As he ambled home from school, the kid saw that familiar station wagon parked in front of his house and instantly he knew what it meant. At first he considered ducking down under the railroad tressel and waiting it out; but he knew he'd catch hell when he came home late. And he had to go home, he was only 10 years old - there weren't many places he could go. His parents knew how long it took to walk home from the village school and they expected him to make the trek forthwith. In the instances he had lollygagged, and had been a few minutes late, he'd crossed that tressell to find "mama" on the front porch, shielding her eyes from the late afternoon sun, searching the village landscape for him. But today, there was no mama, but there was a 65 ford station wagon, driven by the Baptist church preacher parked out front - and this ten year old boy knew that car...and he knew the score.

Being that flight was out of the question, there was only one thing left to do. He'd simply breeze in, give a cheery how do you do, duck into his room, change into his football playing clothes and slip out the back. So, as he approached the little house he rehearsed his lines and hoped for the best. His friends were already in the park waiting on him to join their rough and tumble game . "Hurry up!" You playin'?" He waved back weakly, knowing that escape was improbable. At the top of the front steps he could hear the preacher's booming voice rattling the bungalow's windows. He steeled himself and entered. And there sat the pastor, bigger than life, king james in hand and a big paw extended for the kid to shake. His great plan to escape withered like the autumn tomato vines in the back yard. There'd be no football in the park today; instead, it would be the Roman's road.

"Son, could I talk to you for a minute"? "Yes sir". His Mama stood in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room - wringing her hands. In the park across the street one of the local hoodlums yelled savagely  , "throw the damn ball you stupid bastard!". The preacher clearly heard it, but pretended not to notice. His mother, scowling, closed the front door. it was on.

The preacher was a barrel of a man. the sheer volume of his voice moved mountains and sinners quaked at his pronouncements, but at that moment, sensing the boy's apprehension, he appeared sweet and kindly. Even when he caught the kid looking longingly toward the door and the park where his friends were roughhousing, the preacher gently asked the kid, "would you rather go out and play"? Of course the kid would rather be anywhere than in that tiny living room with this serious giant and his emotional .mother, but an affirmative answer would have resulted in a family scandal; and worse than that, no football, no cartoons on TV - and who knows what other calamities. So, it had finally come down to this. The Jesus talk.

"Do you know that Christ died for your sins"? "Yes sir". "Now, I know your mind is divided by wanting to go out to play, but you do want to please the Lord, right?" "Yes sir". With fingers that resembled tree trunks, he flipped through the pages of his dog-eared KJV until he lighted upon Romans 10. "Read this passage for me son," he said while draping a heavy arm on the kid's narrow shoulders. If you declare with your mouth that "Jesus is Lord", and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved. For it is with your heart that you believe and are justified, and it is with your mouth that you profess your faith and are saved (Romans 10: 9-10). "Son, do you understand what you just read?" Genuinely moved by the moment the boy croaked out with great relief, "yes sir, I do". And the kid wasn't lying, even before he knew Jesus, he knew that there had to be a lot more going on than his meager existance. Jesus just completed the circle.

 By now his mama had tears streaming down her face and the preacher had a look of satisfaction that stole away his deadly, serious veneer and again rendered him likable. "Well young man, God is proud of you, I'm proud of you and your mother is proud of you too". At that, the kid's mama squeaked out an emotional "I am".

"Baptism'll take place next Sunday evening son", the preacher said, his voice regaining its sober authority. Moments later, he was dismissed to "go on out there with your friends". The kid, still pondering his eternal fate, hopped the ditch across from his house and trotted into the park  - when the preacher's last words sunk in: "Baptism next Sunday evening at 6 O'clock!"  

The Brandon File: The Boys of Summers Past...

"Hustle Phil! Get on it boy!" bellowed James, "Speedy" Landreth as the base runner touched third and headed for home. "Get the bat out of the way!" "Hit the dirt!" But the bat boy had failed and the bat lay guarding home like a tree. As he had gone into his slide, Phil's cleat caught the barrel of the bat which sent him head first into a waiting catcher's mitt. "You're out!, growled the umpire, followed by Phil's groan of pain and embarrassment. With his face covered in dirt, the stocky, curly haired base runner glared at the cowering bat boy as he limped to the dugout. His teammates greeted him with merciless laughter and pantomimes of his clumsy effort. Meanwhile, Speedy continued his lambaste at the chubby bat boy. "Didn't I tell you to get that bat! You need to get your head in the game or I'll get somebody else. Hustle damn it!"

I assume they called him "Speedy" owing to his unhurried demeanor; for he never actually "hustled" anywhere himself. Perhaps T. Durham could put up a tell all post that could shed some light on our little league coach and further verify the sleazy side of mill hill life. Lord knows, concerning the hill, I've written about nothing but murderers and drunkards.

Summertime in the Brandon Ballpark: It was broken bats and exuberant parents. It was rain outs and base clearing doubles. It was road trips to Pelzer and late inning rallies. It was the last days of teen aged innocence and it was the end of the textile era. Before long the hum of the mill would be silenced and many of the kids would soon go to far away places to take on the responsibilities of men.

A couple of years ago I passed through Cleveland Park and I saw that the City had erected a marble wall memorializing Greenvillians killed in the wars. There I found the name Paul Charles Hamby Jr, sp4/Army. "Buddy" Hamby lived across from the Baptist Church. He was killed in a helicopter crash in Vietnam. I scanned the black marble for another name. Gary Lynn Pace, 1lt/Army. Gary didn't live in Brandon, but his parents owned the Jewelry store in West Greenville. Most Parker High students had a school ring from Pace's. Like Buddy, Gary was killed in Vietnam. I then looked down only a row or two in search of his name; and there it was, Phillip Allen Page cpl/Army.

I remember that day in the cemetery standing on the hill across from the funeral. I watched as they laid Phil to rest; his grave not a quarter of a mile from the park where he played baseball a few short years before. I flinched as the seven guns fired their salute; and as the bugler played TAPS, I felt a sadness I had not encountered in my 11 years. The games of youth now in perspective, we walked away leaving Phil in youthful repose.

Flatulence and Physical Fitness - Can we survive?

A while back, my spousal unit and I realized that we had gotten out of shape: the clothes were snug, the breath was short and the joints were stiff. There was only one thing left to do; we decided to stop the insanity and to start eating healthily. That we made this momentous decision while scarfing down a pizza is beside the point, but in any event we made it stick. The pounds began to disappear and before long we were exercising - which brings us to this sour moment.

Our gym is a spacious place that offers a wide variety of fitness programs and classes. One of the said classes is "Power cycle 45", which is 45 minutes of vigorous pedal strokes on stationary bicycles made specifically for that exercise. The class is lead by an instructor, who plays upbeat music and barks out commands and encouragement. But lately a force has arrived that drowns out the instructor's commands and renders her encouragement impotent.

It is here that I should warn the reader who stumbles upon this missive that the subject matter is not genteel. Some may even think this whole thing to be crude - and it is! So, if you're squeamish, turn back now.

Let us continue.

We arrive to the gym at 5:40 and get our bikes ready. We warm up for 5 minutes and then it starts. Typically, within 10 minutes we are breathing hard and sweating profusely. And it is in that gasping, vulnerable state that recently, on several occasions, someone in the room is - how shall I say it?- easing one out! It is not an audible salvo; oh noooo, the presence of the beast, at first, is entirely an affront to the olfactory. So imagine if you will - you've got the beat, you're "adding gears" and "engaging your core", then suddenly there is an enemy. And its not just any old garden variety demon I tell you. It has legs. It's a protein enriched, paint peeling, nose hair singeing assault that advances, retreats and advances again (we think the circular flow of the ceiling fans enhance that effect, but it could be other incoming sorties).

