Tag: Blogging

A to Z Challenge: Sam

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Character sketches that are fictional, but based on real people, like us.

I knew his car had been stolen – the agency had the decency to call and tell me that yesterday morning. By why hadn’t he shown up last evening. Surely he could have found another ride in that amount of time. Where was Sam?

I depended on Sam for most of my husband’s care. Since having a stroke six months ago, the husband’s 200 lb. body had been in bed, at home, most of the time. He was on tube feedings, incontinent, and unable to communicate clearly. I had been lucky to find Sam during a time when shortages were causing crisis in all the local hospitals and nursing homes.

Tall and husky, moving easily and obviously strong, Sam had been a godsend. He not only helped clients move physically but he had an air of authority that produced mental compliance as well. My husband never gave him any trouble but Sam was full of stories of those who did. “Marines are the worst.” he would say. “They don’t want to follow doctor’s orders and are just plain ornery.” Or sometimes it was family members who thought they knew better. Sam enjoyed inviting them to take over if they would like. Most chose not to.

I didn’t know a lot about Sam’s life outside of work, just that he had married a woman a little older than he was, who had six kids. She must have been something special to get him to take on a tribe of that size. One of the kids was old enough to have a young one of her own. She lived at home. So at 30 something, Sam already had a grandchild in his house. He obviously had a thing for kids, even if they weren’t his own.

Somewhere along the line Sam had become a caregiver. He drove trucks for a while, and having a love for machinery of all kinds he started mowing lawns and doing yard work for people when he wasn’t driving truck. His family ran a service much like Visiting Angels so it was natural that he started picking up work doing home repairs, cleaning and doing errands for their clients. Once in a while an emergency came up where he actually had to sit with a client who was sick. He gained experience and so it happened that he started doing personal care for those who didn’t mind that he had no credentials. Their company was always up front about his status. There was such a shortage of workers in the healthcare field that people were glad to have Sam help them. He was way better than no help at all.

“I’m going to pull you towards me and then roll you over, buddy”, he would say. His voice was always a couple notches louder than any other noise in our house so he had a way of waking a place up and getting the work going. “Work with me now. Put your arm into this sleeve.” These explanations were part of why my husband liked Sam. There were no surprises to startle him.

He liked to talk while he worked, telling stories about his kids mostly. They knew what he did but I got the idea that it didn’t win him a lot of respect in their eyes. Just the other day he had told the youngest boy what he did at work and the kid said “Eeew, you have to change people’s diapers?” Sam told him, “yeah, and I changed yours too, so what?” That shut him up.

He was also big on apologies. He hardly ever did anything really wrong. He apologized for misunderstandings, for being confused, for not being quick enough, even for heading toward a doorway at the same time I was. I heard him say “sorry” so many times it started to jump out at me, so I told him to quit it. He apologized. I guess it was all his mom’s fault for being a stickler about politeness. She got a lot of credit for his work ethic too. He was quick, thorough, and had an air of kindness.

So where was Sam and why wasn’t I hearing from him? It was not going to be fun looking for a replacement.

A to Z Challenge: Roy

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A character sketch of a real person I wish I had known better.

Roy was my grandfather. I am trying to think if it’s anyone’s fault that I did not know him better. How well does communication ever cross that much generational gap? I remember behaviors, but I was always left guessing as to what they meant. My grandfather is a series of snapshots in time.

In my childhood he was the smallish, white haired man who sat reading in his chair in the corner of the living room. We visited for Sunday dinner every week. While the adults visited or napped, I would read exciting stories in Grandpa’s Sports Illustrated and do sketches of deer.

His other place was a certain chair at the table – always the same one. The refrigerator was behind him, with the radio on top of it. Before meals, he would come in from working outside and wash up at a small sink just inside the kitchen door. His razor strap hung on the wall beside the sink. He would look at himself in the mirror on the wall. These snapshots do not have words to go with them. I don’t remember hearing him speak – ever, although I’m sure he did.

Although I don’t remember him laughing or talking with me, I don’t remember him as being fearsome or unkind either. I have no idea what he thought of me. He evidently did not mind having me around because I remember being allowed to go with him and Grandma to visit relatives overnight.

