It's Been a Long Time . . . 

 

since I wrote.

 

As I just read the previous blogs, I noted that all I could write about was my times and musings of my mother and father for the past year. Well, why not? They have been filling my mind. They have been my Universe. My life has been revolving around and with their orbits.

 

I don't regret it.

 

As one gets older, one should cherish all the thoughts and moments one can get because life gets shorter and shorter, seemingly getter smaller and smaller. I have already lived 2/3rds of my life according to my own parents' life spans. I only have 1/3 left. That's 30 years but 30 years doesn't seem like a lot anymore. Better pack life into what's left. Before you know it, you can't half see or hear and you might be taking baby steps once again just to get to the car that you aren't supposed to be driving anymore.

 

Thirty years is a blink in time. Maybe not even that much.

 

Maybe it's time to expand one's Universe. Continue to expand one's mind. Extend one's geographic pull of effective and affectiveness on loved ones, people in general and the cosmos.

 

One seismic ripple in the waters of life can be far-reaching. Make sure it's a good ripple. Be a positive force in your galaxy.

 

Remember, we don't just live on a certain street but rather within a huge thing floating in space. Are we really grounded or just a speck orbiting on and with a breathing, blue planet around a hot star that shines on us during the day and lets the moon take over at night? We are floating, suspended, yet moving in the Heavens according to plan. 

 

When you look up at the stars at night, know that within is a fascinating Universe too that is constantly playing out individual functions that create a whole being. Someone that was just a twinkle in someone else's eyes.

 

Do you like what you see?

(photo courtesy of NASA)

(c)nancy  12.3.2013

 

 



Oh, Deer !

 

This really happened. Let me say that right off the bat.

 

(Plus, the picture above is of a deer I took in my backyard. Yes, I take all the pictures that I post in this blog-o-mine. When not, I say so.)

 

All that said, here is the story . . .

 

A few days ago it was a beautiful day. I decided to take a break and go outside to enjoy a walk around my yard. Stretch my legs. Smell the fresh air. Absorb some vitamin D. It had drizzled earlier and had wet the dry leaves that had begun to fall, making them silent when I walked on them in my worn, black flip flops. I flopped quietly around the side of my house heading toward the garden there to check on the weeds growing.

 

And what to my wondering eyes should appear but three reindeer! No, not exactly. But there was a doe and two teenage fawns. I immediately stood still and they looked up from eating my weeds in the lawn. We all played possum standing up straight and no one moved an eyelash. Chewing ceased.

 

After a moment a tail flicked and an ear twitched and they all turned to face me. I stood still. The mother took a step toward me and I stood still. She walked slowly closer and I backed up very slowly. She stopped. I stopped. We stared at each other.

 

She bent her head to the ground and brought it back up, and I saw one of her deerlings do the same motion afterward. Were they communicating? The mother was still turned toward me and I was still still.

 

She bowed her head and I bowed at the waist while keeping my eyes locked with hers. She bowed her head and I bowed back. One more time, she bowed her head toward me and I returned the movement. Then we stared at each other, she flicked her tail and moved on followed by her offspring.

 

I waited until they were out of sight in the brush and then said out loud, "Thank you, God".

 

What a great memory. A deer "spoke" to me and I "spoke" back. It was a namaste moment, greeting one another and acknowledging each other's presence.

 

I'd say it was a good day.



(c)nancy  10.8.2013

 

 

 



Full Moon for Mom/August 20, 2013

Tonight will be a Full Moon. I think it only appropriate since my mother, today a year ago, died peacefully in the early morning hours. A full year will pass under the light of a Full Moon.

My mother was very spiritual. She loved Celtic stuff and I think she would have loved that the Moon would be in full mode for her tonight. I hope the sky will be clear so I can walk outside and see it and think of her.

I wish I could be standing beside her at Oakwood Cemetery at midnight tonight because "the full moon reaches its highest elevation" at that time.

