It Was Fascination

Luke & Laura: 30 Years Later

Many pop culture questions stand out in our minds. Some have to do with real events and others have to do with fictitious ones. I daresay that everyone who was old enough to understand the English language, remembers the catch phrase: "Where were you when Luke and Laura got married?" [Just like "Where were you when JR was shot?.. or...President Kennedy, President Reagan and John Lennon." "Do you remember what you were doing when you heard that Princess Diana had died or Michael Jackson?] Real and fictitious MONUMENTAL moments in history - pop or otherwise always seem to stick out in our minds.
Well, it was 30 years ago today that 30 million people sat glue and transfixed in front of their television sets and watched the wedding of the century. [Yes, I believe it rivaled Prince Charles and Princess Diana’s wedding four months earlier....or came pretty darn close] Likewise, you have to remember, this was at a time that VCR’s weren’t prevalent in everyone’s homes, and the internet didn’t exist.
When it’s reported that 30 million people watched the wedding between Luke and Laura, it REALLY means that time stood still for that hour on November 16, 1981, so that people could tune in and see the culmination of a two-year dance: fans waiting for Luke and Laura to bring down crime boss mafioso, Frank Smith, then go off and save the world from the evil Cassadines so that four months later they could finally have some time to themselves, and we, the fans, could finally grasp the brass ring! It was an unbelievably heady time. Crazy? Yes. Momentous? Yes. Insanely good? Oh...hell yeah! It was insanely good!!!!! Silly to some? Probably. But, it was what it was and it was magically, riveting television.
I was in my Freshman year of college. To tell you how significant this shindig between Lucas Lorenzo Spencer and Laura Webber Baldwin was, even our college professors knew they would be sitting in an empty classroom for those two magical days. So, our assignments were handed out prior to the big day with a call to "have fun & see you Monday".... The Professors who indulged their students in that moment were forever considered "cool" from there on out...
A couple hundred of us piled into a small auditorium and watched the wedding on a 32" tv which was the largest we could find at the time. I remember someone dragging it in from somewhere though no one knew where it came from. We didn’t care! We considered it the "something borrowed" element of the day.
It was magic - pure magic. We crammed in so tightly that I’d venture to say sardines in a can had more wiggly room than we did, but it didn’t matter. The camaraderie was like being in a tight space rooting for the home team at a football game, and Luke and Laura’s wedding was the Super bowl of daytime television. I remember thinking with all the hoopla not just among the fans but with the media as well that this was going to be a memory - a long-lasting one. I wasn’t wrong about that! [Thirty years later and the fans still remember.] Elizabeth Taylor didn’t make an appearance for "just anybody" Dahling! She adored Luke and Laura like the rest of us. If it was good enough for Dame Elizabeth.....Yet, even without that added bonus of a big name dropping in as part of the festivities, it was truly something special simply in and of itself. It was the stuff of well....legends. Genie Francis and Tony Geary certainly sealed their iconic status with that wedding...they became TRUE legends that day, and their fans have never forgotten it. It’s like sports fans recalling with awed fascination when The Dodgers won the World Series; when Ali won the Heavyweight Championship or when The Saints won the Super bowl. The Wedding of Luke and Laura was our world series; heavyweight championship and super bowl Sunday all rolled up into one glorious thing. It was the Motherlode of fictional television events. I don’t know whether we’ll have the opportunity to see them again, in the sunset ending that we’ve all hoped and dreamed for them and ourselves, but we hold it in our minds - the happy place. And, for a moment, for one GREAT, shining moment, they were magic, and they shared it with the rest of us as well.
I’ve attached a poem that I wrote a few years ago about Luke and Laura and attached a few of my favorite music videos along with it. Today, like then, I know the ardent fans will be celebrating again like it’s 1981....and why not? It was a heady time in our lives that few things compared to. It’s nice to brush off, at times, the cobwebs of certain memories and celebrate them again - those halcyon days.
It’s also a perfect opportunity to once again say to Ms. Francis and Mr. Geary: Thank you for the ride! It was wild and crazy and fun. It was true roller coaster! You gave us the time of our lives in a story that was brilliant and bodacious and beautiful! There was nothing any better than what you created from the Wyndam’s dance on down to The Triple L, and that last, heartfelt, long-awaited gazebo dance. We are indebted and we are grateful for the legacy – The unrevised version of that great love affair.
Happy 30^th Anniversary, Luke & Laura!  It was fascination then, and it's fascination now - ...still...always...Fascination...

http://youtu.be/LTYQAAManpc Luke & Laura~Fascination video

http://youtu.be/mcy4nzg5dk8 Labk's Incredible video: Every Time I Look at You by Il Divo

Blue Lights in MY Basement

Background to the title of this blog entry:

Years ago when my husband and I lived in Maryland, we listened, on Saturday afternoon/early evenings [4-7 pm on WPFW/89.3 FM] to an addictive show of Andrea Bray's called "Blue Lights in the Basement".  Andrea's show is an eclectic mix of oldies but goodies, great, rhythm & blues, soulful jazz classics.  Her soothing, sultry voice encouraged us to sit back.  Relax.  Enjoy, as we dusted off the cobwebs of some long-ago gems and fondly took a look back and a listen to.  Since then, I've affectionately adopted the sentiment, "Blue Lights in the Basement" to include old movies, t.v. shows, or great works of literature.  Which leads me to this blog post:

I wrote this piece three years ago when a band of Genie Francis' supporters created a group called "Genie's Angels" to fight to get her back on General Hospital. It was a successful campaign and one that Genie has appreciatively acknowledged.  With the recent cancellation of two beloved soaps, and the looming threat of losing a genre that has been a part of my life since I was old enough to recall memories, [hm hm years ago] a friend recently asked if the LnL fans, that's Luke and Laura, for those of you not in the know, could say something nice about them.  I reached back into my files and decided to dust this off.  It's the nicest thing I can say about a couple, who, in my mind, will go down in history as one of the greatest romantic duos ever created.  I will never be able to thank Genie Francis & Tony Geary enough for the many years of entertainment and joy that they have brought me.  But, this is a start...  Sit back. Relax. Enjoy!

An Epical Ode to Luke and Laura & a Love Never Forgotten

©Jhill Perran

August 10, 2008

For me, it began as a slow, simmered "Rise",

while the story unfolded through those incredible eyes.

The anguish, the longing, the heat of their stares,

kept me fanning myself, on the edge of my chair.

There was intrigue and mystery and passion that oozed -

between two, star-crossed lovers who were torn and confused.

And, we saw in the glimpse of that one, awful night,

how one man’s human foible made him a strange kind of Knight.

Luke’s remorse and despair cut to the depths of our soul,

and redemption began from the trust that he stole.

Yes, we rooted for him, and we rooted for her.

It was them who we hoped had a committed re-birth.

Because they suffered and struggled over their formidable love.

It was hard-fought and hard-won - but it fit like a glove.

We could not get enough of their angst-filled, raw, passion,

They were genuinely flawed, yet it was poignantly rationed.

Their story, as told, showed a unique kind of grace.

Luke found his absolution from an unlikely place.

The woman who received his most brutal attack,

found forgiveness within, and she offered it back.

In that moment, we couldn’t have cared for them more,

It was them who we cheered for! It was them we adored!

And that glorious summer, when they went on the run,

when they brought down the mob, without the use of a gun.....

Who’d have thought that one story could bring such fun-filled, pure joy-

than the one that was told through the Left-Handed Boy?

It was short-lived! We knew when that cigar band came off,

We were in for LONG days, but we were in for the haul....

We bore witness to some of the most powerful scenes

of a love that was spoken through the lines in between....

The unuttered words and their subtle nuance,

clearly showed their desire - the profoundness of want.

How is it that two people could make love without touch?

It was all in their eyes, and their eyes said so much....

We felt tingles and shivers and were giddy each minute,

in the way that they told it and how well they did spin it....

And the heat was turned up during summer number two,

diamonds, a yacht - a tropical island to boot.

There in their glory was Luke and his gal,

and his good-looking, sexy, Australian pal.

Yowzah, we thought! Who could ask for much more?

There was a starlet, a "mad" guy and bad guys galore!

Port Charles in the deep freeze, in August no less....

What a yarn that was spun with that name "Ice Princess"...

In the fall, finally! Finally! we all got the dream!

Luke and Laura united with the exchange of a ring....

Like Camelot, the magic was gone much too quick,

Something precious was lost in that cold, foggy, thick...

Oh, I cried when our Laura disappeared in the night,

And, for me, that’s when GH lost its most luminous light.

Luke without Laura? - Too painful to watch it back then,

But I watched in ‘83 when our ship sailed again....

I was there holding on......and holding my breath,

when they finally connected in that earth-moving caress...

In his arms, Laura jumped as Luke screamed out to God,

it was a path only made for Angels and Heroes to trod.

It was splendor and wonder and grace personified,

when those two saw each other, when they embraced and they cried.

One knew in that moment, that fairy tales do come true,

If you believe in such things, and I assure you I do!

It was magic, I tell you - seeing that miracle unfold,

Watching Laura and Luke spinning more tales of pure gold.

True love, it endures. It survives. It abides...

You saw it so clearly when you looked in their eyes.

Nothing and no one would keep them a part!

You can sever one’s ties but you can’t sever their heart!

And therein and throughout, lies the crux of it all,

One heart shared by two lovers can’t be arbitrarily recalled...

No one could keep Laura on an isle with a cool, hunk of steel,

No one would stop Luke from protecting his Angel from evil.

Thus, commenced an odyssey of adventure and fun,

Luke and Laura were together - happily, back on the run...

And the following year, we got the Aztec Adventure,

With that most special scene: the telling of a new, baby Spencer.

Then, they left us to go live their lives off the screen,

but we knew they’d return.....can you say "Halloween, 93"...

Oh, Happy Days! Happy Days! Happy Days, don’t you know!

Luke and Laura were back with their Lucky in tow.

What followed can only be summed up like this:

It was JUST as it was when we last saw them kiss!

The magic still sparked, in the whirl of their dance.

Down the Triple L aisle, and the heat of their glance,

and the way that they touched and the way that they moved,

Made our hearts pitter-pat as we swayed with their groove.

We giggled over hijinx, watched sorrow amidst happier times.

The birth of sweet, Lulu and news of a son: Cassadine.

There were struggles, separations, and severe growing pains,

Yet, through all of those lessons, it reinforced their one, great strength:

Love. Always love. It was love from the start.

Every obstacle faced couldn’t tear them apart.

Yet, the unthinkable happened - papers signed for divorce,

No! No! No! No! No! No! That’s not REALLY their choice!

"Why DID we get divorced?" Tony asked Genie one day.

She replied with regret, "Cuz they wrote it that way!"

Then, we watched them discover what WE knew all along,

It was there with each other where they truly belonged.

They must marry again. It was destiny’s fate!

Luke and his Laura would forever be bound as soul mates.