At first, you think you'll survive by breathing through your mouth only; thereby by-passing the sense of smell. But no. You soon discover that this mutant wave has a corresponding flavor and the thought of this phantom gas finding a home in your lungs is a little too much for even an able bodied soul to endure. So, there we are, defenseless, at the mercy of the killer fog and no avenue of escape, save running from the room. We are perplexed and perturbed...but not defeated.


So now, we are looking for suspects - and there are several: The bald guy who always leaves a few minutes early - it did seem that the air was better after he left. But perhaps not. Then there is the big, T-Rex looking older guy with the forehead like a drive in movie screen; he sweats gallons which leads me to think that he'd fog the place out with no problem. But there is no sure fire proof. And let's not let the women off the hook. There's a couple of them in there that have the distinct ability to empty a room - no doubt about it.

So, my intrepid wife and I are on the case like dogged private investigators slinking around in trench coats, collars up, standing flat against the wall to avoid detection. We intend to get to the bottom of this offense. So far our best ideas are:

• To shame the perpetrator by audibly gagging out a loud exclamation; such as, "who died?!!". But that's a little too dramatic for reserved patrons such as us, plus, by bringing attention to the sordid matter, we open ourselves up to suspicion. and a retort like "the smeller is the feller! It's a slippery slope.

• Engaging our classmates in small talk about breakfast choices - we suspect the offender is a "protein shake" consumer - owing to the hint of digesting soy that rides shotgun on the rancid breeze. Of course, bacon and eggs is no fragrant walk in the park. It's such an unsettled science.

• Just giving up exercise indoors all together - What good is physical fitness when you're being bombarded by a force that is clearly life shortening?

In any event, I must apologize again for the crude subject matter, and I hope that future missives are  more pleasant and uplifting - but, assuming we survive this invader,  it's not likely.

One Perfect Kiss

Brandon community bowling alley and skating rink - July 1968: He had noticed this new lovely last Saturday night as he pushed the dust mop up and down the lanes. He did this routine task every night, a few minutes before the cigarette smoking, shit talking, hardcore bowlers arrived. Over on the skating rink that adjoined the 8 lane bowling alley, the skaters were there, early as usual; their mindless chatter a cacophony of teenage madness. He had thought about this new, graceful beauty all week and now here she was again. His mind whirled with plans designed to, at the very least, somehow catch her eye. Suddenly, his romantic reverie was shattered by the building manager's piercing reprimand. He looked up to see William Donahue's wonky finger pointing at the waxy hardwoods: "We ain't got all day boy!" "Yes, sir, I'm on it", he croaked back; but despite the admonishment, his gaze immediately drifted directly back to the alluring figure sitting just apart from the gaggle of chewing gum chomping chirpies. To his amazement, she demurely looked his way and smiled at him as she laced up her skates; then abruptly, with one graceful pirouette, she was on the floor. She could skate rings around the other girls...and there was just something about her. So, it had come down to this, Saturday night with Frankie Valli blaring from the juke box, and his heart beating a little faster...

Her skating skills were legendary,
a hardwood ballerina.
She had talents more profound
Than skating round in circles

Shy with eyes most otherworldly,
happily a chance beginning.
Lead to one short, stolen kiss
and a love that's never ending

One perfect kiss in the dark recess
One perfect kiss as she catches her breath
Before my heart could recover
she's back in the groove
One perfect kiss in shimmering light.
One perfect kiss to last all the night.
One note of her favorite song
And I'm yesterday's news.

Shy with eyes most otherworldly,
happily a chance beginning.
The skating rink has long been gone,
but the love is never ending.

One perfect kiss in the dark recess
one perfect kiss in a brief moments rest.
My heart would never recover
from her glide and her spin.
One perfect kiss, her eyes on the rink.
One perfect kiss, then gone in a blink.
I'd wait in the shadows until
she returned once again.


Donahue: You're fired!

Author's take: Too many unnatural rhymes, but, you know, man, the times were desperate.

Jason’s Dream

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Since Laura passed I have been begging for some sign from her to let me know some things.

Are you still with me? Are you happy where you are? Can you  see Fiona growing up from your new home? Do you love me still?

Crazy, I know.

When we depart this world, those of us who are left behind can only hold on to beliefs of where we go when we pass, what we can see from our new home, etc.

Religion teaches us that there is a beautiful place that awaits us after we pass.

Science teaches us that life is an energy force, and energy cannot die – it only transforms.

Combining the two, I believe that there is a place where our life force goes after we leave the earthly realm.

Religion says that it’s called heaven, where we get to see long departed loved ones and the streets are paved with gold, and there’s no pain or suffering or tears. This would (or will) be a great place to reside.

Some science says that there is likely a parallel dimension that we trans-morph into, a world exactly like our own, with some subtle and some not so subtle differences.

Of course, no one has come from beyond to tell us which is which and what is real.

After daughter Ruth E. passed, the second night of trying to sleep, I had a most amazing and very real dream. I was awakened in the early morning hours by Ruth E.’s voice whispering in my ear. I turned over in my bed and opened my eyes and she was standing over me, big smile on her face, telling me “I’m home”. It was as if she were coming home from a date later than expected and was just letting me know that she was home and safe. As she turned and walked away from the bed I said “Wait – where have you been?”. She looked over her shoulder at me and said, in a way that only Ruth E. could say it, “Duh”. Then she laughed and kept on walking down the hall.

The dream was so real and so vivid that I immediately woke Laura up and told her about it. We both cried ourselves back to sleep that morning, and we never spoke of it to each other again.

It’s now early March 2017. I’m still reeling over the death of my beloved Laura, who left  just over three months earlier. I force myself out of bed on a Friday morning, off work and making plans for the day – laundry, dishes, scrubbing the sink, etc. My phone rings.

A little about the caller.

Jason Summers is a good friend, a super talented musician, a great father to his girls and all around great man. We met him through Michael as they were (and still are) in various bands together. Since meeting Jason, we started seeing him as another son. He was there through some of the worst times in our lives, was a pallbearer for Ruth E. and continues to offer love and support to our family, of which, like it or not, he is a part of.

I answered the phone that Friday morning with the fear that something may have happened to him or his family as Jason never calls that early in the morning.

Jason starts by apologizing for calling so early but he had to tell me about a dream that he had the night before. Seems that the dream was so real that it woke him at 5am and he couldn’t get it off his mind.

He dreamed that he was in his old apartment back in his hometown of Pittsburgh, walking out the front door. He looked across the street and saw Laura standing there – holding a red balloon. She had that large Laura smile on her face and he motioned for her to cross the street. She gave him the ‘mom’ look of ‘hell no, you cross the street to me’. Jason added  “you know, just like Laura would”.

Jason crossed the street and she met him with a big hug.

“What are you doing here?”, Jason asked.

Laura answered “Waiting on Larry to pick me up. We meet here at this time every day” Then, he drops me back off here as I have to go one way and he has to go another. But we meet here every day, same time”

Jason says that in the dream he turns and sees me driving down the street. I pull over and Laura, red balloon still in hand, gets into the car. She gives me a kiss on the cheek and turns back to Jason and says “everything’s going to be alright”. Then we drive away.

He woke up. He tells me over the phone that it was so real that he couldn’t go back to sleep. He wanted to call me and tell me then but was unsure how I would take hearing about the dream.

He says that it's the most vivid dream that he's ever had and that it was beautiful!

“She still loves you Larry”, Jason says through tears.

“Jason – you have just changed the entire trajectory of my day”, I told him.

We talked for a minute more and then I started scrubbing the sink. I cried, and scrubbed for almost an hour. Cleanest that sink has ever been, I did most of the rinsing with tears. Forget about all the other chores - I spent the rest of my time with her photos, with a grocery list that she had started, with emails that she had sent to me. And I grieved long and hard that day.