As a teen, I was often at my grandparent’s house but grandpa was usually outside working in the barn, fixing things. I would be sent to fetch him for a meal. Did I ever wonder what he was fixing and ask him questions? Should I have?

He let me use his car on the day I took the test for my driver’s license. His car was newer than ours and had an automatic shift and power windows. I had not driven it before that day and had no idea how to release the parking brake. I didn’t pass. I wonder if he was worried about his car. He must have cared about me to let me borrow it.

When Grandpa started having trouble with macular degeneration he got even more silent. He didn’t talk about it in my presence but he began to seem frustrated and angry from that time on. He couldn’t read anymore and couldn’t drive (legally). When Grandma died, he still insisted on staying on at the farm. Sensory deprivation may have been taking its toll on him, hastening signs of dementia. Someone would stop in and set out some lunch for him, which he would eat. Someone else would come a little later and set out lunch for him again. He would eat that too, and not recall having two meals.

My father was very close to his dad and was worried sick about him being alone. I tried to have Grandpa spend time with me and my family, but that ended up with him being frustrated and embarrassed. One day he went into the bathroom and couldn’t remember that the light switch was on the wall. It was dark, his eyesight was poor. He flailed around with his hands where he knew the fixture was and hit the hanging lamp and broke it, sending glass all over the floor and counter. He was so upset he stomped out of the house, across the field and up to the woods. Dad had to hunt for him and bring him back.

Grandpa finally, unwillingly, submitted to moving into a care center. Eventually he broke a hip and died from complications. I don’t know if my grandfather was satisfied with his life, whether he had hope for a life after death or any relationship with God at all.

They say that everyone you ever meet in life has a part in making you who you are, even apart from genetics. I think my time with grandfather has made me want to notice the young people around me and make sure they can know me if they want to. I’m going to write and talk about how I feel about life, my relationships, my faith. I don’t want my descendants wondering who I was.

A to Z Challenge: Petra and Quinn

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Character sketches that are fictional but based on real people, like you and me.

They were interesting children. Quinn, the oldest, was used to doing the planning, as in what and where they would play. Petra didn’t mind being the follower, having a lot of the same likes and dislikes, but she also added her own creativity at times. Both of them spent most of their time around well behaved adults, which resulted in their own pretty good behavior. But they were kids. Sometimes they were a bit lazy, distracted, willful, and as such were considered normal.

Both of them were cared for by parents who didn’t spend a lot of time following fashion trends and were fine with them wearing whatever hand-me-down or thrift shop outfits were available. They grew up in the country where clothes didn’t stay clean long when playing out in the garden or the woods anyway. They were appropriately dressed for what they did at home and were quite happy, through ignorance mostly. Later, they would say to their mother “what were you thinking when you let me wear that? And you had to take a picture too!”

They had long, straight hair with bangs. Petra often had a rat’s nest in the back from bouncing her head on the back of her car seat or her favorite “rocking couch”. That was her preferred method of handling boredom or discomfort. Quinn was less patient and would tell someone when she had a problem, or better yet, think of a way to correct the situation. Quinn was usually the one to get in trouble, playing with car keys and losing them, carving her initials in the furniture. Petra lived quietly in big sister’s shadow. They never fought and seemed to have a compassionate regard for each other, rare in children.

They both had a fierce love of animals of all kinds. They loved kittens, dogs and especially horses. Petra even loved insects and befriended the ants that congregated in the bathroom sink around the toothpaste. The two girls would spend hours with their toy horses, making stalls out of cardboard and listing the names of all their steeds and their pedigrees. On family walks, they rode imaginary horses that often reared and took off on them. The point was that they had wonderful imaginations and to all appearances were enjoying their childhood.

But, as usually happens, things changed. The day they heard that the family was moving to the other side of the United States, they didn’t realize what that would mean. The adventure side of things was clear. They were going to be in a mid sized city with access to cultural events, new learning opportunities, a new house, maybe new friends close by. The loss side of the move was yet to come.

It reached the point of pain, on the day of the yard sale. They had been told that they could have money from the sale of some of their toys. But to see the furniture from their rooms out on the lawn, and being loaded into other people’s cars started to be a bit traumatic for them both. The farm would be left behind with its large yard, tree forts in the wood lot, the barn and hayloft, the kittens, and even the grandparents. THE GRANDPARENTS.

