We are home, all seventeen of us, from our “Natives on Tour in Hollywood” adventure. We did not feel like natives, we felt like tourists. Yes, before you can ask, we saw the Hollywood Wax Museum, Ripley’s Believe it or Not, and The Guinness World Records Museum. All of these entities need upgrading. But when in Hollywood, like when in Rome, you do and see what they have available to you. We ate at Miceil’s Pizza where nearly umpteen million years ago I went on my first date. It felt out of the ordinary to be sitting within sight of the table where I sat with a stranger eating my first taste of pizza, switching gears and looking at our family all sitting, eating, laughing, and enjoying the moment.  We also ate at The Pig and Whistle, which is housed in a most wonderful, historical building and the food was very good. Morning came and we found our large party at Mel’s Diner, which was a perfect beginning of day two. By the way, you must also  know that we ate our way all day at the coffee establishments and the various “snackettes,” mixed with an abundance of shopping and the offer of tours offered along the boulevard. There is no shortage of food, fun eating, shopping and people watching in Hollywood. In the middle of our jaunting, a huge cloud spread across the skies and within five minutes it started to rain. Hey, this is Southern California. It does not rain here in the summer. But it did. You should have seen Hollywood Boulevard with everyone scrambling for every nook and cranny to stay dry. The streets thinned of people and were soaked.  Ten minutes later the rain had stopped and the streets began to dry.

As you may already know, the street is so packed at Hollywood and Highland you have to wait 10+ deep at certain times of the day. I remember seeing depths of people waiting at crossing signals in Japan at 10-20 deep. I thought I would ever see anything like that again. Here in the heart of Hollywood, I found all seventeen of us, mixed with other tourists, waiting to cross, making the depth of waiting more unbelievable, so Hollywood and so electrifying.  We all enjoyed our stay at the Roosevelt Hotel and everything was done to insure our comfort. Did you know they have the biggest, loudest, sexiest pool parties in the world at the Roosevelt Hotel? Our little ones were not allowed to go swimming during the party, so they extended our check out time so the children could use the pool the next morning before the next big pool party.

We scoured the streets for interesting, new, and historical icons that make Hollywood, Hollywood. It was impossible to see them all, so there is hidden treasure to be found on our next visit.

Taking a large family on Safari in any town has its ups, its downs, and definitely its many challenges, but for the most part all systems operated at a positive level and most of the time it was up, up and away. So we can come another day.

I have decided to volunteer at a rehabilitation center and everyday, when I enter The Oak Hills, I see my future self strapped to the bed, being pumped and sucked, poked, jabbed, turned, swabbed and looking for someone to tell my story to, someone who would listen it. I approached several agents with the idea of telling the stories of the patients in The Oak Hills, and they felt that it was too depressing. Yes, in fact, more depressing than they and I ever realized, but equally uplifting, a side they did not see. My thought was and still is, that if you become depressed at knowing the possible, probable future, perhaps your present will brighten and you will seize the moment to live it fully.

     One day, I spotted a woman whose wheel chair was placed in front of the double doors leading off to a sun filled patio.   I peeked in on her, she sat up in the chair and I could tell she was deciding what to do with the attention.  I smiled and told her that I would like to tell her story and she said, “You can tell my story, you can tell it in twenty breaths.”

     “ What if it takes more?” I said.

      “If it is more, then, we will have to deal with it,” she said.

     “What is your name?” I asked.

     “ Hattie McKay,” she said.

     “ You’re looking good, Hattie McKay.” I said.

        “ You’re looking good, too,” she said.

 Hattie McKay was a little woman with strong hands and arms. Her face showed deep lines of age and hard work. She strained to remember and was always polite and answered a question with a completely formed sentence with a nice little pleasantry added on the end. One day when we were talking she winked at me and motioned for me to come close as if she had a secret to tell that would shake the earth.

      She whispered, “Tell my story young lady.  You don’t have to tell it like it is, just tell it like you want to tell it.  If you tell it like it happened, like it really happened, they won’t believe it and if you tell it with fibs in it they won’t believe it either. You don’t even have to start with the beginning. They won’t even know it.”

