NEWS YEARS PARTY?

New Year's Eve. Memories of her last year with Charlie flooded her mind. Janice sat alone. He was so sick-- just three months before he died. A trip to the wine store-- a bottle of champagne and two special glasses. She and Charlie settled in the living room (he in his chair, she on the sofa) waiting for the magic hour.

A little past one oclock Janice awoke. Charlie slept.

The champagne was opened two years later but was undrinkable. The glasses were never used.

That was five years ago.

Tonight Janice sat alone at her dining room table with an open champagne bottle and one never used glass. 12:01 AM. "To what we were," she said as she raised her filled glass. Now what to do with the rest of the bottle.

CHRISTMAS WITHOUT CHARLIE

Janice was rooting through the haphazard stack of boxes in the spare room closet-- looking for the small Christmas tree Charlie bought the last Christmas he was alive. They had agreed not to have a tree-- the mess and all. But three days before Christmas Charlie came home from his chemo treatment with a two foot decorated tree.

Charlie died before the next Christmas. The tree had been in storage ever since. It was time to bring it out. Charlie would like that.

The phone rang.

“Carolyn here. How would you like to go tree hunting with us?”
“Who’s us?”
“Mazie and me.”
“Mazie told me they weren’t going to put up a tree this year. Clyde might not even be home from his hospital stay.”
“But he might. And it’s likely his last Christmas. He needs a tree.”

That pitiful little tree somewhere in the closet brought home by Charlie his last Christmas---
“When are we going? Janice asked.
“How about this afternoon. Say one.”
“I’m in.”

Janice found her little tree.

JANICE FIGHT HOLIDAY LONLINESS

JANICE BATTLES LONELINESS

It was the worst time of the year for Janice. The end of December. Christmas, her birthday, New Year’s Eve. Dates celebrated with Charlie for fifty two years. Until he died five years ago. Five years? Had it been five years? It seemed like yesterday in December. Other times it seemed a lifetime ago.

She wasn’t alone; she had friends. Friends who ill, friends who were facing death, friends who were just old. She was alone. Alone means what? No one in your life who shares all your good and bad. No one like Charlie or her sister-- both dead now. No one to share Christmas dinner with; no one to ring in the new year with a kiss. That was one of the worst. For more years than she could remember New Year’s Eve had been special. Proof was the celebratory tablecloth she treasured. Or was it her birthday? Every year since their marriage Charlie replaced the Christmas decorations with a birthday theme. Janice was heavy into her pity party.

The phone rang. “Janice. Clyde is bad, real bad.”
Mazie did not need to be alone. I’ll be right over.”

JANICE FEELS HER AGE

Ask anyone who knew Janice. All will say she is strong. She was. She had met with resolve the death of her beloved brother to COPD, her husband to leukemia, her daughter to an automobile accident. Friends were going at increasingly closer intervals “Strong” was fatiguing.

Lying on the bed in Mazie’s spare room Janice stared at the ceiling. Water spots from the leaky roof last year formed a smiley face. “Glad you’re happy”, she said aloud. “Nobody else is. Mazie sure isn’t. And where are the kids?”

Mazie’s son in Arizona, her daughter in Illinois knew their father was terminal. Mazie explained they had busy lives with jobs and kids of their own. Getting away was not easy. It had been the same when Jared died.

Janice remembered when her father died. She and Charlie were six hundred miles away. Charlie had just started a new job; the children had just started the school year. Janice flew home for the funeral and returned home the next day.

It had not always been so. When her grandfather died the whole family was there, acting like families no longer acted. Now children, brothers and sisters, nieces and nephews were scattered. They were busy with their lives. The extended family was dead.

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LIFE SEEMS TOO CHALLENGING

Janice’s mind was overwhelmed. Too much; too much. Was this what old age was? A vision of her favorite now dead uncle surfaced. She had spent the weekend with him when she attended her 50th high school reunion. They sat in his living room savoring a glass of wine before going to bed. “Old age,” he said.

"Old age what?”

“They say old age is the golden years. Bullshit I say. It’s more like the leaden years.”

More like the leaden years. Maybe he had it right. She had lost Charlie; Ellen lost Jared. Now Mazie. Clyde had leukemia-- the nasty kind. Two years tops.