Mom also loved Stonehenge. She said that when she went there and was able to stand within the stones (before the time that the fence was built around it) that she had a spiritual experience. I wish I had been with her to feel it too. We could have held hands and then looked at each other and said, "Did you feel that?" and maybe a shiver would run down our spines.

Maybe at that moment she would have squeezed my hand three times ( I Love You) and I would have smiled and squeezed her hand back two times (How Much?) and then she would squeeze long and hard and I would know how much she loved me.

I am squeezing your hand all day today mom.

Squeeze, squeeze squeeze
Squeeze squeeze
Squeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeze.
Forever.

 

 

(c)nancy  8.20.2013

July 27, 2013

Mom's Birthday

 

My mother was smart, thoughtful, curious, historically minded, spiritual, beautiful inside and out and genuinely kind. Her friends and her husband described her as "a lady". That she was through and through and to her core.

 

My family celebrated her today by going out to Johnson Lake which was a place she liked to go to in order to look at the water. We would go any time of the year. If we brought a lunch, then we would take it to one of the picnic benches at the water's edge. So that's what we did today. On the way, we stopped at Burger King on Hillsborough Street because that's the Burger King that Mom liked. While the food was being prepared for take-out, Dad and my sister sat in "their booth". Tears.

It could not have been a prettier day in July. The weather had cooled and we sat in the shade with a lovely breeze blowing as we talked of mom and other things going on in our lives. She would have loved being there personally and enjoyed dropping a french fry to the ducks that would come to the table. I can picture her doing it, the way she'd drop it from above the duck's head and let it fall to the dirt where the duck would then compete with others to gobble it up. Sometimes she'd throw the fry in an arc to the water and watch the instant fight for food.

At one point I stood up from the table and walked to an area where I could look out over the water and think of mom quietly. Of how she loved this small view and I could picture her here the many times I was with her. It can only take a millisecond for hours of memory to cross your mind. It was a good feeling but also sad, because I miss her every day. It makes me glad I have good memories to cherish that have been saved in my heart, soul and memory cells. They are worth more than money. I hope I got my mother's DNA and keep my mind, never losing it to Alzheimer's or senility. I want to be able to come here with my children and grandchildren and tell them of their grandmother or great grandmother. To describe her to them so they feel her too. Thinking of you, Mom.

 

Daddy held up well but there were moments. It is very hard. Sad. He misses her so much.

We packed up our trash after we had eaten and drove to Oakwood Cemetery next. I had gone to Harris Teeter earlier in the day and got flowers for mom. When we pulled up to the curb my sister commented on the big bird that had just flown over mom's spot and into a nearby tree. We thought it very significant as she loved seeing big birds. I said out the window, "Hey, Mom!". I got out of the car and went straight to the vase where I have been putting flowers for the past year, doing my best to go once a week, so Mom has fresh flowers. It's a little harder for the flowers to last a week during the summer heat. When the old flowers were discarded and the fresh ones were in their place we all stood in a curve at the base of her plaque and held hands. My sister said some words. Tears.

Quiet thoughts. I broke the sadness by telling Mom of our day we had so far with her in mind and trying to be cheerful and up beat. I told her about the bird that we saw and said, "Was that you, Mom?"

Suddenly a strong breeze blew through the tree over mom's place and us surrounding it, rustling the many leaves. I looked over at my other sister and we said to one another with our eyes, "Whoa."

As I said, mom was very spiritual. It would have been just like her to be a bird or a breeze letting us know she knows we know.



 

On our way back to Dad's condo we drove by houses Mom liked and one in particular that my sister remembered that Mom "coveted". Mom's word for the house every time we would drive by it. It's for sale now and Dad had said many times this past year when he and I would drive by thinking of mom, "I would buy that for her if she were here".

I know you would, Dad.

We all agreed since it was "For Sale" and looked "Not Lived In" that we would be brave and drive down the long, ivy bordered driveway and "take a look". Mom would have LOVED this adventure. I would have helped her out of the car and held her hand as we would walk around the property,  trading off at some point so someone else could hold her hand too. Can you ever not want to hold your mother's hand no matter how old you are?