     “ Tell me what you want them to know, and I will take it all down with this tape recorder.” 

    “ All right, I was born in Hattiesburg, Mississippi a long time ago. It was quite ways to town, so they never got around to getting my birth recorded.  I didn’t exist for years, and then when I got married, I had some paperwork done.  They called me Hattie, I guess for Hattiesburg. I really don’t know. I was given to my Aunt Helen when I was around eight years old.  She didn’t have kids and told my mama she needed my help. Mama said that she didn’t have enough food to go around so she shared me with auntie. I lived somewhere near Hattiesburg, but I didn’t get to town much.  I worked hard at aunties house, real hard. My hands were swollen up and real red all of the time.  When I was twelve, my things were packed and I was returned to my mama. It was hard to be home again because it wasn’t home again to me. It was mama’s house and my house was aunties house. Maybe that is why when I was sixteen I married Mr. McKay. I had no idea what that was all about, but I sure found out right quick. After we spent two nights at the hotel we took off for Texas. When we got there, Mr. McKay set up a big tent and gave shaves and haircuts.  I swept up and cleaned up.  Have you ever tried to keep a dirt floor clean and swept up in the middle of those awful wind and dust storms?  It was quite a sight. You can’t imagine.  I was very nice to Mr. McKay, but he wasn’t very nice to me.  I don’t really think he liked me much. I didn’t like him much either.  I was pregnant with our first child and he hit me lots of times.  He threw me down in front of the tent and I thought I broke my leg. I stayed in bed for about a week and when I got up and started walking again, I walked right out of that tent and kept on going until I got back to Hattiesburg. Mama put me on a train and headed me right back to Mr. McKay. We had our first son and very soon we were going to have another baby. Mr. McKay wasn’t as mean as before, but he wasn’t very nice, most often. I worked hard keeping the barbershop cleaned up and my baby well fed.”

     “What did you name your first baby?”

     “ Thomas, we called him Tommy.”

     “ Did you live in the tent with the barbershop?”

     “Yes, we did, but by the time I was pregnant with our second child the barbershop was in the corner of a building in town and Mr. McKay was kept very busy. We moved to the rooms above the shop.   Our second son was born and Mr. McKay was proud to be a daddy and proud to have two sons. He still didn’t give a hoot about me. I must have annoyed him because when he was home his neck twitched and his eyes would roll back into his head when I talked.  It was sort of like he couldn’t stand what I was saying. I stayed in Texas with Mr. McKay four more years. It was hard on the kids and it was hard on me. I knew I was leaving, I just didn’t know when. One day, I put some clothes in a bag, got a ride from some folks going towards Hattiesburg and we all were gone. I’ll bet Mr. McKay was relieved and good and glad we were gone.”

     “Did you ever see Mr. McKay again?”

     “ Oh yes, he came beck to Hattiesburg for something. I sure hoped it wasn’t to get the kids and me. When I saw him, he was just as mean and ugly looking as he was the first day I saw him.  His brows then were jet black, way back then and were so bushy they hung over his eyes. When I saw him again they weren’t as bushy, but still hung over his eyes.  His nose was big and bumpy like he’d takin’ to the drink. His eyes were a muddy blue long ago and now they are bleached out and empty looking. His head was once too big for his body, but it looked like his body caught up. I never hated Mr. McKay then, and I don’t want to now because he is the kid’s daddy. He will always be their daddy and the granddaddy of their children. I don’t want to be the one to spoil anything for any of them.”

     “Was it good to be home?”

    “ Well, when I got back home and nobody wanted extra mouths to feed, so I stayed in the back of a factory where they made clothes. Pretty soon, I was making the clothes and every so often, I would go and check on the kids. I stayed right there for a long time. I didn’t make much money, but I had a place to stay and was sort of a caretaker for the place. The owners really liked me and said I was the best resident worker in Hattiesburg. They were sure right.

