The Old Man

It was January 20^th. “Ask not what your country can do for you-ask what you can do for your country.” The radio at Sissy’s was blaring. I had just turned eighteen. I had just buried my mother. And, I had just ordered another beer.

I was definitely not in the mood for the drunk who parked himself in the stool next to mine. He was an older man. Not an old man; in his forties. His hair was dark but for the gray at his temples. It looked like he had not shaved in days. The stubble on his face was salt and pepper, more salt than pepper. His clothes looked slept in. I watched him in the mirror behind the bar.

The bartender knew him well enough to put a drink in front him. He drank a beer with a whiskey shot. I was beginning to think the man was trying to kill himself, slowly. He then turned to me. He called me Benny. I told him my name was Jamie. That’s right Benny. I decided it was easier to be Benny.

He bought us each another drink and began telling me why he’s been looking for me.

“Did you listen to Kennedy’s speech. Imagine, an Irish Catholic in office. Never thought I would see the day. Benny, do you remember back in ’41 when the Japs hit Pearl Harbor? Ha! Of course you do, what am I saying. Who doesn’t? I went and enlisted the very next day. We were going to save the world Benny; we were going to save the world. Well, we did, didn’t we? I was in Germany then deployed to the Pacific. What those frauleins wouldn’t do for a pair of stockings and a candy bar. Don’t get me wrong. Most of those girls were just plain scared, looking for comfort; same as us.

“I saw my share of battle. I was wounded at Midway. I got clipped in the shoulder. That was when the Japs took me. I don’t like to think about that too much. I spent most of my time thinking of her.

Do you remember her Benny? Oh my, but she was a looker. The most beautiful woman I ever met; would ever meet for that matter. I’m not sure what she saw in me. I was a gawky kid. Too tall, very clumsy and not a clue what I was doing. We made love the night before I left. I asked her to marry me. She said no, she would wait for me. We wrote every day. Well she did. I tried but when you are living in a foxhole, you don’t have the room to write. Once I was taken as a POW, I never heard from her again. She probably thought I didn’t care because I never wrote. But I thought of her all the time.

After the war and my release, I tried to find her. I dated here and there. I tried to forget her. I couldn’t, she was always on my mind. I never did marry. I felt like it would be like cheating on her. I’m telling you Benny, if I could talk to Lorena just one more time.”

He stopped, wiped a tear from his eye and ordered another drink. I asked him what his name was, he told me it was Bart, short for Bartholomew. I asked him again for the girl’s name. Lorena, Lorena Spooner.

I stared at him. It was my turn to wipe a tear from my eye. I told him I knew Lorena, she never married. She spoke of him fondly every day of my life. I told him I was sorry but she was buried just today.

And then I called him Dad.

Steve and Veronica

Feeling a bit sorry for myself, I sat at the bar drowning my sorrows. The breakup with Caryn was hurting me more than I thought it would.

“Hey, Mac!” I pointed to the glass in front of me. All it held was two melting ice cubes at the bottom. The bartender took the glass away and set a fresh bourbon in front of me. I tapped the twenty in front of me. As Mac turned to the register, I saw movement out of the corner of my eye. I looked in the mirror behind the bar. She was beautiful. She was classy. And man was she was drunk.

“Is this seat taken?” she slurred.

It took a bit but I found my voice, “No, help yourself.” I snapped my mouth shut.

“I know you,” she said. “Where do I know you from? I remember, it was high school.”

“I don’t think so. Let me buy you a drink.”

I introduced myself as Steve; she told me she was Veronica. For the next couple hours we talked as if we really had known each other for years. I told her about Caryn. She told me about her last relationship. The more we drank, the more she talked. And talked, and talked. I didn’t mind, she was stunning.

She was also convinced we had known each other in high school. If we did, I’d have remembered. You don’t forget a girl like Veronica. She told me she had a crush on me back then. By this time I let her believe we did know each other. Christ, I was beginning to believe we were in high school together.

Before I knew it, we put coins in the jukebox and we danced. She felt good in my arms. She was soft and smelled like summer.

Mac yelled, “Last call!”

I held her close, I whispered in her ear, “Tell me the truth, would you like to see me again?”

She laughed softly and whispered back in my ear, “I’ll tell you the truth, I was Daniel and on the wrestling team with you.”

