May 18

Should I? Could I let this day pass without comment? Obviously I could not.

He "would be" 72. Such a phrase is usually followed by "if he had lived." Well, he did not live, so to me that means aging stopped for him eight and a half years ago.

I do not imagine him at 72. I see him always as he was in 2003, and, if I can, at a better time, before 2003. Not a good year, take it all around. I mean, some good things came to be. I'm sure of it. But how could I ever call it a good year? My husband died.

Before 2003, he was still handsome, still slender, still had some light and occasional twinkle in his eye. He was alive.

It becomes clear to me that I am thinking of him as he was shortly before he died. But there is a much longer past to view in my mind movies. Sometimes I do that.

Enough. Today is May 18, birthday of Wayne Gordon Schiess.

By the way, it's a waning gibbous moon today, 98% full.

Wayne Would Eat It, You Bet

The woman on the radio said, "We're compelled to give you Mommy's best recipe for bread and butter pudding, whether your Mommy has ever heard of it or not."

I suppose there are Mommies who have never heard of bread pudding, let alone made it. But that would not include my Mommy--whom I never called Mommy, by the way, and I wonder what might have happened if I had.

She made it--bread pudding. And we loved it, especially, I think, my dad.

I do know there are folks who have never eaten bread pudding and some who never would eat it. It's a custard, after all, and some people cannot "handle" custard. Too wiggly, too wobbly, can't stand the feel of it in the mouth. Or they don't like eggs. Or something.

I don't know if I've ever heard anyone say they don't like the taste of it. Maybe its custardy wobble has kept some from ever tasting it. For me, custard is one of this earth's heavenly things.

And I'm not kidding.

Oh well. To each his own (or "To Each Their Own," says Honda's commercial for its new Civic, which would keep me from buying that car if nothing else kept me from it.)

But this is about custard not cars.

When my mother came to visit, she might make us a bread pudding or maybe even a custard pie. Wayne was happy then. He loved pie. And he particularly liked my mother's custard pie. Of course, he wouldn't turn up his nose at her lemon meringue pie either.

Poor man, he, having married a non-pie-making woman. I did make bread pudding occasionally, but not what you'd call regularly. And he would, I believe, go to Chuck-A-Rama just so he could have the bread pudding for dessert.

That's pretty desperate.

I wonder, will there be custard in the resurrection? I hope so.

More than the moon

My friend Joe from my old Santa Monica neighborhood sent an email about the Fox Theater on Lincoln Blvd in Venice, California.

He had been to the Museum of Neon Art in downtown Los Angeles and there saw the bullnose of that theater's marquee. Hence his informative email.

For some reason, I'm glad somebody has kept that bullnose, a piece of history.

The Fox Theater opened in 1951, when I was 10 years old. I thought it a great thing. Instead of being downtown in Santa Monica, it was close, about 3/4 mile from my house. And instead of being down by the Ocean Park Pier--the Dome Theater and the Rosemary were there--where my mother did not want me going, for some reason, it was in a wide open bright neighborhood, right on Lincoln Blvd. I thought it might mean more movie-going for me. Besides, it was new, big, and spacious inside.

I don't know if it did mean more movie-going for me. Maybe, but I just don't remember. No doubt it was like most other things--would my mother let me go.

Truth is, I'm not sure I went there much until I had grown up some, and then, you know, I could go with friends or a boy friend.

Incidental fact: I do not remember ever sitting in a movie theater with my mother.

(My dad took Lucile and me to a drive-in theater once--at my mother's insistence--to see Bambi. When he discovered it was a cartoon, we left. Poor me and poor Lucile, but she probably doesn't remember.)

Joe says the Fox Venice was the last single theater built in our area. Soon TV began to cut into theater attendance, and, soon after that, multi-plex theaters started popping up.

When I was in Santa Monica, Fall of 2008, I drove past the Fox and saw that the marquee was gone and the theater had become a fleamarket/swap meet kind of place. Joe says this happened in 1988. Quite a come down, I'd say.

