SHOPPING THERAPY

She came into my shop about 3 or 4 times a year.
She put a smile on my face.
One of these clients you do not forget.
I can see her now walking in the door .
"hello my dear Mrs. K. how are you?"
"terrific now that you are here to cheer me up"
"You may not know it but I jist celebrated my 96th birthday and I do need
to give myself a gift, so I will browse in your lovely shop!

I could never get over the fact that here she stood almost 100 years old and
she wanted to buy herself something.

I see her in her navy blue suit , a sort of shantung worn by much younger people and it had a little white border. Her blouse was pure white silk with a little bow and an exquisite brooch (broche to me)
her shoes ,of course, navy with white trim and a tiny heel.
Her hat was a fine straw hat with a white rose which reflected her snow white hair.

A long time ago she told me that she was a preacher';s wife, a real Southern Belle.
She had lived most of her life in South Carolina. Her husband had joined the Lord, she said and she smiled.
She would add that he went "home" too soon for he was a gentle man.
She was petite and rather thin, one would wonder if her legs could keep her up but she walked at a steady pace.

I would help her look for what was on her mind and often she would find the right item, mostly jewelry or if I had vintage gloves she would try them on. She was what the French call "une coquette", she came out of a box and one had to look at her , you just could not help yourself.

The majority of my clients would come in with china ware, cut glass, old pearls , martini glasses, Hummels and Lladro. They would all have the same sing song :"I am too old to use this, I no longer entertain, I no longer can keep up with the dust, my children do not want this, my daughter does not even talk to me, my granddaughter just wants what fits in the dish washer. My maid no longer comes and I can't polish the silver, can you please sell it for me."
The majority looked very unhappy, the end of the road bothering them, the memories to be buried.

The Floridians who come here in the summer to cool off (try that this year!) would always have these
different color suits ready to go jogging or not....bright colors, bracelets by the dozens and bright lipstick.They stood out but as widows they had to sell the NC property so more "stuff" . I almost always told them to go for auctions, I knew that I could never pay enough so that helped in the long run.
Buying? are you kidding? they would walk around the shop and say :"I have this and have that but better quality, of course. "

I would observe the older women and started to think what road I was going to take when I would turn 80.
Would I wear all these colors still? I sure do! Would I wear the jog suits and the hoodies? Never.
I look like always a gypsy antique dealer with long skirts ,jewelry and much color.
It's my style but at 5.7" I can carry it a bit. Did I say 5 '7" ? I am lying I shrunk 1/2 inch.

I have given a lot of my "goodies" to the girls because they wanted them and appreciate them.
So that helped me. I was not a Hummel fan and could not afford Lladro so I am safe here.
I did like sterling silver and must admit that I no longer like to polish it and never had a maid to do it, well, I am lying again, Brie used to polish for me until she grew this brute force and one day twisted one of my candle sticks into a pretzel. That was her last polishing job.

 Surely one who grew up without a touch of silver anywhere not even silverplate , a mother who prided herself if she could buy stainless steel forks that had to be 18/8!  Why the silver longing? I did not learn about 925 sterling till my Bob came into my life and had all these different gorgeous patterns of teaspoons for his coffee. He taught us all to look for the 925 never mind 18/8.

Rhonda was quick to go to the church bazars and find the spoons she liked (she was not into sets yet) if it was sterling it was going to be hers. She'd go to the cashier and say things like :"I like this so much do not know if I have enough pennies...(sad face) usually she got them for free from old unsuspecting sweet church ladies. Especially the Episcopalians, Rhonda 's testimony, she said they had the best silver.
Then she'd come to the shop we had and tried to sell them to us.

So as I watched the elderly in my business I decided I wanted to be 94 dressed like a gypsy and still go shopping.

Well, I did it in a big way. Since my bead shop was closed unexpectedly I have been brooding about my office/workplace. It's not as orderly as I would like it to look at it every day and slow down on beading. I am blue about the subject, I miss it  and yet I do not have the courage to start again in another place. I need too much help for setting up a new shop and then keeping it up. Brie needs a rest and Rhonda is hardly home as her hours are brutal at work.

So on a whim  I decided to make the room again a dining room, nothing fancy, nothing expensive I did all that during the younger years. I wanted something very European and country looking nothing modern and I told the kids that Christmas eve was on me with the new room!!!!They love it!!!!!!!!

Just like I decided within minutes to give up my dining room I decided to have it come back.
I had put my solid mahogany table on the side of the street with a sign "FREE" ten minutes later it was gone. My chairs were from my grandfather so the girls each got 3. That took care of it.
Entered the beads and plastic drawers piled on plastic wheels who could not keep up with the weight.
The white plastic turned yellow like over night. As long as I was working in there I had no problems but with the changes also came the nostalgia of again having the kids here for Christmas.
So at 81 1/2 I went to the consignment shop and bought a Bavarian kitchen table strong enough to hide under if a tornado comes and four high back chairs just like I had in my house in California.
Who buys furniture at my age? Who cares? I am old enough to know better and old enough not to give a damn.

I think my preacher';s wife is "home" and smiling at me.

The Mediocre Farmer

Ok. Ok. So I admit it, I am a mediocre farmer.
How do I know that for sure?
Well after years of farming I am at 269 points, my friends are at the max 450 points.

If you are from another planet you probably do not know about our "Farms".

" Farm Town was initially sent out in February of 2009 to a few select members of the Facebook community in order to “iron out the bugs.” The game was finally added to the Facebook Application Directory in June 2009 and debuted as the fourth most popular game on Facebook.^"

 My son who lives with me knows that I love games, especially on the computer.
He saw the birth of the Farm Town as something "Mom would love". so he started me on this innocent adventure.  He did  need someone to "harvest" his field so he had different motives.
In the early days you had one field and you plowed, planted and harvested one little square at a time.
Time consuming it was.
I was his slave to go and harvest the pineapples he planted, always the same fruit because it yelded the most points. You keep on planting and eventually you get points which will buy you more land, seeds, animals,trees, castles and lean-tos.
With real cash and Paypal it is only a few "clicks" and you can shop for whatever your greedy heart wants that day.

Young Bob left the game after the second farm, so did my Sabrina, I on the other hand do not give up with ease as I now have 19 farms. Last week I gave up my 5.99 in REAL cash so I could get a combine which does 3 things all at once. It harvests, plows and seeds about 9 squares all at once. It saved me at least an hour of work the 19 "estates" I own.
I think I was singing all day when I bought the combine, it is so cool.
Now if you strangers to this game think I am a nut case, think again.
There are millions in this game, all over the globe.

I have farmer friends in the UK, in Greece, the Ukraine, Thailand New Zealand  and every state of the Union in the USA.

With my farmer friends I have made a friendship circle. In the 50's and 60's we had Round Robins with letters who did a circle of friends. Took forever to get to the end of "round". Now every morning I get my coffee sit by the computer and chat with the world.

I feel very lucky that I have that connection. I am somewhat of a loner, I do not drive, I do not like to be in particular clubs, groups, organizations of this and that. I never have. I kept in touch for decades with a very few loyal terrific friends. I am in heaven with my computer.

In the meantime Farm Town is so big that I can't keep up with it all ,I am OK with that.
Some days I just want to work the farms in every aspect, the flowers, the trees, the animals, the plowing. Then there are weeks I do not look at anything. When I come back it is always there waiting for me to play catch up.

Now and then I will splurge 5 or 10 bucks for some tool I would like but it is not something that will upset my budget. It is not a gambling thing. Now keep me OUT of Vegas, there I am in trouble.
I am a gambler, why do you think most people are in retail? They gamble if they buy this or that wholesale and can sell it for a profit , that is pure heaven.