Quinn was trying to keep busy. At eight years old, she was the oldest and was in charge of selling the toys but the situation was beginning to weigh heavily on her. Especially when she looked at Petra. Petra, a 5 year old, was beyond focusing on the activity of the sale. She was sitting on her beloved “rocking couch”, repeatedly bouncing against it’s back with tears streaming down her cheeks. She was singing a sad, little goodbye song as the loveseat sized rocker creaked and groaned with her movement, it’s price tag taped to its arm. Clearly, a crisis was brewing…

That was the day that two little girls discovered their own personal super-hero. Someone came along who understood the impact a move was having on them and made the decision to lessen the trauma. The price tag got marked SOLD, and Grandma sat down between Petra and Quinn. They rocked together as they discussed how rocking couch could probably fit somewhere on the moving trailer. It wasn’t the first time Grandma came to their rescue, and it wouldn’t be the last either.

A to Z Challenge: Opal

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Character sketches that are fictional, but based on real people, like you and me.

Not many people have an Opal in their friend list these days. I didn’t call her that either, because she insisted on being called Paulette, but Opal was indeed her name.

Opal was a little loud, with a laugh that would wake the dead. I encountered her on cleaning days. We worked for the same client and on cleaning days I had to make sure I was not needing to be in the rooms where Opal would start. It was important to be out of her way.

I would hear the door slam, followed by Opal’s screech as she ordered her daughter Shelley to bring in the mop bucket and mop. Shelley always came along because she was somewhat mentally impaired and Opal had no safe place to leave her.

Opal was single, which was not surprising.

Somewhere along the way Opal had become very distrustful of men. As a result she had an independent streak as wide as the ocean. She drove a big van full of power tools and cleaning supplies. She dressed in old T-shirts and coveralls. There was no task so manly that Opal would not try to do it herself. Yard clean-up was her specialty. She could rake, trim bushes and haul debris to the road for pick-up with the best of them.

I had no problem with Opal’s short “man cut” of her own wiry, gray hair but it bothered me that she did it to Shelley too. Just when Shelley’s soft brown curls were getting long enough to look like a hairdo of sorts, Opal would chop them off. It took me a while to realize that this was purposeful. She wanted Shelley to look as unattractive as possible, for her own protection. As I said, she was very distrustful of men.

But Opal had a loyal heart. It was her brash, assuming nature that often had people at odds with her. She would decide to do something she hadn’t been asked to do, with disastrous results. She would offend, and in turn be offended. But after an appropriate length of time, she would patch things up and reappear, as helpful as ever.

Like the time she decided to wash our client’s transport van with the pressure washer… or the windy day she tried to dock her pontoon boat, oh, or the day she set out to trap the raccoons. Yes, that was classic Opal.

A to Z Challenge: Nelma

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Character sketches that are fictional, but based on real people, like you and me. We are now past the halfway point in the alphabet!

We were sitting in the living room of her small apartment, Nelma, her two girls and me. The girls were watching TV while their hair was getting braided. I was told it could take several hours to put in the many small, tight braids, with beads strategically placed in a pattern. The braids would stay in for a long time and would not just keep their hair neat but would make it look like they’d been able to afford exorbitant salon fees. Nelma was good at saving money.

I’d been wondering how she was doing since she had left the girls’ father. Nel was my employee, and really good at her work. I needed her to be okay. We had just finished a busy week in the public schools, teaching nutrition and exercise to grade schoolers – you can imagine how those subjects appealed to them. But Nel knew how to fool them into having fun. She had a large repertoire of line dances and once she put the music on, they exercised in spite of themselves. She knew how to have fun with kids.

Nel always came to work wearing something worthy of a second glance. Of course it helped that she was thin. Almost anything looked good on her. And she was one of the few people I knew in our hot, steamy climate who actually ironed her clothes. The ironing board, set up and ready, was a permanent fixture in the living room.

I was there that morning because I had some kid sized bikes that I thought her girls might like to ride. They were such cute little ladies, shy but curious, and with the kind of behavior that let you know their mom paid attention to them.

