes, and desires.”

“You want to hear about my thoughts, hopes, and dreams? Since when? I’m lucky if you ask me what I would like for dinner before I leave for work in the morning.”

“Ron, believe it or not, I am not your housekeeper or the cook. My sole purpose in life is not to wait on your hand and foot. I’m a real person with needs and wants.”

“What needs and wants? I work ten hours a day and come straight home every night. I don’t stop at the bar to drink a cold one—not that I wouldn’t like to—I sure would. The first thing I ask you when I walk into the door is how is dinner coming along.”

“Yeah, Ron, it’s every woman’s dream for her loving husband to come home and ask if dinner is ready yet. Do you know what I wish? I wish that I had married someone else. Anyone else? He wouldn’t have to be rich, although I wouldn’t mind that. He would just have to be a sweet, kind man who loved me and wanted to spend time talking to me. Is that too much to ask?”

“So maybe I should quit my job and stay home to keep you company all day. Of course, I don’t know how we’ll pay our bills and take that vacation you are always talking about. And then there’s the deck you wanted me to build this summer. I won’t be able to afford to do that either.”

“Ron, I never said you should quit your job. I ask if you could spare some of your TV time and actually talk to me or even have a real conversation at dinner.”

“Ok, ok, tonight we’ll have a real conversation. Wait, we just had a real conversation. So, we don’t have to converse until tomorrow night. Meanwhile, I’ll consider what to talk about. I will go in the bathroom until dinnertime and give it some deep thought. Just give me a holler when dinner is ready. See ya later.”

At dinner, Ron eats his meatloaf and mashed potatoes in record time. “Ok, Katie, I’ll see you later. I have previous plans tonight. I think I mentioned to you that Kyle and I will meet at the Hockey Puck to watch the game tonight and toss back a few.”

” No, you didn’t, Ron, but tomorrow night, you’re all mine. No TV, no internet, no Hockey Puck.”

“Yeah, yeah I’ll be home late, I’ll try not to wake ya.”

Katie watches Ron run up the stairs. About two minutes later, he comes down wearing his favorite hockey team shirt. He gives her a backhanded goodbye wave and is out the door.

Katie starts clearing the table and loading the dishwasher. She lets out a heavy sigh. She bathes and then goes to bed with one of her love stories.

The next evening, Ron comes through the front door and calls out, “Hey honey, I’m home.” His impulse is to ask what’s for dinner, but he suppresses it. Instead, he walks into the kitchen and gives his wife a kiss on the cheek and a shoulder hug. “Hey, how are you? How was your day?”

Katie looked over at Ron to see if he was serious and noticed he was no longer standing there. At first, she questions her sanity. She considers the possibility that she imagined the whole thing. No, he was here, gave her a kiss and a shoulder squeeze, and asked her how her day was, and the next thing she knew, he disappeared. She looks all around the kitchen, and he is just not there. Katie shakes her head from side to side. Trying to make sense of it. She calls out, “Ron, are you there? Where are you?”

“I’m right here; I just had to make a pit stop in the head to take a leak.”

“Oh, I thought I was losing my mind for a minute there.”

“Can I do anything to help you with dinner, hon?”

Katie’s eyes open wide. She knows she’s losing her mind now. “Really, well you could set the table, dinner is almost ready.”

Ron gets the dishes and starts setting the table. “Hey, Honey, can I get you a beer or anything? I think I’ll have a cold one.”

“Really, well, I would like a glass of wine; that would be nice, Ron.”

“Sure, coming right up.” Katie can hear him singing to himself. It sounds like. Let’s Get it On. Now, it all makes sense. That’s the song Ron always hums when he wants sex. Wow, he’s just unbelievable. On the other hand, at least he wants to spend time with her. Instead of going out with the boys or falling asleep on the couch, hammered.

After dinner, he offered to clean the table and put the dishes in the dishwasher. Katie thought he was laying it on thick but might as well take advantage.

“Sure, that would be great. I think I’ll take a bath. I’m exhausted. I had a rough day at work. Mr. Rathgab was on my back all day, telling Katie to do this and Katie to do that. Then he had the nerve to ask me to do some personal errands. I get sick of him. He thinks I’m his work wife or something.

When I finally get caught up, he drops about twenty files on my desk and says, make sure these get taken care of before you leave. Thanks, I have to leave, but my wife and I are going out to eat tonight. See you tomorrow.”

“Yeah, he’s a jerk, Katie, but how about forgetting about work for now and just spending some time together tonight? You know, quiet time. After your bath, you’ll be nice and relaxed. I’ll see you in our room in about an hour.”

Katie was a little pissed off at Ron because he never wanted to listen to her talk about her problems at work, but it was all right if he whined about his boss every night at dinner and on the weekends when he stayed home. He never listened to her at all. She decides to let it go this time. Maybe they could still have a good evening.

When Ron called out from their bedroom, Katie was getting out of the tub, ” Hey, could you make it quick? I only have about twenty minutes. I’m supposed to meet the guys for a beer and shoot some pool.”

Katie thought her head would explode, and she was so mad. She decides to give Ron a little surprise of her own. She puts on her sexiest nightgown and walks slowly into their bedroom.

She stands in the doorway and says, “Well, Ron, honestly, I’m starting to get a migraine. So we’ll have to spend some quality time together when the hell freezes over.

“What are you mad about now? I set the table. We had a nice dinner together. And now you have a headache and don’t have time for me. Well, there is no pleasing you, is there? Nothing is ever enough. So, see you later, don’t wait. I guess I’ll make it a boy’s night out.

Katie comes out of the bathroom in her flannel pajamas and an old robe. She decides to spend the night reading. As she’s getting comfortable in bed, she thinks that what she really ought to be doing is planning the rest of her life. And it’s abundantly clear that Ron isn’t interested in being part of it.

So, she removes her pen and notebook and starts making a list. Starting with a list of things that make her happy. Number one, find out what will make me happy in my life. That’s all she wrote, and it seemed like a great way to begin.

TOMORROW

2 Replies

When I was a little girl, my mother used to tell me every day that tomorrow may never come, enjoy today. I wasn’t sure what she meant, and I was afraid to ask? Perhaps she knew something that I didn’t know. Did I have some sort of terminal illness that I didn’t know about? Can she see into the future, and knows I’m going to die in some sort of horrible accident? I was a shy and nervous child.

