There are several people that have passed through this life that I really wish I had gotten to know before they passed on. Crickett Julius is definitely one of those people, and those who knew her want her to be remembered not as a victim of cancer, but as a life force that was special, very special. One of her legacies is already founded Crickett's Answer for Cancer.
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I got to feel like a teenager again the other day when we walked into Tom's Music Trade on Main Street in Red Lion. I guess it's not a greatly kept secret, as there were people milling around all over the shop, looking for their perfect find.
The shop wasn't just filled with vinyl--it was filled with memories and feelings and life stages. There in front of me were bins with neatly filed cardboard envelopes that took me back to summers at the pool, my first love, long summer evenings, holidays, and baseball games.
Once again, I felt that rush when my friend and I would go "downtown" and I'd come home with a new '45. The excitment that was contained in that little 7 inch sleeve has been hard to recapture, that is until walking into the shop. There was memorabilia on the walls, and the whole scent of the shop was just captivating to someone who grew up with a record player that rarely got a break. Back in the 60's our alternative for listening to music when we were away from electricity or the car, was a transistor radio. Mine would be pressed against my ears when I could smuggle it out of the house.
Tom, the shop proprietor was warm and knowledgable, and I keep thinking of him as a good "chap," since he grew up in England and still carries the accent.
This was a fun trip, and I have to confess that my husband won with his rock albums versus my soul albums we took there to sell. What a fun excursion, and one of us came away with some money in his pocket. I still prefer soul.
I believe my husband and I together have been funding major projects for the two local hospitals in the area recently.
My husband was the latest visitor to one emergency room last weekend with a TIA, or mini-stroke. That in itself wasn't good, except it was probably a wake-up call for him, and maybe helped him avoid an all-out stroke. At least that's what we hope.
One of the few bright spots in the whole experience however, was a doctor who may as well have been wearing a Calvary uniform, because the minute he walked in the room, it was as if the entire calvary had indeed, arrived. Dr. Madzelan treated me about two years ago when I went into the Er, and then into the ICU. He is reassuring to the max, no-nonsense in the perfect way, but spiced with a sense of humor. So when he walked into the hospital room this time, apprehension took a holiday. His common sense and "guts" (sorry, but that is just the word that fits here) in actually making a diagnosis without dozens of different expensive tests, are qualities that exude what a great doctor is.
I admit this is really pretty delayed, but it still was cool to see anyway.
When we had the last snow, a week or two ago, I had a very rare sighting.
There were kids, walking up the roads with sleds. I had to do a double take. First off, these kids were actually outside. They were not carrying video games. They were pulling primitive fun machines that made me truly nostalgic.
How I loved making this sighting, knowing these kids were going to have some fun that involved being out of the house, physically moving, with no batteries or electric in sight.
When we were kids, after we walked through the 12 feet of snow barefoot, (insert groan) we played outside in the snow literally for hours, or even an entire day. This was after gorilla gluing ourselves to the radio listen to WSBA to hear if our school was closed.
We'd only come back in when we had to, which was either a. when our gloves were frozen into stiff forms, b. when our moms MADE us come in, c. our noses would run, then freeze, or d. we could no longer feel our legs. Even after any of those, it was usually with reluctance we'd go inside. My mom would lay our clothes on top of the register over the coal furnace to dry. If we were really lucky, we had another whole set of clothing so we could go back out.
There were always kids at the best hills, and it didn't look like the ghost towns it does now when it snows. I am so happy when kids go out now and experience some of the same. Uncomplicated, now THAT was fun!
I found myself in the cardiologist office the other day. Wouldn't have been my first choice, but when your heart says "jump" your only question is "how high?"
While waiting for the doctor to come in, my husband kept me entertained by making up cardio stories about the posters on the wall, and "educating" me with the model of a human heart. Now don't tell me you've never done that, or at least were tempted to. I was feeling a little more light-hearted (yes, pun intended) by the time who I thought was a nurse, came in to get things up and running. Turns out, she is actually a student there.
The point is, she was very pleasant, but more than that, she had a good sense of humor. The three of us were able to joke and that really put me at ease, since the cardiologist's office is not exactly Midway at the Fair. Adeptly she fitted me up with my 24-hour friend, Mr. Monitor, to track my heart's meanderings, sputterings and flip flops. And fashionable as the monitor is, comfort and convenience aren't its top priorities. It wasn't terrible, don't get me wrong, but Yaritza hooked me up smoothly, and spiced it up with some good jokes about it.
So thank you Yaritza, you made a tense experience a lot less so for both my husband and I. You were a life savor who will someday probably be a life saver.
While driving along Hollywood Drive, there's a home almost directly across from York Suburban High School where the front lawn is missing.