But, the other shoe dropped, and it blew all apart,

not only our story but these two lover’s heart.

It was disbelief, horror and I gasped "Holy crud!"

When that candlestick hit Rick, then fell with a thud.

What happened in that attic isn’t really that clear,

all I know, was I knew it was my worst kind of fear....

Genie leaving? Laura crazy? Please say it ain’t so!

It felt helpless and hopeless - it was the worst kind of low!

The one thing I felt was how unbelievably wrong,

it was to hush the splendor of their incredible song.

We love her! He needs her! Don’t take her away!

Luke’s humanity. His Angel. PLEASE! God! Let her stay!

Yet, it wasn’t to be and we all watched just how,

These two said their goodbyes in that sad, attic-vow.

Those vows, oh those vows....they serve to remind,

We were gifted with not one but TWO one-of-a-kinds!

When Luke lovingly said "just my Sweetheart and me,"

There was a crumble within and I went weak in the knees.

She was courageous! Outrageous! He said that’s what she’d need,

To throw in with a guy from the wrong-side of Elm Street.

Then, he marveled again at her beauty and grace,

as he vowed his true love, as tears streamed down his face.

I remember that look, when she looked in his eyes,

and she cried in her truth: it’s there she felt safest inside.

Laura told him with knowing, with a sincere, true-love grit,

that he lived in her heart....right in the center of it.

Then, she broke from her hero as he fought not to weep,

he lost all that had mattered. Had Luke sown what he reaped?

Had the chickens come home to finally roost on past sins?

That’s the seed that took hold of his demons within.

In the past, she had seemingly taken each hit,

for the payback that had Luke Spencer’s name written on it.

There was Mikkos, Stavros, Nikolas too,

Laura suffered because Helena sought to punish her Luke.

And if that weren’t enough, we mustn’t forget,

What it cost her because Luke chose her over Jennifer Smith.

As I went into mourning because Laura was gone,

still, my heart dared to hope she would, one day, come home.

And the memories of past times, when their love was in bloom,

kept me buoyed from the despair, disappointment and gloom.

In my mind, "Fascination" memories of a pink-feathered lift,

made my heart smile again, as I cherished the gift,

That Gloria Monty gave us, when she paired up these two,

and made history with daytime’s most-beloved, dynamic duo!

Years past, as we waited and prayed for a fix,

And the magic returned in the fall of ‘06.

Hallelujah and glory and Hallelujah again!

Laura’s back! She’s awake! From ear to ear spanned my grin.

It was wonder and heartfelt - nothing better than this,

when the name "Luke" was called out from those once-quieted lips.

And, we watched sheer relief as Luke turned in pure awe,

once again, gold was mined in the love that we saw,

as he knelt and he looked and he cried "is it you?"

And her hands traced his face as a small-smile broke through.

"Yes, it’s me!" she declared. She’d been there all along,

They could take her away but not silence their song!

It’s too powerful, this love - this story - this pair.

That’s evident! It’s been 30 years. 30! Years! Still, we care!!!

There was a moment - a happening, at Beecher’s Corner’s when they...

went to dance....it was a most sacred, revered interplay.

When her arm went around him and she buried her head,

there was so much unspoken yet so much clearly said.

When Luke held her and stroked her with such sweet tenderness,

It was Tony who assured Genie in that gentle, utterance:

"I know, Baby!"

It was all staring at me, but the lines clearly blurred.

For a moment, I wasn’t certain who it was I had heard?

I can tell you I saw much resolved in that embrace,

It was one more REAL moment of their beauty and grace.

Time had stood still. It had waited for them.

Four years disappeared; wiped away - a faint dim.

The story played out - in the span of mere weeks,

all the love and the longing and the wanting for keeps...

It’s a love story that’s been so much a part of the lives,

not just for the fans but those who breathed it to life.

Once again, we strapped in, for a wonderful ride,

that ended too soon - in the blink of an eye.

What’s the matter with those who are running this show?

Can’t THEY see when they’re holding an ace-in–the-hole?

It boggles the mind that we lost Genie again,

Especially when Tony declared HE wanted his friend,

to return to her home where they had more gold to mine,

but it fell on deaf ears. All requests were denied.

It was too much to bear, being deprived of what’s golden,

How was it that ABC didn’t feel the least bit beholden -

To these actors and their fans who once saved this show from ruin,

from a cancellation stamp when rating-troubles were brewing?

Could they have truly forgotten who put GH on the map?

It was raised up by an unsuspecting Angel and her unlikely Chap!

We still loved them and missed them and wanted them back,

it was humanity and grace that our show sorely lacked.

Thus began an uprising: "Genie’s Angels" campaign,

We weren’t taking this lying! It was clearly insane!

When a show’s lost it’s heart, it’s goodness and luster,

Is change-in-direction really THAT hard to muster?

It appeared so, but we demanded OUR voices be heard,

They could solve so many problems if they’d just bring back our girl!

Clean up the mob-violence - write it again as sub-text,

Get rid of the dead weight! That’s the thing to do next!

Give us love, and joy and some stories with passion:

Luke and Laura, family values, how bout hospital interaction?

That’s what we’ve longed for, prayed for, yet when hope seemed MOST lost,

that she was not coming back, no matter how much the cost...

Something magical happened....in the kindliest knack,

Someone heard us! Praise be! "Mama" Laura is back...

It may be a brief moment with regard to this stint...

But within it, there’s hope that’s much more than a glint.

There’s a story - a sunset - that sets NOT solely on him!

Every road, we all know, leads us right back to them.

LukeandLaura: it’s one idea, one love and one tale.

For the die-hards, this love story is OUR Holy Grail!

We won’t rest til the ending matches up with the truth,

with the narration that was told in the days of our youth.

See, some of us believe fairy tales can come true.

For the fans, there’s one ending: it’s Laura with Luke....

The song that started it all: Rise/Herb Alpert http://youtu.be/ennMD1fPtXA
Genie & Tony dance to Fascination/2006   http://youtu.be/3bUwiEvRaRw  http://youtu.be/SduZbULyu1I The Promise/LnL video by Hypno
 http://youtu.be/AThYV3_Or04  Laura's Incredible Video: The Story of my Life
             
 

The Gales of November...

                                                      

"I prithee,
Remember I have done thee worthy service,
Told thee no lies, made no mistakes, served
Without grudge or grumblings...."
~William Shakespeare, The Tempest,

"According to a legend of the Chippewa tribe, the lake they once called Gitche Gumee 'never gives up her dead.'"

http://youtu.be/hgI8bta-7aw [The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald/Gordon Lightfoot/footage]