Little girl eating ice cream -Pixelbay by Lucas

I ‘m preoccupied with worrying about what terrible event might take place tomorrow. I’m easily startled. If someone comes up behind me and says boo, I ‘ll jump and shake and then scream at the top of my lungs. After the kids at school found out how I was easily startled, they would sneak up behind me at least once a day and yell boo. And then all of my classmates would all start laughing. After a while, I didn’t want to go to school anymore.

My mother made me go to school. She comes into my bedroom and kneels down next to my bed and whispers, “Darlene, it’s time to wake up for school. You don’t want to be late, do you? If I don’t wake up right away, she starts tapping my shoulder, “Darlene, Darlene, wake up, wake up.” You’re going to be late.” Her final attempt, she yells as loud as she can,” DARLENE, GET UP, NOW.”

I jump out of bed, and then she whispers, “Enjoy your day, Darlene, tomorrow may never come.”

I started having difficulty sleeping because I don’t want my mother to come into my room and waking me up. I’m so tired of not sleeping. I have an even more difficult time waking up. And when I do wake up, I worry about what’s going to happen to me. It’s all I can think about. Will I get hit by a car, run over by a bus, trampled by the boy’s football team if I didn’t get off the field fast enough, or choke to death on a hotdog. The possibilities are endless.

I’m failing all my classes in school. I’m so exhausted from not sleeping at night that I fall asleep at my desk. My teacher sends me to the school nurse several times a week. She’s a kind woman. She lets me lie down on the cot in her office, and says, “Darlene, can you tell me what’s going on at home? Is someone hurting you?”

“No, Mrs. Pritchett no one is hurting me. I have trouble falling asleep. Sometimes, I fall asleep but I can’t stay asleep. Sometimes, when I do fall asleep, I have terrible nightmares. I wake up crying, and then I don’t want to go to sleep because of the nightmares. “

“What does your mother say about this problem?”

“She tells me to take a hot bath before I go to sleep. She thinks that might help me relax. But sometimes I fall asleep in the tub. One time I woke up and my head was under the water. Then I was afraid that I would drown in the tub, and I told my mother, “I only want to take showers from now on.”

She said, “Oh, Darlene, that’s silly. You’re not going to drown in the tub. But if it will make you feel better you can just take a shower.”

“Darlene, did your mother take you to the doctors for a check-up?”

“Yes, she took me to Dr. Hartman. He took my temperature, and weighed me, and listen to my heart. He said, “everything seems fine. Do you have any pain anywhere?”

I said, “No, I don’t have any pain. I can’t fall asleep, that’s all.”

He gave my mother a paper that said I should start taking vitamins since I was a little underweight. And he wants me to start eating better. Then he went into the other room with my mother and talked to her alone.

When my mother and I left she said, “Darlene, why don’t we stop at Friendly’s and get some ice cream we haven’t done anything fun for a long time. Would you like that?”

“Sure Mom. But I’m not that hungry.”

“Oh, come on, Darlene live a little, you only live once. Let’s enjoy today, tomorrow may never come.”

“After she said that, I lost my appetite. I thought the doctor might have told her some bad news. Then we went to the ice cream parlor. My mother got a root beer float with vanilla ice cream and all the toppings. I wasn’t hungry anymore, but my mother insisted on me at least eating a scoop. She said,” come on live it up, Darlene, how about some chocolate too or whipped cream on top.”

“Ok, Mom.” As we sit there eating, I look at my mother. And sure, enough she’s eating like there’s no tomorrow. Really shoving it in fast. I keep staring at her. Finally, she says, “Darlene, it’s  impolite to stare at someone who eating.”

“Oh, sorry mom. Can I ask you a question?”

“A question, of course, you can ask me anything.”

“Did the doctor say I was sick or if anything is wrong with me?”

“Wrong with you? No, he said physically, you are fine. He thinks you are a little high strung that’s all. And you need to eat better and get more sleep.”

“High Strung? What does that mean?”

“Oh, it just means you seem nervous, that’s all. I told him that it was ridiculous that you are a normal kid who has trouble sleeping. He seems to think that having trouble sleeping indicates that something is bothering you.”

My mother looks at me for a moment after she says, “Darlene, is something bothering you? You can tell me anything. You know that, don’t you?

I don’t know if I can tell my mother why I can’t sleep or about how the kids tortured me in school. And I’m really afraid of what she might say. Am I going to die suddenly? Is something terrible going to happen today or tomorrow?”

After we left the ice cream parlor, my mother said, “how about if this Saturday, we do something fun? Is there anything that you would like to do, Darlene?”

“Fun, like what Mom?”

“What would you like to do, Darlene? We could go to the movies or the petting zoo, or we could ride bikes around the park, what do you say? Do you have anything you would like to do, Darlene, anything at all?”

“Well, I don’t know. I guess it would be fun to go out to lunch and then go to the movies on Saturday afternoon. You haven’t taken me to the movies since I was a little kid. I would really love to see the Dark Knight Trilogy. I hear the kids at school talking about it all the time. It just came into the theaters about a week ago. And we could get popcorn and candy and sodas. I would   really love to do that.”

“Well, Superheroes are not really my thing. But who knows, maybe I’ll enjoy it? But maybe you would rather see that with your friends?”

Darlene stares at her mother and wonders how she could be so clueless about her. “Mom, do you know any of my friends? Did anyone ever come over to play or just spend time with me? “

“Well, Darlene, I can’t say when I remember the last time you had some of your friends over. Why don’t you ask them to come over?”

Darlene looks at her mother with her mouth open, nothing comes out. She starts feeling extremely angry at her mother. She doesn’t say anything for a couple of minutes. Her mother stands there and stares at her. Suddenly, Darlene yells out as loud as she can, “Why, why don’t I ask my friends over. Because Mother, I don’t have any friends. And I never have. Why didn’t you ever ask me before where all my friends were? The kids at school hate me. They think I’m weird. The teachers hate me too. Everyone hates me. Because I’m weird. You hardly even talk to me, and you’re my mother.”

“Of course, you have friends Darlene. Why are you always so overdramatic?”

“No, no, no. I don’t have friends, no one at school likes me.”

“Why do they think you’re weird?”

“Because I am weird. I’m afraid of everything. I’m afraid I might get a horrible illness, like cancer, and die. I’m afraid of crossing the street. I could get hit by a Mack Truck. I’m afraid I will live my whole life, and nobody will love me or even like me. And you know why mother, do you know why?”

Darlene’s mother looks at her and says,” No, I don’t where do you get all these crazy ideas anyway. It’s nonsense. And Darlene, I do love you with my whole heart. I want nothing but the best for you.”

