I honestly loved her

In the 1970s, I had a record player that looked exactly like this. Same color, even.

I spent a lot of time with that record player spinning anything by any Osmonds (Little Jimmy Osmond was my favorite at the time, but I often "borrowed" my sister's Donny Osmond albums), Barry Manilow, and the Partridge Family (David Cassidy, swoon).

But on this record player, I listened to two albums more than any others: Let Me Be There and If You Love Me, Let Me Know, both by the incomparable Olivia Newton-John, who passed away Monday at the age of 73.

I've heard that the music we listen to in childhood and adolescence stays with us more than any other music, and Olivia's music still speaks to me every time I hear it. Her soothing voice, the lyrics that speak to any young, hopeless romantic. I listened to her songs so many times that I can still sing most of them by heart—and frequently do.

Olivia was always with me. One of my favorite memories from my adolescence was spending a night with my girlfriends, just roaming around the countryside. One of our topics of conversation was Xanadu, which had just been released. Even 42 years later, I can still hear the voice of one of my friends as she said the name "Xanadu."

But perhaps nothing Olivia did means more to me than the movie Grease. Released the summer of 1978, Grease came out at a time of great upheaval in my life. My parents were getting a divorce—and not the "conscious uncoupling" of today, but a bitter, angry 1970s divorce. My beloved sister, meanwhile, was leaving for college. What was I supposed to do without her? And I had no idea whether Charo would be on the next season of The Love Boat. I was 14 years old. Everything was traumatic.

Then, Olivia stepped in with her red, spike-heel Candies. 

The movie poster alone hooked me!

Grease was released just before my birthday. Maybe to take away the sting of her leaving, Laura took me to see it. And, oh! Was it ever glorious! ONJ! John "I am not Vinnie Barbarino" Travolta! My first introduction to the fabulous Stockard Channing (and one of my all-time favorite movie lines: "I feel like a defective typewriter. I missed a period.")! The charismatic Jeff Conaway! The sing-along songs (give me a Grease song at karaoke and I will give you a performance)! The hot dog jumping into the bun on the drive-in screen while John Travolta croons, "Why-yi-yi-yi? Oh, Sandy." (Skip to 2:20 if you don't have two and a half minutes to spare.) The "Born to Hand Jive" dance (which I can still do, natch)! Which brings us back to those Candies! Everyone talks about the tight leather pants, but I was a sucker for the shoes.

I had never seen a better movie in all my days—and I saw Lifeguard in 1976! 🤣 (P.S. With my sister, at the drive-in, a double feature with Orca.)

So we went again the next week.

And the week after that.

Seven or eight or nine times that summer, I went to Grease. It was my Star Wars. Sometimes I went with my sister alone, sometimes with my sister and others, sometimes with my friends. At least once, I am sure Laura and I saw it at ... the drive-in.

For 1 hour and 50 minutes, I could forget about the world around me. And whenever I felt blue, I could sing and dance to "Greased Lightnin'" (because, yes, I bought the double album, which set me back a pretty penny, and played it on that durable record player over and over and over).

But I digress.

My point is that Olivia Newton-John got me through a rough time and brought me closer to my sister. In fact, just the other day, we reminisced about that summer. (And also that previous Lifeguard summer—Sam Elliott (her), Parker Stevenson (me), California, sigh. Beyond the comprehension of two girls from Nebraska.) The highs, the lows and the joy of "Summer Nights."

So thank you, ONJ. You gave me the soundtrack of my teenage years and a lifelong bond with my sister. I am "Hopelessly Devoted to You." "If Not for You," my world wouldn't be quite so "Mellow." "You're the One That I Want" to listen to, and your voice was always "Magic." Your "Physical" presence is gone now, but you left "A Little More Love" in the world. "Fly Away," beautiful soul.

Ginger DeMoulin — a life well-lived

Ginger and Bill DeMoulin

Virginia "Ginger" Bonney DeMoulin passed away the morning of December 3, 2021.

I don't remember when I met Ginger. She was my sister's mother-in-law, so probably sometime around her wedding in 1986. But I do remember many days since then, because Ginger and Bill, her devoted, adoring husband, attended all of my nephew's and niece's birthday parties, numerous Thanksgivings and Christmases, and countless other special events.

Ginger was always in the middle of these events. As an "extroverted introvert" married to an "introverted introvert," I tended to stay on the fringe, so I admired her easy way with people. She always seemed to be smiling or laughing and was a sheer delight to be around. She was interested in people's lives and always asked questions about what you were doing.

Stunningly beautiful and elegant beyond words, Ginger was happiest with Bill. He was the love of her life. With him, she traveled the world and lived life to its fullest.

