I paid $1.75 the other day for gas and happily idled for 20 minutes for an available pump. How sad is that? The year I got the keys, a quick look under the seats and floormats usually scrounged up enough money for a few gallons of gas. Gas was about .40/gal, a little less than the two Jack in the Box taco deal that was offered until midnight.
My first job, other than cleaning my grandmother's house on Saturday mornings and babysitting, was at the Donut Wheel. The cinderblock building sat all by itself in a field with a short gravel parking area on a busy street. People coming in had to hurry off the road and screech and slide to a halt. But they did because John made the best donuts in town, an assortment of cake and raised donuts for $1.50 a dozen.
The Donut Wheel was pretty banged up and had field mice in the back. A friend from school literally handed me her job by telling me to show up. I worked alongside a great friend, Carol, and earned $1.60 an hour which seemed like a deal at the time. The hours were 6-11:30 am on Sat/Sun, which left time for a social life and practice.
I became very fond of the regular customers and especially of the crusty, philosophical donut chef John who taught me how to balance the drawer. He'd show how to use the fryer, flipper and glazer when it was slow. On Sundays, Carol and I would ride home on our bikes, singing show tunes and balancing leftover boxes of donuts on the handlebars for my mother's office.
It's been almost 40 years since we sat together at the speckled formica counter talking about life and the real joy you get from working hard, no matter what you do. The kids today wouldn't look for work at someplace like the Donut Wheel. What a chance they'd miss by not seeing John flip 36 perfectly shaped donuts in three turns of the wrist. He was a man in balance, to be sure.
Nov 23, 2008
Nov 14, 2008
Four Thousand Pennies
I did that dinner thing with my friends from college last week. I had been romanticizing about how it would be to enjoy a treat night of reminiscing. It turned out to be a reminder of the great distances we have travelled since we studied together in Fanjeaux Hall and gossiped over lunch in Caleruega.
One of us had lost a spouse, one recently lost a marriage, and the topic of the night was not light and carefree as I thought it would be. We talked instead about families in crisis and, although there wasn't much of the optimism and innocense of those early days when the chapters of our lives had not yet been written, that was okay, too.
I have a couple of nomadic girlfriends whom I adore. They boldly move wherever the wind takes them, across town or across the country. Both are single professionals who currently reside in Seattle and Reno. Reno is do-able on a weekend, so I drove on up to hang out, gamble away the $40 in my pocket, eat lunch and laugh. It sure felt like she was circling around looking for somewhere to land. I envy the wanderlust spirit of change the way they do, but appreciate the roots that hold me fast.
The best part about these visits was re-discovering that we are no longer unmolded clay. We have cleared our lives of debris to live it richly and are rougher, softer, and sadder by its imprint. Spreading our wings and focusing on the experience is as fun as seeing the result. Now we know all of it matters.
Would we change any step of the journey if we could? Probably. I don't know anyone who wouldn't want to occasionally revisit a decision after learning how hard living with it would be. But doing that would run the risk of missing out on all the good and wonderful things it has brought. We are the lives we have lived, warts and all. To change any part of it would change us entirely.
One of us had lost a spouse, one recently lost a marriage, and the topic of the night was not light and carefree as I thought it would be. We talked instead about families in crisis and, although there wasn't much of the optimism and innocense of those early days when the chapters of our lives had not yet been written, that was okay, too.
I have a couple of nomadic girlfriends whom I adore. They boldly move wherever the wind takes them, across town or across the country. Both are single professionals who currently reside in Seattle and Reno. Reno is do-able on a weekend, so I drove on up to hang out, gamble away the $40 in my pocket, eat lunch and laugh. It sure felt like she was circling around looking for somewhere to land. I envy the wanderlust spirit of change the way they do, but appreciate the roots that hold me fast.
The best part about these visits was re-discovering that we are no longer unmolded clay. We have cleared our lives of debris to live it richly and are rougher, softer, and sadder by its imprint. Spreading our wings and focusing on the experience is as fun as seeing the result. Now we know all of it matters.