This morning I did feel a bit out of sorts when I was planting dandelions. Who does that? My real ones are a quick fix with some poison and they droop but in Farm Town what do I need them for? I have not figured it out yet, everything they put up has a reason. Now I have a rabbit hutch with 22 rabbits. I wonder can I move the hutch and let the rabbits have a field day?

I love the windmills, of course I do. These are RED you can see them the minute you are on the field, they make flour out of the wheat you plant, better plant a lot. There is a bakery and pizza place ,then there are B and B';s with huge breakfast menus...and on and on.........

Sorry, I have to run I have to plant lemongrass........what was that for???I can't remember.....but I will find out...........
See you in Farmtown.

"would it not have been nice if Zimmerman

would have given this young man a ride home to get out of the rain" I am quoting from a sermon by an Episcopalian priest.

Are these days gone? Totally gone?

Now we can play cop and carry a gun and offer a bullet instead of a ride.

Better yet it is called self defense.

Outrage at our judicial system with all the loop holes and the prejudices there.

I just read in Time that by 2040, (I thought that is when my son will be 70) not so far away...by that time it is estimated that the "whites" will be the minority in the USA.

What will happen in the meantime?
More murders now also black on black in the ghettos?
More innocent people being shot?
A little girl was shot yesterday during a funeral service for a relative who had been shot.
Does any of this make sense?

Guns?
Hatred for each other?
Profiling? We all do that, lets be honest.

Profiling is very dangerous it makes you use judgment on someone you do not even know by name.
I was brought up with prejudice and profiling.
I did not figure it out till much later in life.
Both my mother and father had been kids during WW1 in Belgium.
Both hated the Germans with a passion.
If someone would walk by us speaking German my mother would turn white from anger.
She would say words under her breath I never heard her say out loud.

WW2 came and I surely joined my parents in hating the Germans and this hatred lasted with me for decades. One such national would walk in my shop and my help had to take over ,I would not serve them and would often run to be sick to my stomach.
I did not know these people and I disliked them with a horrible passion.

A German person I will never meet in person  but became a friend of mine on the internet has changed my mind. I do not even know how to explain it. She is German and I adore her and we write every day a few words here and there. Over the past few years she had given me great advice and helped me over hurdles.

I am sorry that I perhaps lost other friendships because someone was born in Germany.

I speak with an accent and the first guess strangers ask me is :"You German?"
In the past I would have a whole story for an answer and it was not a pretty one.
I so wanted to be able to say a "TH" sound but it is not going to happen.
Now I just answer and say "No Belgian, and I speak Flemish therefore the accent".
Leave it at that.

Can I forget the war? No, not ever.
When I see the kids in the Middle East, in Africa and wherever there are fights ,bombs, airplanes, soldiers , I feel in my heart that all these boys and girls IF they survive will have these horrors scars in their mind.
I just hope that they can grow stronger from the experience, I think I did.

So what will happen now that America is back on the sing song about we MUST OVERCOME.
If we had Zimmerman would not be a vigilante, he would not need a gun, he would not have taken a life and he is not the only one. Who knows how many similar incidents are hidden under the rugs. It took the child's parents to bring that incident to the light and ask questions.

I see  no quick answers but for the moment the sad picture is back on the front pages, wake up America, forget colors, we are all human beings who would enjoy not being afraid.

New care for dementia patients.

Yesterday I could not spell "flood" no matter how I put things together nothing jived and the more I panicked the worse it got. I was stuck on "flud" and flud it was.

I scrabble for too many hours these days. I am petrified when I forget one little item.
I want to be clear of mind.
I want to remember everything.
I do not want to sink in a dark space like Bob did.
I so wanted to help him but I could n't.
YET..I could have done better....

I just read the New Yorker and an article by Rebecca Mead about new procedures in care giving.
Years ago already in England Thomas Kitwood, a social psychologist , started to view dementia and the care in a different light. He started the Bradford Dementia group. Prime Minister David Cameron is leading a campaign ,the Dementia Challenge, that aims at providing sufferers with the service and support they need.

In Belgiam the city of Bruges declared itself "dementia friendly", clerks are trained to anticipiate a shopper may have problems remembering.

in Arizona a model care facility named the "Beatitudes" has so many new ideas and while I was reading Ms Mead's article I could still feel what I could have done better.
The struggle with the bathing comes to mind.
Not that I required a bath every day anymore but when I thought he really would feel better having a good "wash down" he became violent. At one point I put towels on the bathroom floor and just washed him down while he was punching me. I was thinking that I had to win. There are ways of calming them down and working with the moods.

It is interesting to see that we are beginning to think of these patients as real people...they need to be
taken care with more dignity than sitting in a chair all day in a hall, head bent down smelling of urine.
There are options as we see in Arizona.

If you have someone with that mental problem do read the article, it may help both of you.

http://www.newyorker.com/reporting/2013/05/20/130520fa_fact_mead

 http://www.newyorker.com/reporting/2013/05/20/130520fa_fact_mead

New Yorker May 20.2013  the sense of an ending by Rebecca Mead
 

My peers

We were walking arm in arm, three old broads who have know each other since childhood.
I the youngest by just a couple of years.The oldest probably 8 or 9 years my senior.
The Veldstraat in Ghent Belgium is a shopping street.
We had started there, walked by shops full of the latest styles. We made fun of the young who came out with shorter and shorter skirts. Hair with rainbow color streaks. Overly done black make up around the eyes almost looking like football players ready for the game.
We sure had a great time talking about our own mothers and how they would see this scenario now.
Of course I had to tell when my mother unexpectedly visited me in the Inno tearoom.
I was with a few of my girlfriend's not yet 15, blond hair down my back but once out of the house I changed it to the side sweep a la Veronica Lake (unacceptable to Mother) , then when we girls met at the tearoom we would gossip and one package of cigarettes did the delivery around the table.
I had no idea what to do with it so I puffed and puffed and blew a lot of smoke but inhaled nothing .
I did not know that the waitress the enemy. She called my mother at work and there she stood with the steel eyes. Took the cigarette out of my hand, looked at the girls. Said "Au revoir" and dragged me to the ladies room where my hair was again combed with a middle stripe, a comb on each side with a little pink bow on it.

My story brought my friends in tears of laughter, they had all known Mme. D. ,my mother, and sometimes they had to do with her antics after we all became adults.

At the end of the Veldstraat E. decided it was dessert time and coffee, so we found a cozy pattiserie in
de Volderstaat. We made sure we had enough whipped cream to last us a few hours. The stories continued.
A. had been my neighbor at one point, our enclosed back "yard" was very small , all cement and the outhouse and the coal and potato bins in a little cove next to that. The pump was outside and in the winter we had to make sure to have hot water on hand to break the ice before we could pump water for our coffee and face washing. A7 foot brick wall separated us. When my Mom yelled they would often yell back with an answer for her. When I got married in 1951 and bought a record player they complained that I was listening to Ima Sumac with all her vocals, I had 3 records, Johny Lane, Ima and Nat King Cole. What did they want from me? They wanted me to move out which I did after 1 year with mother and husband.

Finishing our coffee and on to another street and A. the elder, liked a little bit liquor, she could hold it too.
One wine for me and I will dance on the table or under it.
So the next big bar with lots of room we settled in and it was A's turn to treat.
They knew her and the barman from behind the counter said "Een kleintje,voor jou?"
( a little one meaning all hard liquor in small glass)
together E and I settled for a calmer beer.
More stories ...remember when....more laughter....
Then A. said that every Saturday she had to watch her husband as he would get a ladder and try to see above the wall when I sat in the galvanized tub to take my bath. I had not known that at the time but found out later so I started to put the tub in the corner next to the coal so he would not see me.
My turn to treat so another kleintje and another beer or two.
We started to entertain a few people who came in, they wanted to laugh with us.

It was a great afternoon and it was the last time I saw them.
We all 3 stood together and cried while hugging. We knew.