About 75 miles from Sault Ste. Marie, Michigan, [pronounced Soo*Saint*Marie] is a town called Whitefish Point. It is the point that forms the entrance to Lake Superior’s Whitefish Bay, which serves as the funnel at Sault Ste. Marie, via the St. Mary’s River, for shipping vessels to enter or leave that greatest of lakes. Beyond the vast and open expanse of water to the north of the bay lies the stretch of water known as "The graveyard of the Great Lakes". The Ojibwa or Chippewa refer to the lake as Gichigami [Gitche Gumee], meaning "big water". Having seen it, I can tell you that "big" is a great understatement for how monolithic an expanse that lake truly is.
The waters there, at times, bear gale force winds from both the north and the west that have been known to take many a lake-faring vessel to its watery, final rest in the bowels of Superior’s icy mansion, as it has been come to be known.
Such was the fate 36 years ago, when a convergence of sorts collided with the gale winds from the west, coupled with the cold winds from the north to create, if not a perfect storm, certainly something boding and ominous that resembled it. On that ill-fated night, November 10, 1975, The Edmund Fitzgerald blipped off the radar and disappeared beneath the angry, churning waters of Lake Superior. She [USSEF] was just 17 miles from safety – off the shores of Whitefish Point, when the lighthouse malfunctioned, and its guiding light went out, as the waves rose, in some places, to mammoth heights - of close to 30 feet. The final, catastrophic blow from water and wind and darkness, took her down with no time, it’s been reported, to make an emergency SOS call.
I was 12 years old when the Mighty Fitz went down. My older brother was 10 months old when she took her maiden voyage on September 24, 1958. I’ll never forget hearing the news story break on the 11^th of November in 1975. It seemed surreal that something so grand a vessel as the SS Edmund Fitzgerald could snap in half like a twig and sink in a matter of 18 minutes to depths of  approximately 530 feet. Perhaps the reason I remember it so well is because it was the day after Veteran’s Day and the day before my brother’s 18^th birthday, when the news came that Lake Gichigami had claimed another ship to join its fleet of downed, broken, and rusty crafts. In any event, that moment in history is etched in my mind, and it’s always given me pause like tragic events tend to do. Or, perhaps it’s Gordon Lightfoot’s haunting ode that came out the following year that made the event even more real in the place I’ve kept it in my mind. Needless to say, that Maritime disaster is one that has stayed with me all these years. Don’t ask me why.
Some things just do that: stay with me.
I remember the year I got married [1995], The Fitzgerald was in the news again, when her bell was recovered from the depths of Lake Superior on July 4^th. It was reported that the bell would be housed at The Great Lakes Shipwreck Museum in Whitefish Point, Michigan. I remember when I heard that news, I thought how much I wanted to see that bell – a piece of actual history.  I wanted to see a piece of that ship - something from an event that, for whatever reason, had struck a chord within me and stayed in the back of my mind. I had also always wanted to see Mackinaw Island and 10 years into our marriage, we went to Michigan to see both.
It was one of our most favorite vacations because, not only was it relaxing, it's a beautiful setting [Michigan is one of the most beautiful states I’ve ever visited], but it was educational as well. We learned so much about the native American culture of that area, in addition to seeing feel-good pieces of history [the Grand Hotel] and tragic pieces of history [The Whitefish Point, Shipwreck Museum]. I highly recommend that trip to anyone who’s never ventured there. We hope to go back some day. It’s well worth the trip.
My reflection of  The Shipwreck Museum at Whitefish Point is a sobered one.  That's how I felt walking in. Inside the museum, it’s not brightly lit. It sets a mood. The first thing I noticed was that Gordon Lightfoot’s song was playing in the background.  It gave me chill - a shiver ran down my back and my hair stood on end as I took it all in, before we began to walk down the rows of differentiated areas that housed the artifacts and information recovered for a number of the 240 ships that Gichigami’s mighty waters had claimed dating back more than a hundred years.
I can’t describe the feeling of sadness that fills a soul when you stand at a booth and see remnants of a once-great ship and its crew reduced to nothing more than remains such as a rusty lantern, an old ore, an old photograph, a faded life jacket, dented canned goods or a bell....a bell that, amazingly, still shines in golden splendor, refusing to be tarnished by the waters that derailed its purpose and further operation. Yet, there is also a feeling of utmost respect for the men who braved those waters and fought those currents for their livelihoods and that of their families.
It is a special breed of human being who challenges the sea. It takes a special kind of fortitude.  I remember after stopping at each individual memorial for the lost ships, looking at the items that had been recovered - reading about them; the ship's last voyage; the conditions concerning its demise and the crew members on each one.  After we'd seen all that was to see inside, Tom and I walked out of the museum and looked up at the lighthouse that helped navigate these ships. Then, we walked down to the beach, which was a straight shot from the museum and lighthouse and stood facing forward, staring out as far as our eyes could see, and knowing that roughly 17 miles out from where we stood, rested the Edmund Fitzgerald.
I covered my mouth as a sigh came and tears formed. I felt Tom’s arm go around my shoulders as he pulled me closer to him, and I wondered what must have been on the minds of those men as waves and winds crashed against them and that ship, as they realized their fate? I wondered what it felt like to see a 30-ft wall of water coming at you? Your first inclination would be to run. But, where do you run to when there’s no place to go? I could feel my heart-beat quicken. I could only imagine what theirs must have done. I think it’s a safe bet, I’d have been looking for a bottle of ANYTHING to take the pressure off, chase the fear away and get me.....well....drunk....At that point, drunk would be welcome relief from what was to come!
My lips trembled as the song played out in my mind, and we stood there looking out at a lake that looked more like a sea. The waters were calm on the day when we met Lake Superior. Can you meet water? I don’t know? We’d never seen it before. It was a lot prettier than I imagined. And, I tried to envision, as I stood there taking it all in, what I’d read of the NOAA’s findings about how conditions on the lake that night rapidly deteriorated. I tried to picture 70-80 mile an hour winds – hurricane-force gusts suddenly bearing down as 25-30 foot waves rose out of nowhere and you knew, being in the middle of all that chaos, that the outcome wasn’t going to be good for anyone on board.
One lyric from Gordon Lightfoot’s song stood out in my mind as I looked at the point of safety that The Edmund Fitzgerald was so close yet so far away from reaching: "Does anyone know where the love of God goes when the waves turn the minutes to hours?" Mercy. I remember standing there and praying that God had shown swift mercy that their ordeal was quickly over. Somehow, thinking about it and taking it all in, I had unsettled moments when I wasn’t sure, but I prayed that it was so, nonetheless. If anything, those 29 men deserved God’s grace and mercy as they dealt with their horrible-horrific fate on that tragic night.
"What do you think happened?" I asked Tom.
We’d both heard theories over the years as to what exactly had brought on the Edmund Fitzgerald’s demise. However, when there’s never a definitive answer with regard to a tragedy, speculation abounds.
He shook his head. "I don’t know," he said. "I’m not sure we’ll ever really know."
I nodded. Yes. That seemed more likely the truth than not.
Still, I thought of the theories that seemed most plausible to me:
One of the most viable theories, in my opinion, is that The Three Sisters came calling that night on the Edmund Fitzgerald. "The Three Sisters" are known as a group of rogue waves.  Those type waves were reported in the vicinity of the Fitzgerald at the time she went down. The phenomenon consists of a sequence of three unpredictable waves which are said to be about a third larger than average waves. The first one would have hit the ship’s deck with a ferocity that didn’t give the ship time to recover fully from its force before the second one struck. The backwash of the third wave then overloads the deck with tons of additional water that made recovery from such a one-two-three punch, improbable.
Captain Cooper of the Anderson, a ship that reached safety that night and was just ahead of the Fitzgerald, is on record stating that his ship was "hit by two 30 to 35 foot seas about 6:30 p.m., one burying the after cabins and damaging a lifeboat by pushing it right down onto the saddle. The second wave of this size, perhaps 35 foot, came over the bridge deck." The Captain went on to surmise that the two waves that hit his vessel continued onward in the direction of the Edmund Fitzgerald and was possibly followed by a third, which would have struck about the time she sank.
His theory suggests that the "three sisters" compounded the dual problems that the Fitzgerald already faced: her known list [leaning over to one’s side] and her slower movement in heavy waters, which allowed water to remain on deck for longer than usual, not taking into account the residual water from the rogue waves.
Then, there exits the theory that the Fitzgerald unknowingly shoaled [grounded] in the shallower water at Six Fathom Shoal, which is just northwest of Caribou Island. At the time, when it was alleged to have occurred, the Whitefish Point Lighthouse and radio beacons were not operable as navigation aids, thus hindering the Fitzgerald from seeing the shallow reef that existed there before the ship possibly raked it.
In 1976, that theory was supported by a Canadian hydrographic survey, which revealed that an unknown shoal ran a mile further east of Six Fathom Shoal than what was shown on its navigational charts. Likewise, Officers from the Anderson observed that the Fitzgerald sailed through this exact area.
However, divers searched the Six Fathom Shoal after the wreck and found no evidence of any "recent collision or grounding anywhere." The shoaling theory was subsequently challenged in 1994, when photographs of the downed Fitzgerald clearly showed a higher detail of the area in question and did not show any evidence on the propeller, rudder or bottom of the stern that indicated the Fitzgerald had, indeed, hit a shoal.
Regardless of the reason or inaccuracy of the theories, the fact remains that on November 10, 1975, 29 men lost their lives as the 729 foot ore carrier they were working on was claimed by Lake Superior, leaving behind ITS own legend filled with questions and mysteries that abound as to how the ship could founder then disappear so suddenly as it did on that fateful night? All anyone knows for certain is that 17 miles north-northwest of Whitefish Point, buried 530 feet beneath the water’s surface rests the once-great Fitzgerald. Just as with the Chippewa tale of the great Gichigami, so too lives on the legend of the November gales and The Edmund Fitzgerald...
　
The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald
Lyrics by Gordon Lightfoot

The legend lives on from the Chippewa down
of the big lake they called "Gitche Gumee."
The lake, it is said, never gives up her dead
when the skies of November turn gloomy.
With a load of iron ore twenty-six thousand tons more
than the Edmund Fitzgerald weighed empty,
that good ship and true was a bone to be chewed
when the "Gales of November" came early.
The ship was the pride of the American side
coming back from some mill in Wisconsin.
As the big freighters go, it was bigger than most
with a crew and good captain well seasoned,
concluding some terms with a couple of steel firms
when they left fully loaded for Cleveland.
And later that night when the ship's bell rang,
could it be the north wind they'd been feelin'?
The wind in the wires made a tattle-tale sound
and a wave broke over the railing.
And ev'ry man knew, as the captain did too
'twas the witch of November come stealin'.
The dawn came late and the breakfast had to wait
when the Gales of November came slashin'.
When afternoon came it was freezin' rain
in the face of a hurricane west wind.
When suppertime came the old cook came on deck sayin'.
"Fellas, it's too rough t'feed ya."
At 7 p.m. a main hatchway caved in; he said,
(*2010 lyric change: At 7 p.m., it grew dark, it was then he said,)
"Fellas, it's been good t'know ya!"
The captain wired in he had water comin' in
and the good ship and crew were in peril.
And later that night when 'is lights went outta sight
came the wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald.
Does any one know where the love of God goes
when the waves turn the minutes to hours?
The searchers all say they'd have made Whitefish Bay
if they'd put fifteen more miles behind 'er.
They might have split up or they might have capsized;
they may have broke deep and took water.
And all that remains is the faces and the names
of the wives and the sons and the daughters.
Lake Huron rolls, Superior sings
in the rooms of her ice-water mansion.
Old Michigan steams like a young man's dreams;
the islands and bays are for sportsmen.
And farther below Lake Ontario
takes in what Lake Erie can send her,
And the iron boats go as the mariners all know
with the Gales of November remembered.
In a musty old hall in Detroit they prayed,
in the "Maritime Sailors' Cathedral."
The church bell chimed 'til it rang twenty-nine times
for each man on the Edmund Fitzgerald.
The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down
of the big lake they call "Gitche Gumee."
"Superior," they said, "never gives up her dead
when the gales of November come early!"

http://www.shipwreckmuseum.com Link to the Great Lakes Shipwreck Museum

Crew Names [Listed Alphabetially] of the Edmund Fitzgerald

Michael E. Armagost 37 Third Mate Iron River, Wisconsin
Frederick J. Beetcher 56 Porter Superior, Wisconsin
Thomas D. Bentsen 23 Oiler St. Joseph, Michigan
Edward F. Bindon 47 First Assistant Engineer Fairport Harbor, Ohio
Thomas D. Borgeson 41 Maintenance Man Duluth, Minnesota
Oliver J. Champeau 41 Third Assistant Engineer Sturgeon Bay, Wisconsin
Nolan S. Church 55 Porter Silver Bay, Minnesota
Ransom E. Cundy 53 Watchman Superior, Wisconsin
Thomas E. Edwards 50 Second Assistant Engineer Oregon,
Ohio Russell G. Haskell 40 Second Assistant Engineer Millbury, Ohio
George J. Holl 60 Chief Engineer Cabot, Pennsylvania
Bruce L. Hudson 22 Deck Hand North Olmsted Ohio
Allen G. Kalmon 43 Second Cook Washburn, Wisconsin
Gordon F. MacLellan 30 Wiper Clearwater, Florida
Joseph W. Mazes 59 Special Maintenance Man Ashland, Wisconsin
John H. McCarthy 62 First Mate Bay Village, Ohio
Ernest M. McSorley 63 Captain Toledo, Ohio
Eugene W. O’Brien 50 Wheelsman Toledo, Ohio
Karl A. Peckol 20 Watchman Ashtabula, Ohio
John J. Poviach 59 Wheelsman Bradenton, Florida
James A. Pratt 44 Second Mate Lakewood, Ohio
Robert C. Rafferty 62 Steward Toledo, Ohio
Paul M. Rippa 22 Deck Hand Ashtabula, Ohio
John D. Simmons 63 Wheelsman Ashland, Wisconsin
William J. Spengler 59 Watchman Toledo, Ohio
Mark A. Thomas 21 Deck Hand Richmond Heights, Ohio
Ralph G. Walton 58 Oiler Fremont, Ohio
David E. Weiss 22 Cadet Agoura, California
Blaine H. Wilhelm 52 Oiler Moquah, Wisconsin

U.S.S. Edmund Fitzgerald

September 24, 1958-November 10, 1975

Nannie

* Please listen to the two video clips of Eva Cassidy.