Family was her pride and joy. After Bill passed away in 2009, she could have retreated into herself. But still, there she was at those parties, remaining in the center of everything, giving all her love to her children, grandchildren, great grandchildren, in-laws—even her in-laws' families. I was honored to consider her part of my family, and I mourn her loss as if she were my own mother.

I was fortunate to receive three of her original watercolor paintings as well as two pillows that she needlepointed herself—and whenever I pass by them in my house, I will think of her, with deep affection and respect.

Rest in peace, dear Ginger. Give my love to the Judge.

 

When Bill announced that Nick had been born

First grandchild

Some family pictures—note that Ginger is always in the middle of things.

First great grandchild

Workiversary

My favorite day at work is September 22: my workiversary.

I don't care if people at work celebrate my birthday (I know! I, of the birthday season, don't care if people at work celebrate my birthday!), but I love being feted on my anniversary, and this year was a big one: 15. My manager Slacked me a couple of days before and asked me to attend our regularly scheduled morning team meeting. (I don't normally attend the morning meeting. It's ... in the morning. And he knows this about me, so he also offered a lunchtime option—but I'm not that self-involved that I can't get up early one day, especially if I am going to be the center of attention. OK, that still sounds self-involved. Whatever.)

So I showed up at the meeting and I turned my camera on (which is another thing I don't usually do because: work-at-home hair and clothing), and I was greeted with my peeps at working, singing a song that had been written just for me:

The Patty Bunch (sung to the tune of the theme song to The Brady Bunch) 

It's the story
Of a lady Patty
Who was bringing up a very rowdy team
No one ever placed their files ... on the server
But she was never mean.

It's the story
Of a lady Patty
Who would make her carrot cake and edit, too
All the treats she'd bring each month ... for people's birthdays
Secure permissions, too.

’Til the one day when they had to work remotely
And they knew that it was much more than a hunch
That this crew had long ago become a family
That's the way we all became the Patty Bunch.

The Patty Bunch
The Patty Bunch
That's the way we became the Patty Bunch!

The Patty Bunch, serenading me. I'm the one wearing a leopard-print jacket (because when
I started, my company was called Leopard) with my glasses on my head (because
I can't see the computer with my glasses on my eyes) crying like a baby.

Later, when I was thanking my coworkers, I mentioned to one of them how being “a lady Patty” reminded me of Vic's “... and a lady” photo postings on Facebook. (For those who don't know, he would often post beautiful scenic pictures with me in them, and he would add a caption such as, “Delicate Arch ... and a lady.”) She said that was intentional. (So just let that soak in a minute, the level of knowledge it takes to use an obscure reference to make someone feel loved.)

It worked. I have never felt more loved at work—and I am ordinarily quite beloved. (You bring Rice Krispies treats and carrot cake to work every month, you'll be beloved, too. 😉)

It feels a bit prideful to post this, but I do love my workiversary, and as we've already established, I am self-involved. 🤣

But it also gives me an opportunity to say thank you to all my work peeps, present and past, for all the love and support you've given me through the years, particularly these last few months.

THANK. YOU. 💗

9/11 twenty years ago

This is not the first time I’ve told this story. I’m sure it won’t be the last. And I may get some of the details wrong, but the main thrust of the story is correct. 🙂

Twenty years and three days ago, we were in New York City. We were visiting Vic’s son, Bryan, in Philadelphia, and we wanted to go to the Bronx Zoo, which we had never seen before. We had a great time at the zoo, and then we went out for a late lunch/early dinner before heading back to Philly.

A great shot of a gorilla at the Bronx Zoo

As I recall, we took the New Jersey Turnpike, and on the way to Philly, we drove right by the Twin Towers. Being hicks from the Midwest and the Rocky Mountain West, we were enthralled by the buildings in New York—total tourists. The sun was setting and just glowing on the Towers. Vic (of course) wanted to stop and take a picture, but Bryan knew better—you don’t just stop on the Jersey Turnpike, and you really don’t want to stop to take a picture.

“No worries,” Vic said. “We’ll get ’em next time.”

If Vic’s photographic record is correct, that was a busy trip. In addition to the Bronx Zoo, we went to Longwood Gardens to the west of Philadelphia and the National Aquarium in Baltimore.

Longwood Gardens

 

Inner Harbor in Baltimore

On September 10, the Broncos played the Giants on Monday Night Football. That was the game in which Ed McCaffrey broke his leg, but the Broncos still demolished the Giants. 😉

Almost every 9/11 story starts with, “It was a beautiful fall day.” But it was, so it must be said. The sun was shining; the sky was blue; the air was crisp.

We had a morning flight out of Philadelphia, and Bryan drove us to the airport. We left Bryan’s before 8 a.m., taking time to snap a few shots. It was just a regular day, so as usual, Vic was playing the joker.

 

We talked on the way to the airport, so we weren’t listening to the news. Bryan dropped us off, and we checked in at the counter. Our flight didn’t leave for a few hours (we were notorious for getting to the airport ridiculously early), so we walked around the airport, stopping at a gift shop, a newsstand and the food court.