      One day, I figured a way to get some lumber and some nails.  I started with them and began to build me a house. A little while later I got more stuff to build with and before you know it, I had me a little house. The kids were good, the house was good and I was real good. We stayed that way, kids good, me running back and forth checking’ and the house getting better all the time. No one could believe that I got me a house all on my own.  I didn’t even think about the house being on someone else’s property. Some guy came along and told me my house was on his property. He looked like a nice guy so I married him. I don’t think the house was ever mine, but we moved to his big house and I took care of his kids and mine, too. I spent lots of time with that guy and our kids are all grown now. He called me Hattie and I called him Bear.  I am telling you about me because I want you to tell my family we are friends and I want you to tell them things we talked about here. You will do this for me, please.”

     “Of course I will, Hattie, but why don’t you call them now and talk to them. I can call for you.”

     “Oh not right now, I haven’t talked to them since last Christmas. They didn’t want me to come because they thought I was too sick to be over with them or something like that.  They all live right here in town live right here in town and none have come by to see me. I’m not a bad person; I know that, I know they are busy doing their own thing. Still, they could come by here and visit with me a little.”

     “They should come.”

     “They don’t.”   

     “Hattie, what is it you want me to tell you kids and grandkids?”

     “ You can tell them this: I used to look like a giant sad giraffe. That’s what my second husband told me. He said my neck hung down and that I needed to stand up and let folks who pass by see my face. He made me do experiments. He used to say, make them notice you Hattie. He made me walk in front of him and see if I could attract attention. I learned some tricks about standing straight as an arrow, and I could get attention.  I don’t think I can get any attention now.”

     “You’ve got my attention.” I said.

     “ Yes I do and young lady, I am going to tell you something I know. You should not spend time catching up on what you should have done or should have been doing.  You should start from where you are and just do it.”

TWO POINTS SHORT

You do not need to know who I am to hear my voice.

I am obscured from you by an absolute choice.

You may want to start spending your efforts and your time

But if you do the meaning will be lost in the rhyme

Getting old and realizing your name becomes the focus of the day

You haven’t lost it; it is just located further back than you can say,

Having your bloated body plucked, sucked, poked, and rolled in a loop

Life has become centered on the waking moments giving way to pee and poop

You wonder and wander back to a remembered time when you were the king of the ball

You remember it well, that foggy hog stealing your memory; all

Changing the order of things blocking thoughts, ideas, and dreams

You are strapped to the mattress, but they don’t have your mind, but neither do you.

It can’t be night again, what happened to the events of the day, your debut

Was it yesterday or the day before when you arrived here in this cave, a tunnel of being?

 Peace and hopelessness resigned, calming your mind leaving your ears to ring.

You have given of your time and moved along as they have prescribed,

Where’s the light at the end of this event.  You’ve certainly tried.

Ahh, here is the help, here is the light, it shines on somewhere; it is waiting for you.

You see the light shining in prisms, you and the others in the room, here’s your crew

You move towards the line that is forming, as you are whisked along to the front

You are the center of attention. Are you the only one?

You hear the voices discussing all that you have done.

Your deeds, contributions, indications, hesitations, retributions and tribulations

Your strivings generate peace through instruction, love through modeling, contributions

Your prerequisite for truth and honesty shine through the assemblage piled high

Your cooperation in matters concerning the masses is legendary, essential, will never die

Your quest for trustworthiness and loyalty among all is illuminated time and time again

Your visions and hope for humanity won prizes, awards and claims a distinction; Bien.

Your responsibility towards justice and mercy for all mankind gave you benevolence

Your charity and kindness have been rewarded by never keeping us in suspense,

But through the loving, guiding, teaching, training, giving, hoping, and caring,

Doing and saying the right thing came as naturally as the load you were bearing

You find out you are two points short for eternity’s entrance fee.

 Pearly Gates sure looked good all along the way, the ones now you can actually see.

No entrance fee dear soul not for you or me, go back, do it again for an eternity.

A Closet Story # 2:  I heard tell…

I heard tell that you should ALWAYS buy a good pair of shoes and a good bed because if you are not in one of them you are in the other.