Yesterday I heard that A. has dementia and almost burned her house down with cooking sausages till they turned into smoke and alerted the gal next door.
E. has a new knee, totalled her car a few months ago but came out OK.
Her husband is older, he is pushing 89, like me he is deaf but he learned how to use the computer and writes me jokes every day, as well as to 121 other people.

We were young once and now we are leaving one at a time.....
Memories of the three broads in Ghent are still with me....I would hope that A. can find them now and then in her new world.

RENOIR THE MOVIE 2013

Source

Pierre-Auguste Renoir paints on the French Riviera in 1915 after his wife dies and his son is wounded in a battle. He finds a young woman named Andrée and she becomes his last model.

Search For: Michel Bouquet · Christa Theret · Vincent Rottiers

 

ok SO what is it with me. Some critics had "bad" things to say about this film. It was too slow, the script was "empty" etc...etc...it is now about 2 weeks since I saw it and it haunts me every day.

I keep replaying scenes in front of me and each one is like a tableau ready to be painted.

 

Have I been an artist wife for too long?

Did I find similarities in the life of Renoir and ours? No.

First of all , Renoir is very old here. Michel Bouquet does not have to say much. His old man grunts tell a whole conversation. He is also at this point in life a rich man and has sold a lot of his work.

He suffers from arthritis to he point that he does not want to give up to paint "something" just "anything".

He does try.

His cripple fingers have to be bound with the brush inside.

His entourage makes up his palette , now ochre, now blue, now white , not that much....

The little dobs of paint are waiting for the shaky hand.

I sit there in the quiet of the movie house with "ears on" and I can hear every word, it is in French.

I am feeling his pain and I want to cry.

 

The day after delivering Sabrina I woke up with fat swollen feet. To stand on them was like walking on thousands of spikes. The doctor said that I had "gout". Gave me some pills and sent me home.

"Gout" back home was a priest disease or the Baron down the street from the school, he had it too.

Mother said :"They eat too much rich food and drink too much wine!".

I was afraid to write mother. What was she going to think?

Next my hands became swollen and ugly. The pain was worse and worse.

I could not pick up a coffee pot to pour coffee and I could not comb the girls long hair.

As I watch Renoir sitting there and often screaming out I forgot it was a movie and felt for him like he was sitting next to me. I figured he had courage and willpower to want to continue to paint.

My ordeal lasted 9 years until a "bad" drug called Butazolidin put me totally in remission and life was good again. I was 28 when it started. My stomach was so bad from all the aspirins I took that I ate every meal with papaya for easy digestion.

 

The staff in the Renoir house brings in a new model hoping to have him in a better mood.

She (Christa Theret) is gorgeous. Not a fake anything on her. Gorgeous hair, no fake eyelashes, no filled up breast. Not a Hollywood scenario. She poses with great grace for the master. There is a twinkle in his old eyes. One can guess what he is thinking. Yes, the past, it seems that a lot of models came in found their way to his bed and were later dismissed. 

 

My mind wanders and I remember asking Bob when we were first together if he had done a lot of work with nudes. Not sure of myself as an artist wife I wanted all phases covered.

Bob answered with smiles.
"Yes, he said, in Chouinard we were required to do nude sketches. Live models came in all the time. The class was always completely full and I was as usual always late. So I ended up with the view of a crack in a rear end sitting in front of me. When I did get a chance to sketch a front of a lady she was about 300 lbs. So I lost my appetite for nude work".

I did not know if I should believe this or not but I figured no young chick with boobs under her chin was going to end up in my house.

I did not have to fear. Bob was in love with still life. He said they did not move (the models) and he got to eat them afterwards. 

Not so when we lived in Spain and he had a commission to do a fish with vegetables....

we went to the mercado and looked at all the fishes. He did not like any of them. One of the merchants had a short fuse with my husband and started to yell things we had not taken up yet in our Spanish conversations book. I kept telling the man "Es un pintor," like that was going to make the grade. I held up a fish and then pinches my nose and showed that we wanted mucho colores on the fish.

He got the picture and brought out the smelliest fish with blues and greens. Bob was in heaven.

I stayed on the balcony when he painted.

So back to the movie which had every scene set up to look like a natural painting. I could not get enough of it. Slow...the reviews say...I liked it slow, seeing the trees the river, the kids and girls in long skirts stepping stone to stone. At one point Renoir from behind his easel tells his friend :Oh, how very pretty!

I did not think that he was a dirty old man, I thought like Bob when it was beautiful he would say so.

I wrote this before but when we were in Rome in 1969 all I saw was one Lola Brigida after another. Voluptuous black haired beauties. Bob never said a word until we came to the beggar lady on the church steps. Her face a map of lines, deep worn out lines on a skin like leather. He gave her money and asked if he could photograph her as she was so beautiful. She smiled, she did not have teeth but he made her day.

Somewhere I have that picture and it sure made my trip. The man was a peach.

One does not truly know who in the film is the main object, the painter, the model or his son (Vincent Rottiers). It is a three part scenario. Not much melodrama except that the son comes back hurt from the war and then must return.

But we all know that Jean Renoir came to Hollywood and married Andree, the model, but later divorced.

In real life I think the fantasy ended there.

My life of remembering goes on and how lucky I am.

Instead of sitting by a cool river Bob and I would walk into the Spanish sugar cane fields and find a place to sit so he could do a watercolor of a finca. Not just any finca..the right one. The hot sun did not bother him then nor I, so we found this little stone bridge over a dried up creek and took up residence.

I had the Casera drinks ,cheese and fresh bread if we got hungry. Bob had sketched in his finca when out of nowhere came dozens of goats. We scrambled papers, brushes and pencils as they surely where headed for us. We were sitting on their "salt" on the bridge. They needed the salt to continue their day. The herder thought it was hilarious. I bet Renoir would have said:"how very pretty ". We never forgot and so I could like it all again while watching the grand master on film.They called him "Patron".

Why don't you drive, You are not stupid

No sooner did I talk and I annoyed my mother.
She told the story during the rest of her life.
I would get ready for bed and say: ”Jeannotje downstairs”
She’d reply “UPSTAIRS”
I sternly : “No, Jeannotje downstairs”
This routine was the beginning of my confusion with directions.
Mother wanted a perfect child and this was a bit of a hitch.

Over the years I would try to adjust the right brain and ask people “stupid” questions:
“Does this escalator go up or down?”
Especially difficult in airports when I often see a choice and both are filled with people going so many places.

So later in life people asked :
“why don’t you drive? You’ r not stupid!”
“Well , thank you for thinking that at least I have a brain”.

I did drive. I drove for 4 years in the 1960’s in New Jersey on Highway 1.
Thank you very much. I did it! With babies in the back fighting! I did it!

My ex purchased a 1951 Buick. I had my photo taken by it like a movie star caressing the top of the Buick. I was so proud. Our first car!!!!
“Look, Ma, we have a car”.
A big car it was , a monster, no power brakes or power steering, just brute force
From your hands and feet and the vehicle was like a tank.
X husband taught me how to drive it. Patience he was lacking. Understanding that I was not sure when to turn left or right was not left for him to absorb.
I heard words like “stupid women drivers”…..and more.
I wanted to drive in the worst way.
Driving was equal to freedom.

So I drove, I obtained a license under bad circumstances, waiting in line for hours in the NJ heat I told the guy that I did not feel well.
I had turned over more cones than they had there.
Parallel parking was just not my expertise.
The man said:”I think you are going to faint, here is your license and go home”
The angels sang that day!!!!