　                        
You do not truly understand something unless you can explain it to your grandmother. ~Proverb

http://youtu.be/nKjjRz0TEUk [Eva Cassidy~Songbird]

The other night, I was telling a friend of mine that it was 13 years ago, on Halloween night, that my husband and I were vacationing in Salem, MA. It was quite an experience to be in that place on that night. One year later, on Halloween 1999, [it was a Sunday], I spoke with my grandmother for the very last time.
I will never forget that phone call – the contents of it. Her last words to me: "I love you too, Dahlin’," ... such a gift to have those be the last words I heard her speak to me. She had been sick for a number of years. She was the epitome of grace in her disability. Her example is one that I try valiantly to hold onto as I live with mine.
Life started taking pieces of her the last decade of her life. She suffered with Phlebitis and high cholesterol, which caused her to loose half of her leg in the late 80's and several years later, half of the other. But, I’ll tell you something: at 89 years of age, that woman could run circles around me with both portions of her legs removed and one hand tied behind her back. She came from a different time - heartier stock, I call it. She was, quite simply, amazing.
My grandmother could have worn out the energizer bunny [my mother inherited that trait from her] "Go! Go! Go!" She was always busy – always doing something. Her hands were never idle, except when she was sleeping.
In her later years, she would oversee the chores done around her house; the vegetables that were picked, frozen or canned from her garden; she would do her therapy exercises from her bed; read her Bible daily, read mountains of books kept at arm’s length on her night table - she had a voracious appetite for reading [I come by it naturally]; and go through puzzle books like a house afire. Her body might not have cooperated with her, but she kept her mind sharp as a tack. That was an important thing for me to witness, because I find myself in that same position: my body not always cooperating with me, but I keep my mind active and strong - just as she did.
I remember once, when I was visiting her for the weekend before I got married, we were sitting in her bedroom, each reading. She asked me to help her adjust her position, and I rose from the chair we kept there, beside her bed, to assist her. She put her arm around my neck as I helped her move a bit. When I sat back down, I looked at her and asked softly:
"How do you do it, Nannie?"
She knew what I meant. She looked at me with those eyes of hers that were a gentle, chocolate brown and said. "I just try to be the best that I can be, Dahlin’, no matter how I am."
Wow, what an exquisite pearl of wisdom! When she gave her pearls away, they were like those great, big Mobe type pearls - bright with brilliance. I have an entire necklace of these type pearls that my grandmother gave to me. She strung them together so masterfully, and I try to wear them often, because it’s good to adorn oneself with the kind of pearls that my grandmother passed down. They’re more valuable than anything you could buy in a jewelry store.
I’ll share two more with you:
After I graduated from high school and was up visiting during the summer, I was sitting at the kitchen table lamenting to my grandmother, because someone I thought was a friend, had said something very unkind about me - basically stabbing me in the back. I wanted to retaliate-defend myself. We were no longer friends because, with friends like that...well, you know the rest of the saying.
My grandmother patted my hand and replied thoughtfully, "Well, she lost a good friend, and it sounds like she’s going to get a harsh come around one day. You need to be the bigger person and let it go."
My brows came together. The last part wasn’t anything I wanted to hear. But, I listened.
"It’ll come back to her," she said. "You mark my words. You may not be there to see it, but if you’re ugly to someone, it comes back to you, and when it comes back, it’s a lot worse than what you put out."
I’ve always remembered that. I strive to keep my ugliness to a bare minimum. [I am human after all...I have my moments] I don’t need anything else coming back on me or being a lot worse than what I put out there! It’s a standard joke in our family that the little black cloud called "WTH" knows our names and knows where we live. It seems, at times, that we’re on "the list", and it’s not the one where Publisher’s Clearing House is handing us a big, fat check with lots of zeros on it. It’s one where a little black cloud seems to have taken a liking to us, and wants to follow us around more often than not. Put another way, as my father use to say, if it weren’t for bad luck, this family would have none at all, because it seemed that we were, more often than not, dealing with some acid-rain situation that came from an ever-present little black cloud trailing after us.
Which is the perfect segue-way for something else my grandmother use to always tell me: don’t ever forget, when you think that life is being especially unfair to you, that there is someone out there a little worse off than you are. Some are better. Some are worse. That’s just the way it is. But, I guarantee you," she would say, "that if everybody dumped their life’s troubles out on the table for everybody else to see, you’d gather all your troubles up and move happily on your way."
Wasn’t she smart? Gosh, I miss her.
I miss her eyes and her laugh. I miss her gentle spirit. I miss her simple yet direct approach to life and the living of it. I miss her food. She was some kind of "mean" cook. No ones fried chicken compared to hers. Bar none, her sweet potato pie was the best around. Her creamed potatoes were smooth and thick, and I don’t know what extra "thing" she did to them, but I’ve never tasted anyone’s whose could equal hers. It was her vegetable soup, however, that was the five-star recipe in her gold star cookbook.  It could not be rivaled. A friend’s father swears that my grandmother’s vegetable soup helped heal him after he had a heart attack.
He said, and I quote, "there’s something magical in this bowl."
It was love. Everything she made; everything she did came from a place of love for her family.
I remember once, when I was a really little girl, she kept coloring books and crayons in the pantry and when my sister and I visited, we’d color at the table while she made biscuits or cobblers or whatever was on the menu for that day. My sister was a good color-er. Her strokes were perfectly even, her shading flawless and she never went out of the lines.
I remember once when Pam held up her coloring to show Nannie, she said with pride in her tone, "Oh, that’s lovely, Dahlin!"
I cried because mine wasn’t lovely. Pam was two and a half years older than me, and I didn’t color as patiently or diligently or pretty as she did. My colors weren’t typical. This was back when crayons didn't come in a gazillon colors. I wanted greenish blue skies in my picture, so my picture showed uneven green crayon marks attempted to be mixed in with swipes of blue. The coloring I did for the girl’s dress wasn’t perfectly between the lines. Pink lines darted out from beyond the black outline. It was a mess. The difference between my sister’s beautiful masterpiece and my abstract whatever you want to classify it as was night and day. I could clearly see it. I didn’t want to show mine to my grandmother, because I knew the difference between pretty and not so... When Nannie asked to see mine, I remember covering it with my hands, and when she urged me to show her, I laid my head on my hands and started to cry.
She stopped what she was doing and sat down in her chair at the end of the table. "Now, what’s all this fuss about?"
I can still feel the pout at my mouth. "I don’t color good," I cried.
She pulled me into her lap and moved the picture over to her so that she could see what had me so upset. She said in a tone of pure marvel. "Well, looka there! Look at that beautiful blue-green sky! I think that’s a fine sky!" [I guess you can see where my mother gets it from...]
"Yes Ma’am," I said, still not certain that it was true. I had wanted it to be a fine sky. I accepted that the sky was good. "But, I can’t color the clothes good."
She thought about it. She wasn’t going to lie to me. That’s something my grandmother just didn’t do. So, she approached it from a different angle.
"Well," she paused, choosing her words carefully. She couldn’t call it pretty because it wasn’t. But, here’s what she said to me. "It’s different, and just cuz something’s different doesn’t mean it isn’t good."
Good wasn’t pretty. I knew the difference.
"Mine isn’t pretty like Pam’s!" I said, still pouting.
"Well, Pam’s been coloring a lot longer than you have!" she said. "I’ll bet the more you color the better at it you’ll get." Then, she showed me what she meant. "See these black lines right here, showing you where the blouse meets the skirt?"
I nodded.
"When you get up to that black line, you color real gentle," she told me, picking up the crayon and showing me what she meant. She moved the crayon slowly against the line until she’d made about a thumbnail’s length of pink color away from it. Then, she began to color with more ease. "You make yourself a little border against the black and once you get a comfortable thickness of your color, then you can start coloring it quicker." And, the whole time she was telling me this, she was showing me what she meant.
"What color do you want to make her skirt?"
"Purple."
She picked up the purple crayon and handed it to me.
"Okay," she said. "Now start against the black line and move the color down slow and steady until you go all the way across."
I did as she instructed.
"Now, fill it in, and watch where all those other black lines are. When you get to them, you just need to slow down and think about what your doing. You’ll get the hang of it." There’s a life lesson in there: when you get to the boundary lines that surround your life, you need to slow down and think about what you’re doing. I don’t think she knew that she was a teacher as well as all the other things she was and did so masterfully, but she was.
I don’t normally brag on myself, but I’m a pretty, darn good color-er now.
I also learned how to cook by watching my grandmother. She was like a painter with her palette of spices. She knew how to couple or combine ingredients in a way that gave true flavor sensations. I never liked math or science as a kid but my grandmother taught me that creating flavors was a building block. You added a little of this and a pinch of that, and just like coloring in a picture book, the more you did it, the more comfortable you became at mixing things together and knowing that certain spices would work well with one another.
My grandmother was part scientist; part mathematician; part magician.
Like my grandfather, she knew how much crop would yield how much product for canning or freezing. She knew how to cure a cold or upset stomach, quiet a croupy cough, ease the pain of a tooth or earache without a medical degree behind her name. She knew how to turn a feed cloth into a dress that was the envy of every girl in class. She knew how to make you believe that your colorful abstract was every bit as good as your sister’s pretty masterpiece.
She was a gracious, southern lady. I remember, toward the end of her life, we spoke of mortality. I don’t think you could go through the things she did - the amount of surgeries she did and not have it be at the forefront of your mind, but she wasn’t afraid of death, because she knew where she was going. When it finally came for her, she was ready for it. She was prepared to leave with its calling. I think one thing that made it easier to deal with and accept - her passing - is that she had told each of us that she didn’t want us to be sad or grieve for her. She lived a good life, and she was ready to go. I remember, when she said those words to me, thinking what a blessing that must be, to have reached that point in your life and be comfortable with the reality of it and at total peace concerning it.
She was fine, for the most part, that Halloween night when I last spoke with her. She took a turn the following day. I think she’d spoken with everyone who mattered - expressed her love and said her farewells, so that when that turn came, she was ready to finally let go.
I remember when the phone call came early on that Tuesday morning in 1999, I hung the phone up and broke down crying - not for her but for us who she left behind. She left a huge hole - an unfillable hole. She was uncommon in beauty and strength and grace. I remember leaning my head back as tears poured down my face. Her words echoed in my mind: "Don’t be sad for me..." And, I whispered to heaven, "Just give me a minute, Nannie! I need a minute...."
I wrote her eulogy. I know we had a back-up plan for someone to speak in case I found that I couldn’t do it, though it’s one of a few things I really don’t recall. I don’t think anyone in my family thought, least of all me, that I could pull it off, because I’m such a crybaby when I loose something of such importance. I get very emotional, and speaking, especially in public, isn’t something I do very well when in an emotional state. Still, it was something that I not only wanted but needed to do to honor her. She was such an honorable woman who taught me so much. It was the least I could do. Don’t ask me how, but I was able to deliver it without breaking down.  All I know is that I prayed for God's strength to do it, and it was granted to me.
We shared a love of books and reading. As a child, as I’ve previously mentioned, my grandparents came to Florida every year to spend Thanksgiving with us. During one Thanksgiving visit, I was in my room reading a book that was too lofty a read for me at the time, and she heard me struggling with it. I remember her coming into the room, and sitting on my bed. She told me that it sounded like an interesting story that I was reading. She asked if she could read it with me. I was grateful, and I handed the book to her. She wrapped one arm around me and pulled me close to her as we read The Velveteen Rabbit.
In later years, many years later, I would use part of the words from that book in my wedding vows to Tom. They were especially poignant to me because my grandmother wasn’t able to be there when I got married. But, her smile was big when she was told some of the words I gave to him, which were words she had first given to me:

"What is REAL?" the Rabbit asked the Skin Horse one day, when they were lying side by side. Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?"