What took its place is an explosion of gentle purple crocuses that form a carpet-like covering. Not only is it beautiful in itself, but those brave flowers really signal that spring is so close we can see it. It can't help but lift your spirits--spring can't get here fast enough!
If you notice other places where spring caught the early flight, please e-mail me so others can enjoy them too!
The dogs were feigning death from inactivity so we took them down to the Rail Trail for a change of scenery and a short walk.
There was some kind of footrace going on, and I have absolutely no idea who the race was for or anything about it.
But as we walked down the trail, we noticed ther were paper cups everywhere, particularly in denser amounts here and there.
Then we saw a man and woman unobtrusively walking along, bending down to retrieve the cups littering the path and putting them in a trash bag they carried. The man was even picking up some other litter that probably came from things other than the race. The woman gave us a warm greeting with a smile.
They were quitely just making the Rail Trail a better place, with no apparent need for attention. But they got ours, as our path was better than it would have been had these people not been doing what they were. So they were winners in a race of a different kind.
I don't take a speeding ticket lightly. They're expensive, and how much fun is it to sit by the road with a cruiser sitting behind you, lights flashing. There's no way that makes you look good, and no way to be invisible. Passers-by look at you smugly and feel really superior, not because they're great drivers, but because they didn't get caught. I know this first-hand obviously, because those are my thoughts. Then after I witness someone pulled over, I usually piously slow down for 15 minutes which I believe is known as the "halo effect."
Recently I was driving my parents to their doctor visit when I noticed a speeding police car behind me, lights flashing, so I immediately got to the side of the road to let him pass. In a quick flash I realized that the cruiser was not trying to pass me at all. I told my parents that it was me that was being pulled over. (I believe the proper grammar here is "It was I" but can you imagine how that would sound? "Mom, dad, it is I that is being pulled over." anyway...)
I wasn't panicked because I didn't really know what I had done wrong. I'm very careful about applying lipstick or mascara at red lights only, just like the PA Code of Driving says, but I started to get my license out anyway, since I figured at some point the officer probably would want to know who I was.
When I began to roll down my window, the "Bad Boys, Bad Boys" song started to play in my head as my mom leans over and starts to holler, "we can't do this, we have to get to a doctor appointment!" I think, "Oh man, am I wearing underwear that would be fit to be seen running in, for the "Cops" episode in which I was going to appear?" I calmly said, "Mom!" Mom has selective hearing, and clearly had not heard me. Again, though louder, "Mom!" No hint of recognition. Was I not her child for 55 years? This time, I said "Mom, Seriously!!" I unclenched my teeth when I said hello to the officer coming up to my window. Silently I prayed, Please, please, let the nice officer be hard of hearing!
She told me I had been doing 44 in a 25 zone, and the location where she had clocked me. She was calm and efficient, having no idea what she was in for, as she asked to see my license and registration. I was driving my parents' car, which I believe is the uniform car for every person over 65 in York County, and they all seem to curiously be the same color, some sort of hunter green. I asked mom for the registration.
But mom is busy--she needs to convince the nice officer that it wasn't my fault at all, but hers, because she had been talking to me. I apparently was just a blow-up doll there to make things look legitimate, since mom totally ignored me. The officer remained professional as she tried to get a word in edgewise between my mom declaring her point, and me trying to say "mom, I< was driving, it is MY fault." Now you know how a mother's tone can get, and mom's was just that way as she scolded me for trying to tell the officer that it was my fault, not hers.
The officer remained professional, although I believe she was beginning to wonder if this was gonna turn out to be a little more problematic. Now my mom can multitask with the best of them, and was accomplishing all this while still trying to produce the registration. She pulled out a wallet that I am not kidding you is almost 3 inches thick. My dad, quietly sitting in the back, was starting to worry me. "Are you okay back there?" A muted grunt was the response, but he still had color so I got back to the subject at hand. The officer told me at that point that it was okay, she had my license, and the registration wasn't the big concern at that moment.
Then mom starts to say that she's going to pay the fine, which at this point is sort of jumping the gun. Quietly I think, we'll deal with that later. But mom says, if the officer knows that we're trying to make the doctor appointment on time, she'd let us go. Bless her heart, my mom really, really loves me. She was still looking for her registration, and was down to the third or fourth level in her wallet.
When the officer comes back to the car, she told us all to keep calm. I could've done that better, had I not noticed that now there was ANOTHER cruiser, complete with flashing lights that had joined the frenzy. I commented on the fact that double-teaming me made look even worse. She told me it was routine, and it was for her safety. Did my mom have a "Rep?" She's a sweet little white haired great-grandma of 85, with no rap sheet, but I guess her reputation preceeded her.