So I drove my husband to work ,piled children in the back, wee ones and friends and one day the brakes went out. I was near “2 Guys from Harrison” supermarket to pick up Joe . What to do? I drove around the parking around and around letting go of the pedal and slowly we came to a stop against the wall of the market.
Not a dent in the Buick, children safe, moi wondering what the hell was I doing in a car.
After the Buick came a better choice a Ford Fairlane, think it was a 1954 or 55.
I could manage that better and took us all to Ashbury beach when mother came to visit.  Still I felt uncomfortable every time I stepped in a car. Took of my shoes, I needed to feel the pedal. Drove badly with both feet to the ready to stop. You are not supposed to do that, Jeannot. One day you will hit both at the same time.

When I needed to make a left I would go around the block till I was facing the right street , I just refused to make left turns. Why is that? You ask. Well it takes me minutes at time to figure out where my left is.

Imagine sitting in front of a light and trying to make the sign of the cross before you know which hand is the left. People honk at you , they want you to go to hell for all they care. Make a move, lady, I have things to do. Even in the sixties this did happen.

We moved to San Jose California, yes, we knew the way!
I needed to renew my license. Rumor had it they were very strict.
I still drove but figured that the Californians were all nuts on the streets.
Wild cowboys they were. I would perspire when I delivered my Avon products.
I was with a client when Kennedy got shot, I ran to my car (then a station wagon) and got home in no time. Later I figured out that I had not noticed the red lights and stop signs, I had just plowed through them.

I stopped driving. I did not get a California piece of paper to say I was safe on the road. I started to figure out that one day I would kill somebody, my children, or myself. I was not a driver. Period. Live with it.

Living with it all these decades was somewhat easy as husband numero uno loved driving and we had always some place we loved to see in our new state. We had purchased a 17 foot trailer in N.J. and spent our days in the parks.

Husband numero dos did not tell me when we first met that he could not drive.
He lived in San Fran for years after art school and who needs a car when you can climb these lovely mountain streets in a glorious cable car.
His sister had a Thunderbird with some horses under the hood who liked to run fast. She gave Bob lessons and soon he became my designated driver for all occasions.
He loved it, the girls loved it. After my divorce I was left with a broken down car which ran on 4 whatever. Speed it had not but luck was always with us as the car would break down we were always in front of a garage. The girls would giggle and say that we made it again to the right place.

It was not too many years ago that I found out what was “wrong “ with me.
Nothing. I am right brained and so be it. A form of dyslexia and a host of other things work different for a right brainer and a left brain. My mother was left brain and could never understand that I was not exactly like her.
Even late in life people tell me :”You can do it!! Try it!”
It is not a question if I can do it but the question is can I do it well? The answer is NO. I know I would make a faux turn one day and cause a lot of damage.
Do all the people with dyslexia give up driving ? Of course not but are they safe drivers is a question I would have.

I do not “live” with the anxiety of it , this is me but imagine the nerve I had a couple of years ago to think I could go back to beading and designing jewelry. After all I did it with Bob in the 70’s , I can do it again.
I forgot that having a composition of beads in my head and putting them on the string in the right order is just another matter altogether.
Add to this old age and vertigo.
I have made necklaces OK and even sold them but you have no idea how much sweat and even tears it took to execute them.

Do not ask me why I am not driving, be happy that I don’t. You are safer that way.

Black out

How odd are we human beings.
Prime example:
Last night, late in the evening we had a black out.
Half the town in the dark.

Usually when I walk Bijou about 9 PM I do not wander I stay close to the house and I look around to make sure I am alone on the street. Afraid of the Boogy man? Well I truly do not know, I am just overly cautious.

After awhile when the lights went out the house became too warm, the silence a bit too quiet.
I ventured out as Bob had already left and found people walking slowly in all directions, some with flashlights and some feeling their way along the sidewalks. I found new neighbors and we talked, this one reminded me of the 30's when people did exactly that, they went outside, the kids would play with friends and women shared new gossip.

For some odd reason without lights I felt safer than all the nights I walk Bijou under the blue city lights.

The old lady

She was in her eighties when we met. I doubt that was 5 feet tall, a petite and round little jewel.
She liked to wear turbans over her silky white sparse hair. Only cotton dresses just down to past her knees and then two fragile looking legs moved her down her steps to admire her flowers.

White flowers were her favorites, she loved the white roses and at one time in her life she had a garden full but also a big vegetable garden.

When you talked to her you could see her eyes dancing, now and then she would giggle, a little girls giggle.
I never saw her angry but I hear that did happen once in a blue moon. It seemed like life for her was on a scale and the scale always stayed in the middle. It did not tip to the sad side nor to the very happy side.
She did take it one day at a time without fuss.

She told me that she was born in Indiana, she'd giggle at that and exclaim I am a Hoosier !.....
My father was a builder and a crook. Often we kids were packed up in the middle of the night and on
to another town and start all over again.
"That is why, she said, I never got to keep my dolls, they were always left in the last house".
Now in the winter of her days she would enjoy the dolls she had collected and received as presents from her kids. She would fix their hair while she'd talk about the past and she would just grin.
It was like a victory her.
She now lived in Santa Cruz California.

She came from a large family, I forget how many but sisters and brothers all over the place.
Her mother was a Christian Scientist, so she followed what Mom taught her.
It must have been early in the stages of Mary Baker Eddy's movement.
She like her mom, read every day her lesson. The Bible and a designated part in the Science and
Health book by M B Eddy. It was a routine she did not want to miss, it set the tone of the day and she'd smile. It was a religion which worked for her.

One day she took me aside and showed me what appeared to be shingles. She was in great pain. My mother had them for almost a year. I knew what that was all about. In between the pangs she'd giggle and say that soon it will all be gone. It always works that way, was her comment.
I was in misery to watch her, I begged to take her to the doctor, she'd answer "No Way!"
Then I struck a bargain with her I said I give you 5 days till I come back and if they are not gone I will take you to see someone.

She thought it all very funny. She said :"My practitioner is "working" for me, it will be gone because it is not truly there" I had heard that song before and I had seen healings but I did not have the faith.
Upon my return she quickly dragged me in the bedroom the sores were almost dried up and no longer hurt her. She giggled. Oh! Yeh of little faith came to my mind and I had a hard time believing what I saw. The skin looked like my Mom's by the end of a year struggle and vitamins.

She delivered 8 children. 4 boys, 4 girls. By the time the last one came in 1933 she told her husband that the bed was now off limits. No more. She told me that she figured enough was enough.
Her husband was a house painter and it was said in Santa Cruz that when he finished a house  the paint job would last 50 years. In fact in 1969 I was shown a Victorian mansion which he had painted years ago.It looked like brand new paint. Problem was that he had severe asthma attacks and he scoffed at C.S. religion and did not get much help from the medical front either. The fumes of the paint would put him in bed for weeks. Much work he could not accomplish.

War came and she had 4 stars on her window, her 4 boys all gone to fight and kill. I believe they were all in the Pacific Theatre. One of them became a Marauder, their battles were horrible in Batan and all over the area. A miracle he made it home.He is now listed with the other Marauders on their site. The last son was short of his High School graduation by a few days when the Army told him to come and be ready for the Philippines and the General with the pipe. He had just turned 18. His big adventures outside the beachtown was to get a bus to San Francisco to see a Disney film. Now he was on a boat to islands.

That boy became my husband in 1969. His mother treated me with so much love and tenderness that I could never forget her. She told my husband that she had tried to see what faults I had and she could not find any. (I could have given her pointers). She accepted me like her own and also my two girls my husband had adopted. My girls were in heaven and always wanted to hug and kiss her , all their relatives were in Europe and they needed a "Grandma". She'd laugh and tell them "Get off me you silly girls". She did not like all this kissing business. She did the same to my husband and me.

In 1970 we decided to move to Spain for 5 years, get the girls away from the rapidly growing drug scene of the West. I was afraid to tell her. When we did, she just looked at us, not a whimper not a tear. She said:You got to do what you got to do, just write me often and I will too. She did!!