I was also wondering if she had found anyone to look into some car trouble she was having. Not being able to get to work had been a problem all week and I had given her a ride several times. She knew how to do a lot of things that surprised me, but fixing cars was not one of them. I was about ready to help her find a safer, more reliable vehicle.

We were the only two people working in our small government program, so we often talked for a bit in the morning while we prepared our sample meals. The conversation had turned to personal situations enough times that I knew she was struggling with a relationship. The girls’ father was a classic abuser and had not taken kindly to her leaving and getting her own place. He was harassing her, and she was afraid of what his next move might be. Sometimes he was just annoying, but there were hints of what he might do, given the opportunity.

That’s why I was glad I was there with them that morning when he knocked on the door.

A to Z Challenge: Mandy

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Character sketches that are fictional, but based on real people, like us.

Mandy covered her auburn hair with a scarf and stepped out into the sunny spring day. She had just gotten a color that really suited her and she wasn’t about to let it fade with sun exposure. Looking good was worth what it cost in routine hair appointments. It was a way of letting the world know she cared.

The cancer diagnosis a year ago had sideswiped her. She had almost gotten back on her feet after the death of her husband, all the trauma, the loneliness, getting used to a different life without him in it. Facing off with cancer was like being asked to do it all over again, only it was her own life she had to worry about this time.

As if chemo hadn’t been bad enough, the toxic treatment gave her kidney failure so now she was going to dialysis three times a week. And because she had a cancer that was treatable but not curable, she was not a candidate for a kidney transplant. At times it seemed as if the world was against her, but she presented a whole different image to that world. It wasn’t going to see her go down. She was waging war against every negative aspect of her life. Her attitude was her number one weapon.

Her first step was to more closely match her energy level with her living environment. She sold her two story home and moved into a condo on the edge of town. No one there did their own yard work. There were no steps to climb. Her condo had windows with gorgeous views and the light streamed in and lifted her soul every morning.

She accepted her thrice weekly trips to dialysis as part of her life, like showering and eating. She decided they would be rest days, for reading, napping and whatever else she could manage. She was tired on those days but recovered by the following morning. Her in between days were full of times with friends, her grandsons, and getting to know her new neighbors.

The project of “feathering her new nest” had been so fun. She and a friend had searched the furniture stores until they found exactly the pieces that fit her rooms, matched the vibe she wanted and were comfortable and practical. Their efforts had created spaces that were inviting and filled with warmth, and pleased her. She chased happiness and peace, and all who walked into her living room felt she had caught a great deal of both.

In the name of hanging on to things loved, she had stayed with the church of her childhood. It was 30 miles away but it was worth it to her because she had purpose there. She was a musician and loved playing for the weekly services. It was there she felt comfortably challenged and appreciated.

At this stage of her game, she was making good choices, and she knew it. There were no guarantees for her longevity but her strategy was to hope for medical advances. Just last week she had heard of a medical trial for her diagnosis that made her pulse quicken. If she could get accepted for that she would really be in the fight with a new weapon, and that sounded good, really good…

A to Z Challenge: Karmen

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Character sketches that are fictional but based on real characters, like us.

Karmen didn’t know what had gotten into her. It wasn’t that they’d never fought before, they had. It wasn’t that the finances were stretched tight, they always were. And it wasn’t that the kids weren’t always testing their patience, because that was a given. It was all of that and more, all at once. If he had listened to her and helped her quiet down, it might have gone differently. But no, he didn’t understand and that mad her even more angry. They should have let it go until morning when they were rested and in their right minds…

She was sitting at a friend’s house thinking things over. She hadn’t expected him to call the cops on her and the night she had spent cooling off in jail for her “domestic disturbance” was a first. It hadn’t been fun and she was determined not to let that happen again.

Now she had gotten past the angry period and moved into scared. She was going to have to appear before a judge, and at the very least it would mean community service, and likely more. The worst part was not being able to go home because of the restraining order. What was her husband thinking? Was he really that afraid of her? Did he think she would hurt the children? It was confusing because she couldn’t remember some of the details.

