Moose and Sushi…

one of my favorite videos…from anchorage, alaska

 

What do I want to write about…some thing fun. I enjoyed writing the eagle story so maybe I should tell you about some of the adventures I had up in the Rocky Mtns…Like the time I made sushi. I brought it over to Shawn’s house. This was when he and Liza had just met, before they were married.  Shawn and his room mate were throwing one of those Saturday night parties so Liza and I conferred and we brought some saki and a plate of home made sushi. When I wandered back into the kitchen a bit later, it was gone. There was the empty plate with a few crumbs of rice next to the sink. I congratulated myself on how successful the sushi contribution was. Then Shawn came in  the kitchen and grabbed a mitt and took the sushi out of the oven. He proudly placed it on the table, carefully using tongs to display it on a fresh plate. Cooked. He said he wasn’t sure what temperature it was supposed to be baked at but that it looked ‘done’ after 10 minutes. Was it alright? It actually tasted pretty good.

Big moose with spring antlers.

Or the time I was driving my truck back from Panorama ski resort with my sister. I’d just finished a gig. Back then I was the only DJ in the Valley so I wasn’t allowed to turn down anything. I just couldn’t. If someone was having a wedding, an anniversary, an 85th birthday party for Grandma Bertie Sue and she wanted to listen to Benny Goodman, then you dug up some pre war Benny Goodman and you did it. Refuse? Hah…no chance. You did every gig offered because you simply had to. So, even though I didn’t want to be,  I was up at the ski resort, in February, doing a dance for teens.

It was late by the time we were done and packed. Panorama is WAY up in the mountains, on a twisting, turning road.  A road that requires concentration and nerves of steel. Especially at night.  I was, of course, being extremely careful. I’d learned long ago that any trouble you’re going to get into would happen because you were going too fast or you weren’t watching the road. The WHOLE road, not just what’s directly in front of you, but what was happening on the side of the roads. Where the animals were.

That’s why, when I saw a huge moose coming up the side of the mountain, I wasn’t going fast. I said to my sister, in my calmest voice, ‘There’s a moose. I’m going to stop…’

‘A Moose?! OMG…WHERE!’

She was going to freak out. I knew she was. Moose are big and if you hit one you’re FUBAR. Seriously.  So I start my careful, non panicking, braking. I pump the brake, I keep my hands at 10 and 2. I don’t scream. I don’t let my caveman brain allow in pictures of us cartwheeling down the mountain. I know I can’t afford a slide. It’s winter and there’s no where to go but down.

There’s a drop off on the right, where the moose was coming from, and an almost vertical, tree choked climb on the left. It was going to be close. I didn’t want to slam on the brakes but….ahhhhh…I could see it powering up the slope…it was going to be really, really close. I’m concentrating on the road now. Slowing down. Almost there. Don’t look. Theres nothing you can do now but hope to miss it. You’re doing good. Whew! We’re stopped.

But I don’t see the moose. Either we passed it or…no. There it was.

Staring into the passenger side window at Liza. I stopped RIGHT next to it. It’s peering in the window with its big ol’ moose nose almost pressed against the window. 3″ away. (two inches?) And there’s Liza, still scanning the road ahead for the moose.

‘Where is it?! Where? Are you sure it was a moose?’ She’s leaning out almost over the dash board now. The moose looked puzzled. But interested. Like we were fish in a bowl. Scanning the interior of the truck. Calm but curious.

‘Uh…I’m pretty sure that’s a moose, Liza.’ (I was just being mean at this point. But it WAS funny.)

‘Where? I don’t see it.’

‘Well, its right next to you.’

You should have heard her scream.  She smacked the window and the moose walked slowly around the front of the truck. It was a big bull moose, probably 6 feet at the shoulder.  It didn’t have antlers because they shed them in the winter but the cow moose don’t usually get that big. It stopped in front of the truck to take another look and then it strolled over to the vertical climb and casually leaped up it and vanished into the trees. Leaped. It must have weighed close to 1000 lbs. I laughed all the way home but Liza was not amused.

The Golden Eagle (I know JUST how that Fox feels)

Just when you think you’re going to be able to settle down after a tough stretch and enjoy yourself…

…something always seems to come up.