Here's one image of the house. It is surrounded by ivy and trees.

 

I took a lot of pictures but this captures how private and quaint it is, almost like an English country house. We all agreed that coming to investigate this unique home that momma coveted was like one of our "day trips" we had with her when we were in The Cotswolds together.  

 

All in all it was a wonderful afternoon in remembrance of mom on her birthday. She would have been 95.

 

Happy Birthday, momma. We miss you.

I miss you.

 

             

 









 



(c) nancy  7.30.2013



Another Day with Dad

July 25, 2013

 

It doesn't hardly get any better than this!!

Today when I woke up, the storm that had passed in the night left the air cooler and the humidity lower. A good day to pick up Dad along with my sister and eat outside at Logan's.

Here's what we ate . . .  Dad and I shared a hamburger with onions and mustard on it, the way he likes it, and they cut it in half for us. We also shared some waffle fries with a bit of ketchup for dipping. My sister got a burger with the works on it and some potato salad on the side. Since it was a rare day with some coolness in the breeze, we decided to sit outside at a table to enjoy the weather while we could. After all, it is the end of July! Cool days are worth savoring.

So the picture above was taken as we headed to the annual section of Logans, after we ate, in order for Dad to find some more flowers, preferably white, to plant in front of the summer ones he already had blooming in his newly sun-filled plot. He had a few tree limbs cut from a neighbor's tree about a month ago, so he could get more of the sun he wanted on his plants. It's doing really well! But he did not see anything that suited his idea of what he wanted to plant, so we went on to our next joint 'thing'.

On to a framer for my sister.

This framer has been in his spot for about 30 years across from Broughton High School. It smelled like a dentist's office and my sister and I both thought that as we walked into the lower section of the building. At any rate, she got her calligraphic artwork figured out in her own way and then we were off again.

We went on to drop her off at her house, and then Dad and I went back to his condo so he could get his book he is currently reading as well as his tape recorder. He talks into this recorder telling stories all about selling insurance, the Wolfpack Club, his friends and associates and some family events. All with a great ending. He really is a fabulous storyteller, and I think he could have done that on the stage. In fact, he could have been an actor. He is something else.

As I type this he is sitting on my couch talking into his recorder as he holds the piece of paper he has written lines on in order to prompt his recollections.

What a Dad!!!

Thanks for the memories, Dad, that I get to share with you daily now and for the ones you are recording for posterity. You're the best!

(Postscript: I ended up gathering, collating, editing, and organizing into chapters all of dad's notes that were piled here and there in his condo. Then I added pictures within the text and ended up self-publishing his memoirs via Lulupress. It was a learning curve for me on how to do it all online but it was finally accomplished by Thanksgiving 2017)

(c)nancy  7.25.2013



A Pictorial Lunch with Dad ... Friday ... June 6, 2013

This morning I got a call from my sister asking if I wanted to share a day with Dad. Yes! We would make it fun for him. We had a few ideas.

Little did we know that Dad had an idea of his own.

When we arrived at his condo, he had a magazine in his hands open to a page about a restaurant he thought we may try out for lunch today. It's here in downtown Raleigh and the article boasts that it serves the best fried chicken. Dad is not a chicken lover at heart because, when he was young, he grew up raising chickens. But fried chicken? He was ready to see if it was as good as KFC. We were keen on rating the chicken with him. Let's go!



Located at 237 S. Wilmington Street (again, that's downtown folks) is Beasley's Chicken & Honey. You can see by the picture I took above that people were coming in by groups. The only problem? Parking. Bring your credit or debit cards to use in the automated parking meters. $1.00 will get you an hour's worth of parallel parking which is all you need to come in, sit down, order, and enjoy the fare.

Fortunately, I am pretty good at parallel parking but I drove around the block once in order to see if someone would pull out of their spot closer to the restaurant so Dad would not have to walk too far. Voila! As I turned the corner, two cars left the curb almost simultaneously, one in front of the other, and I was able to cruise into my space with room to spare as if the parking angels swept them away just for us. We were not disappointed as we got out and walked in the First Day Of Summer breezes to Beasley's.