The above telling makes such good sense to me now that I have begun in earnest to clean out my flipping’ closets once and for all.  I begin with the shoes. They were all good shoes at one time or another, but time and wear take their toll, but which good shoes to keep and which ones will someone else be happy to have? This little nagging voice in the back of my head says, ‘It’s never gonna happen.’  It is not going to happen because I cannot part with any of them. They have given good service. Is that what we do with a good pair of shoes that has given us comfort. Throw them out? Maybe?

I also cannot part with the little black blouse I wore under the suit, which is long gone to our daughter’s wedding umpteen years ago. Her first one, may I add. I also cannot part with the suede shirt Skip bought me 10 years ago because he said it looked nice on me It still is not my style and makes me sweat and look large, but still in hangs among the others that have the same qualities. I still think that someday, just someday I will wear the travel skirts I bought, still fit into, over twenty-five years ago.  Oh Gawd. I have looked through some travel purchases and just have to stamp my foot and shake my head. The embroidered vest and skirt from the Ukraine looked spiffy on the ship that night for dinner as did the Peruvian shawl and the Thai pants and jacket. The Norwegian sweater makes me look thin, that’s why I bought it, but it is too darned hot for Southern California weather anytime, ever.

Today is a new day and I am approaching the closets with hope. I do not know what hope has to do with it, what I need is a ruthless person to come in when I am not here and go through and bundle up all of my things. It will only hurt for a little while. Contrary to what you might be thinking, I have thrown out many an item and can only remember one that I miss.  It is a little denim yellow and white skirt. I would never wear it and never did, but to this day it is the single item that haunts me and makes this present day throw out so difficult.

I have come to the interview suits. Who am I kidding? I am retired, never to go on an interview again, yet, the suits hang side by side on the closet pole waiting for the day they will be called into duty. Every one of them needs to be in the give away pile. Next, I get a look at the sweat suits. Let me tell you here that I am NOT a sweat suit person. Matching pants, liner and jacket. No way, so, why are they hanging there?  Thee little sweat suits range from very old, old, medium old and new, and never worn. They are there hanging ready for sweat?  I have no idea what may have possessed me each time I bought one of those things. I do not like to sweat, not at all. What shall I do?  I should probably take them off according to oldness, but that’s not fair. I won’t wear any of them, so why choose any particular one; just toss them all at once.

My pain is great now, so I will take a break for two Advil.

Today, I look toward the t-shirts. No way can anyone wear all of those

t-shirts and who wears a regular t-shirt these days. The shirts people wear have jewels, studs, some form of art or sayings, like: I am not getting smaller; I’m just backing away from you. Did you eat a bowl of stupid for breakfast? I don’t know what makes you dumb, but it really works, or hot sexy mom (sure) and Bi girls are twice as sexy. Mine are plain for the most part.

They were lined up according to color but through the ages they are split between drawers, closets and boxes. Oh this is the worst of it. How many

t-shirts can you toss without collapsing? I will let you know. The answer is 45 and still counting.  I am not taking a break until Baa Baa, I have three bags full. 

   I have been super tense, stressed or whatever you want to call going out of your mind with worry and fear.  I realized that my closets started to bulge like never before. My goodness, I could not throw away stuff fast enough.  On the way home from my pilgrimage to the little boutique up the road, I realized what the heck I have been doing for nearly all of my life.  Yes, I love to look nice and absolutely adore the smell of new crispy clothes. But there is a flippin’ limit to what a regular human being needs. Five closets full of sedatives. Oh my gosh when I realized that all of those clothes were not a necessity to cover the body but a necessity to cover the soul, I stopped the car in a dark parking lot and laughed at myself until I cried. At that moment I hated everything. Stop! Do not give in to this shit, I said out loud to no one.  It was then that I realized I have been going to the stores when life gets too much to be comfortable and or when I have to make a decision, or when things pile up on my plate. I have come to see each garment as a tranquilizer of the past or as you will, a sedative I needed at one time or another. I have sedatives and tranquilizers from over 20 years ago maybe, probably longer. I can’t seem to throw them away. Do I think I will need them again someday to fill a void or erase a pain? Still parked in the parking lot, my thoughts brought me back to the two bags in the back seat of my car. Yes, the sedatives are still working, but for how long? Will they wear off once I take them out of the bag, or when I cut the tags off? How long will it be until I need the next fix? Wait a minute; I don’t care when I will need the next fix. It is not harming my health, it is not putting me in debt; it is not hurting anyone. Now, I have come to grips with it all and very glad there is an outlet for me.  The only thing I will need to do is get more closet space. Hey, how about double poling the closets I already have.  I can double my tranquilizing capabilities. Oh yes.