Would we change any step of the journey if we could? Probably. I don't know anyone who wouldn't want to occasionally revisit a decision after learning how hard living with it would be. But doing that would run the risk of missing out on all the good and wonderful things it has brought. We are the lives we have lived, warts and all. To change any part of it would change us entirely.
Nov 13, 2008
The Alldredge Girls
Three traveling companions met for the first time in a hotel lobby in Philly the week before Christmas. They had been given each other's numbers because they were reluctant to travel alone in West Virginia in the dark and wanted to share a car. They came from all over the world.
They had no idea what to expect from the experience or each other, certainly not friendship. Their paths would never have crossed at all except for their sons entering the same rehab program at the same time.
Germany was early, nervous, and turned out to be a refined and insightful artist and scholar with a well developed sense of humor. She carried a neatly packed, organized suitcase and tote. She had the confidence in her step of having been down this road longer than the others. She brought the courage, the perspective.
California arrived in tennies, jeans and a Disneyland sweatshirt, the novice, afraid and wondering more about how it would play out with her ex than with the counseling sessions for her son. She brought the maps, the compassion, and an open heart.
Colorado breezed in last, with hair piled high on her head, dragging a suitcase, travel snacks and wearing boots, jeans, a long sleeve sweater and a down vest with gloves dangling out of the pocket. She was a jumble of spiritual, nurturing love with a whole face smile. She brought the confidence and car keys.
They listened and talked and laughed and cried on that six and a half hour drive, which included two detours and one rest stop talking to a man without front teeth. And together they literally and spiritually found their way. Now, three years later, the Alldredge Girls are still at it, talking about heady stuff like being who they are meant to be. They are each other's linchpin to the world they shared in those snowy months in a remote part of West Virginia. They have earned a place at the Thanksgiving table and their boys are in each other's prayers.
People say a crisis binds people together, and it did during those long, emotional days and weeks and months when the boys captured center stage. But philosophically, the real glue has been their shared belief that the journey never ends and when they falter, it is their Alldredge sister who will always be there to pick up the phone.
They had no idea what to expect from the experience or each other, certainly not friendship. Their paths would never have crossed at all except for their sons entering the same rehab program at the same time.
Germany was early, nervous, and turned out to be a refined and insightful artist and scholar with a well developed sense of humor. She carried a neatly packed, organized suitcase and tote. She had the confidence in her step of having been down this road longer than the others. She brought the courage, the perspective.
California arrived in tennies, jeans and a Disneyland sweatshirt, the novice, afraid and wondering more about how it would play out with her ex than with the counseling sessions for her son. She brought the maps, the compassion, and an open heart.
Colorado breezed in last, with hair piled high on her head, dragging a suitcase, travel snacks and wearing boots, jeans, a long sleeve sweater and a down vest with gloves dangling out of the pocket. She was a jumble of spiritual, nurturing love with a whole face smile. She brought the confidence and car keys.
They listened and talked and laughed and cried on that six and a half hour drive, which included two detours and one rest stop talking to a man without front teeth. And together they literally and spiritually found their way. Now, three years later, the Alldredge Girls are still at it, talking about heady stuff like being who they are meant to be. They are each other's linchpin to the world they shared in those snowy months in a remote part of West Virginia. They have earned a place at the Thanksgiving table and their boys are in each other's prayers.
People say a crisis binds people together, and it did during those long, emotional days and weeks and months when the boys captured center stage. But philosophically, the real glue has been their shared belief that the journey never ends and when they falter, it is their Alldredge sister who will always be there to pick up the phone.
Nov 12, 2008
Change-a-Comin'
Love is in the air and you know what that means ... change!
We knew our granddaughter Morgan was engaged but yesterday we learned her sister just got engaged. It looks like an exciting 2009! My brother and his wife return today from their Caribbean honeymoon and we had our first yard sale as partners.