"REAL isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become REAL"

"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit.

"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. "But, when you are REAL you don't mind being hurt."

"Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked, "or bit by bit?"

"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't often happen to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are REAL, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But, these things don't matter at all, because once you are REAL you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."

"...once you are REAL you can't become unreal again. It last for always...."

Twelve years ago today, my grandmother went to heaven. I can’t say that there have been moments when I haven’t been sad and grieved for her. After all, I am only human, and she above all knew that. I think she’d give me pass on it.
When I think of her, I think of love, and goodness and grace. I think of a woman with impeccable timing whether it was with regard to taking something out of the oven or knowing just the precise moment when to reach her hand out and extend a cherry lifesaver to a fidgety child in church. She knew that by the time that life saver was gone, church would have let out, and we’d be heading home to share a delicious meal that her hands had lovingly prepared for all of us.
What I wouldn’t give for a cherry life saver or one of her home-cooked meals today! What I wouldn’t give to hear her laugh or read me a few lines from a treasured book! What I wouldn’t give to hear her say one more time, "I love you too, Dahlin’!"
I use to think that songs which expressed a high, grand note of love were limited to men and women who were in love. As I’ve grown older, I no longer believe that is the sole purpose of such songs. Love songs can define emotions between a parent for their child and vice versa, love between two friends or the love shared between a grandchild for their grandmother.
This morning, I listened to a song sung by a special artist to me. Her name was Eva Cassidy and she lived in Bowie, Maryland, which is a small town on the outskirts of where I lived for 17 years. She was my age. She was just breaking out in her career, but the residents in the greater metro area of DC/Maryland/Northern Virginia knew of her. She was an amazing talent. Her voice was rich, smooth....like butta it was. She died on this date too - 15 years ago. There is a cover she did of a song that has always been a particular favorite. I think of my grandmother when I listen to it:

"For you, there’ll be no crying. For you, the sun will be shining. Because I feel that when I’m with you, it’s alright. I know it’s right...
And, the songbirds keeps singing like they know the score: I love you! I love you! I love you, like never before.
To you, I would give the world. To you, I’d never be cold. Because I feel that when I’m with you, it’s alright. I know it’s right.
And, the songbirds keep singing like they know the score: I love you! I love you! I love, like never before....like never before....like never before..."

I love you, Martha Jane Tignor Whitlock, born into heaven on Tuesday, November 2, 1999. It doesn’t escape me that Tuesday’s Child is full of grace... God certainly had you pegged, and that’s what we’ve been left with – those of us who love you still – the memory of your grace...

http://youtu.be/Gk20o_-LZn8 [Autumn Leaves/Eva Cassidy]

There but by the Grace of God...

"If you haven’t any charity in your heart, you’ve got the worst kind of heart problem." ~Bob Hope

compassion n. - sympathetic concern for the suffering or misfortune of others.

http://youtu.be/amD8peahXmQ [Another Day in Paradise/Phil Collins]

The other day, it was a gorgeous autumn day, Tom and I went out to my favorite store: Barnes and Noble. [Not surprising right? Writers love books. I always have.] I found a $25 gift card as I was straightening "my area" last Friday. No doubt, it was left over from my birthday, and I’d not noticed it sitting there, buried among a stack of papers I was saving. [Don’t ask me for what...] My Whatzit must have been off not to have sensed the glaring flashing lights it must have been sending to me: Find me! Find me! Find me! Book money! Book money! Book money!
Boy, hiddy, once I’d found it though, it began to burn a hole in my pocket. So, Tom and I took a little drive across town the next day.
As we turned off the interstate to the road that took me to one of my little heavens on earth, I noticed, sitting on the median on a rickety old stool that divided the six-lane highway, a middle aged lady, holding up a sign, proclaiming her plight: she was down on her luck. She had a son. She wished she could work but was unable to. Her posterboard was old - faded. It wasn’t the first time she’d had to turn and ask for help from strangers. Her clothes were old and worn too.
It made me sad.
I remember when I was in high school – 11^th grade, I believe. The school gave a test that was designed to help a student see the areas where they excelled – areas of interest which might aide in selecting a career path. My results were a veritable smorgasbord of range and interest. These are the things my results indicated I had a propensity for: writing, [surprise, surprise.....]; acting; politics; law; and social work. It was astounding how accurate it was in the areas of my interest. My father and mother had agreed to send me to college if I wanted to go, but their offer to each of their children was this : go to college right after graduation or get a job and work. No exception. No time off to go "discover" myself. Choice a or choice b. That was it. I decided to go to college. My father looked at the results of this proficiency exam and nixed two of the recommendations right off the bat. "In a New York minute" as he used to say, he limited my options. Straight away he said no to acting.
"I’m not paying for you to go to college for four years to act!" his statement was firm. "Do that on the side if it’s something you’re interested in doing." [He knew I was in the drama club, and it wasn’t a viable option on their dime.]
"Fine," I told him. "What else do you object to?" I knew which one he took exception to, but for the sake of argument, he needed to spell it out for me. I wanted to hear him say it.
"Absolutely NOT on the social worker recommendation!" he said with great emphasis on the word not.
I remember my brows furrowing. "You don’t think I’d be a good social worker?" I asked innocently.
"On the contrary," he countered. "You’d be an exceptional social worker! However, you’d bring every stray dog, cat and person home! The pay isn’t good, and it would defeat the purpose of you working to earn your living! You’d barely be able to take care of yourself on that salary, let alone everyone else!"
Hm. I remember thinking. There were times, at that point in my life, when I thought he didn’t know me well. But, when he had me pegged, he had me pegged.
I hated to admit it, but his assessment on that issue was right on the money, like a dart hitting dead-center in the bull’s eye zone. It was a true statement.
I’ve been known to have a "bleeding heart". Some who know me might apply it to politics. Most who know me apply it to people and animals. I’m a sucker for a "down on your luck" story. I don’t know.....I think it’s part personality and part the way I was raised.
"The Golden Rule" was drilled into my mind early on. It’s the way I live – the way I believe. If I had my way, it would be the mandatory motto for the world. Lots of problems would be solved if we all lived under the direction of "do unto others as you would have them do unto you...." Yeah. That’s a golden thought alright!
It’s the thought I had on Saturday as I looked at that woman sitting in the middle of the road, asking strangers to have a little compassion and understanding for her plight. I realize that there are people out there who run cons and do this kind of thing who are not truly in need. However, it wasn’t the case with this woman. She was down on her luck. That much was obvious. You could tell.
Seeing her sitting there like that bothered me. I imagined that she didn’t have a wonderful surprise, like finding a $25 gift card to a book store hiding beneath her private papers; she didn’t have the luxury of having a spouse take her out to lunch after said shopping expedition. Did she have a roof over her head to call home for herself and her son? I wasn’t sure.
I thought about my home - my beautiful home with all its modern day comforts and conveniences. Was she able to take a hot shower each day? It’s a simple pleasure that most of us take for granted.
Tom and I went about our business. We went into the book store, then ran to Target for a few items we "needed". The entire time, I couldn’t help thinking of her sitting out there between the highways. It gnawed at me. She was still there when we finished our errands - two hours later. Two hours. Lord knows how long before and after we saw her she sat there? I couldn’t stop thinking about that. I couldn’t stop thinking that there but by the grace of God....and I felt tears come.
God’s grace upon me has been plentiful. From my childhood to my middle age, there’s nothing that I have lacked for - no basic need that has been denied me. I’ve never had to worry about where my next meal was coming from or if I could pay the light bill each month. I am not a financially wealthy woman, but I have never known the concern of those things. There are many things I want, but not a thing in the world that I need. I have a good husband; a beautiful home; health insurance, food in my pantry, clothes in my closet and savings in the bank for a "rainy day". I have air conditioning in the summer and heat in the winter. I have a phone to use to call my family and friends whenever the need strikes, and I want to hear their voices or share some conversation. I have a computer to play on and write on. Life has its moments, but it’s good. I hate that it’s not good for everyone. It bothers me that there are some people out there who know, more often than not, how it feels to go to bed hungry and what it is to live without the comforts of modern day convenience.
Misfortune is an odd thing. It can befall even the wealthiest of people on the spin of a dime, because of unwise investments or health issues or the loss of a job or spouse.....Any number of things can change one’s lot in life. It takes a certain kind of fortitude to check one’s pride at the door and humble oneself to the lowly station of begging strangers for their kindness and their loose change. That’s not a judgement call. It is what it is. I’ve often heard though that mothers aren’t above doing anything to provide for their child – even if it means sitting in the middle of a busy road, on a rickety old stool, asking passers by for a show of mercy. How many "good cries" does it take for one to be able to rise above the inhumanity of such a state to sit with a quiet dignity and hold a sign up exposing your misfortune to all who pass you by? Have you ever paused to consider it? Last Saturday, I did. I thought, "there but by the grace of God go I or anyone I love", and if that were the case, wouldn’t I hope that someone had compassion for us in our moment of true and utter need?
"Can we loop through McDonald’s before we go get something to eat?"
My husband knows me well enough to know why I was asking.
"Sure," he replied, reaching over to squeeze my hand. "You’re my tender-hearted little Darling!" he told me.  [He calls me that a lot...]
I smiled and squeezed back.  I knew that he felt that way. It’s easy, however, to have a tender heart when you have so much...
"I’ll go in," I said, opening the car door and taking my cane, as I hobbled toward the door. I wanted to pack the napkins, salt/pepper, ketchup etc. myself. It may seem silly, but I wanted my personal touch on this gesture. I wanted her to know that someone truly did care, even down to the most minor of details. I got her a number four: two cheeseburgers, a large fry, a large Coke and I added two apple pies for good measure. A dollar didn’t seem too much an expense to add a touch of sweetness to someone’s day. At least that day, her and her son would have a carefree moment that having Micky D’s seems to provide for kids and their parents. At least, I hoped it would give them a carefree moment.
We looped back around so that we were in the turn lane closest to her. I was hoping the light would change to red, so that we didn’t have to toss the bag quickly out the window to her. And, what do you know....the light turned red. I think God is happy to give a helping hand when a good deed is at work....
We rolled the window down and called her over. She looked surprised when we handed her the food in addition to a $5 spot.
"God bless you folks! God bless you folks!" she said in a voice that broke a little with emotion.
"God bless you, Ma’am!" I returned the sentiment.
Tender mercies....always give them when you can.
I must admit that it was the best $10 we’ve spent in a long time! It was satisfying and rewarding all in the same breath. It made us feel good. It was better than the two tall coffees we had been planning to get later that day but decided to forgo. Imagine how much better our world would be if we all took one day and gave up a guilty pleasure – just one sacrifice so that a good deed could shine in a weary world. [My favorite quote from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory...]
I don’t think it would change the world, but it would certainly start a movement in the right direction. Do unto others....there but by the grace of God.... Good reminders, I say....such good food for thought.
This isn’t a "Magnificent Obsession" moment for me. No. There’s a reason I’m not keeping this one a secret. It’s a gesture I challenge everyone to try. Next time you see someone walking by the side of the road with all their worldly belongings crammed into a shopping cart, or you see someone wearing a winter’s coat when it’s 103 degrees outside and carrying a broken down cardboard box, or you spy a woman sitting on a rickety old stool in the middle of a busy highway asking for a small kindness, give them your compassion! Reach into your wallet and give a couple of bucks, and if you don’t have any singles, give them a $5 or $10. If you believe in the Principle of Reciprocity, you don’t have to worry about losing a few bucks in that moment, because it’s sure to come back to you in more and better ways than you could ever imagine. Even if you don’t believe in it, try it any way. I dare you to put your want aside for one day and give the blessing to someone else. I double dare you! Take the daily challenge as Carolyn Hennesy [actress and author would say ;-) ...] She challenges her followers with one every day.  It's a call for one to step out beyond themselves and shake up their normal routine - do something different to better yourself or your neighbor.  I hope she doesn't mind that I'm borrowing her wonderful philosophy!  As such, this is mine to you...
Dignity. It’s an appreciated gift. It doesn’t cost much to give it either....$10 bucks isn’t a high price to pay for the genuine smile of gratitude you get in return. Never forget that! And, if you’re ever faced with the choice, give someone their dignity instead of taking it away from them. See them instead of ignoring them. Have compassion for them instead of pity. Their dignity, as that old adage states, in the long run, might not mean anything to you, but it means everything to them...The reverse of that statement is true. I was raised to try and put myself in another’s position. It would serve us all well, sometimes, to do it. It’s my challenge to you today: when you see someone down on their luck, try and put yourself in their shoes. Give a little of yourself to let someone know that kindness still exists in this world.
Compassion to a stranger is a much needed generosity today. Remember, at any given moment, there but by the grace of God...