“I don’t need this shit,” Janice said to her image in bathroom mirror. “Where is it chipped in stone that we should live like this? Struggling to keep death at bay?” She raised her arms, looked at her saggy breasts and baggy throat. Without warning from a book she read as a freshman in college sprang into her consciousness. “Live fast, die young and have a good looking corpse”. Her laughter burst out. “I guess I do need this shit more than I need to die. I am alive; I like being alive."

Minutes later she was on the phone. “Mazie, you want me to over for the night?"

JANICE AVAILABLE ON DEMAND

Available on demand.

Available on demand.

Was that what her life was to be?

Had it always been this way?

Before Charlie died she was half of a couple, on a plane with her couple friends. Now she was the ‘available on demand Janice’.

Janice was working herself into a real snit. The phone rang. Mazie. Let it ring. “Janice, Mazie here. Call me when you get in.” Silence. “Please.”

Mazie’s please echoed in her head as did her own ‘call her’, ‘don’t call her’. Call her won.

“Mazie, just got your message. What can I do for you?”

“Janice, can I come over for a short visit. I need to talk to somebody.”

With another demand on her time because Janice was available to help; Janice was available on demand. “Mazie, I just got in. How about tomorrow?”

“It won’t take long. Please.”

* * * *

“Mazie, what is it?” Janice asked the swollen red eyed Mazie.

“Clyde has leukemia.” Sobs replaced further words.

Janice embraced her. “Whatever you need-- I’m here.”

JANICE IS CALLED TO DUTY

The coffee was wimpy; the toast charred. Her hair was spiked from a night of on and off again sleepless tossing; the newspaper was late again. Not an auspicious beginning to the day.

The phone rang.

She did not answer.

It was noon before she surrendered to her curiosity and checked her voice mail. “Janice, Mazie here. Could you come by Ellen’s tomorrow morning and help her set up the guest room for Debbie. I’m picking Debbie up at the airport. She’s flying in for her dad’s funeral. Call me back.”

Janice fought the anger she was feeling at herself and at Mazie. At Mazie for asking this and at herself for resenting it. She called Mazie.

At nine the next morning she appeared at Ellen’s door with Hardee’s sausage biscuits and coffee. “Ellen, I am so sorry.” She embraced her long time friend.

Her concern for Ellen co-mingled with the resurfacing of her own loss. Tears flowed from both women.

Finally Janice stood back and said, “Now the first order of business is breakfast. And don’t tell me you aren’t hungry. You have to eat. Then we make abed for Debbie. How long is she staying?”

“Just for the funeral. She has to get back to work.”

Well past noon Mazie produced a teary eyed Debbie and a bag of Deli sandwiches. “I need to get home to see to Clyde’s supper. Call me if you need anything. I leave you Janice’s good hands.”

Janice’s good hands. Janice’s Charlie was not waiting for his supper; Janice was available on demand.

JANICE IS CALLED ON FOR HELP

Janice sat at her dining room table, working the newspaper daily crossword puzzle. She used to do the puzzle with Charlie. She sat to Charlie’s right because he was left handed and she right handed. It made for a good working situation.

The phone rang! Earlier than acceptable to a retired person. Not that it mattered to Janice. Few days went by that her two dogs let her sleep past daybreak.

“Hello,” she said holding the phone in one hand and a cup of dog food in the other.

“Janice, I hope I didn’t get you up. Carolyn here.”

“No the dogs did that.”

“I have sad news. Mazie said I should call you. Jared dies last night.”

Janice knew Jared was not well, but dead. “How? I thought he was on the --” She hesitated. “I guess we knew it was inevitable but not just now. How is Ellen?”

“That’s why I called. I think she would use a visit from you.”

"Why me? What can I say?” Silence. “And to be honest, Carolyn, I don’t need this.”

“Neither does Ellen.” Silence. “Janice you’ve been there. She needs you.”