It's hard to separate out things we don't need -- duplicate appliances and stuff we've dragged along through life that won't fit in the new plan. Like on TV, we had to decide which stuff to store, or display, or sell or donate. It's surprisingly hard to look at our lives that way after so many years, and I am currently better at the game of detatchment than he is, but we're getting there.
After several weeks of spot-targeting, there was enough for a garage sale. I made cute little signs which were totally unnecessary because we're on a major street and the minute you put a sofa and table on the driveway, everyone stops. He told me that: I didn't listen.
Yard sale day was a kick. One funny, spunky lady really got into it and sold stuff for us to a spanish speaking family. An older guy hung around a while and negotiated a better price on the sofa than the deal I had made. When they left, the sofa guy's wife gave each of us a homemade mexican pastry that was out of this world. In the end we emptied some of the storage unit and garage and have over $300 in the new sofa fund.
Our favorite neighbors were our best customers - isn't that always the way? But I'm sure they will probably make it back the next time we play Tripoley together. Another neighbor bartered with something we wanted for something we had. That was funny, as was the lady from down the block who came by just to tell us she loved the yard.
We had put an up-for-grabs list out to the kids beforehand, and Morgan and Jason came by to keep us company. They came knowing their apartment was full and left with glassware, dishware, a barber pole, a big old box of baseball cards and a full belly. That's just how it works at yard sales - you can't leave empty handed, especially when it's free.
It was the first time any of Randy's family had been here since the transition of households began, and I watched her look around, taking it all in. I know, honey, it's different than it was, and she said, but now the house has you in it and that's good. I just love that girl!
Yesterday, too, my sons got together and moved the last of furniture out of the house in Elk Grove and parceled out tools. We're hosting Thanksgiving for the Fassio Bros. and our eldest son has invited his girlfriend's family to join us. How very interesting! Who knows: maybe there's more change-a-comin'.
We knew our granddaughter Morgan was engaged but yesterday we learned her sister just got engaged. It looks like an exciting 2009! My brother and his wife return today from their Caribbean honeymoon and we had our first yard sale as partners.
It's hard to separate out things we don't need -- duplicate appliances and stuff we've dragged along through life that won't fit in the new plan. Like on TV, we had to decide which stuff to store, or display, or sell or donate. It's surprisingly hard to look at our lives that way after so many years, and I am currently better at the game of detatchment than he is, but we're getting there.
After several weeks of spot-targeting, there was enough for a garage sale. I made cute little signs which were totally unnecessary because we're on a major street and the minute you put a sofa and table on the driveway, everyone stops. He told me that: I didn't listen.
Yard sale day was a kick. One funny, spunky lady really got into it and sold stuff for us to a spanish speaking family. An older guy hung around a while and negotiated a better price on the sofa than the deal I had made. When they left, the sofa guy's wife gave each of us a homemade mexican pastry that was out of this world. In the end we emptied some of the storage unit and garage and have over $300 in the new sofa fund.
Our favorite neighbors were our best customers - isn't that always the way? But I'm sure they will probably make it back the next time we play Tripoley together. Another neighbor bartered with something we wanted for something we had. That was funny, as was the lady from down the block who came by just to tell us she loved the yard.
We had put an up-for-grabs list out to the kids beforehand, and Morgan and Jason came by to keep us company. They came knowing their apartment was full and left with glassware, dishware, a barber pole, a big old box of baseball cards and a full belly. That's just how it works at yard sales - you can't leave empty handed, especially when it's free.
It was the first time any of Randy's family had been here since the transition of households began, and I watched her look around, taking it all in. I know, honey, it's different than it was, and she said, but now the house has you in it and that's good. I just love that girl!
Yesterday, too, my sons got together and moved the last of furniture out of the house in Elk Grove and parceled out tools. We're hosting Thanksgiving for the Fassio Bros. and our eldest son has invited his girlfriend's family to join us. How very interesting! Who knows: maybe there's more change-a-comin'.