It was going to be the news of the day in their small Hispanic community. A third of the people living there were his relatives, a third were related to her and another third were people they didn’t want to associate with. She could not get Felipe to understand how badly she wanted to get into a better, safer neighborhood. Why couldn’t they live someplace where everything they owned didn’t have to be under lock and key. Someplace where the drug dealers weren’t always looking at her kids as potential customers. It was simple, he always said. They would move when they had the money to move.

Karmen just wanted to talk to Felipe, on the phone. She wanted to see the kids, tell them she was sorry. She wanted some clean clothes.

She sat in silence, wishing she could turn back the clock.

A to Z Challenge: Helen

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This character sketch is not fictional. Helen was her name and this is a part of her story that is real, as closely as I can remember it.

Her funeral was in Gladewater, Texas, the place where I had known her years before. There was a lot of time on the flight from Florida for me to think about who she was, what she had done, and what she had meant to me. Even though we think of the West having been won and settled a long time ago, she was a true pioneer woman with a spirit that would have survived even back then.

It was the early 1970’s and I was a transplant from the north, attending a small private school in Big Sandy, Texas. Helen lived on a small farmstead about three miles off campus. She had already earned the title of “grandma” to lots of students that she had met attending the college church. Anyone who needed to have a break from the busy educational scene was, sooner or later, invited to come out and experience a completely different environment with Helen.

Her story had a tragic start. She and her husband had moved from California to some undeveloped acreage that was going to be their homestead. They had plans for a self-sufficient lifestyle and were willing to work hard to see it take place. The land, hilly in places and covered with pine and oak forest, had to be cleared first. Her husband was cutting trees one day when one fell the wrong way and pinned him. Helen got to him, only in time to be there when he died.

They had sold everything to buy that land, and she had nowhere else to go, so she stayed. She had a small mobile home, a pole barn, a few small storage buildings and a chicken house. She was in her 50’s, alone, trying to figure out how to make ends meet. College students and church friends rallied to help her. My husband and I were newly married and looking for a place to garden and maybe build a house. Helen had property, we had manpower and some resources. It was a mutually beneficial endeavor – we adopted her and she adopted us.

Hot, east Texas summers were spent planting, weeding and helping Helen. In the fall, we would drive around town looking for bagged leaves sitting out for trash pickup, and we’d take them to her for the garden. Helen and her chickens made sure we never ran out of eggs, and after a hard day’s work she always supplied ice tea, and the best ever cornbread.

Helen, leading her flock to the coop for the night.

One summer she went back to California to visit her grown children. I was most familiar with her animals and the chores so I stayed and “trailer sat”. I remember trying to fall asleep at night with all the sounds of the country, under and around me. It took some getting used to. In the morning the roosters woke up so early! I fed the cats, milked the cow, and collected eggs. I had always loved farm life, but living in a trailer was new to me. I loved being able to hear the animals close by, chickens scratching in the dirt under the trailer, guinea hens perching in the trees overhead, cows drinking from their water tank.

Helen’s mobile home. Come sit a spell on the front porch

Sadly, my husband’s work plans changed and we left Texas for the west coast in 1976, but we stayed in touch with Helen. Letters passed back and forth between us and we often took care of financial needs for her. She was like our “other mother”. We visited her several times over the following years, and Helen made a surprise trip up north to visit us after the birth of our first child. Others took our place helping her over time.

I was so impressed that she traveled, alone, to visit our firstborn.

We were informed of Helen’s death in 1998. At 81 she was relaxing in her living room chair, still independent, still sharing what she had with others, still living the lifestyle she had chosen for herself, still strong in her faith, when she died. An amazing woman, a worthy role model, not soon forgotten.

Grandma Helen, a pioneer spirit.

A to Z Challenge: Gayle (and Allie)

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Most of Allie’s friends were special in one way or another, but not often did one come along with the cultural charm that Gayle had. Here was a person who had grown up in a foreign country, even spoke a foreign language fluently – this was rare for Allie’s small town lifestyle. Always the opportunist, Allie signed Gayle up for giving French lessons to her homeschooled daughters. That was the beginning of years of shared adventures, shared ups and downs, shared faith.