I felt the blood rush to my head, now I remembered.

The Joys of Childbirth...or This Will be the Last Time She is Early

It’s the first of July. Your doctor would like you to come in for yet another stress test. Enough already! You are tired but agree to go to his office to have the third test this week done. Something is up; losing weight this late in a pregnancy isn’t normal.

Your best friend called threatening bodily harm if you don’t show up at ten. Dyan is also the only one who understands your husband is a wimp about this; she is your support line and birthing coach.

The baby you have carried for the past thirty four weeks is not the most active child but your mother has told you on more than one occasion she had fears your brother would be a stillborn and “See, he’s perfectly normal.”

“Mom, I’m not sure that is normal.” You respond, thinking of how laid back this particular brother has been for the past thirty two years. The two of you laugh as the nurse comes to take you back to the room you consider a second home now.

You lay there, wishing this baby to make a move you can feel because the medical staff has caught on to you’re cheating. The doctor comes in announcing maybe a sonogram will wake the baby. The sonogram is not encouraging. He wants you at the hospital in an hour.

“Carmen, you are aware Dyan is throwing me a shower. If I’m a no show, it will be on your head.”

“Lynda, I want you at Children’s Hospital no later than one o’clock for testing. Their equipment is more high tech.” Your doctor is clearly afraid of Dyan.

Dyan and Alicia (another partner in crime) have out done themselves at the shower. They have prepared a feast like the last supper. You are “eating for two” after all so your plate gets filled twice before heading off the have testing done.

Your mom takes you to the hospital; you’re hustled into a labor room. Your labor nurse is your Lamaze teacher on Tuesday. The attending pediatric physician is a woman you have known since she was a medical student. She questions you on everything under the sun.

“No, my water did not break.” “No, I’ve had no leakage.” “Yes, I’m sure.” You’re prodded for what seems hours.

After getting settled into a room in labor and delivery; you’re strapped to machinery monitoring the baby’s heart rate, your heart rate and by the look on the nurse’s face, everyone else’s heart rate.

Your nurse announces you will have labor induced. According to her, there is no fluids surrounding the sac and your baby is dying. Of course, anything to save the baby’s life you will do. Now for the hard part, you will have call Gary. He’s remodeling his sister’s home.

After listening to him as he rants about you getting talked into anything, you hand the telephone off to your mom. She talks to Gary, he hangs up on her. Now that took guts and you’re seeing him in a whole new light; one of stupidity. He never asked if you are at the doctor’s office or the hospital. You let mom field this one as you give her the number of your sister-in-law.

The labor nurse comes in. She goes over the inducement procedure; explains each monitor. You nervously joke about child birthing classes which start on Tuesday…can you get a refund?

Mom has set off for your house to pack you a hospital bag. You will not be leaving for a few days. There is a call from security, “Mrs. Wood? There is a man down here with a crazed look saying he is your husband. Shall I send him up?”

“Does he have blue eyes and a moustache?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Send him up.”

The monitor goes off. The nurse rushes in. She rushes out. The baby is in distress, you will be having a caesarian section. A doctor comes in. Not your doctor. He introduces himself as the newest member of the practice. He also mentions you are his first c-section. Panic now plants itself on your husband’s face. You explain to Gary he has done hundreds before. You ask for your own doctor; he’s in delivery at another hospital. What about Dr. Santos? He’s on his honeymoon. These men do not stand a chance once they show themselves again.

Gary goes with you only until the anesthesiologist takes over. You hear him telling the nurses he has only known you for the past three days. Thinking about his whereabouts when your stepson was born, the poor jokes are not so bad. He went to California for a mop.

After several calls, Dyan is unable to get to the hospital but the anesthesiologist is willing to be your coach. Later, you discover the charge nurse will not let her off work. You’re only request is not to know when the cutting begins. He knows a surgeon from your hospital and gossips with you until you hear these words, “It’s a girl.” You’ve known all along she was.

As Dr. Mas sews you back together, Dr. Goodwin brings you your daughter. She has a single eyebrow. You notice the dark peach fuzz covering her body. There is not an ounce of fat on her. Her tiny bottom looks like an old, wrinkled elephant’s. She’s your little monkey and she is beautiful. You beg Dr, Goodwin, “Do what you have to do to keep her alive, I will sign anything later.”