Nov 11, 2008
Forever Mine
I keep talking about my sons, and why not? They are wonderful men, completely transformed by life and on their own journey. I see glimpses of me in them, the way they lean forward and gesture during conversations or how they tease with a sidelong glance. Their dad is present in their charming good looks. Grandpa and Uncle Don's adventurous, playful side is there, and a daredevil spirit which I'm convinced Tim recycled through the family.
What I am most glad for is knowing I contributed to a home that gave them freedom to be themselves. They are as dissimilar in their style, interests and temperaments as brothers could be. But all are bound by a sense of right living and honest effort. All are smart, and interesting to talk to, stubborn and proud. It's a joy to watch them succeed, or face and solve challenges and talk things over with me when the time is right.
My favorite images will always be of three endearing little boys perched around the diningroom table on phone books or tucked under blankets on the sofa for storytime. It's not about running the herd anymore, or keeping them safe, clean, and filled with food. Now it's about finding a way to show them how much faith I have in them and how much they are loved.
What I am most glad for is knowing I contributed to a home that gave them freedom to be themselves. They are as dissimilar in their style, interests and temperaments as brothers could be. But all are bound by a sense of right living and honest effort. All are smart, and interesting to talk to, stubborn and proud. It's a joy to watch them succeed, or face and solve challenges and talk things over with me when the time is right.
My favorite images will always be of three endearing little boys perched around the diningroom table on phone books or tucked under blankets on the sofa for storytime. It's not about running the herd anymore, or keeping them safe, clean, and filled with food. Now it's about finding a way to show them how much faith I have in them and how much they are loved.
Nov 8, 2008
Keys on a Ring
I got a call from a really great college friend the other day. We keep in touch two or three times a year, and a little more than that after her husband died a couple of years ago. She was my college roommate, my Maid of Honor. Even though she's in the City and I'm in the Capitol city, we rarely get together except when one of us happens to be passing through.
I carry an interesting assortment of keys to the car, house, rentals, safe deposit box, mailbox, file cabinet, and storage unit. There's even a couple of weird ones that I have forgotten why they were important. They dangle from little pewter flippers that remind me of Colette and my happy snorkeling excursions. On a smaller key ring off the main are the things I can't part with: my brother's house key, although he doesn't live there now, and my dad's and mom's keys, who are long passed away. I guess you could say my keyring represents the Key Things in my life.
Alanna's call got me thinking about maintenance and how much I miss her on my Key ring. Like old stucco that chips away from a foundation, our Key relationships also erode (our spouses, our children, our friends) without noticing the damage caused by our lack of upkeep. And then one day, Bam! there's a big chunk of wall on the floor. The point is, change is inevitable if we do nothing to stop it.
Life is very distracting. There are a lot of really great things going on - new cars, new jobs, new friends, new towns - and it is easy to talk ourselves into thinking the old Keys will always be there. But it takes effort and passion to maintain anything, especially hearts, and family and old friends are part of our living heritage. More than any other, their stories and anecdotes punctuate our lives with warmth, humor and a sense of belonging.
I carry an interesting assortment of keys to the car, house, rentals, safe deposit box, mailbox, file cabinet, and storage unit. There's even a couple of weird ones that I have forgotten why they were important. They dangle from little pewter flippers that remind me of Colette and my happy snorkeling excursions. On a smaller key ring off the main are the things I can't part with: my brother's house key, although he doesn't live there now, and my dad's and mom's keys, who are long passed away. I guess you could say my keyring represents the Key Things in my life.
Alanna's call got me thinking about maintenance and how much I miss her on my Key ring. Like old stucco that chips away from a foundation, our Key relationships also erode (our spouses, our children, our friends) without noticing the damage caused by our lack of upkeep. And then one day, Bam! there's a big chunk of wall on the floor. The point is, change is inevitable if we do nothing to stop it.
Life is very distracting. There are a lot of really great things going on - new cars, new jobs, new friends, new towns - and it is easy to talk ourselves into thinking the old Keys will always be there. But it takes effort and passion to maintain anything, especially hearts, and family and old friends are part of our living heritage. More than any other, their stories and anecdotes punctuate our lives with warmth, humor and a sense of belonging.
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