She had let me know that she was alright and that she still loved me. She had communicated this through Jason, a guy that called her his second mom and that she loved as a son. She had spoken through Jason as Ruth E. had spoken through me.

I choose to believe this. It makes me feel so much better.

And while I loved him as a son before that phone call, I’ll never forget what that man did for me that day.

He delivered some much-needed answers.

And that certainly helps me along with this grieving process and lets me know that there is a place where we all go after we die.

Good Friends

Laura had friends, as most people do. She had many-too numerous to mention in a post such as this.
We've had mutual friends throughout the years, the boys from the old school (think croquet), the Crowders from Mebane, the Jaycees in Newberry, etc.
Here, I'd like to touch on just a couple. While this does not discount any of the many people that she called her friends, these two that I speak of are ones that she held near and dear and kept in constant contact with.

Martha Suber
We met Martha in the early 90s while shooting a music video for the DARE program for the Newberry County School District Gifted and Talented Program. Martha had written a song called "I'm Too Cool" which was an anti-drug statement aimed at rural kids. Unlike most 'just say no' messages at the time, this one targeted kids who didn't live on the mean streets of a big city. While drugs weren't a huge problem for our county (thanks to programs like DARE and the excellent law enforcement this county has enjoyed), there was always a threat of drugs infiltrating this peaceful, rural community. A music video that targeted and featured local kids was the right prescription for getting the message out that drugs were not the answer. Martha had brought along a producer/director, Kimberly J Miller, recently from California into the project and soon we were rehearsing kids for the leads, scouting locations and gathering the equipment needed to accomplish our project. After many pre-production meetings, the shoot got underway. We had about 30 actors, singers and dancers rehearsed and ready to roll. While Kim directed and choreographed and I provided lighting and camera, Laura was assigned the ominous task of Line Producer. For those unfamilier with the term, a Line Producer's job consists of, well, everything else. Need a golf cart for a certain location? Ask the line producer. Need a crane for a certain shot? Ask your line producer. Need to ferry actors to and from locations? You get the picture. Laura was absolutely flawless in this position. Her proven sales ability allowed her to wheel and deal almost anything we needed out of local business owners and government leaders. For the crane, she had one day's notice. Next day the crane was parked exactly where we needed it. Awesome woman!
Martha, meanwhile, as the composer and guitarist/harmonica player, was also featured in the video. She had some downtime between takes and would stand with Laura to keep her company. They developed a rapport and soon became friends.
The shoot lasted over 30 days. Locations included the old Newberry Opera House (at the time still in a state of decay, Community Hall, a logging truck bed, basketball court, dairy farm, Wal Mart, an old barn, downtown Prosperity and Whitmire, SC and Martha's front porch. By the end of the shoot and edit, the four of us were exhausted. Kim and I worked on editing, finished the piece and picked a premier date and finally collapsed. It was decided that the four of us, by now fast friends, would take a trip to the beach to renew.
And so we did.
Since then, Martha and Laura became friends and confidants. When Martha moved to Virginia we would often visit her. While Laura and Martha hung out and caught up on life, I would travel the Civil War trails of the area. When Laura and I had some marital difficulties, Martha was her refuge. After Martha moved backed to SC, we often went over for 'graze and float', eating chicken and swimming. When Martha started playing gigs again in SC, Laura tried as often as possible to be there. I'd have to say that Martha was her closest friend since they had known one another so long. And then there's...

Rachel Moore
So Laura started working at a place called Medi Home Care as a receptionist. She got the job through her friend at a temp agency and the original offer was 25 hours per week while working for the temp agency. After that contract expired, she was to be offered a full time position with full benefits. Those assheads lied to her over and over and never gave her what they promised, which included health coverage...but I digress. There was a lovely young lady working there that Laura took a sudden liking to. She would come home with "Rachel" stories nearly every day, each story crazier than the previous one. Soon, I had to meet this Rachel. She was everything that I had heard and then some. Outrageous, outspoken, out there! Just like Laura. Soon, Laura was coming home with weird coincidence stories. "Did you know that Rachel and Dan lived in a log home? Did you know that Rachel has a sister near Winston Salem like I do? Did you know that her favorite food is..." Almost every day I would hear another strange coincidence that would link these two. They were almost like twins separated at birth. Next thing I know, Laura is calling her after work and chatting for hours. It became a regular thing. Next was "I'm going out for drinks with the girls". I was happy that Laura was doing more than just working and going home to TV. She had her regular Tuesday night trip with Martha to hear her and Freddie play in Union. The rest of the week was, if Fiona wasn't visiting, the girls were going out to dinner or drinks, or both. Laura was finally beginning to enjoy life again in a social way. When Ruth E passed away, Laura withdrew into a social shell. She was happy with family gatherings, and she was excited about her weekly trips and the occasional Saturdays with Martha at the pool. Now, she was getting out again, dining and drinking with new friends, bitching about work and I could see her coming back to life.
Just minutes after Laura passed away, I was standing in the ICU hallway next to the elevator. I was still in a state of shock and disbelief. I hear the elevator door open and  Rachel walks out, tears streaming down her face. "I'm too late aren't I", she says. I nodded. She grabbed me in a tight hug and we cried together.
Since then, we have talked and cried on the phone several times, and will continue to for the foreseeable future. Rachel and her husband Dan have found a place in my heart, thanks to the lovely Laura Reid.

Like Comets Come

The storms of life like comets come,
They bring with them the blues
They sting you with their mysteries
the scars they leave are clues

But when a whirlwind took my love
I could not turn the page.
My brittle heart had been laid bare,
to heaven fisted rage

Proverbial seasons - I'm aware, I'm aware.
But death is a season of despair, deep despair.

With the comet came the rains
The storm intensified.
With the rain came memories
brought tears to my tired eyes.

When that angel took my love,
I begged him for relief.
He said that I must travel first
to places dark and deep.

Grief has its stages - yes I know, yes I know
But death just enrages and it grows, and it grows.

The sky will once again be free
The signs will fade from view.
But I'll look to the heavens
In hopes that I'll see you.
Yes I'll look to the heavens
In hopes that I see you.

Thirteen Weeks

Since Laura passed November 30, 2016, roughly thirteen weeks have gone by.
There have been many changes.
I am on a new anti-depressant regimen that keeps me from having anxiety and panic attacks. This is good since it was such a panic attack that brought on a near-fatal heart attack for me. Don't need to add another one of those into the mix.
I have sought counsel from my doctor, who I've known for over 20 years and whose advice I trust. My last appointment, when asked the reason for my visit, I replied "I just want to sit and talk for a bit". My doctor is very good at listening and helping me with the stressers that one goes through at a time like this.
I have been working diligently on my home. Painting, moving things into storage, selling a few things, etc. But still not touching Laura's things. Those decisions will not be faced until at least June. I'm sticking by my promise to not make any decisions on her possessions for at least six months.
I cry a bit less now, not only because of the drugs, or the time that has passed. I'm getting to a point of remembering the good things that have happened for us over our forty years together. I'm remembering things that are near and dear to me, events that we shared, concerts that we've attended, family reunions, even some of the bullshit that we dealt with - together. The one phrase that constantly runs through my mind is when she would always say to me "we're a team - we'll make it through this together". It comforts me. I've known people who were married as long, if not longer than we were who never seemed to reach this place.
I still hear her voice. When I'm doing laundry, or trying to cook, I hear her guiding me (although she still has yet to reveal that secret ingredient that she used to put into her green beans). When I make a decision to move furniture in the living room I can hear her telling me to move it back a few more inches, or to the left a bit.
Some things that haven't changed - her stuff is pretty much where she left it. It was put there for a reason and I don't need to move it.
I still miss her very, very much. I'm still in a kind of shock that she was here and suddenly gone so quickly and unexpectedly. I still tell her daily that I miss her and that I'm sorry that I didn't know to get her to the hospital sooner. And I still let her have the last word when she told me "I love you more" as they were taking her into ICU that night. She did and I know it!
You can't just let go of forty plus years of a voice and a presence. And she was most definitely a presence!
I'm telling stories about Laura to some of my co workers and friends, some who had the pleasure of meeting her and some who didn't. She left many great stories for me to share; from her long-standing suffering as a Carolina Panthers fan and the obscenity usually screamed during the games to her legendary attacks on anyone who disrespected either one of her children (especially obnoxious high school coaches).
It's good that I can laugh when I share these stories. I also firmly believe that every time I think of her or utter her name that she is still alive, simply because she lives inside me.