You can’t just sit back, though. Sometimes you have to fight for what’s yours.

Whether it’s dinner or life itself. You can’t just accept what happens.

Until it happens…

Then you have to know when to quit! Something I’m not any better at than this fox.

And special thanks to the Montana hunter who took these shots with his cell phone. Dang nice work. Bet it was an iPhone.

Today I am going to tell you the story of MY encounter with a golden eagle.

I was new to The Valley, as it’s known among the locals, but I wasn’t really a local yet. I’d come there a short few months before and I was learning new things everyday. Like riding ATV’s. Loved them! They went places a dirt bike could only dream of going. If you wanted to carry cold beer, and I did.

I went out every chance I could and this one sunny day Kevin took me and a pair of exuberant 14 yr olds, Emily and her cousin, out for a ride.

We were WAY up there, on a shelf of the mountain. Kevin and I had brought along an impromptu picnic, consisting of Slim Jims, BBQ Fritos, Pepsi and 6 pack of cold beer. I opted for the beer. Naturally, after drinking the beer, I had to go take a whiz.

Well, it just so happened that we had stopped on the lee side of a cut bank looking down into a beautiful forested valley. Pristine. But steep. No where to go pee in private.

The other side, when I climbed up the bank, was STUNNING! Really. It was the prettiest thing I’d ever seen. An old clear cut from 100 years ago had turned into a meadow of wildflowers and tall green grass. It swept down to a drop off leaving a view of the Columbia River and the entire Purcell Range that enclosed The Valley to the west. And best of all? There was an old fallen tree. It had been blown over and was lying there just waiting for me. Perfect. It’s hard to find that perfect spot to pee. Believe me.

It had only been a week or so since I had been chased out of a bush while not enjoying a pee. I was still nervous back then. To me the Rocky Mtns were inhabited by man eating bears and starving desperate cougars and wolves and…and..you name it! It was going to get me if I wasn’t careful. So I was hyper vigilant. That explains why, when I heard a loud rustling noise right behind me, I panicked. I hit the ground running, with my pants around my ankles practically, thinking (and, unfortunately, shouting) there’s a bear in there. The guys were startled as hell and there was a scramble for bear spray and getting the wives and girlfriends on the machines, and some spreading out and soft talking and swearing by Al that he wouldn’t come out without the danged side arm again. This was the last time Donna, gosh darned it. So everyone was preparing to evacuate that particular area post haste, when out of the bush strolled a grouse. One bitty little grouse.

Gosh darned it.

It was ALL over the valley by the end of the week. Everyone thought it was the funniest thing they’d ever heard and when I heard Al and Donna tell it in company, I cracked up too. Dang it all.

But still it made me wary.

Now, I wasn’t exactly an amateur when it came to peeing outside. I was pretty handy at it. Fast and neat. I even had tp. But who likes crouching, right? Here was this wonderful tree to lean against and the VIEW was to die for and, best of all? No WAY anything could sneak up on me. A 100% 360′ view all around me for 100 yards. And nice and private. I could hear them talking and laughing down on the road behind me. I was by myself. Perfect. I was going to have the best pee EVER!

So I dropped my drawers and leaned against the tree next to the upended root ball. It was all old and dry and spikey but it was bigger at that end. I wouldn’t have to crouch down too much.

I begin. I hear a sound. It sounds like steam. Steam? hmmm…I look down. No steam. It’s not me making that noise. It’s getting louder. I’m getting concerned, where the hell was that noise coming from? It was a hissing now. Not like a snake hiss. I mean LOUD.

I glance over to my right and theres the BIGGEST FUCKIN EAGLE I’VE EVER SEEN. HISSING AT ME! Sitting on the root boll and the beak was about a foot from my gaping face! A GIANT yellow and pink POINTY gaping MAW! I wasn’t imagining that shit THIS time. Caveman brain took over.

I ran. Of course I ran. Unfortunately I didn’t pull up my pants so I didn’t get far. I tipped over immediately. Then I began an army crawl that would have made any drill sergeant proud. I think at some point I managed to pull my pants up but, between waving a streamer of toilet paper at the eagle, trying to recover some breathe to actually scream my lungs out, the undies were a problem…jeez. I peed on my pants. NOW wait. I didn’t PEE my pants. I peed ON my pants. There’s a big difference.