“Mom, you never tell me you love me. You never tell me how smart I am, or how pretty or how kind. The only thing you say to me every day when I get up is, enjoy your day, Darlene, tomorrow may never come.”

“Oh, Darlene, I say that because I want you to make the most of every day of your life. I never had any idea that might make you think you were going to die, or that something horrible was going to happen to you. I’m so sorry I don’t tell you I love you, or that your pretty and smart. Because I do love you with my whole heart. I want nothing but good things in life to come your way. I’m so sorry I didn’t realize how sad and lonely you are. But I’m happy that you were finally able to tell me how you feel. How about we start with a little hug.” Darlene’s mother puts her arms out for Darlene.

Darlene hesitates momentarily and then steps into her mother’s arms for the first hug she has had in years. Tears start rolling down her face. And then she realizes that her mother is crying too. And they hug one another. “I love you too, Mom.”

They stay like that for a long time. And then Darlene’s mother says,” How about we start every day and end every day with a hug, Darlene?”

“Yes, Mom, I would love that. And then you can just say,” Good Morning, or Good Night.”

“Ok Mom, let’s go home now, I’m tired maybe I could take a little nap. And dream bout going to the movies tomorrow.”

“Ok, Darlene why don’t we head out. This is the best day I’ve had in a long time; I love you, Darlene, with all my heart.”

Darlene looks at her mom, and says,” I love you too mom, let’s go home now.” And the two of then set off on their walk home hand in hand.

__________________________________

GROWING UP CATHOLIC IN AMERICA IN THE 1950-1960’s

4 Replies

I was born in 1951at the height of the Baby Boom, which followed WWII. Hence the name Baby Boomers. I was one of a pair (of fraternal twins) Baby B was born seven minutes after my sister, Karen. Catholic families often had many children due to the fact that the only form of birth control that was allowed by the Catholic Church was the” Rhythm Method. Not a particularly reliable birth control method.

Susan Culver- high school graduation picture

We were a part of the ever-growing number of families in the working class. My father was the dispatcher for SEPTA the public bus company in Philadelphia. I grew up in a neighborhood of similar but not identical homes. We all had big backyards. We always had food on the table and clothes on our backs. I was the youngest so it was not uncommon for me to get the hand-me-downs. As did all the youngest in large families in our predominately Irish and Italian neighborhood in Maple Shade, NJ.

There was no “extra money.” However, since most of my friends were in the same boat, I did not consider it a big deal.

Being Catholic in a Catholic neighborhood also meant attending Catholic School. All other kids who didn’t go to Catholic school were called “The Publics.” And for some reason, we were told that this was a fate worse than death. If we misbehaved, we would be threatened with being sent to public school. Something akin to being sent to the third circle of hell.

The Classrooms were often too small for the large numbers of students occupying them. We often had to share books and desks. In first grade, I didn’t have my own desk right away and had to sit on a windowsill.

We were taught by nuns. Who considered themselves to be “brides of Christ.” In elementary school, I had St. Joseph nuns in high school I was taught by Franciscan nuns. The Saint Joseph nuns were a particularly strict order of sisters. They wore heavy woolen habits. Made from yards and yards of fabric. Their “habits” were fitted at the waist with voluminous skirts and a “belt’ that resembled a large rosary with a huge crucifix that hung down in the front. It clicked and clacked as they floated by seemingly without touching the ground. On their foreheads, they wore a “wimple” which was stiff as cardboard. And another piece that covered their chins. And a huge, white bib, that covered them from their necks to their chests, shoulder to shoulder.

I often wondered if they had hair underneath their veils. We were told never to touch the sisters for any reason. They were untouchable. I often wondered if they had ever been regular human beings or entirely another species. We were never brave enough or bold enough to question their words or their behaviors. No matter how unfair or unfathomable it seems to us.

Part of my Catholic School experience was wearing “uniforms.” The Our Lady of Perpetual Help uniform (OLPH) for girls was a maroon jumper with a white short-sleeved blouse, and saddle shoes, which were black and white. And a “beanie,” which was a maroon wool cap with a maroon wool-covered button on the top. Girls had to keep their heads covered at all times, especially in church. The boys wore dark pants, a white shirt, and a tie. The wool uniforms were itchy and uncomfortable especially as the weather became warmer. In the winter, girls were allowed to wear pants under their uniforms outside. But once inside, we had to take them off.

We were expected to stay neat and tidy at all times. My mother was kept busy washing and ironing our uniforms. The nuns kept order in the classrooms at all times. We were not allowed to talk back, or ask questions. Or heaven forbid chew gum in school. If anyone was caught with gum, they were forced to wear it stuck to the end of their nose for the rest of the day. If your behavior was out of line, you would sit in the corner. Your name would be added to a list on the blackboard. It was on there more than three times, you would be in for a world of trouble. And you warned it would go on your “permanent record.”  Which we were told would follow you around for the rest of your life. The final threat was you would be expelled and never heard from again. This would be the ultimate embarrassment for your family, of course. What would the neighbors think?  The sisters were not beyond using physical punishment, either. Rapping the knuckles with a metal-edged ruler, slapping, knocking the more rebellious boys down a short flight of steps. And name-calling, such as stupid, or lazy, was all too common a punishment.

There were some rewards in Catholic School too. You could become a hall monitor. Or you would be given a responsibility such as clapping the blackboard erasers. The greatest honor was being the child who crowned the Blessed Mother statue in the May procession.

On the first Friday of every month, we were all marched up to the church for Confession. There was a lot of pressure involved in going to Confession. Which was considered a Blessed Sacrament. Coming up with good sins to tell the priest, aside from the usual I got in a fight with my brother or sister, I lied. I was a quiet child and didn’t always have good “sins” to tell the priest. Sometimes, I felt compelled to “make up” more interesting transgressions. After Confession, we all had “pure souls.”

On Sunday mornings, we all went to the Children’s Mass at 9 am. During the Mass, if you were foolish enough to commit a transgression, the sisters would come up to the aisle where you were sitting and click a little metal clicker they had in their deep pockets.

My aisle often got into trouble because I always felt a compulsion to make all the girls in my aisle to start laughing. I would do this almost every Sunday without fail. Make a face or fart and cause a domino effect when my friend next to me would laugh, and then each girl next to them to giggle. The nuns would be clicking like crazy. We would be kept after school and punished by having to diagram sentences. Over fifty years later, I can still diagram a sentence.