There will never, ever be another like Laura Welborn Reid - and you can take that to the bank!

The Invisible Cat

Pom Pom. What a name!
It all began when I was considering a new roommate. Laura's passing left such a black void in my world, a dark and cold hole that only the spirit of another living, breathing being could begin to patch.
We have had cats before - or cats have owned us, I should say. In our eleven years in the cabin only two have resided with us. Gomez-the original and Gomez two. The original Gomez was a black and white kitty who was the last born of a litter. I wrote about Gomez before and won't go into detail here.
Gomez Two was found in a hollow log by two great friends who had come by the cabin for a visit. While we were not in the market for a new cat, this little abandoned fellow sorely needed a place to stay. After placing the kitty on Laura's chest, and the kitten's paws wrapped around her neck like a hug, Laura said yes and a kitten had a home. We charged Fiona with naming the new kitty. "Gomez two"
Gomez Two was insane - not the 'I'm a cat' type of insane. He took it to a whole new level. Scratching paint from the walls; jumping from the balcony to the floor below. Then, he escaped to the outside one day and suddenly he was an indoor/outdoor cat. Bad for us because, no matter how many flea collars and treatments that we applied, he brought the fleas in the house and they attacked with a vengeance. After that, he was an outside cat. Bad for him and Gomez the Original as our area has coyotes, hawks and other cat-unfriendly predators. We last saw Gomez Two one morning before going to work. We placed his food and water in the bowls, gave him a pat on the head and we were off. Gomez Two was not to be seen again.
Laura said "No more cats!"
I was in agreement with her. You get them, they become a part of the family and then you lose them. Not a good location for a small, outside animal.
So I decided, after Laura passed, that a live female presence was needed in the home. While trying to decide what kind of fish or hamster I would acquire, granddaughter Fiona told me that I needed a kitten.
So - a kitten it would be!
The lovely Peggy heard about this and took it upon herself to arrange it. She called me up and asked me to meet her at a place called Pawmetto Lifeline. - an animal rescue facility. I heard from the adoption specialist there that most of the kittens are rescued form 'Death Row', and my kitten was no exception.
I met Peggy, daughter in law Catherine and Fiona there and we started shopping kitties. Peggy had observed Pom Pom when she first arrived, a playful Calico mix with the softest fur that I had ever had the pleasure of stroking. After picking out three kittens to interact with, they brought Pom Pom to the room first. I think Fiona had already made up her mind that Pom Pom was to be the one. She even told the specialist that we didn't need to see the other kittens. I asked Fiona what we should name the cat. "She already has a name. She's Pom Pom". So we packed 6 month old Pom Pom in the carrier and drove the 40 miles back to the cabin. As soon as we opened the carrier, Pom Pom skedaddled! She found a hiding place under the sofa and there she would stay. Later in the day, we were able to pull her from under the sofa and we took her to the bedroom. There, Fiona placed her under the covers and crawled in with her, petting her and talking to her. Pom Pom seemed to like being under there...for a little while. As soon as Fiona lifted the covers, the kitten made a run for it and was gone. This time, under the china cabinet. Earlier, before we took her to the bed, I had shown her where food, water and litter box were located. As the days progressed, Pom Pom was an invisible cat. I could see the effects of little Pom - cat bowls almost empty, litter box used, etc. But no sighting. This went on for weeks. Every day I fed and watered her and kept an eye on the litter box. Every day I looked high and low for her. She was not to be found. No noise, no bumps in the night, no purring, no meows. After three weeks, Fiona visited again and we went on an adventure - find Pom Pom. We moved furniture, looked behind clothes hanging in the walk in closet, upstairs in the bathroom, underneath everything that we could think of - no Pom Pom. "She'll eventually come out granddaddy" I knew that Fiona was right. I was, however, getting a bit tired of feeding and cleaning up after what appeared to be an invisible cat.
"Maybe she has powers like no other kitten" I told Fiona.
"What powers?" she asked.
"Like Wonder Woman, maybe she has invisibility powers. She may be sitting right there in front of us but we can't see her".
"Maybe so, granddaddy. Maybe so".
And another two weeks went by.
One night as I came in from work, I saw through the window a golden blur which crossed the visible area between the walls of the foyer and disappeared just past my line of sight. Wow! I have a visible cat!
Two nights later, as I turned over in my bed to go to sleep, I felt a slight thump on the bed. Turning back over, I looked up to see a kitten standing on my bed. She slowly made her way up to my face and purred. I petted her, talked to her and she reacted by pressing her nose to mine. She stayed on my bed, jumping, playing and chasing my hand which was under the covers. When I would move to get out from the covers, she would run. So, for the next few nights she was a night time visitor. When I would awaken, she would become invisible again. That is until...this weekend. Fiona came to stay the night. While lounging in bed, eating pizza and watching a movie the little cat that could jumped on the bed from an unknown hiding place and started playing with Fiona. This time, however, she didn't take off when Fiona moved the covers and started playing with her. She stayed and played.
Next evening my family came down for a visit. "Look up there. A cat is hanging out of that rolled up carpet on the balcony", my sister observed. My brother went upstairs and started interacting with Pom and, next thing I know, I have a visible cat! This morning she was waiting for my brother when he woke up.
I'm not sure what this poor cat went through before being rescued from death row, but I think that I've finally passed the audition with her. Welcome to Fort Reid little Pom Pom!

Five Stages

The five stages of grief- denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance.

Denial - did that one in the moments before and after she passed. No way! Laura could not die, not on my watch! I still have those moments, although they are fewer and farther between. 

Anger - okay...at whom? God? Myself? Laura? The world??
Sure, I get pissed at the hospital and the doctor that allowed this to happen. Fact is - they tried their best to prevent it, or so I'm told. Laura had been much sicker than she even suspected. The thing that killed her moved slowly through her body, causing her blood sugar to rise at the same time. With a highly elevated blood sugar level, you become delusional and your brain does not process any situation correctly. Whenever I would ask her if she needed to see a doctor her reply was always the same-"no, I think I'm finally getting over this. Just let me rest a while longer and I'll be better". She didn't have a fever until way too late.
I get pissed at myself for not making her go to the doctor. I would ask, she would say no and that was it. Should I have insisted? Maybe. In hindsight my answer is "hell yeah - take her now"! But that didn't happen. And I am so truly sorry for that.
Pissed at God? What good would that do? I'm told that he has a plan. Not long ago on the Facebook thing, someone posted one of those memes which had a picture of a park bench with the caption 'if you could spend one hour here talking with anyone who would it be?" I answered "God". I have quite a few questions for the almighty.
Pissed at Laura? Not really - if she had been aware, she would have been the first to tell me to seek treatment for her. I did find myself, early on, screaming inside of an empty home "Why did you leave?"
Out of our hands and a moot point now. Acceptance of that, at least.
The world? Why bother. The world has enough problems, and like my friend James said about the year 2016, it didn't give a shit about how I felt. So that's wasted time.
So there is anger, but it's directionless - without a rudder. It's more harmful than good, so let's try and squelch the anger for now.
Bargaining - never really understood this one. All the bargaining in the world won't bring her back. So let's drop that chip and move along.
Depression - that's where I'm currently residing. Anti-depressants take you so far - but the "I don't really give a crap about much" attitude is strong. And this is where I get into trouble. At work, I tend to speak my mind before thinking about what I need to be saying. This may cost me this job - but right now, I don't give a flying rat's ass. 
I do appreciate the love and concern of my family and friends, who constantly check in on me. I was able to go to the coast yesterday and spend a few rainy, windy hours with my buddy James. It was good to get out of the house and go somewhere like the coast. The ocean always reminds me of the timelessness of life here on earth, and how we are but a grain of sand on the shores of life (this statement is so fucking lame, but true).
Acceptance - Hell, I don't know. I've accepted as best I can, but don't like it one little bit. I miss her, I miss her every single day, and I know that her memory will, for a long time, be at the forefront of my thoughts. I cannot move something from one place to another in the house without thinking of how she might have felt about it. When I do a project at home, it's usually one that she had asked me to do last year. I remember her instructions very well and carry them out. After all, it is her house-she just allows me to live there.