Can you see Dad's white head of hair? There he is sitting in the corner. He likes to be in the middle of what's happening, so this table afforded us all a good view of people to watch. At any rate, we ordered from the huge blackboards on the walls, and Dad, of course, got their fried chicken with a side order of their creamy version of macaroni and cheese.



 

He said he really didn't prefer the mac 'n cheese over the regular old-fashioned kind that he is accustomed to but it was creamy and moist. As you can see, beverages are served in jars. They don't have real Coca Colas here but rather RC Colas and Nehi Grape-like drinks and such. Fresh lemonade. So if you are a die-hard Coca Cola lover like myself, just order their sweet tea and have a coke when you get home. My sister was coming off of a cleanse, so she ordered a salad and some veggies. She said it was all good. I ordered their fried chicken sandwich of the day that was really a veggie sandwich that I ordered with chicken thrown in.  It was massive!

 

 

 I did my best to get through it but none of us could eat all of our lunch portions. We all got the remainders to go which came in a brown bag (for me and my sister) with their stamp on it. Cute! I ordered their coconut cake to go as well and I have to tell you it is weighty, sweet, moist, and good for a few sessions with a fork. Our waitperson said it takes them about two days to make. I believe it.

 

 

Dad's leftover chicken came in a tiny box which made us think they had secretly put in some Sesame Chicken with Fried Rice or maybe a fortune cookie.

 



 

When you go to Beasley's ask for Katie. She's fabulous! Her smile and warm persona really made our day.

 

 

We admit that the bill was too high . . . about $44.00 for four people ... for lunch. Wow! So that credit card or debit card you brought to pay for your meter will come in handy. Phew!

 

Onward to our next fun thing of the day which was going to my house to play Parcheesi with Dad. Dad picked yellow (his favorite flower color), I picked red (my favorite color of anything) and my sister was left with a mix of green and blue (my cats know where the rest are . . . probably batted under a couch or bed).

 



 

Growing up we played a lot of board games and my Dad taught us as young children to win! But I will have to admit that I was feeling pretty bad for Dad when he was constantly being sent 'home' by my sister at the beginning of the game. But as luck would have it, she was then being sent home and he finally had a chance to get his men out and about the board. At the very end, we were neck and neck like the horses in the Preakness. We were sitting at my pub table hollering for our dice to "come on, come on!" We all needed a one on our dice to win.

 

 

Well, this go-round my sister won, so we will have to set up the board game another time and see who's on first. Hope it's you, Dad!

 

Thanks for the memory.

 

I love you.

 

 

(c)nancy 6.22.2013



 

 

 



 

A Day With Dad

 

 

June 14, 2013 - Friday

 

Today I picked Dad up at his condo around eleven in the morning. He was all dressed in a perky yellow shirt and light-colored khakis ready and waiting for the day. Me too! Not that I was wearing a yellow shirt or khaki pants, but I was excited to spend the day with Dad.

 

First off we drove to Five Points and picked up one of his prescriptions. Of course, when we were waiting at the small pharmacy counter, Dad saw someone he knew and I saw someone I knew. So we both chatted with our respective friends and then said hello to one anothers' and took our package and walked arm in arm across the street to the Post Office.

 

"Where have you been?" the lady behind the counter asked Dad. He then proceeded to fill her in about the fact that he'd had a stroke and can't drive now. She said cheerfully that she was glad to see that he was upright and walking! Dad paid for two sheets of flower stamps and we were off to our next adventure.

 

All the way to the other end of Glenwood Avenue we drove with the windows down enjoying the cooler air that whooshed in last night on a storm taking Dad's electricity out for the night. He said he did not have power until around nine this morning. We were glad it had cooled down in the 60's for that fiasco. My lights flickered but graciously stayed on.

 

At any rate, we reached the parking lot of the Food Lion where we walked in, grabbed a cart, and went in search of sodas to buy for tomorrow's cookout. Father's Day and other celebrations included in the hot dog event at my sister's house. While there we grabbed some Doritos just in case anyone would like some (mainly me). Then a bar of Ivory soap for Dad.

