Memorial Day

How does the mind work?

We just got back from the cemetery. Two things.

1. I don't like to go alone, so I'm glad some of my family went. Ann and her three sons, Paul and his daughter, Andrew and two of his sons, and Lola. That's what the place is for, I guess, family to come together, remember, visit a little. I also check out the care they give to the grave and the stone. Today I was pleased with it.
   
2. I sort of thought Wayne might be there, too. You know, to meet us. I mean really, in the flesh. That's the reason I ask how the mind works. I knew he wouldn't be. Of course I knew that. I'm not stupid; he is dead and buried there. But the thought, the hope, something about it, wandered in and stayed long enough for me to have to deal with it consciously.

Maybe it's the heart's wishes getting into the mind and messing with what we know. Whatever. I'm glad we went. But, just so you know, he did not meet us there. At least not in the flesh.

Sunshine, Lollipops . . .

If you're young, you may know this song from The Simpsons. If you're old, you know it from about 1965, when Lesley Gore made it a hit. You may think it's your song, whoever you are. But it's not.

It's Penelope's song.

When her dad plays it through his computer, Penelope hops on her bouncy ball and bounces all over the living room, to the beat. She also sings--every word, every note, every rhythmical stop and start. Including the second ending's repeats.

Pure fun. For her and anyone there who sees.

Sunshine, lollipops, and rainbows,
everything that's wonderful is what I feel when we're together.
Brighter than a lucky penny,
when you're near the rain cloud disappears, dear,
and I'm feeling fine
just to know that you are mine.

My life is sunshine, lollipops, and rainbows,
that's how this refrain goes
so come on, join in, everybody.

Sunshine, lollipops, and rainbows,
everything that's wonderful is sure to come your way
'cause you're in love to stay.

Now I wake up mornings singing it, seeing Penelope and her absolute joy. Things could be worse than that, you know.

Oh yeah, Penelope is two and a half. Look out, world.

P.S. The other kids in the picture are her little brother and a portion of her dad.

IH

Gary O'Keefe. No household name, that, even though he told me he would become a "famous" actor. We sat together in Doc Evans's drama class at Samohi. We played opposite each other in a brief scene from Maxwell Anderson's Elizabeth and Essex. I played Elizabeth. Duh.

In love with Essex, I wept because I had to send him to his death. And so it was with great feeling that I said, "I grow old. I could be young with you, but now I'm old." The one line I remember.

I didn't feel much like a Queen of England, and an older one, at that. I was 16, you know. But I guess I pulled it off okay, including the weeping part, and Doc Evans said I was great. Hmmm. I never thought so.

Gary--tough-looking, deep cleft in his chin, rough voice--was not quite good looking and never a great or even very good actor. I had a hard time being in love with him. No chemistry, you know. Oh well.

We both had parts in the Senior Play, Father of the Bride. He played the father. I played the wedding caterer. His part was bigger, but I was funnier.

He did make it, if you call small TV parts making it. I don't know how many parts he got or over how many years. I remember seeing him once in I Spy and once or twice otherwise many long years ago. I watched hard with critical eye, you may know. And I said a "good for you, Gary" and wondered if he was making his living thus.

Yes, there's a reason I bring him up now.

I sat down a few minutes ago, turned on the TV, and there he was in a small part again. He ran a gas station. The Incredible Hulk had to take charge when Gary shut Dr David Banner's fingers in a door after refusing to sell him gasoline even though the good dr had a woman in labor in his cab. (Yes, Banner's job for the week was to drive cab and save the black woman who owned the cab company from the mean, bad loan shark who wanted her company and would do anything to get it, including sending his goon out to force cabs off the road and to break legs. Clearly, the IH was needed.)

I never watched IH when it was on during the--what?--70s. Maybe my older kids did. We had a neighbor boy who couldn't say Rs or Ls and we liked to mimic his pronunciation of IH. Incwedibow Howk.

No. I don't watch IH reruns now. (But put Hunter on that retro channel, and I'm there.)

I did pause and stay with the program a while when I saw my old classmate doing a third-rate job of looking terrified. He just could not be convincing. Rather comic, actually, the grimaces and groans of fake fear.