Gayle was a superior hostess with French flair. Instead of “get to the table before it all gets cold”, which Allie was used to, there was a before dinner conversation time, with appetizers and wine. Art on the walls, flowers in the vases, music in the air, and a leisurely but simple meal could always be counted on with Gayle’s invitations. Without Gayle, Allie would have never tasted kir or known what a porte couteaux was. Probably wouldn’t have known that a madeleine was a cookie or have adopted that wonderful slow roasted brisket recipe.

Porte couteaux. Why? Because you don’t want a greasy knife on your tablecloth.

Gayle was the kind of friend she went to for advice on furniture purchases and making home a lovely place. Gayle worked in a design shop and with that as a credential, she talked Allie into painting her bathroom dark green – whoa, shocking! She helped Allie find a great upholstery shop to revive a favorite recliner. In turn, Allie helped Gayle network, even if it was just helping her find horse manure for her rose garden. They both loved taking long walks, cooking out at the beach, and breakfasts in small morning restaurants. They both loved their cats, and their husbands.

They both loved their God. After Allie had pestered her numerous times to go to Bible study with her, Gayle gave up and went. Mutual faith deepened the friendship and became an anchor as they shared their saddest times and prayed for each other. They both knew God to be adventurous, and frankly, kind of wild, in a good way.

Allie got the kayaks out one day and made Gayle go with her on the inland waterway. It was a bit out of Gayle’s comfort zone but it ended well. They survived a beautiful afternoon with nothing but a little sunburn.

Gayle asked Allie to watch her house and feed her cat one year when she and her husband visited France. She suggested a midnight skinny dip in the pool which was surprising to Allie and a bit out of her comfort zone, but why not? Who’s to know?

Most often though, it was that they talked and knew how to tell each other important things. Sometimes they were on the phone, sometimes in person, but over time it all started having a preparatory nature to it. Because of that, they were not all that surprised when the big “thing” finally came around… Not really.

A to Z Challenge: Evelin

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Character sketches that are fictional but based on real characters, like us.

She seemed perfectly content to sleep in friend’s living rooms, on their couches – a few nights in one place, then switch. She was content to walk everywhere, or hitch a ride when it was offered. She was actually proud of her ability to wander about at night and not get mugged or in trouble. She felt zero obligation to be in school. It was a distraction to the rest of her life. In fact, she so enjoyed being known as “tough” and independent that, to this day, I don’t know why she decided to come home with my daughters. Maybe it was the colder weather and the thought of a bed that could be hers if she wanted it.

Seeing my daughter’s friends at school or youth gatherings I always assumed that they had home lives that were some variation of our own. Not so. I wasn’t aware of how abnormal we were, until meeting people like Evelin and hearing their stories. I seldom heard the parental version. I tried to imagine what I would have done with a girl who went into the garage with a lit candle and ended up setting her motorcycle on fire. Kicking her out probably wouldn’t have been my first remedy, but then again, maybe it wasn’t the first time.

We cleared out an enclosed breezeway and put bunk beds and a dresser next to the sauna. The room had windows and it’s own door to the outside. What more could a tough girl want?

She was quiet, polite and really quite good looking, although I don’t think she knew it. She didn’t try to look beautiful, feeling more comfortable with a style somewhere between grunge and Goth, covering it all with a long man’s raincoat. The coat probably came in handy in her late night wandering. She did have six toes on her feet but you wouldn’t have noticed unless you stopped and counted. Who does that?

Evelin wanted a job for spending money and decided to work the late shift at a fast food joint a good two miles from our house. She was the closer and in charge of spraying the grease off the floors – at 2 am when they shut the drive thru window. It wasn’t a particularly safe area of town and the thought of her walking home at that hour gave me shivers up the spine. I decided to set the alarm and drive down to get her. She hated it. She hated me for “pampering” her and making her soft. How did I know that? She left me a note saying so.

Part of the terms of her residence with us was that she go to school again. She was enrolled at a different school than my daughters were, so afternoons were spent in the car waiting at one school and then the other. We often would wait at Eve’s school until it emptied out and discover that she hadn’t been there.

She was a mystery to me. I think she would have liked knowing that, because maybe being a mystery is as good as being tough. I wouldn’t have guessed she would turn things around and become an architect with two beautiful children, one of whom has six toes on his feet. And that’s another story…