 

Back in the car and on around the corner to the Goodwill. There we perused the shelves that held books for sale. $1.75 for hardbacks no matter how thick. Dad found a few and so did I. He was looking for some of his favorite authors, especially Stuart Woods, but no luck. We paid in cash (no checks or credit cards taken) for them at the counter. Dad gave the lady his money and said, "Keep the change". She smiled and said she would give it to some people in need. Again, we went back in the car arm in arm.

 

Still driving with the windows down, we made it to my street and turned in, and caught a glimpse of a deer crossing the road. I slowed down and there in the neighbor's yard was a doe and its little spotted fawn. Bambi, anyone? How adorable. But it had a limp and I wanted to grab it and take it to the Veterinary School. But it turned its head and looked at us, seemed happy, so we drove slowly on to my house where we went inside and settled down on the couch (for Dad) and in the kitchen (for me). I made us some open-faced ham and cheese sandwiches on rosemary sourdough bread for our 'picnic lunch' which I crisped in the little toaster oven. Yum. I cut them up like little canapes in hopes it would help Dad chew small bites. We ate them while sitting on the couches and had fun talking.

 

Afterward, I grabbed the new potatoes in the fridge I had boiled the previous night and sat back down on the couch to cut them up in a bowl while Dad read more stories to me. What a delight to hear him laugh and enjoy the tales. He is quite the storyteller. He read from a book that was written in 1945 by someone who had been a boarder in his grandparent's huge house on Market Street in Washington, N.C. (Carl Goerch; founder of Our State Magazine). What fun. I am looking forward to reading it as well.

 

When the potato salad preparation was done for the moment, we decided to open the screen door to the porch. I set him up in the shade with a glass of water over ice. He read with the breezes blowing while I began to make us a treat. A shortcake recipe that is really good. My idea? To take them hot out of the oven, and we could eat them with melted butter and some maple syrup or honey drizzled in the middle. All the cutting in of the cold, sweet butter and the kneading and the rolling and the cutting out in biscuit rounds was to no avail. I have no idea if it was the fine weather, the gas oven (which I do not like how it bakes), or just what, but they would not cook in the middle. Just a gooey mass with crisp outer shells. Poo!

 

Well, my freezer ice cream didn't work out either this week. A grand recipe from The Two Fat Ladies Cookbook that looked really easy to prepare and sounded delicious but which ended up looking like frozen mashed potatoes. I don't think the cooking gods were with me this week so I have laid that notion aside until next week. Better luck? We'll see.

 

So I got my book and joined Dad on the porch to read. But not before I gave him a manicure that he asked for. His nails were willy nilly and he has nice nails when they are filed. I like doing it for him but I leave his toenails for my sister!

 

Before we knew it, the time on my iPhone read almost 4:00, the time I told my brother-in-law that I would bring Dad back to the condo. (He and my sister were living with Dad at his condo, for a time, after he fell and broke his hip.) I asked Dad if he'd like to stay longer but he said he should probably get back. I know he likes to read his mail and catch up with the newspaper. I don't suppose he had time this morning to get it all done.

 

Thanks for the memory, Dad. I love you. Happy Father's Day.

(c)nancy 6.15.2013



Queen Anne's Lace for my Mother

June 13, 2013

I went out this morning to a spot where I know that my mother's favorite flower blooms wildly. It's called Queen Anne's Lace. As you can see in the picture that I took above, it is a beautiful round, white, lacy thing that sits on top of a sturdy green stem. You can find these wild flowers along the roadside. I have tried digging some up and planting them in my own gardens without much luck. Seeds? Not much luck either. It's as if they want to grow where they want to grow and be free to blow in the wind and look pretty. Dainty. Pure.