I rolled over and looked and that golden eagle was just taking off. It must have been sitting there the whole time I was planning my pee. Didn’t move. And it didn’t move while I fell over. Or when I crawled away whimpering with my toilet paper. It had been just sitting there watching my humiliation.  You know they aren’t like bald eagles. That white head and all. You can SEE those suckers. Golden eagles are the exact same color as an old fallen tree root boll.  Take my word for it.

And it gave me a look. It really did. It looked disdainful. I know all eagles look sort of disdainful but this one? He meant it. He swooped down the meadow and made a slow sweeping turn to come back and give me another look. He really did. He flew right over my head,  about 6 feet up. We looked at each, other eye to eye, and he had written me off. I was beneath his notice. I didn’t count. I could have been dinner but I peed on myself and that’s just gross. I felt small.

Jerk. Eagles are jerks.

Then I heard my fellow travelers ‘Oooh look! Look at the eagle! LAURA. did you see the eagle?!’

Yeah. I saw it.

But no one heard that story for years.

My Old Hollywood

I’m almost back to work and getting excited about it. In a month I’ll be saying “Why? Why did I want to get up at 4:30 am?”

And I am supposed to start a toxic cleanse and diet at some point this week. Yargh…

I hate diets. I’m good at them, believe me. You couldn’t grow up in the 70’s and 80’s and not be. That was the golden age of weight loss. All those fad diets…the Beverly Hills diet, the Atkins, the cabbage soup diet, you name it, I was on it. Always.

I was dating a lot back then so I didn’t eat at some of the finest restaurants-although I was there, picking at a salad-and I drank in the hippest bars in Los Angeles. Le Dome, founded by Elton John and THE place to see and be seen in the late 70’s. Chasens, I loved Chasens, they had fantastic chili there and one of my favorite bars!

Chasens

Musso and Franks, wow, that place… I always felt as if Raymond Chandler would walk in an order a Moscow Mule and light up a Pall Mall. It felt so old school Hollywood.

Ma Maison was a personal favorite. I saw Fred Astaire there! I always go on about that because I’m still such a fan. Ma Maison closed in the mid 80’s because the property it was located on sold. What a shame! It was so kitschy cool. It was in an old house on Wilshire Blvd. It was decorated to look like a green house, with big plastic light up geese around the ceiling. I know that sounds awful but it was very cool. It’s reopened in a hotel I heard, but I haven’t been there.

I remember the Cobb Salad at the Brown Derby, which was also torn down some time in the mid 80’s, was fantastic. That place was great for people watching. It was close to the studios so you’d see all these famous old time stars in there lunching. That’s not why I went there though. That Cobb Salad was to die for.

It was closed for a few years and people tried to save it as a landmark. Then there was an earthquake and that was the death knell for The Brown Derby. No one wanted to fix it up. So sad.

Wow all those great places. 385 North, Dan Tana’s next to the Troubadour in West Hollywood, Oh, Michaels in Beverly Hills…now that place was fine. Best pastries I’ve ever had. The Border Grill which, when I used to go there, was this tiny little place. Now it’s some huge place in Santa Monica. I’ll bet the foods still good though. I went to a lot of brilliant restaurants and all I remember eating were salads and lamb chops.

Sunset Strip circa 1984-my salad days. Literally/

Thank god for salads and diets because that’s what got me into the Rainbow Room and Gazzari’s and anywhere else I got it into my head I wanted to get into. Nothing like a good ass and a sassy attitude. The Roxy, wow, that place. This guy, Lou Adler, was running it. Great bands played there. I saw Guns and Roses, among others, but it was so small that it was hard to get into.
Even I couldn’t get in to see Bruce Springsteen when he played there.

In fact The Rocky Horror Picture Show was a play there for the longest time and Lou made it into the movie, it was so popular.
I used to hang out upstairs at the Rainbow Room next door, even though it wasn’t as fun, to me, as the bar downstairs. The Rainbow and The Roxy and that place, I forget what it was called, but it became the Viper Room, and Gazzari’s. The Starwood, Madame Wu’s, The Zero, The Anti Club and so many more. Hah, I had record producers begging to come with me because I knew all the cool underground places. I discovered Van Halen. I saw the Red Hot Chili Peppers about 1000 times while they were trying to make it big. Black Flag, The Mentors, Los Lobos, The Beastie Boys, so many great bands. Hollywood, it was SO fun.