In Spain we had a baby boy and she was excited in her mail briefings. In  late 1974 we came home to live in the East coast quite by accident and we promised her that we would visit very soon.
I can't remember what year we finally made the cross country trip with our son Bobby.
I could hardly contain myself to show off this kid and our teen age girls. The girls ready to pounce on her.

She opened the screen door and said:"Well look who is here!"
Come in. She still looked the same, the turban was snow white on her white hair but the red apron just gave her a bit of color. Her skin was always like parchment, so fine and gorgeous even with a few wrinkles.
We rushed in and she turned to us with a big smile and said: Sit down a spell because I am watching my show and will talk to you later. The show was Lawrence Welk and his polkas.
We called the sisters and we crowded the small house like sardines in a tin.
We were back and she was still alive. All of us in tears and hugging and she said: "No reason to cry they are back, enjoy and don't have fights". (brothers and sisters do that sometimes).

Her house had been built in 1926 by her husband and his friends and family. 4 rooms later a bathroom added on a large piece of land.  Up the street a bit the Pacific Ocean, play ground for the children when Mom was tired. The house was made from wood, left overs from a church which burned and the family gathered all what was usable.
She loved the house, she had lady friends come and pick her up and visit with her.
I believe she passed on at age 87 , she never had medical help in her life. Never had an aspirin. Never saw a nurse or a doctor.

My husband  took over the spiritual teachings of his mother. He was and died a Christian Scientist.
Even when his memory was gone he would tell me :"You know I am a Christian Scientist". I smiled and said I know , dear. He took lessons from Kay Kyser (musician and big band leader) then in Chapel Hill N.C. Kay was also a very well known practitioner for Christian Scientist, he also was able to give lessons in the field. Something very much controlled by the Church.

Bob studied with him for some time until Kay felt that he was ready to do some healing work.
He did but for the family and if someone asked him.
When his mother was  near her end she was in a C.S. Home in San Francisco. His sister also was ill with cancer of the throat. He "worked" and "worked" hours and hours for their healing and it was not to be.
When his Mom left us he was devastated , the same with his sister. He could not function very well as he was a very emotional person. For 2 years he did not put a paint brush in his hands. He brooded.
He told me he just could not work. After 2 years my dander was up and I just told him that he had to do something, work in a grocery store or do things to help others in a physical way. We were quite broke by then and he had an agent who was begging for his work.
The thought of being a bag boy shook him a bit so he went back to painting gorgeous still lives, portraits etc...

My mother in law was an absolute angel to me. Maybe she is still watching over us and has her son back...maybe...maybe...wish I could believe it.

Now this is where I live:

Life tends to give you curves, no I am not thinking about the derriere sticking out ,I am thinking of curves in the road of life.

I was quite settled with AGAIN a small shop in a mall situation. I did not have to be there to sell and Sabrina working nearby would check it out and dust and send me orders:"keep making necklaces, Mom".

It was near perfect except that the winter months in these tourist places are very bare in sales. So I did get a bit upset when I paid rent every month and the returns were small.
The same happened to the landlord who owns the building he did not like to receive late rent payments or none at all and the lady in charge of the mall just did not have the capital to continue so she received a notice to close up shop forever and have everybody out in a few days.

Not a happy camper was I, Talking about campers, they are about to come in this month in droves, they come from the big city,yes, that one , New York , and all surroundings. Our camps are always full.
The parents shop to see what the North Carolinians make in crafts.

The girls and I, the grandson and his friends came together and in a couple of days my shop was no more. Where did it go? Boxes in the kitchen, my work/office room, the hall way, my bedroom .....
So this is a major move but my energy has to kick in.

I started Etsy 2 days ago. that is with my own designs in jewelry.
on Ebay I put the enormous stock I have in vintage jewelry , then I have 3 areas for the donations to my favorite thrift shops. I am hoping to have this all sorted out in 2 weeks. (????)

meanwhile you can find out that I have been working overtime by checking:
https://www.etsy.com/shop/peddler777

and I am jeannot777 on eBay

Back to the photographing and listing

I WANT, I WANT, I WANT.........

Judge Judy tells it like it is "I want to be 6 feet tall and 30 years old".

It is not going to happen she follows and tells the defendant to "cool it".

Made me think of all the "I want" I had as a kid.
First of all I would not have dared to tell my mom that I "wanted", I'd beat around the bush and say things like it would be nice if we had money and I could have roller skates. The return answer was a "Mom LOOK"! Then she said :"What you will skate on the cobblestone road outside?"
So I went to an overnight with a girl friend and she had skates and lived in the city with sidewalks.
Her feet were smaller than mine so I pretended I fit in one, curled my toes and we held hands and skates each with one skate. I was in heaven and had leg cramps. My friend, Liliane, was not that amused but I had my chance to wear A roller skate.

I wanted to be a ballerina, cousin had pink ballet slippers and I felt the tip of the toes to be very hard, the slippers were pink satin. I caressed them and held them she must have had a size 4 ,she was petite and French ancestry, I was tall and pure Flemish for hundreds of years, sturdy, folk.
So Mom and I would look in the windows of Lilly De Munter dancing school. It was right across from the castle of the Counts in Ghent. The little girls looked like butterflies , so gracious, so lovely in tutu's even during instruction time. Lily knew how to use her public by the windows. When she was teaching you always saw people lined in front of her house. The sidewalk was narrow and the tram came right up to the walkway (still does) .Mom would push people around and tell them we were there first to "look".

Knowing I would not go to that school nor have ballet slippers I decided to walk on my toes, it did not take me long to walk like an arrow, toes and feet straight and I walked around the house like a ballerina.

I did not know that we were poor, I thought we did not have money for certain things. My father was a police man and my Mom a "housewife". Mom, I am sure did not think of starting a career albeit she had a very good education. Educated in a convent boarding school, she knew how to embroider, (no knitting that was for peasants), play the violin, speak fluent French , Flemish and English. The best part of her education was that she could type and take dictation!!!

As I grew older I knew that the "I want" thoughts had to be stiffled, it was not a time when parents told their kids :"you can be whatever you want to be". At least I did not hear that in my house. I was already pidgeon holed in the category "get married, have babies, tolerate your husbands mistakes as long as he brings home the money, " Added by : live close to Mama (her words).

I wanted to be an airline hostess, I was as blind as a bat, you could not have glasses and contacts were not yet in our vocabulary.
I wanted to sing in a choir, joined one by accident and was told to just stand there and NOT sing but lip sing.Said the director: stand tall look pretty and be quiet!".
I thought I could sing, I still do but it is not in the right key, so what?

Fortunately I never wanted to be an actress, I could not remember poems in school and would rearrange the lines to my understanding of what a poem should sound like. Remembering a script seemed like a nightmare to me. I would rewrite it all when it would be time to be on stage. Not good for me. Not an "I want"

I wanted to play tennis, there it was again, no money for club fees, for white outfits for special shoes for a racket and lessons. When I started to work in the papermill office (with Mom) they built a tennis court of sorts. A guy who could not play would teach me. We were a sight I am sure chasing the ball to and fro, me in my "office" dress and he in his good suit. It was warm that day , very warm. I did not give up, I was going to play by golly and play well and then things started to get dark and I fainted. I was brought to the "infirmerie" and had a sun stroke. Mother said: You can't take the heat, this is not for you so stop it.

Office installed a rec room with ping pong tables. Now I had it this was for moi!
Needed: a paddle and balls. We always found extra ones of them and I started to play, the guys already knew how and were discouraging me. Mother decided we would swipe the paddles and balls at night learn at home and replace them in the morning. I did not know what she had in mind.
At home we had a large round table in the middle of the small kitchen.A fort of a table, sturdy, served as washing dishes on them, cut and cook vegetables on them, put out wash basin on to wash our faces and tons of other activities.