So I rode out this morning with a pitcher of water and some scissors to the place where they grow and parked in the hot sun, walked out along the dirt path, and tromped in high weeds to snip some blooms for my mother's grave. I don't like to use the word 'grave' but rather I usually say, "I went out to see mom today" or "I'm going to mom's today to sit and read, or bring flowers . . . ". Grave sounds so grave, so final . . . the end.

It's not.

While I was gathering the flowers, I thought back to the other times when I came out to this spot with my mother or with my mother and father. We would jump in my car after my mom would suggest she'd like some Queen Anne's Lace for her den. So off we'd go like three peas in a pod to make her wish come true. I can still picture my mother's delight as we would walk along the path, and she'd point and say, "that one" and I'd lean over to cut it and hand it back to her and she would put it in the vase she was holding in her hands. The thrill on her face was worth it all. It's not as if these flowers have some sort of vibrant scent or color to make them worth the picking. The opposite.

To see a Queen Ann's Lace is to see my mother. Someone dainty, pure, sweet, not frilly or highly scented but elegant in simplicity. Standing tall in the midst of her surroundings or any pain she had to endure through her life. No thorns.

So here's to you, momma, and remembering you as the time approaches when, a year ago, you fell and life was unendurable. May you know that you are missed every second as time still clicks by on this Earth. May you feel as free and beautiful as the white Queen Anne's Lace that grows wildly and randomly along unpaved roads.

I'm thinking of you.

(c) 6.13.2013

Last Dance with my Dad

Last Dance with my Dad

 

My cell phone rang and I picked it up to see who was calling. The name that popped up was "Mom and Dad". I had not changed the name to just "Dad" even though my mother had passed away in August of 2012. It was now May 19, 2013 but my mother is still with me and I wasn't going to ever change the name on my phone.

 

"Hello!"

 

"Nancy!"

 

"Yes, Daddy, how are you?"

 

And he began to ask me if I wanted to go to a party that was going to be held at the CCC the next night.

 

"Let me think about it," I said.

 

"O.K. Call me tomorrow."

 

And he hung up.

 

He never said goodbye on the phone. Just finished what he was going to say and then pressed the disconnect button. When I was younger it used to bother me that I didn't hear a 'goodbye' or 'talk to you soon', but I came to realize that it was just his way and the action didn't have any meaning behind it except that he didn't like to talk on the phone. He'd rather talk in person. I call him our family's 'social butterfly'. He is most happy in a room full of people flitting from person to person even though he is claustrophobic. And he can be at the front of a crowded room giving a speech and be as happy as a lark.

 

When I put the phone down, I realized I didn't know what kind of a party it was supposed to be and wondered if I had anything in my 'depressed closet' that I could wear that wouldn't be outdated and inappropriate.

 

I slept on it.

 

When I woke up I had my usual cup of coffee and then opened my closet, much like opening a refrigerator in hopes that something would present itself, like Cinderella's dress . . . all sewn up while I had slept, hanging face forward in my closet . . . the perfect thing . . . awaiting my gasp of surprise. Perfect! But that didn't happen and I began to take one dress out after another, hanging them on this knob and that knob, then putting them on one at a time. I did the mirror dance in the hallway. I turned this way and that.  Hmmm. Which one? The question remained, "What kind of a party was it really?" That would help if I knew.

 

I finally called my father and my sister-who-lives-with-him-since-he-broke-his-hip answered the phone. I asked her if she knew what kind of party we would be going to and if she could read the invitation or something. She said it was a cocktail party with drinks first and that a mariachi band would be playing.

 

Oh well. No cocktail dress had presented itself in my closet overnight, twirling its pretty sassy skirt in front of my face in anticipation of a night out to be seen and admired.

 

"Oh, I really like your dress!" someone would exclaim.

 

I finally called him and my sister answered, "I'll hand you to Dad", and he and I talked and I said I'd pick him up around 7 and we could leave at 7:15. It started at 7:30.