That's enough for today.

47 Days

47 Days.
I've noticed that each day without Laura is an anniversary, of sorts. Not a good, celebratory type, but another lonely day and night wondering just what the hell happened.
My doctor prescribed an antidepressant - it does help me to sleep but I'm afraid that it doesn't allow me to really touch the pain and grief. I learned the lesson from losing our daughter RuthE that to cope with the pain, you need to touch it. It's okay to put a bandage on it for time, but you really need to peel it off every once and awhile and  check on it. Soon, I'll wean myself off this medication so I can check on things.

I'm still working on the house, trying to make it ready to convert some of it to an Air BNB. It's a perfect situation - out of the way, in the woods, log cabin. I'm hoping to attract interest since there's not another AirBNB in Newberry, SC. The view from the upstairs bedroom is wonderful! Pond, woods, stone chimney just outside the double windows. The area is relatively quiet, except when my neighbor's hunting dogs go on a tear. But that doesn't happen very often. For a weary traveler, it's a great place to get a good night's rest.

My friends keep checking in on me. They knew Laura and are totally in tune with the love that Laura and I shared for 40 plus years. They have been totally supportive and helpful. My family has been trying to make sure that I stay busy. We have a couple of projects under our belts and a couple more lined up. This is always a good thing.

My nephew is studying in England and has kept me occupied with his and his brother's web page, checking out photos of their travels. Over the holidays, they rented a car and drove through a good portion of Europe - stopping in Paris long enough to light two candles in Notre Dame Cathedral - one for Laura and one for Ruth E. That was very, very thoughtful of them.

Every day. Every single day I tell Laura I love her and I miss her. I imagine that I'll continue to do this for the rest of my life.
My God, how I miss that girl!

It's Just Stuff

Boxes, bags and bins.
Full of stuff.
Projects to be revisited. Memories stored away.
Old newspapers herald national disasters and national triumphs.
Old magazines proclaim "The Year That Was".
Craft projects that were interrupted by life, awaiting the maker's completion.
Holiday decorations for each season, all packed neatly away, waiting for it's season to shine.
Half a room full of stuff waiting on a decision from it's owner as to it's final destination.
Stuff.

George Carlin said it best - a house is just a place to put your stuff.
And man - did we ever accumulate stuff over 40 years!
I once thought that it was mostly Laura's stuff. I was wrong.
I have so many tools spread around that it looks as if I ended up with two of everything. (Should have opted for the garage instead of the free doors and windows when we bought the home package).
Video production gear-OMG-out the wazoo!
Books - hell, you'd think that we were starting a library!
All this stuff. And now I'm touching it, sorting it, going through it and trying to make decisions.
But I can only make decisions on my things. Laura's is strictly off limits. Too raw right now.

After the financial crash of 2000whenever, Laura and I began going through this stuff. She wanted to keep all the craft magazines, the craft materials - anything craft. Her goal was to knit and crochet in her golden years, making place mats and coasters and what-nots to give to unsuspecting relatives.
She was a fantastic cross stitcher. We have a cross stitch of the Biltmore House on the wall, which took her a year to complete.
I have a painting that she did on multiple layers of glass that, when stacked together, is a grouping of roses. Beautiful!
Most of our place mats for the table were lovingly crafted by her hands - a set for each season.
She also collected cookbooks, recipe books, recipes, etc. Shelves full of cookbooks. I must admit, they are coming in handy for a novice chef such as myself. After bff Pamela taught me a few culinary skills, and nudged me to a healthier diet, I have found recipes in these books which challenge me. My friend Stuart is constantly posting pics on FB of the gorgeous meals that he prepares for himself. I aspire to obtain some of his skills.
The only plus about the financial meltdown and the subsequent loss of employment that was dealt to us was that we couldn't accumulate any more stuff. We started selling some stuff. Not enough - but a few things.

Now I'm going through the remainder of this stuff. And as I touch, feel and admire the beauty of it I try and make those permanent decisions of it's fate. Now that Laura is gone, it's easier now than it used to be.
Most of my projects were for her anyway. I can now make decisions on my stuff. Hers - not so much right now.

But, it's like Laura always told me - it's just stuff.

Laura and Gary

Beginnings
This is the story of my beloved wife and my younger brother Gary.

When Laura and I married in September of 1976, my younger brother Gary was just days away from turning 17. Laura liked Gary from the first day that they met and always saw him as a little brother-not a brother in law.
Back then, I was working at the Parker Plant, a JP Stevens affiliate, and my job required me to work 12 hours a day for 5 or 6 days a week. I had the 8pm to 8am shift, which had me leaving for work at 7:30 pm and returning home at 8:30 am. Because we had two small children at home (this was in the fall of 1977), Ruth E. was 2 and a half and Michael was only 3 months old, my brother didn't like the idea of Laura being home alone with those two children - especially in the neighborhood where we lived.
We had rented a small 2 bedroom home on West Hillcrest Dr, just off North Main St in Greenville. When you make the left off Main onto West Hillcrest Dr, your first thought would be "wow-nice neighborhood!". After meandering down the street where we lived, the neighborhood became, shall we say, less desirable. Growing up in Greenville, I didn't have an issue with the hood. Hell-it's where I grew up, sort of. In the mid to late seventies, home invasion and crimes like these were very few and far between in our area. And, as a young, brash 19 year old kid, I never really gave it much thought. That is until one evening Laura, the kids and I were returning home from a visit with her parents. As I was walking in the front door, some dude was walking out the back door with our guitars. I gave chase and yelled at the guy. He dropped the guitars and ran like hell. While nothing else was taken and he had dropped the guitars, the police didn't even want to take my report. After that, brother Gary was a constant presence in the home.
I would call Laura on my lunch break from the pay phone in the break room at work. "What ya doing?", I would ask. "Just trying to watch TV with Gary", she would answer. Or she would say it was Gary and Dwayne, or Gary, Dwayne and Larry D. My house was party central back then - a safe place to drink (or whatever) and not drive. It was always, always after the kids went to bed. Then the games would begin. Rummy, poker, blackjack - all played at the dining room table. We even took a Game of Life, used the play money that was included with the game and would place bets on the spinning wheel (almost like roulette).
The TV that we owned was an antique-a gift from an uncle. A black and white tv which would work for 5 to 7 minutes before you had to shut it off for 5 to 7 minutes - then turn it back on. One night that I called, Gary and Laura were trying to watch the movie King Kong, the old 1930s version. Laura let it be known to me that the TV situation would soon have to change. She couldn't deal with the constant on and off thing! I would eventually buy her a new color console, but that was a year away.
Gary and Laura also teamed up to give me grief about almost everything. From the TV to the car that we were driving, from the fact that I didn't own a mower and my grass in the yard was ass-high to constantly running out of heating oil during the winter - Laura and Gary gave me crap! I was working 60 to 72 hours a week then and didn't take the time to do some of the household duties to which I had been assigned. Gary, although he was still only 17 years old, would make sure that the wife and kids had heat. Laura would call the oil man and buy 25 to 50 gallons (whatever we could afford that week) and Gary would crawl under the house and light the furnace. I couldn't tell you how many times my brother did things like this for my family.
After giving my job 60 to 72 hours per week and believing that I had job security with them, the layoffs began. Seems that they lost the contract that was assuring us the great hours and, since I was one of the last to be hired in that department, I was the first to be layed off. This was mid 1978.