Well, that’s what I’m going to be doing for the next few months, talking about the bad old days. Maybe you’ll get to know me better, maybe I’ll bring back some good memories, maybe remind you why none of us do that anymore. Expect me to talk a lot about food (and lack thereof!) and work (yay!) and my health in general (Boring) and my day to day…positive. Always positive!

But ya’ll are my sounding board so I still may flare up and freak out and whine and cry and kick and scream. My journey back to health is just getting started.

“Mostly it is loss which teaches us about the worth of things.” ― Arthur Schopenhauer

It was September 13, 2008 when I lost my brother in law, Shawn LaPlante. He was young, fun, hardworking and in love with my sister. He’d just bought his first home the previous year. He was so proud. His best friend, Kelly, had been married the previous month and he wanted to take him fishing. Shawn loved fishing. He had a secret spot he wanted to share with Kelly and his wife.

The road was undercut by rain but you couldn’t tell. He drove his truck onto that road and it gave way. Liza was thrown from the back of the camper where she was riding, reading a book, listening to music. The camper exploded on the first roll, shattered into matchsticks. Shawn was killed instantly. The truck landed on him. Kelly was pinned into the passenger side with the roof crushed onto him, in icy water up to his neck, bleeding.

Liza walked out, miles. There was no way up to the road. She had lost her shoes and between grief and pain she found a way onto the road by walking along the river, climbing over rocks, scaling fallen trees and weeping and panicked, not knowing if she could find someone, anyone who could get help. They were in the Canadian Rockies, 50 miles from the nearest paved road. No cell phone, even if it would have worked.

She found two men, one of them ran back to the scene with her and the other got in his truck and drove to call for help.

It took hours with the jaws of life and an expert group of rescuers to pull Kelly from the wreck. It took a logging helicopter to lift the truck off of Shawn. Liza was there for the whole thing.

I wasn’t there. I’d moved away in April. I’d come back for their first wedding anniversary party in July and returned to my new home. The shock of Shawn’s death lives with me every day. THis is a hard day for all of his family and friends. Because of Liza and the rescuers that day, Kelly survived to have two babies (so far) with his wife.

I don’t think I’ll ever forget that smile. Even when it hurts to remember it.

Cheers to you Shawn. For all you taught me.

Saving My Life

‘People don’t know how the people who love them save their lives.’
Robin Quivers

It’s ovarian cancer awareness month.

I’ve been meaning to write a post about this. I kept putting it off. I don’t quite know why. I think, upon reflection, that I just don’t want to admit that this cancer might still kill me. That I’m not ever going to be able to ‘go back’. I don’t want to give it power over me. I don’t want it to be a chronic condition. I want this to end. Now. Today.

Today.

Today I have my big appointment. It’s hard, a lot of you know how hard it was, to admit that I needed help. More help than I was getting, simply not recognizing the emotional drain on my family and caregivers. The trips to chemotherapy every week. The bad news, the good news, rush hour traffic, putting off trips and vacations, the lack of money and healthy food, hiding things from me, from themselves, worrying, wondering, being scared and wanting to scream with frustration. The emotional drain is exhausting.

I try to keep things upbeat. I have tried to hide what I feel because I thought I understood how hard it was on my caregivers. They are not recognized. The person with cancer gets all the attention. Sometimes ,it seems, by everyone. I just want to say, I know now. I know what has been given to me. Now I know.

Those of you who have followed this blog from the beginning know how scared I was. How confused and beaten down by my emotions I was. I started this blog because I really didn’t know how to speak to my family and friends about my cancer diagnosis.

That is where I found you.

Yes, you. You wonderful supportive people from everywhere around the globe who have taken a moment out of some crazy busy schedules to encourage and support me. My caregivers here who helped me learn to speak about what happened to me. Who just listened and let me have my meltdowns and walked me through some of the hardest days of my life.