In Catholic School, the curriculum was basic: reading, writing, arithmetic, history, spelling, science, spelling, English, and, more importantly religion. We had religion every day. In this class, we were given questions and we had to memorize the answer. If you weren’t good at memorizing your career in Catholic School was at risk. It turns out that I have an excellent memory. And I always received straight A’s in Religion and History and spelling. We’re not permitted to question these Religious beliefs. You were expected to believe on Faith. Anything less was considered a sacrilege.

Another important skill all good children needed to learn was the Palmer Method of Writing. We spent endless hours writing in blue books. We filled these books with strokes and ovals. It was tedious and a waste of time, and I was terrible at it since I was bored. We were using dip pens in bottles of ink. By the fifth grade, there were cartridge pens.

At that time there was a great deal of excitement about the Space Program. And a TV was brought into the classroom so we would all observe a space rocket being launched from Cape Canaveral. Not everyone had televisions back then. It was exciting to watch.

As far as sex education, in the eighth grade, we received a lecture. Of course, the boys and girls were in different rooms. The girls learned about menstruation. A very vague explanation was given and pictures of something (supposedly sperm) swimming towards a waiting ovum. No questions were allowed, and we were warned not to discuss this with the boys. One girl was assigned the important task of smuggling the little booklets out of the room under her jacket.

God knows what version of the truth the boys were told. I was still trying to figure out what a hickey was, let alone how someone got pregnant. No one bothered to tell me about the physical manifestations of menstruation, and I had three older sisters.

When it was time for my sister and me to attend high school,  we had to take entrance exams. We were both accepted into St. Mary of the Angels Academy and Holy Cross High School. My parents made the decision that we would attend Saint Mary of the Angel’s Academy because it was an all-girls high school.

I was a shy girl all through my high school years. St. Mary’s was located in Haddonfield, NJ. Which was a higher income area than Maple Shade, NJ, where I grew up. There were some benefits to attending an all-girl school. One was girls didn’t have to fight for attention because there were no boys. In grade school, the nuns always called on the boys. Girls were told it was a known scientific fact that we could not comprehend Math or Science. Many girls at St. Mary’s found out that they were quite intelligent. In fact that they could excel in both Science and Math. We also had a basketball team that competed with other girls’ teams throughout the state of NJ.

The Catholic School system taught me many things: reading, writing, math, history, and basic knowledge of Science, French, and a smattering of Latin. It also taught me self-control, discipline, and determination.

However, it took me years to overcome the lack of self-esteem and inhibitions that sometimes overwhelmed me. Catholic high school did protect us for four additional years from the harsh realities of life. But I don’t know if they did us any favors considering the turmoil of the seventies that awaited us.

ANCORA

1 Reply

Ancora State Mental Hospital, NJ

When I was twenty-one years old, my boyfriend, Jimmy dumped me without any explanation. He just stopped calling me and wouldn’t answer the phone when I called him. I drove over to his apartment numerous times. He never came to the door. I drove to his parent’s house down the shore in Wildwood. Their summer home was right on the bay. Jimmy loved to fish and to sit on the peer and drink beer.

The first time I went out with him, he said, “Kathy, I want to tell you out front that I drink too much. And I got a dishonorable discharge from the military.”

I said, “dishonorable discharge, what does that mean?”

“It means, that I tried to frag my commanding officer, and they threw me out of the Marines.”

I stared at him and finally said, “frag, what does frag mean?”

It means that me and a bunch of my fellow enlisted buddies decided to get rid of him because he didn’t know what he was doing. And he was going to get us all killed, so we tried to kill him first.” One of the guys ratted us out to the commanding officer. And we were thrown out of the Marines.”

“You tried to kill someone?” I said with wide eyes.

“Yeah, that’s right. Now you know, so if you have a problem with me, then now is the time to leave.”

I sat there silently in the front seat of his car, and thought about it for a few minutes, but not too long. “But you didn’t kill him.”

“Yeah, that’s right we didn’t but not for lack of trying. We just weren’t successful at it.”

I looked at him with his big, blue eyes and sandy blond hair and thought, he didn’t do it, so he’s innocent. Yes, I know that doesn’t make any sense. I should have said, bye, good luck, don’t let the door hit you on the but on the way out. But I didn’t. I just said, “alright, do you want to go out and get something to eat or what?’

We went out to a drive-up called Stewards, and we had hamburgers and fries. Then we went to the movies. He never mentioned it again and neither did I. There isn’t any explanation for why I responded in this way. Other than, I just really wanted to have a boyfriend. I wanted someone to love me. I look back on that decision and realize I’m embarrassed by my choices, especially since not too long after that, he dumped me like a bad habit.

After I was dumped, I spent a good seven or eight months depressed. So depressed that I quit my job and stayed in my bedroom and cried and cried until I didn’t have any tears left. I thought my heart was broken. I felt broken. My parents didn’t know what to do with me and so they did nothing. Eventually, I tried to decide what to do with myself. I realized the first thing I had to do was get a new job.

I talked to my older brother, John. “John, I need to get a job. I would like to work with children. Do you know of any jobs?” My brother recently worked as one of the therapists at Ancora, the state mental hospital. He lived on the grounds in a little house.

“Yes, I do, there are always openings at Ancora. You know the state mental hospital where I used to work. They have a children’s ward there. Anyway, I’ll give you her name and phone number if you’re interested.”

Of course, I know that he lived there and worked there. Apparently, he forgot that I used to drive all the way down there and babysit his kids for him. When he and his wife went out for the evening, before they would leave, he always said, “make sure all the doors and windows are locked after we leave. Some of the mental patients escape sometimes and can be dangerous. “

“Oh yeah, sure,” I said and nervously laughed. My brother was always joking around all the time. At least I hope he was joking. But you could never be certain with him. All the same, after they left, I locked all the doors and checked the windows.

When my brother and his wife returned from their night out, he wrote down the woman’s name and phone number who worked at Ancora and her name and number on a scrap of paper and handed it to me. “You can use my name as a reference.”

“Thanks, John, I appreciate your help. See you later.”

The next morning, I called her up. “Hello, Mrs. Coffey, My name is Kathy Bernard. My brother gave me your name and number. My brother’s name is Dr. John Bernard. I’m looking for a new position I want to work with children.”

“Oh, so you’re Dr. Bernard’s sister. We think highly of John. We were sorry when he left. Do you have any experience working with children or mental illness?”