The Greenwood Move
1978 was a tough year for a young married guy with two kids to find employment. I searched the newspaper, went to employment services and asked everyone that I knew for leads. No one was hiring. Most were laying off workers-some long term workers were even being let go. It was a scary time.
I took a temp job with a guy that my brother knew who was a handyman for a doctor who had a farm above River Falls. Our job was to run a barbed wire fence for almost 5 miles around the property. Hardest job that I have ever had! After digging the post holes (thank goodness for a tractor with an auger), we had to throw  the posts from the back of a moving pickup truck to where they were to be placed, then go back and set them in the holes and make them secure and plumb. After that, we would start pulling the barbed wire and staple it in place on the posts. We averaged about a half mile per day. After this, we had to load the pickup truck with hay and throw it into the pasture for the cattle. By then the sun had set and I would almost fall asleep on the ride back home. When I arrived home, Gary was usually there, either trying to watch 5 minutes of tv with Laura or the gang was there playing spin the wheel roulette.
Wasn't long before my temp job ended and I was again faced with finding employment. Laura, meanwhile, had gone to Greenwood to visit her parents. She decided to stay with them until I could find meaningful work. One day after a fruitless day of searching for a job, Laura's mom came to visit me. This was a shocker since she had never visited alone. We sat on my front screened porch and she convinced me that I would be able to find a job if I would only move to Greenwood. A week later, Laura and I were loading a UHaul truck with all of our belongings for the move to Greenwood. It was the last time that Gary and the gang would have to keep Laura company while I was at work.

Gary Gets Married
Just a few months after our dad passed away in 1981, Gary and Susan were married in a big church wedding.
Laura and I attended-I as an usher.
We would only see Gary every once in awhile when his business would bring him to the Greenwood area or at family gatherings. It didn't matter the length of time between visits. Laura and Gary still managed to give me crap about something whenever we were together.

And The Years Roll By
It was March, 2002.
By now, Laura and I had been married for over 25 years.
Ruth Elizabeth passed away and Laura and I were distraught. I have written about this time and the importance of our family during it.
I have also written about the house and our building project, which Gary spearheaded.
I won't go into all the detail here. This is about the close relationship between Gary and Laura.
If he called needing or wanting anything, Laura was the first to say yes. If we were all together, Laura and Gary would constantly team up against me (in a playful way, of course). We would all go camping, Gary and Laura would give me grief about my lack of fire-building skills, or over my contracting skills, which I was attempting to put to use during the home build.
When Laura and I were having marital difficulties, I would talk with brother Gary about Laura and my issues...he would always reply with "I don't have anything bad to say about Laura - she's always had my back". He was right. She always did.
When Laura passed away, my entire family was in shock. It was so sudden, so unexpected. Most were unaware that she was even sick. It came about on Thanksgiving day and she was gone the following Wednesday.
Gary told me later that he had lost a sister and a close friend. I'm not sure if he's even thought about this, but he's also lost an ally - in the ongoing battle of giving Larry hell.
Don't worry Gary - she still does give me hell. After being married for over 40 years, I know exactly what she would say in a given situation. And I'm sure that, when you give me hell about the way I build a fire, she's standing over your shoulder, putting her voice in my head, in total agreement with you. And she's wearing that little smile that I loved so well.

MaLa

When granddaughter Fiona was born in August 2009, you should have seen the look of pride and joy on my Laura's face! Although she had never once mentioned to me that she hoped to have a grandchild after Michael and Catherine were married, it was an unspoken desire.
There are pictures of her holding little baby Fiona at the hospital with Laura beaming with a Cheshire Cat grin and a look of pure, unadulterated contentment. She was an even better steward of Fiona since Laura had long since raised her two to adulthood, and the experience level she had achieved was superior.
As Fiona grew into a toddler, MaLa (Grandma Laura) was always anxious to keep her, helping her to navigate some of her first steps at Fort Reid. She played all the baby games like patty cake, hide and reveal, funny faces, etc. She ooohed and awwwed whenever Fiona would discover something new and show it to MaLa. She played in the floor, on the bed, on the coffee table - wherever Fiona would wander to, always with MaLa in tow. She would turn on the music channel on TV and they would dance and laugh and laugh and dance for awhile, and then rest for a while. Fiona would turn her attention to me and I would then ride her piggyback on my shoulders and then she would ride horsey on granddaddy's back. Then I would rest for a while, handing her back off to Laura. Then, Fiona started talking.
First words she said to me were "want dat" - pointing to one of her small toys. MaLa lost it when she heard these words. "Did you hear that?" she asked. "Yes babe. I did. She's talking now".
Time seemed to fly after that. We would get Fiona about every third weekend for awhile, alternating between her "Gan and Dadoo" Peggy and Roger and home, with the occasional stay at Uncle "Ry Ry and Aunt Chachi's" house. This was one, happy and well-rounded child!

Each summer Laura would take Fiona swimming every chance that she got. Whenever possible, Laura and Fiona would jump in the truck and take the ride to the Y, or to Peggy and Roger's pool, or to the country club, or to Martha's "Cow Palace" with their bathing suits and towels, noodles and goggles and a picnic lunch. I have pictures of the numerous times that they went swimming together, Fiona always in the pool up front and MaLa right behind her. Fiona learned to swim at the Y, but I like to believe that MaLa played a very large role in teaching that girl to swim like a fish and to not fear the water. Our friend Sue Summer saw them at the pool one day and recently wrote me a line about it. ". Laura and Fiona were a joy to watch together. When she was teaching her to swim, I was in the pool with my folks--and Laura's love and patience were evident in every word.". I love looking at these pictures now. Before, I would look at Fiona and smile. Now that I look closer, I can see the care and tenderness in Laura's eyes when she's looking at her granddaughter. She adored that child!
After Laura passed, Fiona was at the house and we had to go to town. I decided to take Laura's truck. Fiona got in the backseat, as usual, and asked "Granddaddy - what will you do with MaLa's truck?" "I don't know", I answered. "Guess I'll sell it". "You cannot sell MaLa's truck! How will I go swimming?"
On second thought, I'm keeping the truck.


In 2015, son Michael had an opportunity to move to Houston, TX for work. Fiona and Catherine stayed in SC a few more months, giving us the opportunity to spend more time with Fiona.
On her last day in SC, I picked her up and we visited Fort Reid for awhile, then went for a frosty at Wendy's. I then took her to Laura's workplace. Laura hugged her very tightly and reminded Fiona to write as many letters from Texas as possible. When I dropped Fiona off with her mom that day, I went home and cried like a baby. After Laura got home from work, her exact words to me were "when you and Fiona left, I went outside and cried like a baby". I wasn't a bit surprised.
Fast forward one year. Michael receives a better opportunity back in good old SC and takes advantage of it. Laura and I were ecstatic! Our son and his family were coming home - to stay! Michael flew me out to Houston to help with the move. After picking me up at the airport and showing me around Houston and Galveston, we left for their apartment in Kingwood. As soon as I walked in the door, Fiona was hiding under the covers on a chair. I walked to her room, calling her name. Then I walked around the apartment calling her name. She jumped out from under the cover to scare me, but then jumped into my arms and held me tight! Later that evening, I called Laura and told her what had happened when I arrived at the apartment. "Get my children home soon and safe!" was her reply.