Mother  said we would play on here. Round? , Yes, said she ,stop complaining.
I can't remember what our "net" in the middle was but she invented something to show our bounderies.
We played for hours, Mom was heavy all her life but she was a lot more agile than I was and could outrun me. She was the athletic type, I was the wrought iron gate type in my movements (that is what the gymnastic teacher told me so I had to believe him) I did learn to be a good ping pong player and we even went into tournaments at the sister companies. One "I want" accomplished thanks to Mom.

Today my "I want" are over with. I learned a long time ago that if I wanted something in the material world then I would work for it and get it myself. I'd buy a "goodie" at an auction and turn to Bob and he'd smile and say:"I am so glad you got that". He never asked about the money, we were one unit so why bother to ask anything. Love that man!!! He would have been 87 today, June 8th. I do WANT HIM BACK
it is not going to happen so be content with all what you do have, Jeannot. Better health for one thing. Great kids and grandkids, a house, a garden not to forget my Bijou, Maltese, dream boat of a dog.
And an invention called a computer......wowsy....

A PUBLIC THANK YOU NOTE TO ALL MY INTERNET FRIEND AND MY OLD FRIENDS AND FAMILY

The last years with Bob were extremely difficult.
I had not time for visitors nor did I want them to come and see Bob the way he was.
Bob in return would probably have told them to get the.....out of his house...
he hated people coming in and at time even hated me here.

What kept me going on many days was emails.
I made friends with people I will never meet in person but they are like sisters to me.
Often I would write while the tears would flow down my face.
In the next ten minutes a letter would appear with a joke, a connection, a do not give up note, an I love you and want to hug you wish. I would read it over and over again and I would calm down and tell
myself that I was not alone.

When my grandson was diagnosed with a fast moving child cancer, Ewing Sarcoma, I was in total disbelief. It was followed with the certain knowledge that he was not going to be able to fight it.
Months I went to bed with that thought and in tears , I would wake up think of Zack and start to cry again.
I became depressed at all the different decisions which had to be made. Where to go for treatment? Zack wanted to stay in NC near his friends. So then the protocol was started and week after week treatments in cancer center or in hospital stays. Slowly I was beginning to see that he was still strong, he was still smiling even on  bad days. I was getting hope where despair had lodged, I stopped the crying as much as possible. Idid not ever want him to see me upset, we are very close. We just plain adore each other. I am his last grandparent , he lost 3 of them in just a few years. He does not want me to go very soon either.

On facebook I started to hear from my new FB friends. Emails, little noted here and there.
"He will be just fine" We are praying for him. The pages were filled with positive energy flowing out of the computer into my being. What would I have done without all of you????I may never hold your face to give you a smooch on your cheek but in my heart I see every one of you and I know how much life you gave Zack and his family and his Meme.
Now I am starting to cry again.....enough already...you old broad...accept the love from your friends, your family  and feel lucky.
Thank you very much, you know who you are.

UPS AND DOWNS EMOTIONS, AND MESSED UP OFFICE ...AGAIN

Last week end was one of joy and of complete exhaustion on my part.

Preparing for Zack's school graduation and then right after that a quick bite to eat and then travel in the dark in between the most gorgeous mountains around us. Stopping around 1 am in Virginia so we can be ready to see the ceremony at Virginia Tech in Blacksburg , 10 am in the morning.

Watching Zack walk the stage and seeing people all over the audience standing up for him plus his whole class of 2013 not to mention that we had a full row of Kensinger, Ladds, Fishers and all who are attached to these names. 17 of us showed up.

Zack was smiling so much that I am sure his face had to crack by late evening.
I can't imagine how much relief he felt. A year of hell behind him. The name Cancer erased from his medicine chart. He is a survivor, he is my hero, he did this with an enormous will power not to be a victim but a survivor.

Sabrina was our driver of choice since we were in her car. She does not like long distance driving but by golly she was not going to miss the graduation of her nephew Nicholas Kensinger Ladd.
After 4 years in North Carolina University in Asheville he graduated with what I do not remember, something to do with ecology (I think) then he went on to do 4 more years in Virginia Tech and came out a doctor in homeopathy. Now on his way for another 4 years in Wake Forrest Hospital and finishing as a psychiatrist.
This stuff is mind boggling for me, 12 years till you get out of High School then another 12 years. After awhile you must surely be tired of bringing apples to the teachers.

I am proud of these kids. My American Grandchildren. I was nearsighted when I came here and only thought of having American children , I did not even dare to think there were going to be a bunch more.

I wish my husband would have been here to see it.
Maybe he did.

All of this traveling made this girl have monster ankles and feet. Vertigo in the middle of the vestibule of the gorgeous building in VA Tech.The marble steps dancing in front of my eyes and they would not stand still.

Nicks brother had graduated here some years back. In fact he was in the building next door when the shooting took place. A week or so later he had his emotional graduation. I could not go as I was still primary care giver to old Bob. When I heard about the emotions at that graduation I am glad I had not been there.
It must have been unreal. This shooting made a big change in my grandson.

So no sooner am I home on Sunday, trying to rest on Monday and the next day I find myself in the Bijou shop which has to be empty in a few hours.
Lucky I sold the big gorgeous cabinets and gave the rest of furniture and lamps away.
Zack and friends did all that work.
Brie, Rhonda and I packed.
I wanted to be in charge so I knew which box would house what.
The girls just grouped things around me so I could sit a spell and work.
We were done in no time.
I felt that a mission had been accomplished and it was not until a few days later that it all hit me right between the eyes. Where does all this go now? I started to make corners for the different charitable agencies which have nice thrift shops , I still found a lot that was really nice merchandise so I started to put it on eBay
and decided today that I will post all with a 50% discount to St Jude and Sarcoma Foundation that way I help the cancer research too.
I have my work cut out. After all the vintage jewelry is gone I will continue with my designs and put on Etsy we shall see what will be a help . I do need to recoup some heavy dollars as I did buy a large stock. The disease of a retailer is that they like to have full wagons to sell from, I am not different.....and I tend to be a packrat....I am whispering that as I am not proud of that.

There are days I would like to live like the Shakers and have to hang my chair on the wall before I go to bed.

We had a friend , a bachelor, who was a buyer but did not have a shop. He lived on top of a Goodwill shop and he would be the first to enter the door when they opened, help had already lined up what he liked so his small apartment had wall to wall boxes. One day he gave it all to a charity auction and started with only his cookbooks and pots and pans. Apartment empty. He was elated. Two years later he visited us and I said: How is you apartment?Still empty? He had a diabolic laugh and said:"I think they will have another auction soon and I am their man to fill it and I will then again have an empty apartment."

I will let this lovely blog know if I ever achieve the empty nest......

A new curve in my life

All the paths are not straight in one's life. Curves happen all the time and we walk and drive them with caution. My Bijou shop is closing in a few days. New owners taking over the building and we are at a loss to know what will happen next.

I had just been working like a beaver this week to make several new creations but that is not a loss.
I am looking forward to find a new place with lots and lots of traffic. Lots of clients with money in the pocket.

I have opened and closed shops most of my adult life so this is not new to me.
I just hate to have to depend on help now to move and carry boxes.
Not to mention display cases.

Perhaps I should try Etsy and see what that gives. I know people do like my work so I should not give up and it is not in my nature.

On to new beginnings.....

BECOMING A RECLUSE

My children know it, some friends know it, more important I KNOW IT.
I have become Greta Garbo and want to be alone.