Losing my kittens. Losing my dog. The betrayal and accusations recently by my niece, which I am still struggling with. The cancer. The chemo. The fear of death. The pity I felt for my mother struggling to make ends meet, to keep abreast of the paperwork, to get me to chemotherapy every week. My sister, my beautiful sister, who is terrified of sickness and doctors and who lived every moment with my diagnosis. Trying to overcome her fears, overcome her fear of losing me. Of losing another loved one. As if what she went through in 2008 wasn’t enough to break her. She had to go through this too.

My brothers and their wives all trying in their own separate ways to support me from so far away. To talk to their children, their daughters especially, who are condemned to carry this cancer marker all their lives. Who will have to be extra vigilant because of it.

My cousin who has gone through this, who lost so much, lost a brother and a friend. Had her own diagnosis and fought like a tiger to win. And won.

My uncles and aunts who knew, I never understood how well, what it was to see a member of your own branch, torn away by the storm, so young and vibrant, so many chances to grow and learn from mistakes, to have that chance ripped away. The chance to see your children grow up, to see your brother again, your father, your mother.

It’s agony sometimes to see all the lost opportunities I’ve had throughout my life to support them. My family. I didn’t, you know. I just didn’t. Now that I see what a crucial role that family and friends play in a life disrupted by sickness and loss I am ashamed to say I didn’t know. But now I do.

All I can offer now is a chance to help you by sharing what I’ve learned this past year.

Women have a 1 in 38 chance of getting uterine or endometrial cancer. If you have ANY bleeding whatsoever after menopause, it needs to be evaluated. It’s a straightforward check up. They believe that before menopause, taking birth control pills will reduce your chances of contracting these forms of cancer. There are other health risks associated with the use of any kind of hormone treatment and this is something you need to discuss with your gynecologist. Be aware that family practice doctors are not educated in women’s health very thoroughly. Don’t make my mistake and listen exclusively to them. Find and establish a relationship with a gynecologist, if you don’t already have one, after you are 40. It’s extremely important that you recognize early signs and symptoms of something gone wrong. You can save yourself and your family heartache and, potentially, loss, by simply becoming familiar with these signs. Please do it. Don’t let embarrassment and ignorance drive you down the road I’ve been on. It’s a terrible path that I would spare you.

There is some scientific evidence that curcumin and turmeric are excellent at reducing C125 levels in men and women. Make yourself familiar with this ugly little root. It can be a lifesaver. Familiarize yourself with routines that include familiarity with your body and what you can do. If you notice swelling in your lower abdomen, shortness of breathe, heaviness in your legs, exhaustion and/or bleeding or spotting GO see your gynecologist, not your family doctor.

I just got out of my appointment. I am not ‘clean’. My marker is elevated, still, but going down, slowly down. I don’t have to go back to chemotherapy. No more dense dose chemo. Do you know how that makes me feel? I can go back to work on Oct 1st! Do you know how long I’ve waited to hear that? I’m healing. And I want to thank you.

I’ve tried to heal my spirit on this blog. To release some of the demons that have plagued me for the last year, not always successfully. Many times I’ve just cried. Sat and cried my eyes out, realizing what I’ve lost.

And what I’ve gained.

You.

Sometimes I Think I Am the Cliff

I forgot my cane.

Don’t you hate it when you get somewhere and you realize you’ve forgotten something. I think, in my head, I thought I wouldn’t need it. Really, it’s a positive thing.

It’s hard to walk without it. I feel as if I might tip over. It’s more for balance than anything. So here I am in downtown Orinda sitting under a very lovely tree but sort of, kind of, unable to walk around.

This is a nice town, Orinda. I’m on a real live vacation. Even if I just sit a lot. But sitting? It’s not something I’m given to. The hardest part of my sickness has been being locked into a position of weakness. Mobility is strength and sitting is so anticlimactic. I can only observe.

So here I sit and wonder. Who am I? What a question to ask, so late in life. It’s something I’ve asked more often since…well, that day. January 11th.

I sometimes think that I am what I observe. ‘I observe myself observing what I observe.’ Nothing more. Is it so bad?

Sometimes I think I am like a rock that has chipped off of the cliff wall that is my mother. A scattered fragment, that’s what we all are, her sons and daughters.