Oh, yes. The woman delivered her baby alone, without help from the dr, wrapped the kid in a beautiful white blanket (no sign of blood, and I don't know who cut the cord or with what), and took a leisurely lie down in the back seat of the cab while the IH set other matters right at the gas station.

I couldn't hang in there for the whole show, but I'm going to guess he saved the cab company, too. Wouldn't you think?

Widows Do This Kind of Thing, I Guess

I spoke to my dead husband Monday of this week, asking him where he is, suggesting he is needed here and now. By me. By certain of his kids. I was not joking, and I'm not joking now.

Of course, he is not here.

But I thought that just the force of his presence, just his influence. That would be powerful, well, especially since he's dead. But you know what I mean.

A word or two, sure. That would be even better.

I didn't punctuate my speech to him the way I'm punctuating this post. No pauses. No afterthoughts. Mostly I just poured out my heart.

And here's the thing. I did not feel stupid in this pleading, did not feel it was useless or hopeless. Does that say something about me? Or something about the true nature of things? I wish I knew.

Going North . . . to Canada

I'm heading up to Axel's house today. It's in Saskatoon, SK, Canada, of all places. So, while I'll leave Boise at 2:12, I will not arrive at SK until late tonight.

Axel, who has been walking for a month or more, will be one in June. Someone told me early dentition means the kid is smart. I'd say early walking means something, too. I believe that if he could talk he'd say, "Sure, I know most kids wait until after they turn one, but I'm not most kids."

I guess he just couldn't wait any longer. Saw his big sister Penelope walking around and thought he could do it, too. Turns out he was right.

I'll be happy to see those two . . . and the other people who live in Axel's house.

Wayne's birthday

It's May 18. I haven't forgotten.

The Heart's Music

My grandson, Edmund, sang to me last night. He's three months old, but he sang. I know what you're thinking, but you're wrong. He sang.

Don't be doubting it. I know singing when I hear it.

He was lying on my bed, and I turned on the ceiling fan to entertain him. But--and who knows why?--he was more interested in me than in the fan. I began to sing, "When blossoms flowered amid the snows, upon a winter night, was born a child, the Christmas rose, the king of love and light."

I know it's May, but Charlie, that's Edmund's oldest brother, had just asked to hear Christmas music, so it just came out of me. It's a song I've always loved anyway. No question it was a hit with Edmund.

I'd watch that kid, if I were his mom or dad. They may have a musical genius there. Last night his pitch and his voice matched mine, high and clear, his a little clearer. No, I won't go so far as to say that he got the tune right, and he has no words yet, but what he sang was beautiful. Bring a smile to your face and a tear to your eye. Oh yes.

Okay, this poem

I could explain some things I have learned since writing it, but I choose not to.

Alzheimer’s

which makes Dale not

always Dale

because he has it

tangles develop deep in the brain

and my sister, his wife,

some strange person

he wants to push out of his house

someone he accuses of crimes

against him, but she did not steal

what he has lost.

She can take him to

last year’s photo,

the two of them together,

and he will know

who’s in the picture, and it looks

just like her

plaques form

but when he turns

and looks right in her face

she’s not the one in the photo

not his wife

and he might ask

as he does most nights

where are you

going to sleep?

He can’t help it--

everyone knows that--

neurons work less efficiently

and should not be blamed

but it’s hard to remember

when he’s in the middle of

being lost

and something or everything

is her fault somehow

and she does not belong

with him, where she has lived

more than fifty years.

Hard to remember, hard

to hope, hard to forgive.

Then, in a moment

or an hour

there is no treatment to cure

or more

she is someone he knows

his wife again delay or stop

and he says nice things

no more pushing, no

accusations, only smiles

the disease

he calls her by her name

and he is Dale again

and she thinks

maybe this time for good.

Carol Schiess

Yes, yes, yes

I have pictures. Not 800, like Alyce, but about half that many.

And yes, yes, yes, I'll post some. I know all my readers--unlike Ann I have no big number following, cannot claim stardom--but all my three or four readers will want to see some photos.

I'll post some but not until I get a new computer. It's got to happen. This one is--are you ready?-- nearly ten years old.