Ellen needed her. Where was Ellen and the others when she needed them? Now she was to drop whatever she was doing and help Ellen.

v

Janice Faces Her Lonliness

Mazie’s call lingered in her consciousness. Why she wondered. Was it the loneliness, the boredom or the wine? Janice felt she had been kicked in the ass. Alone in her two people house she felt attacked on two fronts. A family whose evangelical roots ran wide and deep loomed in the recesses of her consciousness. The Unitarian Fellowship of which she and Charlie were founders-- now a church they worked so hard to avoid-- plagued her.

“The world is too much with us” a famous poet once said. Janice agreed.

When Charlie was alive they felt a connection with each other, with nature, with God. Charlie was the linchpin of her spiritual health. Now Charlie was gone.

Can the trinity- father, son and holy ghost exist of one is removed? Can her own trinity, Janice, Charlie and nature, exist if one is removed?

Screw Mazie! Why did she have the right to stir things up?

I Am Taking On A new Challenge. The introduction follows.

OLD PEOPLE

Janice was at loose ends with her life. Recovering from Charlie’s death was still a project in process. Or so she kept telling herself. Addiction to e-mail, Facebook and texting kept her hours and days occupied. Then came the brutal challenge from a long time, long distance friend.

Mazie called-- late one Tuesday night. Janice, annoyed at the late hour call, would have not answered anyone but Mazie. “Mazie, do you have any idea what time it is?”

“Yes I do. I am not yet senile.”

Silence

Finally Janice asked, “Something wrong?”

“Nothing with me. You I am not sure.”

Silence

“Meaning just what?”

“Really. You have to ask? All you do, Janice, is piss and moan. And to be honest we’re all sick of it.”

“Well bully for you. Do I need to remind you you still have a husband? If so consider yourself reminded. Now cut the flack and give me a little slack.”

“Slack? You act like you’re dead too. For God’s sake you’re only sixty-- sixty what? One or two? Not that it matters. What matters is that you get off your pity party and get on with your life.”

Silence

“And do exactly what?”

Silence

“Whatever the hell you want to do. You always said you wanted to write. And if I remember you used to paint. So write or paint.”

Janice wanted to hang up. Mazie asked , “Have you heard anything from the Comers lately?”

Taken aback from the swift shift Janice said, “No. Why?”

“I was reminded of them last week when I ran into someone who used to know them. I remember the last time I saw Julie-- you remember-- at Marge’s funeral. She was so full of stories about what she and Marge did when they were you ng. She had us in stitches. She is a real character.”

The conversation ended on a high note and Janice was glad she had answered. It was always good to talk to Mazie.

If It Were't For Bad Luck I'd Have No Luck At All

Recently I had what can only be called the week from Hell. On Sunday night my refrigerator died. Monday morning I purchased a new one. That was not an easy task. I live in a remodeled double wide manufactured home. It is small; the doors are not standard width. I knew from past experience that one of those wide refrigerators would never make it into the house. With tape measure in hand I went shopping. Done. Plans to deliver was set for Thursday at 9:00AM.

Wednesday evening what was to be a hot shower turned out to be a cold shower. The water heater died.  Thursday AM a water heater repairman came to inform me that to repair would be almost as costly as replacement. Friday was set for replacement. Meanwhile the refrigerator did not come. After a round of calls back and forth I learned it was on the delivery truck and would be delivered at 7:00 PM. Not so. It arrived at 9:00.

I was in good shape. The refrigerator was in;  the water heater was coming tomorrow. Not so. The air conditioning stopped working. Friday the water heater was installed; the air conditioning was fixed. Time to buy groceries. I had just left when my car blinked one of those nasty little warnings-- telling me my tires are in need of air. I sat in a tire place for two + hours while they finally for around to patching a puncture and re-inflating the tire.

Now all is good.  You would think.

Saturday I decided to fill out the registration forms for the new appliances. Two little cards with lines for the model number and serial number. Easy I thought as I got that information from the inside of the refrigerator.  Not so the water heater.  With some difficulty I located  the information. In a tiny little box at the very bottom of the heater-- small not sharp black letters on a dark gray heater. I am old; my joints are old; my eyes are old. I stooped: I sat on a stool; I knelt on the floor. I held a flashlight and a magnifying glass. No luck. Then I stretched out on the floor- flashlight and magnifying glass in one hand-- pencil in the other. Just as I was to write the long series of numbers and letters my dog jumped on my back hoping it was play time.