 

I went back to the mirror and all the things that I had pulled out of my closet. I ended up putting on a black skirt with a black top I had just bought at Target. It had layers and sleeves and went past my hips, making the skirt look like it was connected and therefore gave the impression of a black dress. As my sister said, "just accessorize", which I did by wearing these cute black dressy flip flops that had black bows with rhinestones in the center of them at the meeting of the thongs. They looked good with my red-painted toenails. The weather forecast said it might rain and these could get wet and it wouldn't matter.

 

But in the mirror, my freshly washed hair of the night before didn't look like it was happy to go anywhere. It was too limp. I had been thinking about getting it cut recently and this party gave me the impetus to do so. Now.

 

I redressed and drove to the place where I always show up, spur-of-the-moment, to see if anyone was free to cut my hair straight across. It always worked. Only this time as I drove there, I kept praying that the one person I really wanted would be free and voila, he was, for the next thirty minutes.

 

"Would that be enough time for you to cut my hair straight across but with some layers too?"

 

"Yes".

 

Great!

He even had time to wash my hair and style it. He was quick and precise and had the image in his head and cut away. When he was finished I was pleased and walked out of the store with my hair bouncing. I felt lighter and perkier. Now I would go home, eat lunch and do my nails in the same Revlon Red that was on my toes and that would complete the one color that accessorized my black outfit. My two favorite colors.

 

Little did I know that my black outfit would be the perfect complement to my Father's attire. He would be the beautifully colored butterfly.

 

I arrived at the appointed time and found him dressed and sitting in the rocking chair next to the TV watching NC State's team of women baseball players in a game. I smiled. There he was in his Lilly Pulitzer gaily flowered pink, blue, and white pants that he had bought in the '60s. He was so proud to be able to still get into them at the age of 94. He matched it with a white shirt, a soft yellow tie and a pinkish-red jacket. A handkerchief was tucked in the breast pocket. On his feet were his white shoes. Very dapper. I straightened his tie and told him I would be with the most handsome man in the room that night. My black outfit, along with myself, would fade into the background like a quiet crow (yes,crows can be quiet at times) and Dad would be the peacock with his feathers fanned out strutting amongst the grand ballroom of living statues holding drinks in one hand and enjoying shrimp, oysters and soft shelled crabs on their tiny plates in front of them on waist high tables.

 

I walked him out to my car and we drove to The Club and parked in a 'Reserved" parking space, hanging our handicapped sign on the rear view mirror of my car. As he had hip surgery recently,  I had made up my mind to be his cane for the night and helped him out of the front seat. We got a ride in an oversized golf cart to the front door and walked up the steps into the event, walking past a young girl dressed in a Moroccan, belly dancing outfit on a Dias posing for a camera. She was a prop for the evening, along with some other young girls in outfits. Beautiful umbrellas that were made out of similar fabric with hanging jewels were placed here and there. I wanted one of those umbrellas.

 

We walked down the hall into the room where the shrimp were on ice and the people from The Cypress (an expensive retirement home) had just arrived in their retirement village white bus. All fifteen of them. Dad knew almost everyone and we began to say hello as we made our way to the drinks table. Daddy got one drink for the night. I got ice water. When I asked politely for only a glass of water, the older, black waiter looked me in the eye, smiled, and said, "Would you like some ice?" I looked him straight back in the eye and said, "Yes, thank you." He filled the glass with ice, poured water from a glass pitcher into it and handed it to me, and said, "You are so nice". I nodded and smiled back.

 

I could tell that he really meant it. He was the one that was nice. I began to feel comfortable in an uncomfortable situation. The Club was not my scene even though I was brought up going there, eating Sunday lunches while still in my Sunday dress, swimming in the pool, and watching Dad play golf. It was always too hoity-toity for me, but Dad loved every inch of it.

 

I turned around and Daddy and I made our way through the newly crowded room to a table outside on the loggia which overlooked the lush green golf course. A breeze had cropped up. We found a table with a friend we knew, and we were asked to sit down which we did. Folks came up to Dad and shook his hand and talked, and I sat and enjoyed seeing the huge smile on his face. He was in his element. It wasn't my element, but it was clearly his, and I marveled at the transformation on his face. He looked like he was 74, not 94. His smile went down to his white shoe-covered toes.