I have to make an effort to go out to get groceries with my designated driver or to go out to eat or even to go and buy flowers,

I have dear friends , I have known them for over 40 years. They do not stop to invite me to weekly luncheons.
I have used all the excuses and I am running out of new ones. Every time the day of the engagement comes I am waiting for the phone to ring so that they will tell me that they can't make it.
I stew about what to wear. I have enough to fill a large closet so not to worry about that.
When I am finally dressed another 1/2 hour and a dozen earrings and none I like.
I drag my feet and watch the clock. They are enormously punctual. I start to be very anxious.
I do not want to go out. This house is such a safe place for me. I do not need anything else anymore.
I have accepted that I am alone, that old Bob will not come back. No longer the rides in the mountains on a moments notice. No longer surprise visits to and from kids.
Things are regulated now and I have to know when to be ready.

Son has agoraphia, he can't leave this house, he has his space and I mine but now and then he reminds me :"Mom, do you know how happy I would be to be able to go out to lunch or shopping? Do not become like me!"

My friends picked me up today and once I see them I am happy to be with them.
I can't hear a lot of their conversation so I end up taking the 1 1/2 hour we are together.
They know all the ins and outs of my kids, my situation and they listen quietly.
No judgment, no suggestions, they just listened to what must be the most boring lunch time they have every week. When we walk out the Catholic guilt enters and I think to myself :"what did I do now" same as last week. Verbal overload. Guilty.
They drop me off at my castle and I figure that I had a very nice lunch and look what I would have missed.
I would have missed seeing them healthy and ready for summer trips and a very business life they lead yet still I know they will call again and I will go the round again saying I truly do not want to do that.

Mussels from Brussels...you only wish

My mother had strict rules about eating mussels.
Never in the months without an "R".
Best to go to Holland and get them fresh there, not very far from our location.
But that was in later years.
When I was young the month with an R had something to do with mating season (I think they pulled my leg and I am too tired to Google it).
Now that they are raised in controlled beds everything changed that. Or did it?
Not so many years ago Sabrina with me in Belgium decided to have mussels.
Her Meme said "NO NO NO" it is July.
BUT....said the stubborn babe, they have them in every restaurant.
So she ate them.
Next day a bus trip to Paris all paid for and Brie in bed looking green and yellow  (no kidding)
she had food poisoning. She was quite sick for 3 or more days of our vacation.
Then we read in the paper that a lot of tourist were sick from the mussels important from Ireland.
Somewhere along the route they did not have the right refrigeration.
Enters the month of May 2013 and me walking into the Aldi...snooping at the goodies they often have something only for a week or two and I spot :"Frozen mussels in garlic butter sauce".
What Belgian even as an American can resist that?
So that is what I ate tonight and if you never see me again on this site then the mussels did it.

Where did they come from? You ask. The  Ocean is 5 hours away so it could  not be that bad
surely they have mussel beds there too? They came from Chile!!!

My mother is watching and not very happy with me right now.
I did love the mussels all 30 of them.

WE HAVE TO SUPPORT THE RESEARCH FOR CHILDREN WITH CANCER.

Just a year ago our lives began to have a bit of "normal" to return since Grandpa passed away.
We had all been involved in his 13 year long journey with dementia/Alzheimer.

I was hoping for a trip again to Myrtle Beach with the Fisher/Kensinger clan. I travel well with my daughter, son in law and my grandson.

Grandson was 16 and was soon going to give up going on vacation with us, yet he always had a friend with him and we just saw him when it was "feeding time".  I so enjoyed how he could get the largest platter of a variety of shrimp, crabs and lobster claws. The butter dripping down his fingers and a smile on his dimpled face, he loved food. He was and is still a giant of a guy. He was then looking forward to his last year in High School and had finally given in to the coaches to play football. His passion then was to get his drivers license and get his own truck. Life was good.

By accident his mother saw a lump on his inner thigh. He said that it had been there for awhile and "no biggie" it will go away. Mother knows best so she had him checked. Prognosis at the ER was that he probably had some sort of cyst. Better to have it removed was the suggestion.

By May 31st the wheels were in motion for the surgery and no one was hearing any danger bells so we all were mostly relaxed. This surgery went well and fast. The test results however did not come for a few weeks and Sabrina started to be quite upset. Finally she was sent to an uncologist who gave her the horrific news.

She called me and since I hardly hear on the phone it sounded like she was stressed and told me something about "..........Sarcoma" I heard "coma" . Say what? "Like the people in Dallas , Mom. E W I N G".
My son had taken over the phone and told me he would explain later...back on the horn I heard her say"Mom, it is a cancer!"

Someone or something surely hit me in the stomach right then and there. I felt the air just leaving my lungs and could not understand what I just heard. It was too much.

Sabrina has a great blog which she started from the get go. His journey and that of the family , friends, and strangers is well reported so I will not go into the details of this year.

Of course, no school anymore, no football, no visitors unless they are very healthy.
Treatments left and right almost every day or ever other day then weeks in the hospital too.
When I saw the schedule I thought he could not survive this.
He fooled us all, he finished school at home, he became an example in the hospital and cancer center on how to behave and not complain and whine.

Today, in fact, is his last chemo treatment scheduled under the protocol which was very strictly followed.
Today is a red letter day.
Tomorrow he will find out if he needs more blood or platelets. In a few weeks or so they may remove the port inserted in his chest to get easy access to the needed fluids.

This giant  man/boy was to be seen in the hallways of the cancer center and pediatric floor in Mission Hospital (Asheville), he mixed in with tiny babies, girls and boys milling around holding a tube of this or that fluid. Most already had lost their hair. One not used to this first enters the floor sees the first girl with enormous blue eyes, no eyebrows, no hair. You try to turn to look into her eyes and she looks at you, she already knows that you saw first. She smiles and you try hard not to cry and smile back, ask her name, and tell her that you have never seen eyes like hers. So gorgeous. A lady follows and whispers "Say "thank you" Anna!' . You feel like your heart will burst.

Each time you visit you see people around beds with children of all ages, some babies are crying, some are checking out the toys on the beds and try to ignore all the visitors. It is a difficult world out here.

All of this I am writing because we need more funding, more research, a lot more work to be done for these kids. They barely have learned how to be a human being in this world and now they have to fight for their life already. I am not against all the breast cancer research but I strongly feel the children are lost in between the cracks.

Be an alert person, it is simple, check out the site which reports on all the charities. Check how much is donated THEN check how much the CEO gets out of that pile. You may be shocked at some of the figures.
Children with cancer need to be remembered every day. Research should be happening in all areas, I agree, but how many of you ever heard of Ewing Sarcoma Cancer????Often in adolescents, often in the bones and amputations needed. Did you know about this?

My grandson had so many blood transfusions and platelets that we lost count.
His mother now very aware of all that was done to him now gives blood as often as allowed and platelets.
She is telling everyone within her voice to go and do that right now. Be a donor.
I wish I could but my health issues do not allow me. I think if anyone had cancer they no longer take your blood.

This has been an eye opening year for all of us involved. Zack will be tested again soon but the doctors feel confident that he is still cancer free like he was after the surgery. This is a fast moving cel and all precautions have to be taken that it does not return, hence the year treatments.

Zack will graduate with his class this month and go on to Automotive School. He went into this year a teen ager and has come out a man, an adult. The change in him is enormous, we are very proud of him and we all hope that in the tomorrows this cancer will be vanished and in the meantime lets help the children, lets support the research for children, support the hospital Danny Thomas started, St Jude were kids and treated every hour of the day and night fighting cancer.

The SPANISH FUNERAL

    My girls keep asking for me to tell stories about Spain.
We lived there from 1970 - to 1975.
The girls were then teen agers and had a very chaperoned life style.
Most of their friends were from the fishing village we lived in called  "Nerja".
(Now an enormous tourist attraction ).

Oddly enough the first story which came to mind was about a death.
The girls had not understood all the nuances around it and probably do not remember it.

                                                                          TRUE story I swear .                                                      
During the last 2 years in Nerja we "house sat" for the most beautiful villa in the village.
Owned by Americans. They had built it for their retirement years.
From our enormous patio/balcon we not only saw the Meditarenean but on a clear day also Africa.
It was a heavenly place. Came with maid and gardener.