Grace Notes

"I went into the woods because I wanted to live deliberately. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to put to rout all that was not life and, not when I had come to die, discover that I had not lived." ~Henry David Thoreau

A friend of mine died yesterday. It doesn’t surprise me that there’s rain here in Virginia as I sit typing. The angels are crying. I think it’s that mix of complicated tears – the ones that are happy and sad all at the same time. It’s an odd combination, something that’s indescribable, really, to put into words. On the one hand, I think tears of happiness rained down today, because heaven has gained another amazing person into its fold. On the other, sad tears trickle along in its joyous wake, because those in heaven knew that its gain meant our loss. That’s what her passing is: a true loss. Gone too soon....she’s gone much, much too soon. I’m sure, at this point, of my writing, you’re all feeling the sorrow that one typically feels when you hear the sad news that someone has died.
Here’s the amazing part of the story. I never knew Doreen Schmitt personally. We never met. I never spoke with her. I knew her solely through her blog. I have Nancy Lee Grahn [Daytime Emmy Winning Actress] to thank for the introduction. [A million thanks, Nancy, for that most precious gift....] Sidebar on Nancy: she’s got "spunk" just like Lou Grant said of Mary Richards. He hated spunk, but I kinda like that in a person. I’m pretty sure Doreen had spunk too. For all she went through, she’d have to have had a big reserve of it! Doreen was a friend of hers, and Nancy graciously shared her with the rest of us.
Back to the fact that I’d never actually met Doreen. What can I tell you? Words. Language. Thoughts. They are powerful things. They can reach across the miles and touch you. They can tell you a lot about someone. They can connect you to a person who you’d, otherwise, never have known except by the sheer power of the sentiments that they had conveyed.
So, when I tell you that yesterday, a friend of mine died, I mean that sincerely. That’s what she felt like: a friend, even if it was only in cyberspace and one-sided.
Let me tell you a little about what I know of Doreen: she was 53 years old, and she courageously battled cancer for the better part of five years. Her blog was about that journey. Her journey was, quite simply, amazing. Her motto was "Dream Big". From my readings, Doreen Schmitt lived big, especially given her circumstance. She "sucked the marrow out of life", as Thoreau did and wrote about – as we all should do.
She taught me a lot about cancer – its shock; its concern; its treatment; its cruelty; its realism. She made me a little less afraid of it though because she humanized it. I don’t know if she was ever a chess player, but she would have made a good one, because she understood strategy, and she wasn’t afraid to make a daring move. Through her writing, I discovered a woman who was incredibly strong, brave, human, reflective, optimistic, witty, caring....you’d be surprised what you can garner about a person from their writing–their thoughts–their insights.
It’s one reason that words are so powerful and people caution as to how they should be used. Doreen used them well. She knew how to string them together and make something beautiful out of them, like Christmas lights strung around a home. Her words were bright – they had a lovely glow about them, even when the message was dim.
She sounded like a woman who I would have loved to have gotten to know over some conversation with coffee and homemade cookies. Or, I think I would have truly enjoyed watching a chick flick with her. I know I would have delighted in an end-of-the summer bar-b-que with her, her family and friends. They just seem like those kind of people with whom you’re naturally comfortable to sit around with and take a load off ...that’s what I gather, anyway.
She was a mother to Amy, Angie and Jake... Some goodbyes are harder than others. I can’t imagine how difficult the thought of that one must have been for her - to look into the faces of her children and know that she wasn’t going to be able to see them into middle age and beyond. I understand how difficult it is to lose them though. I understand that all too well, and that aspect of her pain was something I truly identified with and connected to. [Those of you who know me, know about my miscarriages.]
Life. Sometimes it sucks! Yesterday was a "sucky" day, after Nancy posted that Rick, her husband, had finally come to claim his lady love. I’m certain it was a great moment for them – that heavenly reunion, but the rest of us, those who knew her and about her....well, it was a droopy day – the kind that starts out good, but loses its momentum.
Here’s another amazing facet of her story: she and her husband, Rick, were battling cancer at the same time. He lost his battle on April 1, 2010. I remember, when I read that Rick had passed, I was so saddened by it – for Doreen, for their children. From the posts, one knew that it was coming, but when the time came, I remember thinking it seemed a little surreal. People try to outdo one another with the "Gotcha! April Fool’s Day" shenanigans. There was no "gotcha" moment on that day with that news. It was real. It was true. There was no punch-line coming at the end of it, you know...where people laugh at the "good one" that had been pulled over on them. The only thing good, I imagine, that could be said about Rick’s passing was that he was no longer in pain. There was a cruel irony to it – that date, like your father dying on your husband’s birthday.
I remember thinking about Doreen in that moment. The image of her and Rick, from a picture that is on her blog, instantly came to my mind. How do you grieve when you’re in your own fight for life? How do you spare vital time and energy to go through the stages that one must go through to deal with that kind of loss, when your time and energy is a precious commodity which needs to be focused and directed on the battle you’re waging for YOUR life? I cannot imagine that walk in her life-journey! It gave new definition to the idea of "wonder woman".
Your heart can bleed and ache and hurt for someone you’ve never met. My heart did all those things for Doreen when I read that she had lost her Rick. [It did it again last night] I imagine the two of them held on tightly to the other as they stood on the front line together – each battling cancer. There must of been a strange comfort in knowing that your mate truly did understand your pain, your fears, your blah moments, your fatigue, your sadness, and your worries. They lived their lives together, and they prepared to die together, even though, I’m certain, they each held onto some small hope that they’d both beat it. I don’t know.....I’m only surmising from my reading of her thoughts about them–him, and their daughter, Amy’s, insights as well. They were fighters, and fighters don’t give up easily. They NEVER go down without giving as good at they got. I think the Schmitts gave cancer a good kick or two in its butt!
I checked in with Doreen’s blog often. I always hated the ending of her posts because they left me wanting more. It’s like reading a really good book – it’s satisfying. You don’t want it to end. When it does, you anxiously await the writer’s next gift to you. That’s how I felt reading Doreen’s blog. Even when the entries were more sobering than others, I didn’t want them to end.
She was always honest about her progress and her prognosis. I marveled at her candor - even when the news was troubling, or grim, she continued to share her life and pain and struggles with us. I knew, when the post came, that she was stopping treatment and looking to Hospice that her brave fight was coming to its end. Her posts became less frequent, and her daughter stepped in to keep Doreen’s cyber friends updated. The last couple of weeks have been a long-distance vigil. I’ve thought about her every day, since her last post, I wonder how she’s doing? I even tweeted last week that my thoughts were with her. I’d been re-reading her blog, and missing her–her posts. I knew we weren’t going to hear from her again, and it made her words-posts all the more treasured.
I remember last night, after Nancy tweeted that Doreen had finally relinquished her armor and gone into forever, I had a good cry. Does it sound odd that someone who you’ve never met before, can move you to tears? Read her blog. You’ll realize that mine was a very normal reaction.
So, after I learned the sad news about Doreen, I went back and looked at her picture – just to see her face when my mind wished her the best in this next phase of her journey. I wanted to see her when I prayed for her eternal peace. As I looked at her, I saw the unmistakable light in her eyes; the indomitable spirit that lived within them and the vibrant life they reflected back to me. That kind of thing doesn’t die. Energy doesn’t, you know. It can transform itself into something new and different, but it doesn’t die. Therein lies the comfort.
Doreen Schmitt was a phenomenal woman, just like Maya Angelou penned. I’ve attached the link to her blog so that you can discover it for yourself, if you are so inclined. I encourage you too. Hers is a good read and an extraordinary lesson in grace. That’s what her blog entries were: grace notes. I wish I knew how to write music. I’d try to express how her entries made me feel. Two songs came to mind last night after I bid her farewell: I Will Remember You. Oh, yeah! Doreen Schmitt is not a woman one will forget. I think we all hope to leave a rich legacy and a positive, lasting impression behind, once our life’s star comes to reclaim us to decorate a spot in the night sky which needs a bold touch of brilliance. She certainly achieved that. Aside from her children, who all seem to be incredible human beings, like their parents were, she left behind a gracious library of awe-inspiring insights.
If I could send a message of condolence to her children, I would tell them tonight to look up at the sky, and if they find a star that’s twinkling non-stop in their eye-view, that’s their mother waving hello and sending them all of her love from that "Next Place" that we will all travel to someday. And, I would tell them to read the book that Warren Hanson wrote entitled The Next Place. [see attached but buy the book.  It's beautiful.] It is the greatest hug of comfort that one can receive when faced with a loved one’s transition. I clung to its message after my father died.
The other song I listened to was The Hands of Time from the movie Brian’s Song. I remember one of the tag lines from that movie so well: "He lived....how he did live...." I think that sentiment applies to Doreen Schmitt as well...
She lived big and dreamed big. She encouraged us all to do the same. I appreciate her message. Tonight, when the stars come out, I’m going to see if I can find her, so that I can tell her that I will try and do as she asked, and thank her for showing me, by her example, how...