You are moved to a room called “Recovery”. God only knows why it’s called such…no recovery is done in this room. You’ve given the nurse the pediatrician’s name before delivery yet she comes to you asking again for his name. “Dr. McGravey.”

“Thank you. There is a crazed man in the waiting room, claims to be your husband, accusing us of killing you. Can we send him back?”

“Blue eyes and a moustache?” she nods.

You tell her, “Send him back.”

And so the parade begins, your husband, “Why are you so bloated and shivering?” Your mom is next,”Why are you so bloated and shivering?” His brother, your sister, “You look bloated. Why are your teeth chattering?” Ok, your mom also mentions she is proud of you.

Between the parade of family members, the recovery nurse has asked three times more, “What is the name of the baby’s pediatrician? Each answer is the same, Dr. McGravey. Finally, it will dawn on you to ask why?

“A ‘Dr. Vitrano’ keeps calling about you. Why is he calling?”

You smile, “He is a wonderful friend.”

Gary will come in once more before leaving. “I’ve been thinking, Samantha is a stupid name.”

“No, it’s not a stupid name. You just spent an hour and a half with my mom who thinks it’s a stupid name.”

“What was that other name you wanted?” You really want to name her Lenora Susan.

“Laura Elizabeth” comes from your mouth. This will teach you to never watch ‘Little House on the Prairie’ before an important decision. You will also be forever grateful you weren’t watching the ‘Walton’s’ before delivery. Gary leaves to tell your stepson about his new sister. It never dawns on you Gary doesn’t tell him of the name change. He will go on for a month thinking his sister’s name is Samantha.

You are moved to your room. You hear the nurses whispering outside your room. “There is too much blood; she will end up in surgery again.” Having worked in labor and delivery, you know they are discussing you. Picking up the phone, you call the NICU.

“Is she all right?”

“Do you hear that cry? You do? That would be your daughter. She has a great set of lungs.”

When you hear the sound, it’s all worth it. The pregnancy, the high blood pressure, amniocentesis, early contractions, stress tests, the works. Even when you get the call from security the next evening…

“Mrs. Wood, there is a man at the desk claiming to be your husband and your baby’s father. We have the father’s visitor pass out to your room. Yes, he has blue eyes and a moustache. Send him up? Are you sure you would like us to do that? Of course, he is on his way up.”

When we wed I was your true love,

You’d told me when they released the dove.

But now you look me in the eye,

I can see your memory flicker by.

The last ten years were an extra gain,

But still I feel the constant pain.

Alzheimer’s has taken you from me,

What we once had will never be.

For fifty years we’ve been cohorts,

And now we sleep with restless thoughts.

I think of all the things lost and won,

Of all the things we both have done.

When we wake with the bright new day,

I pray your pain will have gone away.

I lay here beside my man,

On this trip I firmly hold his hand.

~~Lynda Wood~~

With a Bonus Number of Ten...

“With a bonus number of ten.”

Clive stared at the television. He punched in Oliver’s number.

“Yeah”, a gruff voice answered.

“We won the bloody mega lottery!”

“What’s that you say?”

“The bloody lottery ticket you drove me mad to buy!” Clive cried out.

“You mean the big drawing?”

“YES!!! The big drawing!” Clive was ever amazed by Oliver’s slow wittedness.

As he paced, the lottery ticket fell to the floor. Othello, the Siamese, batted at the ticket as it fluttered in the air.

“Oliver! Focus! Three hundred twenty seven million! They say there is one winner! Oliver! We are that winner!”

“Clive, what is it you are saying?”

“I’m saying you are an idiot. If you don’t get your arse here pronto, you will be the ‘poor sibling’!”

Clive was convinced Oliver had been dropped on his head, more than once.

Clive looked down at the ticket. An empty hand looked back at him.

“Shite.”

Othello trotted out of the room with the ticket clamped between his teeth. Clive dialed Oliver.

“Othello has the ticket!! Get here as soon as you can!”

“What’s that you say?”

“I say mum should have stopped after me! Now are you going to help with this ticket or do I keep all the winnings?”

“On my way. How’d he get the ticket?”

“Never mind how he got it!”

Othello took a leap over the fence at the property’s edge. Clive took the hurtle of the fence with a grunt. Oliver heard the crash.

“Clive?”

