Thank You, El Dorado...

 

I’ve mentioned this in passing, but never really went into detail. Lessons learned here have carried me through my life thus far so maybe I should drag it up from the trenches of my memories. I’m sure my older siblings remember things differently, but to my little kid self, this is how it was.

In the early 70s, my uncle Bill was living in Hagerstown, Maryland and was opening a new restaurant in nearby Edgewood. He needed help and reached out to my mother to bring her on board. She, being the workhorse she is, thought maybe it was time for something new and different for our family. Plans were made for us to head east!

I only recently learned this part of the story, but my big brother Tim went east first to find our new home. He and Bill toured many Baltimore houses and then he found our perfect new home. It was a short walk to the elementary school, on the bus route, and in the perfect neighborhood for our family. I don’t really remember any of the leaving the Midwest details but I definitely remember the excitement about our new home!

We knew it was bigger than our current home. We knew it was a Victorian style three story house with a screened front porch, built in window seats, and a back yard. We knew it was grander than we could imagine and it was exciting! I remember planning with my brother Rick on the drive east that we would share a room on the third floor and we’d load our window seat with Funyuns and Reeses Cups that would be all ours!

This was an adventure! We were moving with eight of our nine kids (Tim was already on the road as a working musician so he didn’t move with us) PLUS two extra teenage boys who were moving with us. What could go wrong?

This is where the movie folks would put in a record scratch sound.

As it turned out there was a paperwork glitch that meant we couldn’t get into our new Baltimore home. Thankfully, my uncle knew the man who owned the closed motel next to his restaurant site and we were allowed to move in there while we waited to get into our house. As I remember it, we travelled east during Spring Break so we had a little bit of time to enroll in schools and figure out next steps.

Remember, I said this motel had been closed for some time. This meant that luxuries like electricity and properly running water were not available. Still, to at least the younger kids in the family, it was kind of an adventure – like camping indoors! We ran extension cords for power and prepared meals with a camping stove, an electric griddle, and a popcorn popper. We explored all of the rooms and each had our own favorite nooks.

School started and we’d all pile into the station wagon for the 30-ish mile ride into Baltimore for the drop off at the elementary school, the junior high, and the high school. I don’t know what my mother did while we were there but since I was in kindergarten, I only had half days. She’d pick me up, and we’d go to a park or playground or something to eat sandwiches for lunch and explore the area while we waited for the older kids to be ready for pick up. Then, back to Edgewood, to do homework, make dinner, wash the dishes in the bathtub, explore the motel, etc. Lather, rinse, repeat. I’m not entirely sure how long we were there, but it was probably at least eight weeks before we could get into our Baltimore home.

As a grown up, I don’t know how my mother did this. I never saw her collapse. I’m sure it was hellish for the older kids. For me – and probably a few of my younger siblings – I have only fun memories of that time. It was an exciting adventure! We explored this strange place and made it fun. We wandered the neighborhood and went to the arcade and movie theater – we saw Jaws! We were a united team, we helped each other, and we turned our lemons into delicious lemonade.

Obviously, these things are all about perspective. I’m sure the older kids’ version won’t be as rainbow colored but my view was exciting and joyous. I know my mother is a badass and I stand in awe of her abilities.

I’m grateful for the skills I picked up by osmosis because I’m still able to improvise my way through hardships. For that, I thank my mother for taking a leap and the El Dorado Motor Lodge for catching us when we landed.

What's My Story...

 My baby will be 16 in 2 months. They announced to me – in all seriousness – that what they want from me for their 18^th birthday is for me to write my life story for them to read, Huh?!?  I’ve been rattling off my old lady tales to my kids since they arrived and there’s never been any interest, Why now?

Further, how the heck do I do that? Yes, I’m a writer who writes but I don’t write my own story. I just live it. I’m not standing back, observing and taking notes. I’m busy living! Also, I’ve lived many different stories during my time on earth.  Which one do I tell?

 

I’ve always said that I’m not interesting. I’m interesting by proxy – meaning that I’ve often found myself in times and places where interesting things may have happened but I’ve always considered myself an observer in those situations. I’m rarely a participant.

I suppose that to begin at the beginning, I’d have to talk about my family, It’s well known that it’s large. That’s not unusual for the place and time. I came into a Germen Catholic Midwestern town. I was baby number nine in eleven years but my family certainly wasn’t the biggest on the block. My parents were too young for all of that – again, not unusual for the time and place – and they split when I was two.

That shifts focus to my mother and her wonderful family. Suddenly single, my mother went straight to work in a variety of roles. She had secretarial skills so she was chased around the desk by lecherous military officers at the airforce base. She was beautiful and a dancer so she modeled and taught dance. She and her mother both worked happily at the neighborhood library.

My grandparents were amazing role models and we loved to spend time with them learning. Learning to be kind humans, learning the value of hard work, learning to read when teachers gave up on some of us, and learning to shape our own routes when roadblocks arose. They were two of the smartest, kindest, warmest role models we could have and I’m so grateful for every second I had with them.