After settling in to their new home in Columbia, Fiona continued to visit us and we would visit with her. I had not seen Laura so happy as when Fiona was back home and visiting with us. Time and again she would thank me for "bringing her kids home safe".
My memories of Laura and Fiona mostly revolve around cooking. Each and every time that Fiona would visit, Laura would take her to the kitchen, pull up Fiona's step stool and proceed with the baking of cakes, cupcakes, fudge and other delicious desserts. Usually, a birthday cake was made because Fiona loves birthdays! I can't tell you how many birthdays that her two bears (Mr Bear and Buddy Bear) have celebrated with party hats, balloons, decorations and a birthday cakes! My birthday would only come around once a year, but those bears had one almost every other month. I guess stuffed bears age differently.
Since she was two years old, Laura would help her hold the hand mixer to mix up the batter and then let her lick the spoon and the bowl. Happy times! I was so glad that I took video of some of these shared baking times that Laura had with the apple of her eye. Fiona will see these one day and, hopefully, those memories will come flooding back.
There's so much more that I could write about the love that Laura had for that child. I'll have to leave that for another time. Or maybe I'll sit down with Fiona one day, holding her children on my lap and tell them about MaLa. We can look at photos and watch video and remember just what a very, very special grandmother Fiona was so fortunate to have...if only for awhile.

New Normal? What??

It dawned on me that I had mentioned here, and to several family members that Laura's passing presented me with a 'new normal'.
There's nothing normal about this.
Tomorrow marks thirty days without her and I still try to come to terms with the fact that she'll not be coming home from work at 4:27 PM; or, after waking up in the morning, come to the living room door from our bedroom and say "may I have some coffee?".
She won't be chasing Fiona around the house, screaming at the top of her lungs "Now I'll get you!" while Fiona zips and darts every which way to keep from being captured. And she certainly won't look over at me and smile and say "I love you more".
I so miss these things. Things that you kind of take for granted. These everyday things.
Why, as humans, do we only seem to consider what we don't have anymore?  What is no longer visible to us? I had all these things each day and feel as if I took them all for granted.
To hear her voice, or smell that perfume that she wore, or to see her coming in the front door again - what I wouldn't give for this!
Maybe I did appreciate all this. I know that we stayed together for 40 + years for a reason. Maybe we really did appreciate one another
I never expected Laura to go before me. After all, I was the one who had the heart issues. I was the one who had to take 'maintenance meds' daily. I was the reckless one who drove too fast on a motorcycle; or jumped from an airplane more than twice.
Or, if I were to say what my outspoken bride would really say - "Larry was the stupid one!"
I would have to nod my head and agree with her.
No, she was supposed to far out live me, reaching the ripe old age of 100, sitting with the great grands on her knee and relating stories of how 'granddaddy Larry' used to do such foolish things. I depended on her for this.

I have had several people tell me that "it was her time" or "God needed another angel".
Oh hell no! I can't buy that. It wasn't her time. She was screwed out of what should have been the best years we would have together. She was loving her role as a grandmother and had plans. She was making plans for our future. She was so proud of the fact that she'd dropped a few pounds and could get into her older clothes.
No...it wasn't her time.
Yet, she's gone. And I see this. And, while I don't want to accept this fact, the fact is - I will have to.
But it certainly is NOT normal.
That's probably enough for today.

Sold!

1994 Jaycee of the Year;
Parisian Sales Consultant;
Belk Top Producer award;
Jaycee Volunteer of the Year;
Mention in a national trade magazine for best customer service in the US...

Accolades.
While going through a box of what I thought were old Christmas decorations, I ran across these plaques and service awards, along with many more, with Laura's name on every one. While I knew that she was awfully damned good at her chosen profession, I had forgotten about all the awards.
Laura had a theory about sales - if you weren't looking to purchase something, then why are you in this store? She also said that "if they step foot in my area, they will not leave empty handed". And they, more often than not, didn't.
Our first real meeting - she was a 19 year old hottie working at the McDonald's near where I attended Tech school. I dropped by for lunch, with limited funds. She was in the lobby selling Ronald McDonald Coloring Calendars for 50 cents each. On the bottom of each page was a tear off coupon good for discounts on food.
I was an 18 year old kid who knew a hottie when I saw one, standing in line, awaiting my turn to order. The hottie approaches me and says "you need to buy a calendar". Before I could explain that, as a grown man I did not color anymore, she started preaching the virtues of said calendar. "Look at the money you'll save in discounted meals alone! And, you can then give the calendar to some poor kid who may not have anything to color with. I mean, you do like kids, don't you?"
Before I could come up with an intelligent answer, I blurted out "yes" (meaning yes I like kids). She took the yes as 'yes, I'll buy a calendar'. "Good, you'll need two" and proceeded to take the entire dollar out of my hand. Before I could even react, she had moved along to the next sucker in line.
Years later, while relating the incident to her, I asked how she was able to swindle me out of the dollar and hand me two of those crappy calendars. "I made you say yes", was her reply. "But I was saying yes to the question about liking kids". "I know", she said and then winked at me.
Damn-she was good!
While looking at some of the comments on her memorial page, I came across this one:

Your bright light will shine forever in the hearts of those of us who had the privilege of working with you at Parisian, Laura! I can just hear your beautiful voice belting out your favorite songs in Heaven...I suspect, knowing your sales ability, you will talk God into letting you be his lead singer ...RIP my friend.

Donna NunamakerDecember 02, 2016 | Columbia, SC

Laura was known as the 'singing lady' at work. She was constantly singing and humming while working, a trait that endeared her to many and pissed off a few. She didn't care that she had pissed off a few. Neither did I. I loved her singing thing mainly because, whenever I was at her job trying to locate her, I would not look - but listen. I always found her by this method.

Laura was the consummate salesperson. I know. Believe me, I know!

Navigating the 'New Normal'

Twenty days.
Twenty gut wrenching, painful days since Laura passed.
She wasn't supposed to die. I tell, sometimes yelling this to her in the middle of the night.
We were together since we were only teens and were allowed 40 years together. We have buried a child together, buried all of our grandparents together. We laid her mother and my father to rest.
We have witnessed the birth and growth of our two beautiful children, one until she was 27 and the other into a strong family man.
We were there for the birth of our one and only grandchild, who was the absolute apple of Laura's eye.
We have been through so many fights that we lost count.
Our bond was especially strong in the last few years.
We have shared in the joy of traveling together on  many occasions. We traveled so well together.
Laura and I launched a business with her mom back in the 90's that grew until we had reached the goals that we had set for the business.
We built her dream house together, along with family and friends.
My love and I have enjoyed financial prosperity and weathered financial storms, always with her reminding me that we were a team-that we could get through anything together.
So how to weather this?
She was my rock and my solitude.
Now she is gone and I am damn near going mad.

Many friends and family members have given me support and advice.
But sometimes, the pain hits again and I lose it.
I'm told that the pain will eventually subside, but I cannot see that now.
I can only see an empty chair. An unfilled coffee cup. An empty bed.
The birds, usually plentiful on our deck this time of year, have all but deserted the place.
It is cold and it is so, so very lonely.

I know that I will survive this.
I'll keep getting up, making the coffee, paying the bills and goung to work each day.
I'll pick up my granddaughter and hold her tight. I'll hug my son like I never have before.
And I'll keep writing.
It helps a little.


I'll leave it at that for now.