Oliver ran through the yard. He looked over the fence at Clive in the middle of Mrs. Windsor’s prize rosebush.

“Have a death wish do you Clive? Old lady Windsor will have your hide when she sees this.”

“Oliver? Go. Find. That. Cat!”

“Oh, right.”

Clive, thorns sticking in him, groaned, “Idiot.”

“I see him Clive, I see him!”

Oliver, on the portly side, hitched his pants as he ran. He was almost to the branch Othello was on when he heard a crack. Othello watched as Oliver hit the garbage dumpster.

“You idiot! He’s headed for the fish pond at the park!”

The two limped at a fast trot toward the park.

“You go around that way, I’ll go this. Then we will jump him.”

Clive would later wonder why he thought this was a good idea.

They rounded the pond as planned, found Othello and jumped him. They saw stars when their heads collided.

“Clive! Othello dropped the ticket! Look!” Oliver grinned from ear to ear as he held up the soggy mess which was once a lottery ticket.

Hopefully, as he began pulling goldfish out of his pants, Clive said, “Are you able to read those numbers?”

“Yes I can. This ticket, that you’ve had me running about for? It’s from last week!”

Clive opened his mouth; closed it again. He stood up. As he walked, he squished. He shook head in disbelief as he walked home, no richer than when he left.

Oh! You Mean Mama!

For those of you that do not know me personally, I work fulltime in the medical field. I have not always worked in this field but I have always had a career in customer service.

My current career began as a nurse’s aide in a nursing home…excuse me, a “nursing facility”. Having been politically correct, it was a nursing home. I have dealt with Fred who only spoke in threes, play with his feces forming little balls of shit. Fred would line these on the side rail and use the aides as targets as we walked by. I began to enjoy the dodging exercise. Catherine thought I was her daughter Agnes. Catherine also thought Peter was her daughter Agnes. Our deaf man, Ed, would go through blind man Walter’s window for escape. John once choked me until there was a purple mark around my neck. Just some of my favorites.

The nursing home and all the abuse I received was left behind when I began working at the hospital. Because of my nursing “facility” experience, I would float to the skilled nursing floor on a regular basis. There, Fred was replaced by Jack. He did not form little balls and use us as a target, he would just fling his colostomy bag out into the hall. Customer service, another word for dodging shit.

Because of health reasons (I have learned that when a patient tells you he can walk, it does not necessarily mean he can stand) I jumped on the opportunity to go back to school. I choose medical billing. Yes, I often kick myself for not going for that Health Information degree. However, if I did, I would be very bored on a daily basis.

Talking to patients is my career. I get more abuse now than when I was working in the nursing home! The best way to handle the abuse is to ignore it. Sure, I am yelled at. But every call I think to myself, this patient is sick (mental really) and can’t help but get angry. Most times, this does not work.

Laughter works. I get a charge out of each and everyone of them. Some more than others. Today I returned a call to a patient. A male answers.

“Hello, this is Lynda (blah, blah, blah), I’m returning a call to Charlene (name change). Is she in?”

“Who?”

“Charlene.”

“I’m not really sure…..” male voice trails off.

“Charlene, C H A R L E N E, Charlene. Is she there?”

“Ohhhhh, you mean Mama!”

Why the hell didn’t I think to ask for mama? Thank you Billy Bob and Backwoods Mama for making my day!

If I not been aware of the passing of Truman Capote in 1984, I would have swore I spoke with him today. He made an appearance on The Tonight Show or it may have been Dick Cavitt (omg! I’m old!) when I was young. I had read In True Blood, a fabulous work and yet I always picture him sitting there telling how all of Hollywood are cannibals, eating baby lambs, baby peas, baby carrots. Believe me, when talking to that gentleman, I did everything I could not to laugh.

And, like, there was a young man, like he had some equipment, like but like he had it, like picked up, like months ago and like he was like told he was like done paying for it…..like.

To make the end of my day was an elderly woman, until she actually told me what the problem was, I saw living in the brownstone next to Rosemary and Guy with a drink of tannis root (I loved Ruth Gordon). But as she begins to spin her tale, the inside of my cheek becomes sore. It seems “Minnie’s” physician ordered a raised toilet seat for her. She said it was lovely of him to think of her comfort. She wanted to know exactly what she should do with the “damned” thing.