So I sit here, lame, broken pieces badly put together. Not enough glue or not the right kind. Pieces of me, sitting there waiting to be put back in the correct spot. The correct way. Observing my failures, my triumphs. Some days it feels right and other days…I am just a piece of something that has more meaning than I can see. At least right now.

I’m like a deadly progression that has become more of a parade. More or less. So I sit here under this tree with my aching feet and my clinging to a cliff face balance, trying to fit myself back in. Join the parade. Stop the deadly progression. Wave a flag, but not that kind of flag. The kind that’s red. Not the kind that signals danger. No, my flag is just a flag. It says ‘I’m here. Come back, don’t leave me. Wait for me. I’m coming, too.’

I’m like the bull. I don’t know why I charge. I don’t. I just do it. I’m charging at everything that scares me. Even if its a leaf, a cloud, the moon…things that shouldn’t scare me. But I don’t want to miss them. If I go, will I miss them? Will I know? When will the fear stop? When will I know? It’s okay to sit. It’s not my last summer. It’s not my last anything.

That’s what I say to myself.

I’m am the cliff face now. I am the cliff. I cannot be broken, not completely broken.

New Eyes

The voyage of discovery is not in seeking new landscapes but in having new eyes. — Marcel Proust

http://www.gofundme.com/3yfbqg

This quote really made me think.

I’ve moved around a lot in my time. No fear. Never that. I had confidence in myself. I knew I’d find work, make friends, move into the cutest little apartment, get the most fun room mates, discover the best things about my new hometown.

It was a voyage of discovery. One I loved.

Then I found a place I wanted to call Home. Real home. Grow old, live there forever with my friends, learn the back roads and the short cuts. Who were the best cooks in town. Who to call when your car was making a funny rattling noise. I wanted to be certain that when that rattling noise that I ignored for weeks finally left me stranded on the highway as dark was coming on, that someone would stop. They’d recognize my car and stop and give me a lift. Someone would drive out and use a beer can and some wire to jerryrig my exhaust back together so I could drive my car again. Girls night out was Friday, karaoke and wing night was Tuesday. I could drive the hell out of winter roads, I knew how to drive on a frozen lake. I did doughnuts and blasted my music. Confidence. Certainty.

I didn’t want to ever leave.

My sister told me that it didn’t matter where I was, I was always going to carry myself with me. Happy or sad.

I didn’t care what she said. I wanted to go. Again. I wanted to be close to my Mom. I wanted to forget the man I’d left. This time it was an escape, though.

And given whats happened over the past few years, I’m glad I escaped. If I’d stayed I would have died on that bathroom floor. I lived alone 50 miles from the nearest hospital. It was winter. January. The roads would have been bad. No speeding ambulance would have come to save me. No emergency surgery the next day. I would have died.

And when my brother in law died in that crash in 2008 that damaged my sister, my beautiful sister, and almost killed his best friend, if I were still there, I wouldn’t have been able to take her away from all those painful memories that were killing her. I was able to say ‘Look where I live. It’s so beautiful. Mom is here. Our brother is here. Family. You aren’t better alone. We are here for you.’

We love each other. We miss Shawn. He loved her so much.

I had to experience such loss to see through my new eyes.

I lost my brother in law. I lost husband. I lost my health. I lost my Fridays and my Tuesdays out with the girls. I lost frozen lakes, hot springs in the snow, fishing and 4 wheel driving. I lost a whole community. I lost my place. It was good I left. It was also bad.

But it’s not too late. It’s never too late.

I never dreamed for a moment that I could find another kind of community here. One that is just as real. Just as kind. Just as fun. Just as eye opening as the one I’d left behind.

Someday, someday I’ll go back there. And I’ll take you with me. Because you are also my community. You live here in my heart. That’s what I like to think. I’ll go home and find my place there again. It’s home because that community I talked about, they’re here for me now. Almost a 1000 miles away, they are here, like you are, donating, sharing my page, encouraging me, praying for me. And the next time…I’ll know what I have. I’ll take my new eyes and I’ll use them.

Canal Flats

I’ll be home someday.

If you can donate to help me get this life back on track, to face my hurdles and start over without a mountain of debt and no hair I’d be so very grateful.

http://www.gofundme.com/3yfbqg

I Wasn’t There.