Officer #1 glanced at my dad in the back seat and asked if he was okay. I'm not sure how he answered, I believe he was having flashbacks from the Big One, WWII, but he still had color which came to be our point of reference for his level of consciousness.
The officer produced my canary copy of the ticket, told me how much the fine would be, and the rest of the information I needed to know, ending in expensive. Don't think for a moment that mom was going to give up, she was still trying to convince the officer that she should hand the ticket to her. I signed the ticket, much to mom's displeasure.
I couldn't help but laugh at the whole situation, since I was picturing it all as an episode on "Cops." My face was bright red from laughter, which I should add my mom later reported to the doctor as being a side effect of my medicine.
As the officer began to wrap up the stop, we realized we had a mutual friend/relative, and so it ended up okay, because it was a little more relaxed. She was great, and I'm not trying to kiss up to her, because number one, I already had gotten the ticket, and number two, what are the chances she'll ever read this?
We arrived at the doctor's office approximately 4 minutes late, which for anyone who knows me, including my doctor, knows it was a miracle in itself. One of the worst parts of the whole episode was that for once, uncharacteristically, I would've been ON TIME., But it didn't count!
We had to tell the doctor what had happened because I looked contrite, my mom looked defeated, and my dad just looked dazed. Our doctor told my parents that they would never die of boredom having me as a daughter.
As a postscript, my mom's burning question for the doctor was to ask if she could begin driving again after a "leave of absence" she'd had from some medical problems.
Another postscript--mom finally did find her registration, and told me proudly she always knows where both copies are. "Both?" "Yes," she said, "I always keep one in the glove compartment."
Last postscript--The doctor's wife/receptionist asked my parents when the visit was over if they wanted her to call them a cab.
Recently I had the honor and privilegeof meeting a Gold Star Mother. I only had a vague idea of what this group is and does, but found the spirit of the organization in the mother of Spec 4 William Gleixner, killed in action in Vietnam, February 2, 1968. I didn't even really get her name, but that was only because her focus was on others.
She told me about her son, and the other military members whose pictures spanned a three-board display at the event I was attending. She talked about the other mothers whose heartbreak mirrored her own. But she talked not about how they wallowed, but what they do to continue to help others, which is their mission. She spoke proudly of the group and the other moms. To be a member of the organization you must be a mother whose son or daughter served and died while in the service of the Armed Forces of the USA or its Allies, or died as a result of such service. There is of course more to it, but that's the basis.
It was so moving to talk to her. Unfortunately I do know what it is like to have a child die, even though under much different circumstances. Though for her it has been 41 years, and for me, nearly 34, the reality of it is something that forever tucks itself inside your heart, and never quite goes away. But to help someone else fight through grief and do something constructive with the heaviness of it is truly remarkable.
Mothers still do make the world go 'round, and these moms are a huge, though humble, important part of that "machine." For more information, go to the website, www.goldstarmoms.com.
Wow--what a nice surprise awaited me at Penn St. Farmers Market yesterday, as more than 20 people showed up for a meeting to discuss how to "market the market" and to ensure a good future for this local treasure.
This was a group of volunteers interested in keeping this gourmet, bargain-rich shopping outlet filled with great vendors of farmers, craftsmen, bakers, and fishermen alive. And that's just the beginning of the offerings there.
In case I forgot to mention that these people, who aren't getting paid to do anything, consists of loyal customers, vendors, neighbors and history preservation buffs. And they weren't all talk, as people volunteered to actually DO things, not just form committees. In fact the committees are going to have to come later, there's work to be done NOW. Neighbor of the market Barb Smith, also happens to be a painter, and has offered to paint the inside of the market. Wha? Huh? I shrank as I thought of my complaints about helping to paint our family room. She seems like quite the firecracker, and I hope to get to know her better.
Believe me, it was exciting, and it was an honor to be in attendance. And don't worry, I'll be volunteering as well, but don't expect to see me on a ladder with a paintbrush!
Speaking of the Mid-Atlantic Garden show--there was a couple who weren't elderly, but older than 25. They were at the Christmas Tree Hill stand, having a discussion over the species of a metal animal. Was it a frog or a ladybug? I know 100% it was a ladybug, which is what the wife was saying. My friend Vickie however, saw it as a frog--which was what the husband was trying to convince his wife of. ( I know that's not proper grammar there, I'm such a rebel.)
Turns out the couple have been married 45 years, nearly 46, and when I asked the husband what the piece really was, he grinned when he admitted that no matter what, she was always right. They were one really cute couple, and enjoyable to be around to enter into their conversation. And truly, it was either a ladyfrog or a frogbug.