“Every time I sat on it, it fell inside the toilet with my ass end following after it!”

“The seat belongs to you Minnie. You can do with it what you like.”

“I’d like to give it to the old biddy (Ruth is in her 90s mind you) down the hall. It will keep her busy and out of my hair!”

I picture the “old biddy” getting a delivery in a light blue Tiffany’s box with a lovely white bow at the top.

I love to laugh, my job almost demands it. So thank you Backwoods Mama and her boy Billy Bob, Truman, the Valley Boy from Asia and Ruth. As always, you force me to love my job.

Let me begin by saying, “Mom, I’m so, so sorry."

I admit it, I wanted to be part of that “hood”. Motherhood. I was groomed for it. Like so many girls of my generation were. That’s what my mother and grandmothers attempted to do while I was growing up. I believe my mom gave up on the idea when I was 23 and living single. Her mother, bless her, went to her grave thinking I was a spinster while my devoutly Catholic grandmother (dad’s mom) began begging me to marry a nice Jewish boy.

To begin, you have to understand I am the oldest of five children. I love my siblings…now. At the age of 13, not so much. While my friends were joining clubs, after school activities, hanging on corners, I was helping feed babies and wash diapers (yes, I am pre-disposable). Because of this, I announced at the age of sixteen I would not get married or have children before I was thirty! By the age of 26, mom believed this threat to be a promise.

The nightmares began after attending a psychic party. One should never go to one of these things unless truly prepared for what you will hear. I was told by the Reverend Ruby I would have two children, one pregnancy. I’d say I dodged the bullet on that one. No twins, one beautiful daughter and a handsome stepson.

My stepson came to me when he was eleven…YAY! Potty trained! This boy stole my heart from our first meeting, please don’t tell him, it will go to his head. From dressing in a paper bag to blame the aliens for the mess in his room to the police bringing him home for breaking curfew to seeing him off to boot camp to handing me his newborn daughters. I have loved him every minute. There were times I didn’t like him but always loved him.

I’d always wanted a son so when my daughter was born I couldn’t have been happier. After those teen years with my stepson, I welcomed the break. She was born too early and was my little monkey. I’m often told what a great job I did with her…not me, she raised herself. She raised me! There were two times she received a “spanking” (nothing like her mom, I believe I still have a mark the shape of a wooden spoon). The first time she was still in her walker…it cost fifty dollars to have that toy removed from the VCR.

The second may have been my fault if you look at it in a twisted sort of way. I was on the telephone when she bit my butt. She was trying to get my attention I believe. That scar is next to the wooden spoon shaped one.

Now a young woman, she is not only my daughter but my friend. A snarky one at times but I’ll keep her.

And then the others came. My stepson’s friends began to call me “mom” as do some of my daughter’s friends. But there are others who also call me “mom” and young friends who deep in their hearts consider me “mom” when they need one. I’m happy and proud to have them in my family. These children happen to be very close to my heart.

There is this soldier who has my heart, he calls me mom. I met my soldier son on a poker table one evening. Since the war began, I have made a habit to thank any soldier I meet for serving. So as my custom, I thanked this young man for my freedom. We chatted, became poker buddies. The more we chatted, the more drawn I became. In one email, he spoke of his mom and how she passed away from cancer. He touched my heart. When I responded to that email, I told him if he was ever in need of a mom, I would be there. The email later that day started, “I think I will adopt you as mom.” The same email ended with hugs and kisses, I love you, Mom. I’m positive he’s mom is watching and proud of him.

This young man makes me laugh on a regular basis. The status only said, “missing someone”. I laughed until I cried reading comments from young women he is friends with. The email I got! An email quickly went out to him. “You think you have women problems now, wait until I email all the messages I got from your “women”! His sheepish response was “I was talking about you mom”. Yes, I love this kid with all my heart.

I’ve acquired another daughter over the past year. A lovely woman with three children of her own. As time has gone by, our acquaintance grew to a friendship. The friendship has grown into one of mother-daughter. I laugh at her rantings, she is so like me at times. I have cried with her when she is in pain, smile at her finding the woman she really is and protect her as only a mother can. I believe we are truly soul sisters and she was bought into my life now for a reason.

My family grows larger all the time. As a child, I never understood how my mom could have enough love for all five of her children. I now know. My heart will always have room for one more.