 

    Daddy had eaten his soft-shelled crabs and mine along with plenty of shrimp and oysters. He loves seafood. I had grabbed some cantaloupe slices, pineapple, grilled zucchini, and some carved beef to go along with some cheese and a roll. Finally, the band was heard through the french doors and I could tell they were good. Daddy said we should go and check it out which we did, walking through the ever-increasing crowd of people to the dance floor which was the only clear spot in the whole place.

 

We stood on the fringe and Daddy's feet and body began to move with the music, and when his lips pursed like they do when he is beginning to do his dance, I knew I was in for it. I was already holding his hand, and he guided us out onto the dance floor moving his feet in little, smooth steps. I matched his steps, and we began to move in unison. Daddy in his wild outfit and me as a side note. He forgot about his hip and I did too. I wished my mother was there to dance with him but she was in my heart so I pictured her there with Daddy on the dance floor. I was her proxy for the moment. She loved to dance too.

 

I can still picture her, when I was a child sitting on her bed upstairs, watching her get ready to go out to a party with Dad. She'd put her girdle on under her pretty dresses and turn to the side, with her hand over her stomach, looking in the mirror attached to her dresser, seeing the results of the struggle. Then the shoes on her small feet at the end of her shapely legs. She always looked beautiful to me.

 

Dad and I inched more out onto the floor, the only ones dancing in the cleared space surrounded by a crowd of onlookers, and it didn't matter because it was only me holding hands with my Dad, and I was delighted. No one else was dancing with their Dad and I was sad for a moment thinking of lost moments that were not captured as other daughters looked on with thier Dads who should be grabbing their daughter's hands and twirling them on the floor like my Dad was doing with me. Only he was the one twirling as my hand flowed around his back as he turned, to face me again reaching for my hand. I thought about how many times he must have done that same motion with my mother. How sweet.

 

And then the music slowed and he stayed on the floor and we were again the only ones out there, slow dancing this time, at the CCC, my left arm around Daddy's back and my right hand in his left as we rocked back and forth, turning slowly. Was he thinking of mom?

 

We stopped after those two dances and someone wanted to dance with Dad so he did, for a moment, and I looked on waiting to catch him if he got off balance because she didn't know he had fallen and had hip surgery and had recovered. But I was still his cane for the night, and I wasn't far away from his sleeve.

 

Afterward, we walked through another crowded room that was even tighter with people and decided to immediately head back out to the loud band. Dad looked at his watch and said he was ready to go, and we walked out across the vacant dance floor arm in arm, back down the hall to the front door where it was opened for us. Down the front steps and out to the car. The clouds were gathering themselves together for a rain so my grand flip-flops never got wet. I drove Dad back to his condo and we sat and talked about the night. I helped him get his white dancing shoes off his tired feet, and he took off his jacket to hang up in his closet. He came back into the den and sat in his lounge chair and sighed. He still had on his colorful pants and white shirt. After a moment he said he'd like to visit mom more, and I said I had planned on going out to see her the next day. He said he'd like to go with me. I said okay. He said if he got back in the car to practice driving, he would be able to see her more often. I told him I go once a week, and he said he'd like to go any time I do. I said okay.

 

I knew he had thought of mom tonight and missed her too.

 

When my sister and her husband (who were living with Dad at the moment to help him) came back from eating dinner, I stayed a moment longer to hear Dad tell them about his night and then I left. I drove home, glad I had a night out with my Dad, that included cocktails, a view of a manicured golf course, dressing up, seeing his face break out in a huge smile as he talked with friends he has had for a very long time, seeing him enjoy the camaraderie, holding his hand and dancing two dances with him alone in a crowd, watching him turn back the time and be younger with his smile and his dancing, pursed lips. As I drove down the road to my house, I looked up at the sky and said, "I love you, mom. Wish you were here."

 

Thanks for the memory, Dad.

Little did I know that it would be his last twirl on a dance floor and that I would be the one to hold his hand

 

 

(c)nancy 5.19.2013