   I had an interesting experience when we went into the Museum of Tolerance with our Brandeis group. We had to go through a metal detector.(17 of us) When we left the lady I drove with got all upset at the car and said the guy never put her keys back into her purse.  I do not know what happened, but I could see into her purse for a moment as if it were clear plastic.  I saw her keys right there. I asked her if I could put my hand into her purse, she said yes. I didn’t even rummage around, I just put my hands right on the keys and pulled them out.  The ladies were stunned and woweyed me etc. For some reason, they had a great deal more respect for me on the way to lunch. So I took advantage of that. I got them the number 1 parking place right behind the restaurant. They said they think I am psychic. No, I am not, but did not mention that I used to live in that community for 5 years when I was having our babies. (Cheviot Hills, West L A.) And besides Century City is right there where my parents lived and we went that way twice a week for years and years.  So getting parking was not hard.  But the key thing, well, I am also amazed. Seeing through purses is not my ordinary thing.

I got the mail and to my surprise

A box addressed to me

I hurried back with it in tow

So anxious just to see

What could it be, I couldn’t guess

What my thoughtful friend could send

I’m running now, back to the house

Will this driveway ever end??

I’m in the house now and wouldn’t you know

There’s a ringing from the phone

Hey, I have a gift I want to see

Could you please leave me alone??

So, I picked it up and said “Hello”

Who could this person be?

Oh what a thrill, I’m happy now

They’re from AARP

Just think of it, at lower cost

Because I’m old is why

This life insurance will set me up

But only if I die

I said, “No thanks”, my plan’s to live

They said, “You never know!”

With the slightest chill upon my voice 

I said, “I have to go”.

So, here I sit with box in hand

Excitement begins to grow

From this unexpected thoughtfulness

From a friend I’m blessed to know

So I pull on the box

It’s taped quite well

My heart is pounding now

I lift the lid, I peek inside

“A Lady Bug, Oh WOW”!!!!

I’ll cherish this for all my days

This gift my friend has sent

I’m feeling good and feeling loved

Which I know was your intent.

THANK YOU SO MUCH!!!!

As If Looking Into a Distant Mirror

When I recently visited my uncle and stayed in a suite at The Dahlia Retirement Home, it was as if I was looking into a distant mirror and I did not hate it. I did not like it, but have, since my visit and stay at the retirement home, come to realize that it is a good fate and not some horror story.  I went to visit my Uncle Morris at his retirement home called The Dahlia, which looks like a Las Vegas Hotel Lobby and Casino.  When you ascend to the floors and the hallways are dotted on each side with doors to the individual or shared suites.  I was offered one of the suites that are set aside for out of town visitors.  I was nervous, not terribly, but worried about staying in a place like this hopefully way before my time. 

I was given a key to what was going to be my personal suite for the next few days and directions how to get there.  I wheeled my bag down the maze of hallways and into elevators, finally arriving at 

# 221, put my key in the door and let myself into the home away from home for the next several days. I sat down and realized that once you close your doors, here or anywhere, you do not know the outer surroundings. You are just in there and you are just alone.