We are the sum of our experiences.

I remember when I was a girl. I used to sit on the sidewalk in front of whatever rental house we were in, in what ever city we were in and I would pretend.

I wasn’t there. I was in an alien ravaged city, escaping from panic stricken mobs, just me and my horse. That’s right, I had no family. It was just me and my horse. When I was invited to play with other kids or my sister or cousins or brothers, I would be playing another game in my head. There would be a giraffe. I would be the only one who could tame it. It could talk. That kind of thing.
Other people would see me galloping around the house, I never shouted or made much noise…it was just in my head I was shouting. Like now.

I would sit on the steps and look at catalogues and pick out clothes to suit the life of the kid I wasn’t and curtains and furniture for the house we never had.

My favorite thing to do was to look at the refrigerators and all the food in them. All that food just crammed neatly in. I wondered what kind of life you would have to live to have a fridge like that.

I would watch night coming and, lying on the grass, before I got called in for supper, I would wonder where that darkness had been. Who had it slipped over, what wonderful things had it seen? What was this darkness, this very same darkness, doing in the Pyramids? On the shore of Africa? On the streets of some ancient desert stronghold? Maybe there were wild camels! I would wish, but I wasn’t there.

I wasn’t afraid of the dark. I could see it, sometimes after we ate, and we were playing in the street. You could see it, between the shed and the wall. Night was there, hiding in the laurel hedges and way over at the edge of the school playground. The street lights couldn’t move it. Not much. It was there, even more there than ever. But I was a lion. I was a pirate. I was a robot. And darkness was my friend. Where ever it was, however much I wanted to be, I wasn’t there.

When I got older I still lived in my head. It was peopled with fabulous stories of adventure and heroism. Some I wrote, some other people wrote and some I experienced. Meanwhile I worked. I would still sit out front of whatever rental I was in, in whatever city I found myself and I would dream about the time when I would have time. The most fabulous, incredible dream of all.

Time.

It just slips away. It’s so beautiful. It’s like watching a leaf unfurl in the spring and come into full beauty and see it changing. It wouldn’t be so beautiful if it were always the same.

I feel so lucky. My life in the past was so full of adventure, real adventure and real heroism. I lived in my head but I was also ready. That’s the best part of being a dreamer. They are always prepared. We don’t panic. We already saw the robot invasion coming.

So. while I wait for this to stop, I am coming to terms with some surprising things. Such as, time, when you have a lot of it, means nothing if you are not prepared. I thought I was. I really did. But it seems I’m not at all. I’m not getting to spend my time. I am just passing time. Just waiting. Tired out…

Dreaming, though. Ready.

“If I had a world of my own, everything would be nonsense.” ― Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland

So where oh where did I leave off…somewhere in Frankfurt. It was great. In fact, Frankfurt was fun but it was kind of like being in the States because I was on the Air Force Base quite a lot.

Visiting my brother, Martin

They had american grocery stores and american fast food and lots of americans there. We went to a gigantic car show in town, visited Wagner’s birthplace, laughed at a town called Bad Homburg, had some great German food, did the trip up the Rhine on a boat, which led to the strange vision of a tugboat with hot pink trim covered to the brim with snarling Rottweilers.

Naturally by the time I got my camera out we were past it and I didn’t have a zoom on it. It was a disposable. I used them for the whole trip. Yeah this was 1991, ALSO before cheap digital. But I got some good shots anyway. Leszek was into photography so I thought it would be enough if one of us had a fancy, high powered camera. Little did I know…

Naturally when everything goes as planned nothing is worth writing about. So I’ll skip Germany and only say I am going back there some day to see Berlin and the rest of it. It was great…danged greatness!

So after a week my brother dropped me off at the train station and I took a train to Berlin. I needed to change to a train to Poland. I was getting all blase about trains now. I was an international traveller, and trains were just like a city bus to ME. Until I got to Berlin.

Can I just say WOW? That’s one hell of a train station and I got gigantically LOST. I had some trouble finding anyone who spoke english and it was only as I was standing there paying for my ticket that I realized I had only marks, pounds and american dollars, along with a mess of travelers cheques. I had no zloty’s and, here’s the kicker, they wanted you to enter Poland with so many zloty’s so you didn’t deal with the black market money exchange or something. They’d warned me about it in London at the embassy and now here was this clerk asking me if I had zloty’s. I’d kept thinking I was going to get some. Somewhere. A bank or something. You know…get to it.