“Well, no not really, but I love kids and would appreciate the opportunity to help kids.”

“Well Miss Bernard, first you will be required to take an aptitude test because Ancora is a state facility, and you will be a state employee. The next available test date is in two weeks, it’s in Trenton. Will that be a problem?  And also, if you pass the test, you will have to take eight weeks of training and be tested at the end of completing the course. If you pass you will be a certified Psychiatric aide. “

“No, it’s not a problem.” Although the idea of driving all the way up to Trenton frightened me as I lack a sense of direction and often get lost, I would have to take the turnpike. The average speed driver on the turnpike is 75mph, and mine is 50mph. As it turned out following the NJ turnpike to Trenton was not that difficult. I found my way to Trenton without any problems. However, once I was in the city limits, I got lost and had to pull over and look at the street map I had brought of Trenton. Luckily, I can read and follow a map and somehow made my way to the state testing facility without any real issues. Of course, I arrived about an hour before the test was due to start. As I allowed myself extra time just in case, I became lost. I decided to wait in the car until I was supposed to sign in for the test.

At 9 am sharp I  walk up to the state-building and through the double doors to the front desk. I sign in and take a seat in the waiting area and observe all the people who begin arriving to take the test. I ‘m shocked to see how many there are. There are people of all ages, male and female. I realize the competition is going to be tough. I try to remain calm.

The test monitor begins calling people by name. I ‘m called in with the first group of people. Everyone is asked for two forms of identification. I provide mine. The man in charge of testing gives us instructions and tells us the test will be timed. And we have to stop when we are told to, not one second later. I finish the competency test. I hope I did well. I really wasn’t sure how I did. I ‘ll just have to wait for the results. First, I have to find my way home.

About two weeks later, I receive a letter stating that I had passed the competency test and can report for training at Ancora State Hospital the following Monday at 9 am.

I arrived one hour early to start my psychiatric aide training. I find the classroom that I was told to go to almost immediately. I’m the first to arrive. Nine people arrive soon after I do. The first person to arrive after me takes one look at me and comes over and sits at the desk next to me. She smiles at me and I smile back. She says “I’m a little nervous about this.”

I respond, “Me too.” And we both laugh. She introduces herself to me, I’m Joan Hall.”

And from that day forward we stick together like glue. On the last day, we take a final test. And Joan and I score the highest grades. Joan scores slightly higher than me because I didn’t know the visiting hours for Ancora. The teacher asks us to stay after class to talk to her. She recommends that we both consider going on to become psychiatric nurses. As we scored high on the IQ test and high on the final test.

The classroom portion of the course isn’t difficult. When we are put on the wards to be trained. I admit I’m a bit nervous. When I was looking for the ward I was assigned to a young woman comes over to me and asks,” Do you know what time it is? I was somewhat taken aback by her appearance. She’s covered in what appeared to be small tumors all over her face and body. She’s young about my age. I look at her and say, I think it is about 8:45 am. Are you alright?’ She says, “do you know what time it is? Do you know what time it is? Do you know what time it is?” I have to admit I was a little shaken by her appearance and what she said. Most of all, I just felt pity for her. And wondering why she had to have the misfortune of being born this way. I feel sad for her.  She walks away from me but keeps asking loudly for the time.

There are other patients walking around, shuffling their feet with seemingly no real purpose or destination in mind. Then I realize that they must be medicated. And the shuffling was some kind of side effect from a drug. I wonder if that is all they do all day—wandering from one hallway to the next. I wave at or said, “hello” to all the patients I pass. Occasionally, one of them responds, “hi,” and keeps walking. I wonder if any of them ever recovered or if they would always live this kind of half-life. As I walk down the hall, I notice there are giant highchairs lined up against the wall. And sitting in the highchairs are adults wearing diapers. They are strapped into the highchairs. They are silent. I can not comprehend what I’m seeing. Some of them have helmets on their heads and keep banging their heads against the wall.  I admit I’m shaken by the sight of these unfortunate souls.

The first day Joan and I are assigned to work in the ward for bedridden patients with dementia. As we come onto the floor, I hear an old woman screaming, “I want my applesauce.” She screams this over and over again at the top of her voice. “I WANT MY APPLESAUCE.”

Joan and I look at each other. I was the first one to start laughing, Joan follows. Finally, I say. “Well, damn I’m going to find this poor woman some applesauce.” We start laughing again. I admit it was out of nervousness.

The dementia patients are either screaming at the top of their lungs or look catatonic. I have never been around anyone who has dementia before so it came as quite a shock. We’re going to spend a week in each one of these wards to find a good fit.

I want to work with children, so I’m sure this isn’t where I want to work. By the end of the week, it’s clear to me that I don’t want to work in the ward with dementia patients. Joan likes it there. She has a calming effect on these patients and decides to stay and work there. I ‘ll miss her, but I’m glad she found her niche.

The next week I ‘m assigned to work in the active psyche ward on the first shift. As soon as I enter the ward, I find the day supervisor. “Hello, I’m Kathy Bernard. I’m new to this ward, here are my papers I was told to report to you first thing.

“Oh good, I’m happy that you’re on time, I can’t tolerate people who are tardy. Your first responsibility in the morning is to supervise the woman’s showers. Here are the people you are to call for the first showers. Let me show you where the showers are located. As she walks with me to the shower room, she explains that I was to stand in the room and watch the patients while they are in the shower room. And make sure that order is maintained and that there isn’t any physical contact allowed between the patients.

I look at her. Perhaps stare with my eyes bulging out of my head at her would be a better description. And I repeat once maybe twice, “supervise the woman’s showers.” Keep in mind that I’m twenty-one years old and have zero experience with naked people or communal showers for that matter. Then I say, “ok.” And follow her to the shower room. It’s one big open space with showers spaced about four feet apart with a drain on the floor and a towel rack between each shower. And a shelf for the patients to place their dry clothes.

“Alright, here we are. And as I said the patients aren’t allowed to have physical contact for any reason.”

I repeat, “no physical contact.”  Inside my head, I’m screaming, run, run, run away Kathy. But don’t. I stay there and wait for further instructions. There aren’t any.

“Alright, get busy; we don’t like to get behind schedule. Go out there and call the first ten patients in, keep it orderly.”

“Alright.” I say, and walk into the next room and yell out, “Alright, ladies, I want the people whose name I call out to go into the shower room and get a shower. Take off your pajamas and wash thoroughly from top to bottom, dry yourself and get dressed, and, most importantly, do not touch anyone else for any reason.”