On the way to get our authentic East Coast airport bagels (which is to say, definitely not authentic East Coast bagels), we saw the TV on in a bar. (Yes, bars in airports are open that early in the morning.) It looked like a building was on fire. We walked on by. It could have been any building in any city. It was just a fire.

We ate our bagels and talked about our trip and getting home to our kitties. Nothing seemed amiss at the airport, so we headed back to our gate. Went by that bar again. Now more people were watching the TV, so we stopped. The caption at the bottom said a plane had hit one of the Twin Towers. We watched for a while, and then we noticed the airport was buzzing. There were announcements over the loudspeakers, but we couldn’t tell what was going on.

At some point, I called Bryan. We didn’t have cell phones yet, so I had to wait in line at a pay phone. When I got through, he sounded panicked. “Stay there!” he shouted. “A plane just went down in Pennsylvania! I’m coming to get you!”

The rest of the day was a blur. We went back to his apartment, and then at some point, we went to the airport to pick up our luggage. There were concerns about family being in the city—but everyone checked in safe. We watched TV day and night as the news continued to pour in and the posters started to appear—has anybody seen ... my dad, my sister, my cousin? It was heartbreaking.

We finally pulled away from the TV a couple of days later and went to Valley Forge National Historical Park. The park rangers were wearing sidearms—no one knew what might happen. We went to a diner for lunch, and everyone was talking in hushed tones.

Valley Forge

We finally made it out on September 14. I’ve never been in quieter places than the planes and airports we were in. When our pilot showed up at our layover in Houston, he received a standing ovation.

We got home to find one of our kitties in distress—he was diabetic and needed his insulin, but it was too late. He passed away at the vet’s. Just another victim of the terrorists, we always said.

We picked up pizza the next night at our regular pizza joint. It was a mom and pop place, and the owners knew we had been to Philly and asked us about it. They took almost an hour out of a busy Friday night to sit at a table outside and listen to our story, and then a few days later, we received a sympathy card in the mail from them for our kitty.

Because that’s how it was in the days after 9/11. We all pulled together. We supported each other. We consoled and hugged and cared. We treasured our first responders.

We have strayed from that spirit of unity in the past two decades, but on this day of remembrance, I choose to believe that we can join together as one, a nation united.

My heart goes out to all those who lost family and friends on this day 20 years ago and those who are fighting physical and mental illness because of the events of that day. My bottomless thanks go to all first responders everywhere—always running in where everyone else is running out. 💗

I’ll leave you as I usually do—with one of Vic’s awesome pictures.

A "short" story and a life in pictures

My mom passed away this morning. It's a little surreal—one minute she was with me, and the next minute she was gone.

It's been a long time coming. She got pneumonia five years ago and never fully recovered. She was on oxygen 24x7, and because she wasn't able to do as many things, her strength diminished. The Alzheimer's disease that has taken most of her family was staring her in the face. Two years ago, my sister, Laura, and I had to take over things like paying her bills, filling her pill box and, after Mom gave up her car, driving her to the store and the doctor and the hair salon—everywhere she needed to go.

This last month was rough on Mom. She got pneumonia and spent three days in the hospital. She seemed to rally at the end and was discharged. But five days later, she was back in the hospital. Her pneumonia was better, but she was having difficulty breathing. (She had COPD—chronic obstructive pulmonary disorder—so her breathing was always a little dicey.) She didn't rally the way she had before. She was more confused, more agitated, more tired. She was not watching "Judge Judy." This was a sure sign of the apocalypse.

Talk turned away from discharge to home and toward discharge to a skilled nursing/rehab facility. While she was open to that idea during the first hospitalization, boy howdy she was not open to that idea during the second. We decided to broach the subject of what she wanted next, and after a long discussion with her primary care physician and my sister (who was representing both of us), she decided she would like to go home to hospice.

She was "excited" (as excited as a very sick person can be) that no one was going to make her do physical therapy. No one was going to make her do occupational therapy. No one was going to bug her about eating and drinking and taking her pills. If she wanted to do those things, we would support her, and if she didn't, we would support her.

She was discharged not quite two weeks ago, and to make a long story short, she ended up in a hospice facility just two days later on the brink of death. Once again she rallied and was fairly coherent-ish for about 48 hours, but by Wednesday of last week, she didn't understand why she was there, and she started asking Laura to take her home.

That's when the facility shut down to all visitors. Thank you, COVID-19. She really started to go downhill from there. There's no telling whether it was because we were gone or whether she was just deteriorating "on schedule," but by Monday of this week, the hospice nurse said Mom had some telltale symptoms of a person who is "transitioning" from actively living to actively dying. That's when the hospice allowed us back in.