In Memorium

Doreen Lynn Schmitt [May 30, 1958-October 11, 2011]
Rick Schmitt [July 28, 1956-April 1, 2010]

http://imaginenocancer.blogspot.com/2010_01_01archive [Where You Can Find Doreen’s "Dream Big" blog]

http://youtu.be/uHooH4464dQ [I Will Remember You/Sarah McLachlan]http://youtu.be/C0CYfHebP58 [The Hands of Time]

The Next Place
by Warren Hanson

The next place that I go
Will be as peaceful and familiar
As a sleepy summer Sunday
And a sweet, untroubled mind.
And yet . . .
It won't be anything like any place I've ever been. . .
Or seen. . . or even dreamed of
In the place I leave behind.
I won't know where I'm going,
And I won't know where I've been
As I tumble through the always
And look back toward the when.
I'll glide beyond the rainbows.
I'll drift above the sky.
I'll fly into the wonder, without ever wondering why.
I won't remember getting there.
Somehow I'll just arrive.
But I'll know that I belong there
And will feel much more alive
Than I have ever felt before.
I will be absolutely free of the things that I held onto
That were holding onto me.
The next place that I go
Will be so quiet and so still
That the whispered song of sweet belonging will rise up to fill
The listening sky with joyful silence,
And with unheard harmonies
Of music made by no one playing,
Like a hush upon breeze.
There will be no room for darkness in that place of living light,
Where an ever-dawning morning pushes back the dying night.
The very air will fill with brilliance, as the brightly shining sun
And the moon and half a million stars are married into one.
The next place that I go Won't really be a place at all.
There won't be any seasons --
Winter, summer, spring or fall --
Nor a Monday, Nor a Friday,
Nor December, Nor July.
And the seconds will be standing still. . .
While hours hurry by.
I will not be a boy or girl,
A woman or man.
I'll simply be just, simply, me.
No worse or better than.
My skin will not be dark or light.
I won't be fat or tall.
The body I once lived in
Won't be part of me at all.
I will finally be perfect.
I will be without a flaw.
I will never make one more mistake,
Or break the smallest law.
And the me that was impatient,
Or was angry, or unkind,
Will simply be a memory.
The me I left behind.
I will travel empty-handed.
There is not a single thing
I have collected in my life
That I would ever want to bring Except. . .
The love of those who loved me,
And the warmth of those who cared.
The happiness and memories
And magic that we shared.
Though I will know the joy of solitude. . .
I'll never be alone. I'll be embraced
By all the family and friends I've ever known.
Although I might not see their faces,
All our hearts will beat as one,
And the circle of our spirits
Will shine brighter than the sun.
I will cherish all the friendship I was fortunate to find,
All love and all the laughter in the place I leave behind.
All these good things will go with me.
They will make my spirit glow.
And that light will shine forever In the next place that I go...

Marry Me...

http://youtu.be/uIXBJM6lDQ0 [Marry Me/Amanda Marshall]
http://youtu.be/4lazdg-eqmQ [Knights in White Satin/The Moody Blues]

"The point of marriage is not to create a quick commonality by tearing down all boundaries. On the contrary, a good marriage is one in which each partner appoints the other to be the guardian of his solitude, and thus they show each other the greatest possible trust. A merging of two people is an impossibility, and where it seems to exist, it is a hemming-in, a mutual consent that robs one party or both parties of their fullest freedom and development. But, once the realization is accepted that even between the closest people, infinite distances exist, a marvelous living side-by-side can grow up for them, if they succeed in loving the expanse between them, which gives them the possibility of always seeing each other as a whole and, yet, before an immense sky."
                                            ~Rainier Maria Rilke

