I Took Him With Me, Sort Of

Just back from my 50-year high school reunion. I liked it, seeing the place again, the ocean, the neighborhoods I knew--many changed, many not, but more people there in Santa Monica by far than when I grew up there. Fun to visit with the people I grew up with. We met for dinner Friday night at the end of Santa Monica Pier and for the reunion proper Saturday night at the Marina. Beautiful days and nights, beautiful air, good people.

Big graduating class: about 750 people. We had about 300 there.

At the reunion, I didn't really expect people to mention Wayne, but clearly that was what I wanted. Some did. Some were reticent to, no doubt. I saw Danny O'Mahoney. Oh yes, he remembers Wayne very well. Got reaquainted with Bob and Bruce and Chuck and others I went to school with from kindergarten on.

I vow, every now and then, to keep moving forward, however one does that. I vowed that again at the reunion.

George and Gretta

I sat down beside George Huff yesterday before church to see how he was doing. Last Sunday he said he was doing fine. Yesterday he said he was okay, which, I'd say, is less than fine. I asked him, and wished I hadn't, how it is now living in that house without Gretta. He began to cry and could not speak. I put my arm around him and said, "Oh George, I'm sorry."

He was a few moments recovering, then said, "It'll get better, won't it? You know. You've been there."

I said, "Yes, it will get better, but it might not be tomorrow."

I patted his back and looked up at his daughter, Carolyn, who is still coming to our ward, this time for him instead of Gretta, and who, I am sure, is staying very close to him. She looked at me and frowned in sympathy for her dad.

Something Small

It was January 12, 2007. I lost Wayne’s ring, his wedding ring which I have worn on the middle finger of my right hand since soon after he died.

I had gone to bed early but woke with a start at about 10:45 p.m. and thought to feel my hand for the ring. It was not there. Funny how such a thing can wake you from a sound sleep. I threw back the covers and felt all over the bed, looked on the dresser, on the floor, in the closet, in the pockets of everything I had worn for the last two days. I had no idea when it had slipped off.

I thought it might be in the gloves I had worn to shovel snow. No. Not in the car. Not in the washer. Not in the hampers or the jewelry box. I went to bed again. In the morning I looked again in the gloves and pockets. No. I prayed to find it, but I didn’t have much faith, I’m afraid.

The whole thing made me sad. You know.

Next day I went to Lola’s, to Costco, to Office Max, and came home. The driveway snow had melted by then. I had items in the trunk, so I walked back to get them and saw the ring on the driveway pavement about five feet behind my car. I had driven over it backing out and coming in.

Small thing? Sure, but it felt like a little miracle to me. Could I live without the ring? Sure, but I am glad I don't have to.

Track and Field

In my jewelry box I have a small silver medal.
Engraved on its back:
1958
2nd Place
High
Jump

It's Wayne's from the East Los Angeles track relays of 1958. That was the year before he left on his mission to Uruguay, which means he was on the track team from Santa Monica City College. He had spent a year at BYU and had come home to go to school. I'm not sure why.

I polished up the medal several months ago and wore it on a chain around my neck to church. It's not classy, not real jewelry, but I like it. If you're trying to picture the medal, don't think round.

Wayne had other medals, but this is the one I have. He gave it to me, which was a big deal. You know?

In high school Wayne ran cross-country one season and was on the track team the next. He ran the high hurdles and pole vaulted and did the high jump. He was a good hurdler with his long legs and good form. I don't know if he pole vaulted at the ELA relays, but he was pretty good at it in high school. I have a newspaper clipping with a picture of him sailing over the pole. I always thought it a complicated event: run at just the right speed carrying that long pole in front, plant the pole at just the right instant, then use your muscles and the spring of the pole to get yourself over that bar way up there. And these were the days before the modern fiber glass poles or whatever they're made of now. The pole he used was wood. I think his highest vault was 14 feet.

I used to sit on the brick wall at our school and wait for him. He'd come up after practice, and we would walk home together.

Addendum.
A conversation with Andrew has caused me to say it was likely not 14 feet. Not that high.

Just One of Those Things A Person Remembers

Wayne worked at Everest & Jennings Wheelchair Manufacturing Company before his mission and for a short while after we were married. That's where he knew Lester Madison, Cody's dad. We went to school with Cody, a rough-edged wiry blond kid you couldn't help liking.

Wayne said Lester told him many things as they worked together every day and Lester swore pretty much, but I only know one thing Lester said. He was worried about his daughter and told Wayne she might have to go to the hospital because she had a cisk on her ovulies.

Wow! It's Fifty Years

September I will go down to Santa Monica for my 50-year high school reunion. For that occasion, I am Alyce Brimley, Samohi class of ’58.

I went in 2004 to our 46-year reunion, an unlikely number, but obviously this class likes to get together. Maybe the reunion organizers—Monica, Bob, Donna, Janice, Jim, and others—are afraid too many of our 630+ members will die before we can meet and say, Wow! It’s fifty years.

In 2004 I took my three daughters because I could not handle going alone. Wayne was dead, and we wouldn’t be walking in together. Lola, Alyce, Ann—they were good to go with me, and we visited my Aunt Allie in La Cañada, and we visited Disneyland, Lola’s favorite place. But the death part is what I meant to say something about.

There was a written program, and on it a mention of people in our class who had died. Wayne was not in our class, he was class of ’57, but as my husband his name would appear there. I looked. It didn’t. But Kent Woolley’s did. I knew Kent wasn’t dead. He had visited me in Boise, told me about his heart attack or stroke or whatever it was. Yes, he had been ill, but he wasn’t dead. Someone on the committee thought Wayne was ill and Kent had died. It seems funny, but it's kind of a big mistake, don't you think?

This year I will actually have to go alone. I have reservations for my flight, car, and hotel, but I'm feeling a little apprehensive about it. I suppose I should do some mental imaging, see myself getting there in good order, driving safely up to Marina del Rey, wearing something smashing (it could happen) as I enter a room full of people I used to know, and then see myself feeling okay about being there. It would help if I could be thin by then. Superficial it may be, but I don't want folks to say, "Look what's happened to Alyce since Wayne died."

Missing Wayne, But Don't Worry About Me

1. His hands

2. How he would take his wedding ring off his finger and put it on the top of his ear to hold the pinched skin together.

3. His dry, corny wit. I’d love the hear him tell a joke, like the one about the guy who didn’t like the doctor’s diagnosis and said he wanted a second opinion. “Okay,” said the doctor, “you’re ugly, too.”

4. His physical presence here in our house

5. Looking out the kitchen window to see him out there in his straw hat mowing the lawn. He mowed it better than anyone I’ve hired since his death, of course, but that’s only part of it. The other part was just seeing him out there, such a comforting thing to me. Don’t know why.

6. The smell of him on his pillow

7. I think of him every time I go into any bathroom in this house.

8. He loved the shower in our bathroom.

9. His cooking, how he made such a mess in the kitchen. He had bought several books about cooking and food, ordered this or that machine.

10. His hymn playing, “Lord Dismiss Us With Thy Blessing”

11. He loved to sing.

12. I hear a Subaru start up or see one like his and start talking to him, asking him why he is not here.

13. Watching him write

14. His feet. I always told him he had ugly feet. Funny.

15. Hearing him get confrontational on the phone with tele-marketers

16. His voice

17. The way his mind worked. “Logic dictates,” you know.

18. His perpetual concern over his health

19. His love of his grandchildren

20. There is always more.