And unbelievably that is what they do. The patients walk into the shower room and undress and get a shower, dry off, and then put their day clothes on. I only had one patient engage me in any way. She looks about twenty years old and has Downs Syndrome. She comes over and points down at her crotch and tries to hand me the soap. It takes me a moment to realize what she wants. And I calmly said, “What’s your name?” She says, Mary or Marta. I’m not sure which. “I think you know Mary that there isn’t any physical contact allowed in this room. Please return to your shower and then dry off and get dressed.”

She did just that.  I’m shocked that I ‘m able to handle this issue with such calmness. And that I didn’t run away. At that moment, I recognize that I ‘m stronger than I ever knew. I stand in the doorway of the shower room and observe the patients. After they’re finished, I take the next ten women into the shower room, and all goes well. I realize that these are people just like me. They have mental health issues. And that I’m here to help and guide them and learn from them. I don’t know if I’m up to the task, but I’m going to do my best while I’m here.

__________________________________

POCKET

2 Replies

I franticly pull on my favorite pair of black dress pants and a white silk blouse. I overslept yet again. I have been plagued by insomnia for the past three weeks. I didn’t fall asleep until 2:30 in the morning last night. My head feels like it’s stuffed with cotton, and so does my mouth. I rush toward the bathroom. And stub my toe on a pile of books I left on the floor yesterday. I scream out an expletive. I have never been able to figure out why it hurts so much when a toe is stubbed. I lean over and hold my toe, hoping it will stop throbbing.

Silver Dollar 2211438-Pixabay

When I finally stop cursing, I hop over to the sink on one foot to wash my face, brush my teeth and gargle mouthwash. I brush my red curly hair into a bun.  I rush to the kitchen and grab my keys off the kitchen table.

I head out the door to the garage. I shove the garage door up. God, how I wish I could afford an electric garage door opener. I back out of the garage. Put the emergency brake on the car and get out and slam the garage door shut.

I jump back in the driver’s seat, and off I go. As I drive down the street, I can see that Route 50 is absolutely packed. I’ll probably have to sit for five or ten minutes just waiting to make a left turn. The traffic on Route 50 is unbelievably crowded if you are heading into the city from the suburbs.

I finally manage to edge my way onto the highway. I‘m off, going ten miles an hour. Why you ask? Because someone has had an accident somewhere ahead of me on Route 50. I’m going to be in hot water if I’m late again. I already had a warning last week.

Oh good, it looks like the accident in front of me is clear. I’m on my way again. I put some music on to calm my nerves. I reach into my purse for my change purse and blindly search through the change for my lucky coin. It never fails me. Whenever I’m under the gun, all I have to do is keep my lucky coin in my pocket and everything turns out perfectly.

My Uncle Pat gave me this silver dollar for my tenth birthday. He promised that it would bring me good luck whenever I really needed it. And it always has from that day forward. Whenever things are difficult. All I do is put the coin in my pocket and rub it. And sure enough, by the end of the day, things will have improved immensely.

My Uncle Pat lived in Philadelphia, and we lived in a small town in Southern New Jersey. I loved it when he came to visit us. He would call ahead and let my mother know what time his bus would arrive at our corner. I would wait until it was almost time for his bus to get to our street, and then I would run as fast as I possibly could down our street to Main Street. And sit down on the bench at the bus stop and wait for his bus to get there.

When the bus pulled over to the curb, I would be waiting there for him with a big smile on my face. “Hi Uncle Pat, I’ve been waiting for you. I missed you.”

“Hello, Jenny, how are you?’

My Uncle Pat always said the same thing to me every time I saw him. He would say,” I have a surprise for you. Guess what it is?”

He always gives me the same thing, a coin. Sometimes it’s a quarter, and other times it was a dime. Either way, I’m happy because as soon as I walked him down the street to my house, then I would run down the street to buy some penny candy at the candy store.

“Come on, Jenny, guess.”

And then I answer, “is it an elephant?”

He looked at me and says,” how do you always know what’s in my pocket? You must be a mind reader.”

Then he hands me a coin, and I smile from ear to ear. Because nothing made me happier than seeing him laugh. My Uncle Pat was tall and had a huge belly that bounced up and down when he laughed. His hair was bright red and wavy. He laughed a lot. He was such fun to be around, always laughing and telling silly jokes.

But that day, he pulled a silver dollar out of his pocket. I’ve never seen one before. I thought it must be worth a fortune. “Uncle Pat, thanks so much. This is the best present anyone has ever given me.”

“You’re welcome, Jenny. But don’t spend this silver dollar because it isn’t an ordinary coin. It’s magic. When you are having a tough time, put it in your pocket and rub it, and soon your problems will be gone. Whatever you don’t lose it. And don’t give it away. It will only work for you, no one else. The magic is just for you, Jenny. We better keep moving, or I’ll be late for lunch, and your mother will have a bird.”

He always says, “your mother will have a bird.” It just means she’ll be upset.

As we walked down the street, my uncle kept stumbling. I began to worry that he’ll fall. And I‘ll never be able to pick him up. He’s really big. By the time we arrive at my house, I‘m a nervous wreck. Because I kept thinking he’s going to fall. But thank goodness, he didn’t.

I yank open our front door and yell at the top of my lungs,” Uncle Pat’s here, Uncle Pat’s here.”

My mother calls out from the kitchen, “dear god, Jenny, are you trying to wake the dead?” Stop yelling. My mother walks into the vestibule and says, “Pat, come in, come in and take a load off. I have the coffee on, and your lunch is almost ready.”

Ever since the day that my Uncle Pat gave me the silver dollar, I always kept it in my pocket. And if I was really having a tough day, I  take it out and rub it. And think about what my Uncle Pat said.

And it never failed by the end of my day; whatever I was worried about would seem small and insignificant. And I would stop worrying about it. As I grew up, I began to understand that  I couldn’t control all the things in my life that didn’t go perfectly. I was able to control most things. While I was still in school, I realized that if I studied and prepared for my classes, I didn’t have to worry about failing. If I planned ahead. I wouldn’t have to worry about something that might happen. Of course, you can’t be prepared for everything that might happen. But I was lucky because I had my lucky coin. Sometimes, I rubbed it so hard for so long that I realized I was wearing it out.

As I grew up, I needed my lucky coinless and less, but I still keep it in my pocket, just in case. I know it will always be there for me if I ever need it. I’m an adult now, and I realize that the magic that coin held for me was self-confidence. That no matter what problem I face in life. I will be able to handle it. And I have. My Uncle Pat was a wise man.