Do you remember what you were doing 17 years ago? I do, like it was yesterday. I’ve got one of those minds, you see, that remembers stuff like that. Even if I didn’t have a mind that remembers almost everything, I would always remember this particular date. It was the day that my husband asked me to marry him.
I was living in Maryland, and Tom was in Tallahassee. We had re-connected the previous February, after a few years of being apart. I always knew that I would marry him. I told my Aunt Judy after our first date that I’d found the man I was going to marry and, if I didn’t marry him, I wasn’t meant to get married. I don’t think it was that knee-jerk for Tom, but I knew. Sometimes, guys need a little more time to realize what it is they want exactly for their lives, and, if you’re a smart woman, you’ll give them the time they need to figure it out. I gave him his space. I left Florida and moved to Maryland. Yeah, it was scary. It was a risk. I threw the dice and took a gamble. A BIG one, and it didn’t pay off immediately. Yet, I knew it was the right thing to do–the right move to make. Sometimes in life, you’ve got to do those kind of things - take those kind of chances to get what you want. It doesn’t mean it’s going to happen overnight, but if you believe in something, REALLY believe in it, and it’s meant to be, it’ll happen. I believed in us.
We decided that October, over the Columbus Day holiday, that I would take a mini-vacation and go visit him in Florida. We hadn’t seen each other in a long time, though we’d stayed in touch. We began, as previously mentioned, in early 1994 to re-connect and have a long-distance relationship. It was time for a visit. For those of you who don’t know what a mini-vacation is, it’s shorter than a full week but longer than a 4-day weekend. I was in Florida for five days - five jam-packed, glorious days. It was whirlwind and wonderful, and I truly felt like a princess. Every girl should have that feeling once in their life. I savored it, because I’d waited a long time for it.
I arrived on Wednesday night. Tom wanted to pick me up at the airport, but I wanted to get to the hotel and freshen up before I saw him. Remember, it had been awhile. I still remember hearing his knock on the door. I still recall the butterflies, as I anxiously moved toward it and heard him call my name. I remember cracking the door and peeking out from behind it. The first thing I saw was his smile. The second thing I noticed was that he looked just the same. He was just as I remembered him, except he was a little older and wiser. I was too. I let him in, and everything else kinda faded to black.
We talked. All night long, we talked and laughed and held each other. I felt bad because he had to work on Thursday [and Friday], but he managed to catch a few winks, and he didn’t seem to mind. He got about four hours sleep. That, a hot shower, a few cups of coffee, and he was good to go. That’s what he said anyway. Adrenalin can do that to you, give you that extra boost that keeps you going when you’d, otherwise, normally crash. We were both on an adrenalin high.
I felt guilty for going back to sleep, but he told me not to, as he gave me a kiss goodbye and told me he’d pick me up for lunch. So, I went back to sleep for a couple of hours. I had room service send me up a cup of coffee and a bagel. I pampered myself with a long tub soak. It was wonderful. After lunch with him, I walked around Tallahassee and sat outside reading, which might not sound like a good time to a lot of people, but, for me, was like a Super Bowl afternoon. The first night of my mini-vacation, Tom took me to see The Moody Blues in concert. If you EVER get the chance to see them, do it. They are fantastic. We sat, snuggled in the blackness of the amphitheater as this highly underrated band played with a full orchestra underneath the backdrop of a black ceiling that looked as if a million stars had come out to serenade us, along with them. It was magical. It was wondrous. Life felt limitless in its possibilities. There’s something about young love that does that – makes you feel vaster than you actually are and more invincible than you ever will be. It’s similar to the feeling you have when you graduate from high school. Only when you’re in love, there’s someone else along for the ride, and the powerful feelings are doubly strong and twice as wondrous...magically wondrous. That’s how it was that night as we sat beneath a beautifully orchestrated sky and listened to equally, and exquisitely orchestrated music. It was good. It was one of those moments, when you’re living it, that you know it’s good, and you truly savor it. That’s how all the moments were that weekend: exquisitely good.
The following night was just as spectacular. We went to dinner at Andrew’s Restaurant. Tom has connections in high places there, and we were given the royal treatment that night. I can’t imagine how being truly royal could have rivaled my experience that evening. It didn’t matter. It was my night to know what it felt like to be a princess. We were sat at a table off, unto itself. Quiet. Romantic. Tom had a dish prepared table-side for us called Chicken Baltimore. It was delicious, and I’ve never tasted it since. Trust me, I’ve looked for the recipe. Then, I decided several years ago to stop looking for it, because some memories are more special if you can’t duplicate them in any way except for the memory of it. That Friday night was definitely one of those such days. We had a lovely dinner - the food was great; the company was good. It was setting a stage. My husband is a master at doing that.
After dinner, stuffed and lazily happy [as often happens after a great meal], we went back to my hotel room.
We slipped into something more comfortable. Yeah. It’s a line, but it was true. And, just so you know, though you don’t really need to know, we aren’t the black smoking jacket with silk pajama bottoms and slinky negligee types! No. We’re more the sweat pants and over-sized t-shirt types. There’s something to be said for that: relaxed, comfortable ease. That’s how we’ve always been with the other. We impress each other in different ways that don’t require black smoking jackets with silk pajama bottoms or slinky negligees. We don’t need gimmicks.
Earlier in the day, we stopped at a video store [anyone remember when they use to be commonplace?] and we rented a VCR [I’ve referenced this technical dinosaur previously, but it really wasn’t that long ago....] Tom indulged me. He let me pick out the movies, and I chose Same Time Next Year and On Golden Pond. He’d also picked up a container of chocolate milk [we don’t drink alcohol.] and a bag of Pepperidge Farm Sausalito cookies, for a little midnight snack. He would have made a good girl scout: he came well prepared that evening. We made it through the first movie, and I was pleasantly surprised that he liked it. [Alan Alda and Ellen Burstyn were in it. How bad could it be, right?] We had our intermission of cookies and milk. I sat in the center of the bed, propped up with extra pillows, enjoying my sweet treat.
Tom went to the dresser drawer. I watched as he rummaged around for something. "Hold on," he said. "I’ve got something for you."
My brows came together. He handed me something heavy and rectangular. It was wrapped in paper, with all of it tied in the center and fluffed out the way flower shops wrap fruit baskets, with see-through wrap – all poofy and wispy. It was very sweet–endearing that he took the time to have it wrapped like that. It was the kind of thing that makes a woman’s heart go pitter-pat, because of the genuine effort put into the gesture. The ribbon was tied in a beautiful bow, and when he handed it to me, I couldn’t imagine what was inside the thoughtful wrapping?
Both of my brows furrowed harder, as I tried to figure out what it was. I giggled. "My God!" I exclaimed. "It feels like a brick!"
His face didn’t give anything away. "Would you just open it!" he said more eager than impatient. If his heart sunk a little when I said what I did, he didn’t let on.
I untied the ribbon and pulled the paper away, and to my surprise, it was a brick. Truly. Actually. REALLY, it was brick! But, it wasn’t just any brick. It was a perfectly selected, unflawed brick and in gold paint, he had intertwined our names and written beneath them, "Let’s start building..." He’d already picked the day: April 28, 1995. [April 28, 1989 was when we had our first date] Did I mention that my husband is a romantic? Yeah. I’m blessed. I know it...
Anyway, I remember sitting there in the middle of the bed with the hum of the room’s heater in the background, on an early autumn evening, staring down at this brick with it’s golden message, as tears came and the room spun a bit. When I looked up at him, he had his hand opened to me, and sitting in his palm was an opened box with a glittering diamond, its light sparkled up at me, brighter than any star I’d ever seen. I glanced over at him. He was on bended knee - it looked as if he were about to say his prayers, except that he was leaning across the mattress toward me, bearing gifts – life-changing gifts.
I think most women would have reached for the ring first. Some of my friends have said they would have been so excited that they’d have wanted to investigate it thoroughly and wanted it immediately put on their finger. I guess I’m not like most women or most of my friends, because I reached for him first. I remember feeling his arms wrap around me. His is a strong embrace. I felt safe inside his space. It’s something I notice in men – how strong their hugs are, and how safe I feel inside them....With Tom, I felt good about both!
He moved his face closer to me so that his eyes were looking into mine. "Will you, Sweetie?" he asked. "Will you marry me?"
This was never a question that required any deep thought on my part. I’d known from our first date that if I didn’t marry him, there wasn’t a guy out there for me, because I knew, after that first, true "hanging out" together, that he was the one. I remember laughing and crying, that funny mix of happy tears, and telling him what I’d waited a long time to tell him: "Yes! Yes, I’ll marry you!"
I remember his smile, when I gave him that response. It was a lottery-winning kind of smile. Mine was reflected back into his. I don’t think he doubted for a second what my answer would be, but there’s always a moment, when you ask an important question like that, when your heart is beating so loudly that you aren’t certain if you heard the answer you were hoping to hear. You have to pause to think back on it. He didn’t need to pause or think back. Tom had heard my answer loud and clear. His smile evidence as much, and it made me laugh, because he looked as if, in the answering of my yes, he’d caught a lucky break and gotten a really good deal on something. It’s the same message contained in my smile back to him. It’s something I wish that every man and every woman could feel once in their life: that truly, giddy feeling of "Oh my God! MY GOD! I’ve hit the MOTHERLODE!!!"
He slid the ring on my finger and kissed it for good measure. Then, I kissed him. The second movie was forgotten as we turned off the light and snuggled in the bed, talking about plans and future and dreams.
Later that night, too excited to sleep, I remember lying in the bed and being aware of every sound and every feeling: Tom’s body next to mine; hearing his breathing and the slow, steady timbre of his light snoring, and I thought to myself: Yeah. I can do this for the next 50 years! I think I dozed for a couple of hours that night, wrapped up in him and vice versa. But, there were "farming instincts" in my blood, and I was up at the crack of dawn, because there were phone calls to be made. I think my mother and Aunt Judy both suspected what was going to happen that weekend, and I called them both respectively to squeal into the phone and share my unbridled joy! I called my two best friends as well. It was news too exciting and extraordinary not to share.
Later in the morning, we went to IHOP for breakfast. We had a BIG breakfast - Rooty Tooty Fresh and Fruity! That’s what we both had. I don’t know about you, but happy, life-changing events can work up a mighty appetite, and we were both hungry. We had a leisurely brunch. That’s what it was for us, then he took me shopping to an unusual little place called The Mole Hole [I don’t think they’re in business any longer, which is sad.] The contents inside the store were as unique as its name. We wandered through it, taking our time before our afternoon movie. Tom knew I liked unusual stores, and things like that. As if my brick and ring weren’t enough gift that weekend, he bought me a lovely glass bird that was the shade of cornflowers. He probably wouldn’t have insisted on getting it for me, but when I saw it, the first thing that came to my mind was the bluebird of happiness. I laughed when I held it up, because it was odd that my eyes would wander straight to that item. Tom thought it was the right sentimental touch to top off the perfect weekend. [The sentiment was a good omen too. ] After our shopping excursion, he took me to see The River Wild. It was a great thriller with Meryl Streep and Kevin Bacon. [Can you tell that we love movies?] I snuggled close to him after we ate hot, buttered popcorn. It was the kind of movie where a girl wants to feel the arm of her guy around her, because the movie was suspenseful, and the arm was secure. It was a hint of many "to be" moments, when I’d watch a movie beneath the security of his arm.
The following day, we gathered at the house that Tom shared with his brother, Jim, and he introduced me as his fiancé to a group of friends who’d come over to spend the afternoon watching football. Tom made his mother’s meatball grinders, and we eased into the first, real feelings of being an engaged couple, sharing our time and happy moments with family and friends. [There would be more of that to follow several weeks later when Tom flew to Maryland to formally ask my father for my hand. Yeah, it’s old school, but it was an important gesture to a southern father.] That night, I stayed at Tom and Jim’s house because I had an early flight out the following morning.
It was hard to leave. It was one of those moments when, paraphrasing from When Harry Met Sally, you felt like "when your life is about to truly begin, you want it to begin right then and there, in that moment." I can still feel the strength of his hug, as we waited at the boarding gate.
"I’ll be there before you have time to miss me," he said.
"I already miss you!" I cried.
"It’ll be okay!" he assured. "We just have to get through the next few months, then I’ll be there for good. No more apart..."
He was moving to Maryland for me. I had a good job as a Technical Writer, and jobs for writer’s don’t come down the pike everyday. He was a manager at a retail establishment. He felt he’d have a better shot at a job coming to him in Maryland, than the other way around. [He landed a job four weeks later as a department manager for a new store that was being built and scheduled to open in early March of ‘95.] Tom moved up to Maryland the first week of February There was definitely a higher power at work in our lives. Everything unfolded in perfect timing as to how we needed it to play out. My little, glass bluebird of happiness would prove to be a good talisman. At the time, I only knew how much I loved it. I didn’t know it would truly come to represent the happiness we were feeling or that was yet to come. It was safely tucked away inside my purse as I waited to board.
I sucked it up. There was a lot of planning that needed to be done. The time would pass lickety split. My heart knew that. I wasn’t thrilled that we wouldn’t be together for the holidays, but Tom promised that we’d talk several times a day to get through it, then we’d never be apart again.
When I got on the plane, I looked over to the waiting area I’d just left and saw him standing at the floor-to-ceiling window - waiting for the plane to take off, watching for signs of me to appear from behind a window so that he could wave. I felt tears come to my eyes. I remembered another time and another man who loved me - who waited until I’d gotten off safely and was out of his sight before he turned to continue on with his business for the remainder of his day. I closed my eyes, sighing for a moment and feeling truly blessed. Blessings. When they come to you, they’re grand, and God’s blessings for me that first week in October of 1994 have been among my grandest. I had been wooed and romanced, chocolate-milked and dined, loved and engaged. If I had to imagine what dancing on a cloud felt like, it would be those 5 days in Tallahassee, when I went from being a single lady and returned home, about to enter into the club of soon-to-be-married women.
Waiting for the plane to take off and staring at him out the window, I saw my life come full circle. I remembered how devastated I’d been when Tom and I had broken up, because I knew he needed time and space to figure out what exactly it was he wanted for his life. I knew it was me. It’s the only time in my life – or thing in my life that I’ve ever been 100% certain of. Still, I had to let him come to that realization on his own. He was my true North, and I knew, when I let him go, that if he ever came back to me, it would be because he’d figured out that I was his too...
I remember my parents waiting for me at the other end of the plane's destination.
My mother hugged me the way, I imagine, all mothers do when their daughter gets engaged. There was excitement in her hug, and I could tell her mind had already been making as many plans as mine had on that plane ride home. She took hold of my left hand and looked at my ring.
She lifted it up to my father as her excitement rose. "Earl, look!" she beamed.
My father looked down, then he looked up at me. It wasn’t anything he said as much as that look. He held me in different light. I could see it clearly. I had gotten on that plane as his daughter-his youngest child, and I had returned as someone else’s intended. I would always be his daughter, but everything had changed in the span of five days. I felt it in his hug – his strong hug.
I woke up this morning to find a dozen yellow roses with red tips around the petals waiting on the kitchen island to greet me. There was also an "everything" bagel beside it. Seventeen years later, and my Tom has still got the moves.
I smiled. I smiled BIG, and my first prayer of the day was, "Thank you, God, for giving me this wonderful man!"
The roses are beautiful, and they’re in our special color: yellow. Yellow for us signifies want, clarity, warmth, happiness, brilliance, authenticity, golden grace and love that’s so bright and beautiful, it could give the sun lessons in how to shine. That’s our yellow. I looked at each one of those roses in its perfect splendor and beauty and remembered back to when we were first dating, and he left me one, perfect red rose.
"Ooh, that means he loves you!" a friend had told me. "One red rose means true  love."
This morning, I looked at all my pretty roses and thought, He loves me a LOT! And, I love him. Still– Madly. Deeply. Always...
We’ve shared a lot in the last 17 years together - lived through a great deal of change; seen most of our dreams realized; had a couple of them not and accepted the fact that that particular dream would never be for us–it wasn’t in our cards; but, I can’t complain. In the blessings department, I hit the motherlode on October 7, 1994.
That little bluebird of happiness glass figurine pegged it right so many years ago. Happy. That’s what we are. It doesn’t mean we don’t have our share of problems, or that there aren’t moments when he drives me crazy and vice versa. Ups. Downs. Good things - bad. Those are normal parts of the scenery of a life lived. But, by the grace of God, and his loving smile on me with the gift of this man and this marriage, I’ve not had to face those things alone. I am immeasurably blessed and equally happy. After all, happiness is a state of overall being, and that, in a nutshell, defines the marriage of the Bosher-Perrans.
I think the greatest testament to the love Tom and I share is that if I had to do it all over again, knowing ALL the things I know now, I’d say "yes" again, without a second thought – "in a New York minute" as my father used to say.  And, Tom has told me that if he had to do it all over again, knowing ALL the things that he knows, he'd still ask me without a second thought, in that same, New York minute.
We’re 17 years into that 50 we talked about spending together so many years ago. I saw a cartoon once, and I’ve amended it to fit our personalities.  It says: I imagine us skidding across the finish line together with a glass of chocolate milk in one hand and a hand of Nutter Butters in the other, laughing and squealing in delight, "Wa*Hoo McDaniel! What a ride!"
It has been! I’ll tell you that. So far, it’s been a wild and crazy ride. I’m looking forward to the rest of it.
And, the truest thing I can say about him now, just as I said about him 22 years ago, when we first met: he’s my knight in shining armor...still...still...still...
I hope he never forgets it...
　
http://youtu.be/si_1mpmVECA [The Last Time I Felt Like This from Same Time Next Year]http://youtu.be/0b_KZmm5eIo [Theme from On Golden Pond]