Well, there I was, having not gotten to it. Standing there with my Walkman earplugs dangling and a little black suitcase on wheels, looking winsome and helpless and it doesn’t fly with those german train personnel. Nope it doesn’t.

I don’t think the push up brassiere would have worked on this guy even if I had been wearing it. It worked once in awhile with older men and waiters…thats about it. People who have those jobs behind windows in train stations and airports that are secure and well paid and boring? They hate travelers.

The train clerk said something about me missing my train and there not being another one going to Gdansk until the next day and repeated the money exchange thing. He pointed out of the train station and actually smiled, like ‘Good luck, you jerk!’ He even looked at my precious visa and laughed at it. Another one of those ‘Don’t you read the papers?!” people. He’d already sold me a ticket and THEN told me (reminded me) about he money thing and said I couldn’t refund my ticket that he had JUST SOLD ME! He was acting like a dick.

I tried to get the clerk to admit there was a money exchange somewhere in the station. There had to be! Or outside of it, close. There always is. Always. But which exit? There were a million in that Berlin Train station.

I looked around a little frantically, I’ll admit it, and found an old gentleman with a young boy with him walking past. You know how you can tell when someone is a gentleman? He wasn’t dressed well, his clothes were old and worn, corduroy pants and a baggy grey suit jacket and a mashy looking felt hat. But he looked clean and so did his clothes. The young boy was about 12 yrs old and they were looking right at me. I went up to him, with about 20 minutes to spare until my train left, and asked the old gentleman if he could point me in the direction of a money exchange. I needed zloty’s. I was going to Gdansk.

He gave me a comprehensive up and down glance, that took in everything from my shoes to my hat, and spoke to the young boy in POLISH! I was thrilled. Except he didn’t speak english to me. But the boy listened to him and said to me ‘I go for you.’ and held his hand out. I didn’t even hesitate. I handed him all my marks, pounds and dollars-about $200 worth-jabbering the whole time about the travellers checks but that I couldn’t get him to cash those cuz I would have to go too and did he want me to go and should I follow him and (OMG what was I DOING handing this kid money?!) he ran off. Just like that.

The old gentleman and I went to a seat near the exit the boy disappeared out of and sat down. I got out my Polish/English translation book and said something along the lines of ‘I’m going to Gdansk.’ and he nodded and pointed at himself. He was going there too. That was his grandson.

10 minutes pass. We don’t speak. Just smile at each other. The old gentleman looks mildly worried. I do too, I guess.
I know we are nowhere near the platform we have to be on. All those lit up signs were for trains going anywhere but east.

THen the boy appears, shoves an envelope in my hand and says something to the old gentleman, who says something to me (I get the feeling it was RUN!) and we all start running. We made it too.

It might be different now. Everything is different now. I’ve learned in the passing years that not all changes are for the better. Still, I think Poland will always remain the ONE spot in Europe where I could relax and be myself. It was a country full of the nicest, sweetest, most fun and hardworking, gentle, honest, hospitable people I’d met in Europe. I’ve decided that when I retire I am going to move to the country outside of The Monastery of Jasna Góra in Częstochowa, Poland, home to the beloved miraculous icon of Our Lady of Częstochowa, and I am going to try and be worthy.

…and raise cickens and cats. I couldnt possibly raise anything nearly as loveable as these kids who all rushed up and posed to have their picture taken with me.

Polish school kids in Gdansk

Yes, Poland was one of those places I’m almost afraid to go back to. It couldn’t have been that great, could it?

Whirlwind photo essay of 1991 Europe…

Welcome to all the MasonBentley crowd. Having a lovely party here and neglected to take pics…so I just posted some of me from my 1991 trip to Europe that I have been writing about…
Cheers to all!

The aftermath of my masonBentley party. MEANT to take pics and instead started partyin’

Me in Paris-somewhere

Visiting my brother, Martin

Poland

Krakow

Trying to be cool and get into Czechoslovakia…all to no avail.