RAIN THEN TEARS

1 Reply

I barely make it on time to the Greyhound Depot to catch my bus. It starts to rain about five blocks from the depot. I‘m thoroughly soaked through by the time I arrive there. My hair is dripping wet, and rain has somehow found its way inside my jacket.  I run towards the bus depot; my backpack is bouncing up and down on my back like a snare drum. The bouncing has the added effect of inducing a migraine headache. I step onto the bus and hand the bus driver my ticket. “Oh, sorry, I’m sorry. I got a late start. “

Greyhound Bus-Peter Wolf-Pixabay

I take one look at the bus, and I see it is packed to the gills. “Shit, shit, shit,”  I look at the driver and shrug my shoulders. “There aren’t any seats left; I purchased this ticket two weeks ago.”

“Yes, mam, there is. It’s in the second to last row on your left, next to the window.”

“Oh yeah, sorry, I see it. Thanks.”

I make my way halfway down the center aisle and trip over some guy’s foot that’s sticking out. He all but shouts at me, “Hey lady, lookout, are you blind or what?”

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t see it sticking out. I didn’t expect someone to have their foot sticking out in the aisle so they could trip someone. And I give him one of my biggest smiles and flutter my lashes at him. And walk on. I mutter under my breath, “asshole.”

I notice as I cruise down the center aisle that all the other passengers have their heads down for some reason. Huh, I think what’s this all about? I try and catch someone’s attention, but no one looks my way. Then I think, oh maybe they’re all mad because I was late. Oh well, nothing I can do about that now.

I finally make it down the gauntlet of sad, distracted faces to my empty seat. I hear a weird noise. First, there is a sniffing sound. I think someone has a cold. And then I realize it’s the person in the seat next to mine. Great, now I’m going to catch a cold for crying out loud. I look at her. Tears are streaming down her flushed cheeks. I hear three loud sniffs, and then the crying starts and steadily increases until she is full-out sobbing. I take a step back. I look from left to right. I see no other course of action, no place else to go. I look at the people on the right and the left. Then I do an about-face and look at the passengers in the middle and the front.

About half of them have plugged in their headphones and have their heads down. The rest are staring out the windows. Probably wish they were anywhere but here on this stupid bus ride to hell. I turn back around and look at my seat.

“Excuse me,” I say to the crying young woman. “But this is my seat next to you. Could you move over so I can sit down?”

She slowly raises the armrest and blows her nose a couple of times on a tissue she has tucked up her sweater sleeve. I hear a honk, honk. I think, dear god, what is that noise? Then, I realize it’s the young woman blowing her nose. She slowly gets up, and I mean slowly, and moves over to the window seat. She doesn’t say a word, nada, anything at all. She just slides over and continues crying, with her head hanging low. Her chin is almost resting on her chest.

I pull off my backpack and unsnap one of the side pockets and pull out my headphones. I put my pack on the rack above my head with some difficulty.  I’m not the tallest person in the world, and I have short arms to boot. I finally shove it in and plop down in my seat. It’s only 7:55 am, and I’m exhausted. And there’s a thirteen-hour and fifteen-minute bus trip ahead of me. Oh well, I, think I’ll just take a nap, and that way I can get some rest and kill some time.

And that’s when I realize that I don’t have my migraine medicine with me. And I know that this is going to be the most interminable trip of my life. It was a mistake flopping down in my seat, too, as that has made my migraine pain even worse. I start to feel nauseous. My head is pounding as if it might explode. I begin worrying about how often they clean the bathroom on these Greyhound buses.

Somehow, I manage to fall asleep over the road noises and over the sobbing of my bus companion. As I’m about to drift off, I think, what in the world has happened to this girl to make her cry like this, non-stop and within hearing distance of everyone on the bus? And also, why am I so unlucky? Why did I end up sitting next to this weeping young woman? And then I realize it was my fault for being late leaving and being the last person to get on the bus. And that’s all I remember until I woke up about an hour later.

As I started to wake up, I hear a weird noise. I don’t immediately remember where I am. And then I hear a honking. Honk, honk, honk. It’s my seat companion. Blowing her nose once again. Dear god, is she still crying, I think?  I look over at her. Her eyes are so swollen from crying.   I can hardly see her eyes. Her nose is red. She starts pressing her fisted hands on her eyes and rubbing them back and forth. I stare at her. She seems to have forgotten that I’m sitting next to her. I try and decide what the best course of action is. Short of throwing myself out the window. Or at the very least, getting on a different bus at our first rest stop.

I stare at her red and puffy eyes and think. What would I want someone to do if the circumstances were reversed, and I was the one who couldn’t stop crying? Would I prefer people just ignored me or someone asks me if I’m alright?

“Excuse me; my name is Marilyn Carter. I know it’s none of my business, but you seem so upset. Is there anything I can do to help you?”

She looks over at me with a surprised expression on her face that says, where did you come from? She is still sniffling, and tears are running down her cheeks, but she isn’t sobbing anymore. I see her gulp. And then she clears her throat. “Oh, I didn’t even notice you were sitting there. And the short answer is no; I’m not alright. Four days ago, I was laid off from my job. Well, they called it a layoff]. But I won’t be called back. I loved that job. It was the first job I had where I felt I was making a real difference. I moved away from Raleigh to take the job. A place where I had spent my whole life. All my friends live there, and so does my family.”

As she mentions family, she starts crying again. I wait for her to continue. “And that morning before I got to work, I got a call from my father. He told me that my mother had a heart attack, and passed away. So, today I’m going home for the funeral. And while I’m there, I’m going to decide if I should go back to Philadelphia and look for another job there. Or if I should just go and pack up all my stuff in my apartment in Philly and move back to Raleigh and try to find a job there.”

“What did you say your name was, dear?”

“My name? Oh, of course, I’m sorry. I told you my whole life story, and you don’t even know who I am. My name is Candace Mickleton. I’m not in the habit of crying in public. I know this sounds dramatic, but I feel like my heart is broken. It hurts to keep breathing. Just the very act of breathing is painful. I love my mother so much. I called her every day. She always believed in me even when I struggled for so long, trying to find out what I wanted to do in my life. She was always there for me, telling me she knew I will be successful and not to ever lose faith in myself. And then to lose my job so unexpectedly. It’s too much. I don’t feel like I can go on. I can’t think of a reason why I should go on.”