At home, I had six big brothers and two big sisters who included me in everything they did. When the boys were building giant club houses in the back yard, I handed them the nails. When my oldest brother left home to be a musician, he dragged us all along. My big sister dragged me along on some great adventures. Another brother included me on his path into the bluegrass world. Bill Monroe didn’t understand why that little girl wanted to see his tour bus, but he showed me around anyway. I had my own bed but I was more often than not snuggled up with a sibling in theirs. Bottom line was that we loved each other, we LIKED each other and spent as much time together as possible. So yes, there are stories to tell.

Moving forward, I relocated several times and had my own adventures. My careers have taken me to interesting places, meeting interesting people, doing interesting things. Over the years, my jobs have taken me to some beautiful (and some awful) places that all reside in my memory. I’ve crossed paths with some amazing characters and had magical moments with them all.  But I always came home to the safety of my family.

One day, I went to see Bo Diddley and was so impressed with the opening act that I emailed the band address to say how great they were. Little did I know, I was emailing my future husband/father of my children/partner in many adventures. That’s where the story shifted and new characters were introduced.

I don’t think I can write this story. There are so many sharp turns and plot twists that no reader would be able to follow. Yes, I’ve done a lot. Yes, I’ve shaken hands with greatness, yes, I’ve been in the room while amazing things happened but my book would require several volumes, the movie would require many sequels, and there are so many different vantage points that make it not entirely my story to tell.

I think I’ll just summarize by saying I’m enjoying the trip so far.

Home...

 

There are so many phrases about home that we all carry around in our heads. “Home is where the heart is.” “There’s no place like home.” And “You can’t go home again” That one has always bothered me. Why not!?!

I’ve moved a lot over my life and have always returned to those places I once lived – to visit relatives, old friends, and just to reminisce, I’ve enjoyed taking that walk down memory lane. Those flashbacks – and the stories they evoke – are a big part of who I am and who I came to be. If I read a book I love, sometimes I want to read it again.

Recently, I took a trip back to the place I’ve always thought of as my home town. I lived there in my formative teenage years and believe it shaped me. On this visit, I was there for a purpose but still made time to visit the old places that mattered to me. It was a little unsettling that those old favorites looked so different. Mostly, those changes were positive and made me happy to see.

I lived on the beach in those days but much of my activity was spent across the bay in the sleepy downtown. My high school was there, the old theater where we watched the 'Rocky Horror Picture Show' and important offices were there, but there was nothing else really happening there. Then Hurricane Michael came and did some serious redecorating. What a change! I was there to take part in a film festival and was stunned by this shiny new downtown that looked so unfamiliar! I walked the streets and took in all the “used to bes” and “remember whens” and it felt good!

On the beach side, I certainly knew how to find my favorite haunts but nothing looked right! Where did that skyscraper come from and why is it blocking my view? Why are all of these new roads here? Where did all of these fast food restaurants come from and where are the mom and pop joints? Obviously, I knew that the old Petticoat Junction is now a Walmart and that the Miracle Strip Tower has been gone for years but seeing the Miracle Strip Amusement Park as a vacant parking lot still rattles me. What happened to the Magic Mountain?

On the beach, Mother Nature washed away my beloved sugar sands that squeak under my feet. Sure, new white sand had been brought in, but it’s not the same. Thankfully, Funland and Goofy Golf are still there, When they’re gone, I may never be able to come back with the same joy in my heart.

When I returned to the place I live, I remember that I’ve lived here, in this place, longer than I lived any place else. THIS is my home town, I guess. And over the last week, I’ve spent a lot of time in *different* regular places, surrounded by friends I’ve known for more than half my life, who gave me so much love and brought so much joy to my heart.

I guess home really IS where the heart is. The address doesn’t matter. The memories do. My family, my friends, and my love make any place HOME.

 

                                                                     

The Ring...

 

It’s been almost three years since my husband passed. I still wear my wedding ring. I have no desire to take it off. I still consider myself to be his wife. That was the deal we made.

“Widow” is such an awkward and uncomfortable word for me to use. When I talk to new people – repairmen, neighbors, random folks I encounter – about some past experience, I still refer to “my husband”. Because that’s who he is. I don’t sleep on his side of the bed, I don’t sit in his seat at the dinner table. When I sit at his computer to pay bills, I still respect his space.

Friends and well-meaning people ask why I still wear the ring. There are so many reasons, but the weight of it feels right and natural to me. When I take it off for any reason, I miss it and it goes right back on. Maybe it’s a selfish thing. Its presence protects me from unwelcome conversations with random people and I like that.

I’m not delusional or in denial. I know he’s no longer here on earth with us and I know he won’t ever walk through the door. In 2001, when we promised each other forever, I meant it. He’s gone, but he’s still my husband. He’s still my kids’ father. So the ring stays.

Maybe, one day, I’ll be ready to move forward. Then, I guess, the ring will go into my jewelry box for safe keeping. Until then, it stays on the ring finger of my left hand where it belongs.