She had one day of agony, where she was hallucinating and seemingly in pain, very restless and very agitated. Laura bore the brunt of that day because I was not able to get to her until late afternoon, just as she was getting some medicine that would calm her and stop her twitching.

The next day was agony-lite—all of the Monday symptoms but less severe—as the nurses from our hospice service and the nurses at the facility adjusted the meds and the timing of them. She was still restless, and she would often sit up and then lie back down because she didn't even have the strength to support her own weight. And yet, it was a good day. We would sit on the bed with her, and when she would sit up, she would often collapse into our arms—the way we probably did when we were kids. And when each of us whispered "I love you" in her ear, she said "I love you, too." They were the only coherent words she spoke all day—but they were also the most important words.

Wednesday and Thursday finally brought peace for Mom. We had her on a good cocktail of medications spaced just the right amount apart, and she rested comfortably all day. She rarely opened her eyes and never tried to speak, but she didn't seem to be in pain, and her hallucinations had subsided.

Early Friday morning (a little after 1 a.m.), I got the coded text from my sister, 🙁 , and I knew Mom's struggle had ended. My sister did not leave Mom's side from the time they let us back in, other than a short respite on Wednesday to remind her husband (a) that he had a wife and (b) what she looked like. I will always be grateful that she was willing and able to do that. As we both said many times over the course of this journey, it is an honor and a privilege to care for our mother.

Do not cry for me. My mom is free. No more being tethered to the oxygen tank! No more scolding by us about how much (or how little) she was eating, drinking, exercising, etc.! She can hear without her hearing aids! She can walk to the kitchen without getting so winded that she has to sit down halfway there! (Assuming they have a kitchen where she's going.) She can remember everything! (Take that, Alzheimer's!)

I'm sure there will be many tears shed on "firsts," but I'll have all my memories of her and the strength I gained from her to keep me going

Speaking of memories, here are a "few" of my favorite pictures of my mom.

First, I love these old-timey pictures of her:

Ohmygosh, did my mom LOVE bowling!

Dad and Mom on their wedding day

Mom's family was everything to her.

Back row, L to R: Mom's sister Ruth, brother Gene, sister Mary, Mom, brother Mike
Seated: Mom's beloved Aunt Blanche and Uncle Chet

She fell instantly in love with her first grandchild, Nick:

Laura, Nick and Mom

 Then one became two ...

Granddaughter Margeaux

... and Mom discovered that two were twice as nice as one.

Grandchildren grow up faster ...

Clockwise from lower left: Bill, Nick, Margeaux, Mom, me and Laura

 
... and faster:

Mom was so proud of her grandchildren, and the fact that they wanted
to spend time with her gave her untold joy

Eventually, more family joined the fold, and that was OK with Mom.

L to R: Ali, Mom, Layla, Harrison and Nick

L to R: Layla, Mom and Harrison

She was delighted with more additions a few years later ...

L to R: Mom, Madi, Margeaux and Xan

... and even more a few years after that:

Madi, Will and Fin on Mom's lap

When you add my stepkids and their kids—whom Mom lovingly accepted into her heart (she was always tickled pink to get a card or a picture from one of them)—Mom had four grandchildren and 10 great grandchildren. Her heart was full.

Mom also loved to travel, and we often did that together. In fact, Mom and I could be found virtually anywhere, from Niagara Falls ...

... to the Isaac Walton League to watch trap shooting ...

... to Downtown Denver at Christmastime ...

... to the Denver Museum of Nature and Science ...

... to wherever this was!

Sometimes we let Vic tag along.

Rocky Mountain National Park

Vic pulled all these (and more) pictures for me a few weeks ago. As I clicked through his curated selection, one thing stood out: My mom and I were always hugging!

Mom had an "interesting" sense of humor, but that didn't mean she couldn't joke around with us:

L to R: Laura, me, Margeaux, Mom and Laura's husband Bill

Then again, she was also happy to let us be the clowns while she kept a straight face.

And now I feature solo pictures of Mom. We don't have a lot of them—she hated having her picture taken, especially alone. But Vic could always coax a smile out of her.

I want to leave you with one more shot of mom in her native habitat: talking to a complete stranger. Grocery store clerk? You get her life story. Customer? You'll probably have to hear about her daughters. Random guy on the street wearing a Nebraska Cornhuskers sweatshirt? Now she's your best friend. My mom could strike up a conversation with a stop sign.

I kind of miss her already, and it hasn't even been 24 hours. But I am content with her destination. I picture her free of oxygen, with perfect hearing and enough strength to walk farther than the mailbox. She eats nothing but caramels and Pringles—or whatever the hell she wants. She is with the family members who passed before she did. She is home.

Blanche (Breiner) Schenkel

February 6, 1939 – March 20, 2020

 

Rest in peace, Mom. We love you.