“I hope you don’t mind if I call you by your first name Candace. Please call me, Marilyn.”

“First, please let me say how sorry I am about your mother passing away. I remember when my mother died and how her loss made me feel broken, empty. I couldn’t imagine going the rest of my life without seeing her. Every day for weeks, the first thing I thought about was my mother and how I would never see her again or hear her voice, how I would never hear her tell me how proud she was of me. And how much she loved me.”

“Over time during the day, I started thinking about how my mother would not have wanted me to feel this bereft because of her. She only wanted the best for me. And whenever I started feeling bad, I thought about how lucky I was to have such a wonderful mother. And I started to do things that made me feel happy; I concentrated on all the good things I had in my life. I moved forward in my life instead of being stuck in that moment of loss. I decided that from that moment forward, I would be happy and successful in my life because that is what my mother would have wanted for me.”

“As for losing your job well, that was bad timing. Perhaps you need this time to heal from your mother’s loss. Take the time to recover and consider what you want your future to be. You said that your job was the first job you loved and were doing well. You could use that experience as a springboard to something even better. While you are in Raleigh, you’ll have the opportunity to talk to all your old friends and relatives. And who knows one of them might be aware of an opportunity in the Raleigh-Durham area. That you aren’t aware since, as you said, you haven’t lived here in quite a while.”

Candace gradually stops crying as she listens to Marilyn. And she realizes she’s right. Her mother wouldn’t have wanted her to stop living her life. She would want her to move forward into her future with her optimism. “Thank you, Marylyn, that is what I needed to hear. I feel like I can breathe again. My mother would want me to go on with my life and be happy and successful. I don’t know what I’m going to do about finding a job. But I will talk to my family and get their advice. I love living in Philadelphia. I have made so many friends there. And there is always something going on downtown. On the other hand, I don’t like the idea of my father living alone. “

“Candace, why don’t you give it a few days and then talk to your father? He is probably in shock right now. You might find that he is perfectly capable of taking care of himself. And wouldn’t want you to give up your life in the North East. Since he knows how happy you are there.”

“Thanks again Marilyn I’m so lucky that you were late getting to the bus station. And that you ended up sitting next to me.”

“Thanks, Candace, life has a way of bringing the right people into our lives when we need them. I think I’m going to take another little nap now. But if you like it at the rest stop what say I buy you a nice lunch. I know I didn’t take time to eat breakfast, and you probably didn’t, either.” And with that, Marilyn’s eyes close, and she falls fast asleep and begins snoring loudly.

Candace looks at Marilyn and smiles. And closes her own eyes and falls fast asleep as well.

CORONA VIRUS- JUNE 6th, 2020

2 Replies

Another week has passed. Spring is nearly over and Summer will arrive in two weeks. I can’t imagine that this summer will be similar to any summer I have experienced during my lifetime. It’s true the heat and humidity will be here and extended daylight too. But few people will be taking vacations at the beach or anywhere else I imagine.

Cows cooling down in the pond

In my travel to my volunteer job at Animal Edventure, I have been fortunate in being able to observe the beautiful farmlands of North Carolina come to life. Two weeks ago, I noticed that the farmers were plowing their fields and that because of all the rain we receive, the grass was greener, and the wildflowers were appearing along the side of the roads.

NC rural farmlands- photos by Bob Culver

Yesterday I noticed that the crops that were just planted a week ago were about ten inches tall. I was amazed at how quickly they grew. Thanks to the hardworking farmers and the Latino migrant workers that come here every year to do the backbreaking work to provide food for our tables. I have never lived in a rural area before, and I have come to have a real appreciation for this landscape.

We will appreciate our friends and family because we now understand how essential they are to our lives and our happiness. And appreciate them all in a new way. We will no longer take anything for granted. Because we realize that any of it or all of it could be lost in a moment.

We know life seems to slip by quickly as we get older. And every moment of our lives should be treasured. Now is the time for all of us to tell people how much we love and care for them. From my own experience, I can tell you that time passes quickly. It seems like yesterday when my children were young and playing in the little blow-up pool in the backyard of our first house. And now they are both adults. It seems in the blink of the eye.

When I was a child, Summer was my favorite time of the year. It was a magical time. I had complete freedom, no school, and so no homework. Endless days of playing with my friends, riding my bike all over town and swimming in my neighbor’s pool, roller skating, walking downtown and going to the 5 & 10 Store, and going to the Matinee downtown every Saturday afternoon. The only bad memories I have was being eaten alive by the mosquitoes.

So no, this won’t be the idyllic Summer we would all love to have. But we can enjoy watching movies with our children or grandchildren, swimming in our backyard pools if we have one. Riding bikes in our neighborhoods or even hiking in the woods if there is one located near where you live. We can still create good memories. It is up to us.

It is strange that with all the unrest in our country that the Corona Virus has barely been mentioned even though it is clearly still here. And the death rate has continued to increase. And we will a surge in the number of people infected because of people protesting and more people attending churches and not observing social distancing or not wearing masks while among crowds of people.

I believe that because of all the pain and loss we are all feeling at this time, we will learn a new appreciation for we took for granted all these years. The violence that has been visited upon American citizens for lawfully protesting the death of yet another black American citizen by police is difficult to digest. There have been rallies across the world to support Black Lives Matter. There have been riots.

I do not support rioters destroying private businesses or looting. This type of action is not acceptable at all. It hurts everyone in the community. But I do understand the emotions behind the looting and rioting. The anger, the frustration, the resentment they have experienced by being treated as less than white people over many generations has an accumulative effect.

As your lives return to normal and you return to your jobs, please keep in mind that the virus is still very much alive and among us. Please continue to social distance and wear masks. I know it’s easy to forget doing to do this. I enjoy talking to people and often have to suppress my inclination to walk over to people and start talking to them. I miss that interaction. I wave at them from a distance and yell out,” Hello, how are you doing?” It feels weird and artificial to me. But I continue to do so because I don’t want to inadvertently become infected or infect someone else because I wasn’t careful enough. We must always remember to first do no harm.

Some day I hope that all of this will just become a distant bad memory. But there are lessons to be learned here. That all lives have value and make a contribution. A contribution that perhaps we never valued before and, now we do. I hope we remember this when all is said and done.

That in order for us to continue to have a free country, there is a price we all have to pay, is to guard that freedom. That our actions have consequences. That every person’s life matters. Regardless of their race, religion, gender, or sexual orientation.

__________________________________