Joe has become the historian of our old neighborhood, notifying us of old houses made new and selling for millions. Not kidding. And keeping us up on what's going on, who's living and who isn't.

I like him for that.

By the way, the moon is 50% full. To me that would be a half moon. But no. My moon source calls it first quarter.

Life is Good

I have this pair of pants. They're old. I think they pre-date Wayne's death. I don't wear them, don't remember the last time I did. In fact, I was going to stick them in a bag for DI, but just didn't get around to it.

Yesterday I put them on. I do not know why. I must have decided not to care about how I looked. So I wore them all day.

But here's the fun part.

I found a ten-dollar bill in the pocket.

So I think this: I'll leave the money there, hang them up, and probably I'll forget about it. Then some long time from now I'll put them on and find the $10 again. And, of course, yippee!

But it's chancy. I may never put them on again.

Yes, this is my life. One must find pleasure where one can.

About the Moon

Yes. It's a waning gibbous moon. 74% full.

I knew you'd want to know.

Keeping Track of the Moon

Tonight the moon is full. No more waxing. In fact, tomorrow it will be waning.

But for tonight it's full, and I will like to see it.

Sweaters

I grew up wearing skirts and sweaters. That's straight skirts and short-sleeved slip-over-the-head sweaters. A cardigan or two was a good thing also, but not to be worn over something else as much buttoned all the way up and worn as you would wear any slip-on sweater.

Yes, you could wear a sweater with a full skirt, but then you would tuck the sweater in. And, of course, you would need to wear the many petticoats so that your skirt would be really full.

In Jr High it was very important to have at least one lamb's wool sweater or, better yet, cashmere. I had one of each, I'm sure, and more than that. My older sister, Janeen, had an angora sweater. I believed that was the top of the sweater heap, but I never had one. No doubt back then I believed I was never quite good enough (?) to have angora. I didn't play the piano, you know. Now, I think it might only have made me itch.

Sweaters went to high school with me, too, and they might have a collar and a few buttons up the front. I remember one sweater and matching skirt. It was lavender and did have a collar and a few buttons up the front. I wore it to an assembly where I was the MC and got whistles.

Sweaters. That's not all I wore, of course, but I knew what looked good, and it was a sweater and skirt. But mostly anything looked pretty good. I was young, and I was thin.

In college I had lots of good-looking sweaters, some with three-quarter sleeves, some with collars or V necks. These, my best sweaters, my roommate from South Africa loved to borrow. She also loved to push the sleeves up on her larger-than-mine arms. Oh well, I have forgiven her.

Sometimes I wonder what happened to all those sweaters. I mean, did I give them away?

These days I have many sweaters, some slip over but mostly cardigans. I wear the cardigans over a blouse or shirt or slip-on sweater.

And I have one long-sleeved cashmere sweater. Wayne gave it to me, probably for my birthday, the last of my birthdays we spent together. I wear it when I'm thinnish, and when the weather is cool.

He wore sweaters, too. As an adult.

When we were young, I knitted a sweater for him, a cardigan. I made the button holes, too. Later I knitted him a vest, and I put pewter buttons on it. Those sweaters looked good on him. I knew how to do stuff like that, you know.

When he was older, he had a bluish crew-neck and a few "winter" sweaters. You know, the ones with snow flakes or evergreen trees or small deer figures knitted in. Don't get a wild winter sweater picture in your head. That would not be Wayne.

He also had a pale lavender V-neck sweater. He wore that one a lot. Ann took it after he died. I would see her wear it now and then, but I don't know if it made the move to Pennsylvania.

I was remembering him in his sweaters. That is what prompted this post, and to keep it from being too tear-jerky, I started it with my sweater history.

But here's the thing. I miss him. I miss seeing him in a sweater with shirt and tie underneath. I miss buying clothes for him. I still stop in the men's department and look and shirts and ties and, yes, sweaters when they have them.