A Great Loss

I am so confused now. I am in shock. I am so very sad and numb.
Laura, my wife, my all and the love of my life for over 40 years left this earth.
Where do I go now?
She was my rock, my partner, my teammate and my very reason for existence.
Now she is gone.
We had a celebration of her life on the first Saturday in December. She wanted that. No mournful funeral for her. No way! She always left those affairs with sadness and did not want anyone walking away with sad thoughts of her. She was life! She loved smiles and happy thoughts.
Her celebration was attended by over a hundred friends and family members who came from near and far to share stories of Laura. Most were stories that I had never heard before.
It was a joyous celebration.
After our daughter Ruth Elizabeth passed in 2002, we did the whole mortuary/service thing. It was a very sad affair. Afterwards her family and friends gathered at my mom's house for food and, while gathered around the big fire that my brother had built outside, the stories that were shared about Ruth E. started flowing like the wine which was being served. There was laughing and a celebration of her life. When we got home, Laura said "that's how I want to be remembered. No 'bad organ music', no trying to save souls, just a fond remembrance of how I lived-not how I died". We tried to respect her wishes. I think we honored that wish. Everyone said that it was the most beautiful way to honor someone's life. After every shared story a toast was made in Laura's honor.

I went back to work today.
My co-workers have been very supportive and kind. They've even offered to help me sort through Laura's clothes and determine which to sell (Laura was in retail for years and has so many things that still have the tags on them) and which to donate. They are a very sweet bunch!
Our friends.
What can I say? The outpouring of love and support has been overwhelming. It's no secret why we are friends. The love that they had for my wife was almost equal to the love that I carried for her for years and years. They displayed this love in deeds and in kind, loving words as I walked around in a state of shock.
Our family.
Our dad, Charles Pete Reid, demanded that we always love our brothers and sister. He would have it no other way. The issues that he had as a child with his family gave rise to his attitude that we would always have each other, no matter what. And we have remained true to his ideal. Only once was this tested and our taking on a building project together helped to mend that small rip.
My son, who has now lost a sister and a mom, has been strong, and makes of me a very proud father. He stepped up and proved that he was the man that we always thought him to be.
His wife and her mom. Angels here on earth best describes them.
My beautiful grand daughter Fiona. My heart and now, my very reason for hanging around on this earth as long as possible. Laura made me promise that I would dance with her on her wedding day. I will try my very hardest to fulfill that request.

Where to go from here?
I really don't know. I was only 18 when Laura and I first began dating and 19 when we married. I am now 59.
I only know that I will drag myself out of bed each morning and go through the motions. I will eat, shower, go to work and come back home to the most empty home that I have ever been inside of.
I will learn to do laundry, to cook and to tend to Fiona's childhood cuts and scrapes
I will attempt to set up a tent alone, learn how to make campfire biscuits and tell campfire stories with the same flourish that Laura had.
I will.
I will because she would have wanted it this way.
I will honor her and remember 40 years of love, hardship, joy and pain.
I will focus on the good and allow the bad times to fall from my memory.
Each time that I see a bird I will think of her. She loved birds and kept food out on the deck for them as much as possible.
Each time that I hear her best friend Martha play a tune on her guitar, I will see her smiling.
I will share stories of her, especially with Fiona. She needs to remember just what a wonderful, loving MaLa that she had.
I will.

DST Baby!

Daylight Freakin' Savings Time. Another bi-annual tradition that just boggles the mind, interrupts the cicadian rhythm and, after the fall back, depresses the senses.
I do remember when DST was brought back in the 1970s due to the energy crisis. I was totally elated, as a kid, to be outside playing until almost 9PM in the sun, albeit a setting sun. Never could understand why the parents were calling us home at that time...after all, the sun was just setting!
I have wavered on the issue through the years, sometimes appreciating the extra daylight, sometimes cursing it (losing an hour's sleep comes to mind). Does it help farmers? According to a survey, farmers generally oppose daylight saving time. In Indiana, where part of the state observes DST and part does not, farmers have opposed a move to DST. Farmers, who must wake with the sun no matter what time their clock says, are greatly inconvenienced by having to change their schedule in order to sell their crops to people who observe daylight saving time.
Now-let's get the government involved.
Congress appears to have felt we were not having enough of a difficult time so in 2007 they passed a law starting Daylight Savings time 3 weeks earlier and ending it one week later. This cost US companies billions to reset automated equipment, put us further out of sync with Asia and Africa time-wise, inconvenienced most of the country, all in the name of unproven studies that claim we save energy. Does it save energy? The jury is still out on that. But it does screw up my sleep patterns.
According to Dr. Samuel Friedlander, assistant clinical professor of Sleep Medicine and Allergy Immunology at UH Cleveland Medical Center while it is great to have the extra hour of sleep, a few days later that can lead to worse sleep. as it can lead to insomnia or sleepiness
While I can't claim insomnia (my old ass can pretty much get to sleep with a melatonin or two), I do notice that my normal sleep patterns change after the fall back change.
Could this just be older age?

Tree Swing

"And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon.
Little Boy Blue and The Man in the Moon.
When you coming home dad I don't know when;
but we'll get together then son...we're gonna have a good time then".

These iconic, haunting words by the late great Harry Chapin come to mind often when I spend time with my granddaughter Fiona.
As my kids were growing up, I was, like most my age a busy, often absent father. Due to business and other concerns, I left the formation of my children's early growth processes to others. For example, when Michael needed to build a car for his cub scout group he was turned over to his granddad. When Ruth Elizabeth needed to be corrected for something that she had done wrong, mom and dad were out of town on business and it was left to the relative in charge. Now don't get me wrong. I was not a totally absent father. I spent as much time as possible with both of them and loved the time that I did get to spend. Vacations, holidays, family gatherings, I tried to be as much a part of all these events as I could. And I loved just spending time with them. We had great kids! Well mannered, intelligent and talented as all get out! It was never an issue asking someone to watch them as they were such a pleasure to be around. My point is - as parents, especially young parents, we often overlook the seemingly small things which shape our kids.
Until Ruth E passed away, when I looked at this bright, beautiful young lady hitting her mid-twenties, I thought just how much she took after he mother. She was becoming Laura 2.0. Proud, loud, sometimes brash and not afraid to state her needs. She would often complain to me about her mom's mannerisms and how much some of them annoyed her. I always laughed inside as I knew that if she really looked hard in the mirror, she would see that she was speaking about herself. And as Michael approaches age 40, I see various traits that I had as a younger man in him. The fact that they turned out so well tells me that our, and everyone else that had a part in their upbringing, did a pretty damn good job. Or-they may have turned out so well in spite of their experiences. Whatever it was, I am proud to be the dad of a couple of good ones!
All that being said, I think that I finally understand what is so great about being a grandparent:
Second chances.
This weekend we built a tree swing for Fiona. Now this is something that I would have done for Ruth E or Michael when they were this age. After all, I did put the Barbie Dream House together for Christmas for Ruth E and erected the sliding board/swing set for Michael when they were younger.  No-it's not about that. It was my attitude while building the tree swing. It had to be perfect...it had to have the appearance of being a bit dangerous while at the same time being safer than a store-bought swing, and I had to spend time with her for each and every swing! None of the "build it and let her go and play on it while I do something else". No! I would push her, she would push me, and this went on most of the day. Sure the football game was on in the house but I didn't care. There would be another game next week, next month, next year. But my granddaughter would never be this age at this moment in time ever again. And with a new, "dangerous" swing that we had to break in, I would not miss this opportunity for anything in the world.
My friend Casey said it best: "Fiona will remember this day for the rest of her life!" And I am honored to be a part of that memory!
"When you coming home son I don't know when.
But we'll get together then dad.
You know we'll have a good time then".