If there be god anywhere I hope he/she or it gives me a reprieve before further problems.

CHANGE OF DIRECTION

It has been 4 years since my beloved Paul died. I have spent some time remembering those last two years we had together. I find myself remembering those days less and less frequently, which I am sure is a healthy sign. I have begun to write other things. Below is a short piece I recently wrote for a little literary magazine. Read and I hope you enjoy.

In 1956 I was a student at a small liberal arts college in Kentucky. The female dormitories were locked promptly at 10:30 pm every night, with bed checks at 11:30. And we were kept captive until 6 the next morning. “Not fair”, “A prison” or “We ought to be boys” were repeated complaints.

One might I boldly announced that anyone with half a brain could easily stay out all night and never get caught. Followed by the dare, “OK smarty pants, prove it.”

On the chosen Saturday night I carefully positioned and covered a pile of clothing on my bed and left the dorm at 9:30. For the next hour I wandered the campus. When the chapel clock rang 10:30 I realized I had no place to go. All the buildings were locked: the campus went to bed.

Fearing getting caught I sought a hiding place. When I found an open door to the church I said a silent prayer and slipped in. In the dark I made my way up the steps to the balcony section. The church pew was hard; the church was cold; the night was just beginning. Sleep did not come; noises seemed ominous; the darkness was oppressive. Then light flooded the church. I sprang up and peered over the balcony barrier. The minister intern, Rev Thompson, was at the pulpit podium, sorting and arranging papers. When he shined a flashlight around the church I knew he was looking for me. I slid down and stretched out on the pew. For what seemed an eternity he fussed, examined, and reexamined the altar area. I lay silent and scared, aware I was in deep trouble. Then footsteps, then no light. I was saved.

When I awoke daylight filled the church. I crept down the steps, out the door onto the street. Just as I arrived at the dorm, Mrs. Anderson, the house-mother opened the door and greeted me. My heart raced; my breathing raced: my fear raced. I had been caught. I was in big trouble. Before I could summon a voice she said, “Well how nice.” I steeled myself for what would come next. “I wish.” She said, “that more of the girls would run before breakfast. Good for you.”

“Yes Ma’am”, I said and resaying my silent prayer entered the building.

SCRABBLE-SCRABBLE-AND MORE SCRABBLE

SCRABBLE was part of my life with Paul from the beginning. The week I met him (as graduate students at Penn State) he challenged me to a game of SCRABBLE. "OK," I said, "Loser buys winner a cup of coffee."

He bought the coffee.

For the next fifty + years we played SCRABBLE. Evenly matched we took  turns winning. During those long stays in the hospital we kept out Saturday night SCRABBLE dates alive.

A  week before he died we played out last game. He won.

It seems a symbol of our life together. It feels right. I won the first; he won the last.

I miss my SCRABBLE nights.

MY HISTORY WITH THE MORAVIAN CHRISTMAS STAR

A Moravian star has been a part of Christmas for the past fifty-seven years, since I met my 'soon-to-be' in-laws. The next Christmas as husband and wife we had our own star which was prominently displayed each Christmas.

In 2012 Paul was entering what we knew would be his last Christmas when we encountered our third Moravian Christmas Star. He was in the second year of his on and off, now and then, leukemia treatment at Wake Forest Hospital in Winston Salem NC, noted for its Moravian heritage.

A bank just blocks from the hospital each year installs a giant Moravian Star on its roof. The announced  date of its lighting fell on the day of Paul's treatment.

It was our plan to view that lighting. After  medical matters we parked in an Arby's  parking lot, just down from the bank, and waited for darkness and the star's burst with light. Four cups of coffee and two hours later we were still there. A check with Arby's staff gave us no information. An hour and another cup of coffee later we left.

We drove home and hung our own star-- for the last time.

HALF OF WHOLE IS ONE AND AND A HALF

Paul and I were a pair for fifty three years. Can any one person spend fifty three years with another  and not become half of a whole? I thought-- NO.

But I was wrong.

 I lost my mate
   Half of me I thought
In time I have learned
I did not lose half of me
NO
   His half is here
   My whole is here
He left me --yes-- but
He left me more by half
Than I could have been without him