Dining every night is a glamorous affair. It reminded me of shipboard dining. We were scheduled for the early seating. The early seating starts at 4:30 P.M. and my uncle expected me to be there and be on time! I was still chocking down lunch, but dinner was ready to be served.  You are handed a menu, you make choices, you can have half of this and half of that and extra this and less of that. You can pretty much have anything you want. The dining room is a den of gossip.  As people come in and they pass your table, the buzz begins. You hear all about them, what they were and what they are up to now.  When the food comes, the gossip dies down.  When dinner is over, and as people pass by to leave, the buzz starts again.  Oh my what they must have said about me being there is too much to bear and I am sure they are still talking about the niece that came to visit her uncle and stayed several nights. Believe me it is not that I am so interesting; it is just that not much else seems to turn up to talk about.

I meet several people in the elevators and thank goodness they asked if I were visiting a parent or family member.  Early the first morning I was coming out of the game room and a lady nearly ran me over with her scooter. She was driving way too fast for a place where people are so slow. I think she should have received a ticket. for speeding in a restricted environment.

There is gossip that goes on all day long, but this particular gossip is what I got walking down the hallway with my uncle. A new story is revealed every time you pass a door on your way to the elevator. “The guy inside this door,” he said was the former CEO of a prominent national bank, recently had a stroke, got carted away and has not returned. The door next to the CEO’s houses a woman who got herself into very bad shape, but has pulled herself back to life and only needs a walker now. People across the hall from each other are very much in love. It is the romance of the month. Sporting a new shirt and sweater as he bounds out of his door is Harvey. Harvey is rather young for The Dahlia, but needs to be there. He is a very wealthy young man who is unable for various reasons to take care of him self. There is Charlie who sits on the couch in the lobby in same spot at the same time every day all daylong. He sleeps there on and off, but never looks rested.  There are knee and hip replacements behind those doors.  There are heart attacks, curvatures of the spine, hairline fractures, kidney failure, and various forms of illnesses from time to time and some win and some loose.  The losers do not return. You never know what happened to them. Then, there is Fran a famous world-renowned dancer who has only been here for two months. She does not want to follow the rules and has been very outspoken about there being too many rules. There are rules for everything she says and it is driving her crazy.

On Tuesday morning there was a big buzz. They were going to change a 5-year tradition. They decided in the board meeting that they were not going to have Blintzes on Tuesday morning’s anymore. Everyone was quite disturbed about this development.  I told them to start a petition to keep Blintzes on the menu. They loved that idea, but I am sure it did not get past the table. I will have to call my uncle and see what replaced the Blintzes on Tuesday mornings at The Dahlia.

Not only do I realize, I am in a retirement home, albeit for only a few days, I realize that in my real life, I have never been alone. I have always been with someone, gone somewhere with someone, gone in a group or met someone. Nothing like being alone has graced my experience. This needs to be pondered under separate cover.

I realized that my suite is on the first floor. Even though I have the number 221, it is still on the first floor, but a floor over an underground parking structure. Thinking out loud, it comes to me that someone can climb up into the window. Now who would want to do that in a facility like this one I do not know, but still I went around locking all of the windows. It got hot in the suite, but I did not care. I just know now never to buy or rent a northwest facing living quarters and be up high enough to make it impossible for someone to climb into your window. I kept the windows locked and that was that.

I also now know why you lock yourself into and out of these suites. If not, the residents come in and whether you lock or don’t lock, the staff come in at will. I was sitting on the second hand couch just thinking about something and oops, a cleaning man came into the suite. Oh, was I miffed.  Then, he backed out apologetically and I realized that locking yourself in or out of a retirement home suite does not mean you are safe from someone coming in whenever they feel it necessary. So there goes your privacy. The first thing to go in a place like this, I soon realized.

Everything at The Dahlia is timed; everything is a rule. Everything is deliberate, calculated, measured and precise. Everything restricted and oriented to the easiest, fastest most expedient and cost effective way to operate. Forget about humanistic. Forget about dignity. Forget about privacy. Forget about for the betterment and for the good of the whole. It just isn’t like that.  Beyond the beautifully decorated lobby and dining area, what you have is you, yourself and your bits and pieces My dear Uncle Morris says, maybe the Good Lord will have mercy and take us sooner than later.