Next door was a Sexy bikini clad Swedish gal in her 60's, she could only talk sex,
the maid cooked, the gardener gave her lots of flowers, the husband ( much older than her)
gave her  ...you get the picture.

One night she bangs on our door:
"Jeannot, he is dead!" followed by
"We made the most beautiful love and he died.
Come and see
Come and see"


The poor man looked more than death, he looked exhausted and still  warm.
The maid had followed instructions and put rose petals all over him , and the bed.
At first blush I thought she had killed him and it was all blood.
Uneka, clad in something transparent hung on to my husband who did not know where to
put his arms. It was a scene worthy of an Italian opera....
We tried to calm the lady but all she could talk about was her last scenario with him. After that he just died!                                                   

                                                                                                                      
We called a man who knew a man who picked up bodies.
By the time he came the floor of most of her villa was covered with rose petals, enough to slip and slide
and join good old John.

A small (they were all small in Spain in the 1970's) little van which no doubt was going to get groceries
for the market in the morning , pulled up. Bob and I looked at each other and could hardly stay serious.
They brought a pine box but most men on the Costa del Sol were quite short not like our John who
in better days had played basket ball in his college. This box looked like it was for leprechauns.

They put old John in the box followed by Uneka who gave the details of his passing on
in her broken Spanish , the legs  stuck out of the box and the van,
the man looked at Uneka with desire in his eyes and told her that he would drive slowly.
He would help the senora as much as possible, if she needed anything else just tell Paco.

We went to the funeral , the next day, they do not keep bodies for long on the hot Costa del SOl.
My British friend Helen and her French husband Alfredo came along, they were elderly and very
stoic. Alfredo and I looked at the coffin and concluded that someone had become very short in the
night. Alfredo whispered to me in French "May his penis rest in peace" while Helen kept
whispering "Oh dear, oh dear, she killed him".

Bob did not like funerals and was home, when returned I was hysterical laughing , this indeed
was a funeral I was going to remember and by golly41 years later I still do.

The Flemish Gypsy

At some point in Bob's disease I was able to get some help with a daycare via the VA. They liked him there as he did not make a fuss and sat in a corner waiting for a bus. They asked him a bus to go where? He answered Santa Cruz (his birth place) . The workers made a sign and put it on the wall above his chair. The sign read " Bus to Santa Cruz". He loved it and after meals or play time he went for his corner. When the bus driver came to get him home he was easy to get on the vehicle and when he saw me he did not complain.

This made me think that perhaps we always have a desire to go home again. Perhaps it is going back to our childhood. No matter what kind of childhood we had. Is there this yearning to go back because we know the end is near or do we think that this was a good place which we left.

Lately I go back to my own history , 8 decades of it.

We were a dysfunctional family before the word was invented. There was a lot of womanizing on the part of my father. My mother had been raised in a convent till she was 18 and entered into her marriage at 19. Not knowing much about the world at large outside convent walls. To say that she was strict and Victorian is just a tiny bit of her make up. Mother did not know the word "grey". It was white or black. She also had a bit of a temper. My father was cool as a cucumber and calm, always calm but sarcastic and not understanding the word "love". 

Both parents products of WW1. My grandfather Van Melle was a first class musician and was called in to fight but he really conducted the army's band, he directed and did the solos including Mozarts Oboe concerto.( I always saw that man with an oboe in hand, I was small and wondered if he ever ate.    )But he was taken prisoner and his wife was stuck with 8 children. 3 passed on early in life. My father and his little brother learned German very quickly and learned how to steal at the soldiers camps in Hasselt where they had been settled just before the war. 

My mom and her sister came out of the convent during the war and fled from one town to the other. She remembers running with a gas mask. All survived but had nothing but stories about "their war". 

Soon I had my own "war".  The grown ups were not convincing me that this too shall pass very quickly. It was more about doom, bombings and being without. Father was a policeman and had joined the underground in 1938 started by one of his officers when he was in the army.

Father had excuses not to be home much.

What in that period would I want to go back too? I can't imagine.

The Americans came and changed my world. Anything American I just loved. If a movie came out we just saved franc by franc so I could see Doris Day, then my idol. I knew I wanted to be in the USA. I thought Errol Flynn would be my lover, he had a reputation of liking young girls. 

I worked early on (15) in my mother's office. I called her the "gendarmerie". She watched me like a ferocious lion. I was the receptionist and I was spoiled by the reps who came in wanting to talk to the engineers and little old me calling all over the plant to make sure they knew someone was waiting. Next visit the rep would come in with a box of chocolates for me. Mother did not like that at all. She said I was young and man looked at me differently. Lucky I had my own office but I just could not wait till I could leave her company. During that period in the early 1950's the only way out was for me to marry. (another prison). So I found a man willing to move away from Ghent. He wanted to go to the Belgian Congo. It was still rich for the Belgians who pretended to work there and had servants and little consideration for the Congolese. I did not understand much about these prospects but I knew I did not want that. I wanted the USA. We married in 1951 and by August 1953 we were on a boat to Canada to wait for a visa for the USA. We had a sponsor willing to sign for us so we would NOT depend on the government. We also could not have TB nor affiliation with communism. 

My mother was devastated, her only child, how could I? How cruel I was, she would not know her grandchildren, (she did) she would be sick and I would not be there for her.(I was) I was just like my father. Later she said that she wondered if they changed babies and I was a GYPSY!

My cousins did not want to leave Belgium. My aunts had never left. What was wrong with me? They all looked at me figuring that I must be in a bad mental state. An old boyfriend even came to say goodbye to me and my mother chaperoned as I was then a new bride. Jean started to cry and said :I will never see you again. I had a hard time keeping a straight face. He never saw me anyway. Do not know if mother had not arranged this as a last plea.

My journey took me to Montreal, New Brunswick NJ, Milltown NJ, San Jose Cal, Campbell Ca,Brookdale Ca, Boulder Creek Ca. It was in Brookdale that after 17 years of pain that I managed to make a break from my Belgian husband. By then I was an American against his wishes. A divorce followed and I opened a shop with second hand clothing in what I saw as a first indoor art/antique/fleamarket, in Santa Cruz. The angels must have had a concert when I met Bob there, I did not hear their concert, I thought Bob's paintings looked like photos and I did not believe he could paint like that. He had just moved back to S.C from San Francisco.   He was a bachelor. He was 42 and I was 36 with 2 girls. 

He adored the girls and he and I had a relationship which is very rare. We worked together 24/7 in the art and antique business. Some people can't handle breakfast , lunch and dinner with the same person every day and I and him did not want to be apart. Looking back I am thinking how damn lucky I have been. Even when he no longer knew he was married, did not know my name, he would look at me and his eyes all but sparkled. He knew "something". Down deep he knew that he loved this person and I loved him. 

 

We moved to spain for almost 5 years and after that came by "accident" to NC but always missed California.      We had a son in Malaga but we did forget to put him on the Spanish books (still under Franco regime) and rushed to get an American birth certificate. Our Malaganian was the ice cream on the cake. 

The rest is 42 years of marriage which included sadly enough 13 years of being ill with dementia. 

So I go back to the fact that I am thinking a lot about my home town, I would go back in a nano minute but for the enormous hearing loss (80%) which makes it hard to even understand the announcements in the airport, loud as they are. Having a chaperone is OK and nice but after awhile I am tired of asking:"What did she say?"

So this Flemish Gypsy will be happy to sit in front of the Atlantic Ocean and think that somewhere a boat is going towards Belgium and I am here sitting like a queen and resting, smelling the salt sea with Bijou in my lap. 

Who cares what part of Belgium I truly miss I am in a very good place right now too.