Long Over-Due Visit - Funny Book - Cartoon

On Wednesday I woke up rather late to a really beautiful sunny day and feeling pretty darned good. Both of these things have been scarce lately. So I decided it might be a good day to try to visit my friend, Wyetta. It has been months since I have been to see her. For one reason or another it has just been impossible. I write letters and send pictures, but have not made the hour's drive up to see her in the convalescent home.

The drive went very smoothly. When I got there, lo and behold, there was a handicap space waiting for me near the door. "Hugo" was not in the car because I had not been able to wrestle it in before I left, but I did pretty well with just the cane. Only had to stop once to rest on the way down the long hallway to her room. She was happy to see me, and we had a nice, long chat. I have really missed that. I had taken her a basket of fruit that I made up in the pretty basket the Easter Bunny had brought me. She always complains about the food, and she does love fresh fruit.

I think we both enjoyed the time we spent together. I know I feel better for it. A good day!
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In the afternoon, after a nap, I read some more of a book Rita loaned to me. Highly recommend this one! Just a funny, easy read, easy to pick up and put down. Mo Willems is probably better known for his children's books. Also a six times Emmy winner for his work on Sesame Street.

Mo is also a talented cartoonist. A few years ago he traveled around the world. At the end of each day he drew a cartoon of something he remembered from that day. Funny, funny cartoons. The foreword to the book was written by Dave Barry - which was enough to get me hooked in itself. In discussing travel to foreign lands, Dave says, "...you of course want to see the famous sights, but in the end what you remember best...is what you did not already know you would find there." So true. And that is exactly what Mo shows us. Look for this book in your library. I think you will enjoy it. You Can Never Find a Rickshaw When It Monsoons - The World on One Cartoon a Day.
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And speaking of cartoons - I've been checking out the Savage Chickens again.



This one amused me.

Wyetta

I've been thinking so much of my dear friend, Wyetta lately. As I've mentioned before, she has been a long, long time in hospitals and nursing homes, and is now in a convalescent and rehab facility. It's a nice place. The staff seems very nice, and she has made many friends there. But of course, it isn't home. And it isn't near enough that I can visit her there often. It is near most of my doctors, so whenever I have an appointment I try to make a visit to her as well.

In recent months I haven't made many visits. We have spoken on the phone and I have written letters. Sometimes I do email her as well, but she has a problem with the computer and has not been able to email me except on rare occasions. I miss her so much. And yesterday I received a very brief email from her, telling me that she misses me.

We met in 1978, when we worked together in a part time job. I had just moved to New Jersey from New York. Wyetta was the first real friend I made here, and has become the friend dearest to me. We share so much. It breaks my heart not to be able to see her more often. This is how she looked back in those days. Her smile can light up any room, and it's infectious.

We shared a love for photography and of the outdoors, and we found lots of ways to combine those two interests, taking the children and exploring our world. How I miss those days. How I miss our visits, sitting at her kitchen table, looking at photos and talking. I have more in common with her than I have ever had with anyone else except my husband. I have another dear friend, Lisa, whom you know as the Villas Girl, and I love her too, but feel more as if she is "my other daughter". I value her friendship very highly and she has been my mainstay for a long time. Do not know what I would do without her. But even though Wyetta is young enough to be my daughter, she seems for some reason to be more my contemporary. I have other good friends, but the few who are still living are scattered over the country from Florida to Hawaii, and we no longer meet. So these days I feel I have only my two friends, Lisa and Wyetta, and one of them is out of reach most of the time.

It is hard to feel so helpless to reach out to my friend. Wyetta not only has been far from home for such a long time, at present she is unable to speak. She cannot call, has trouble writing, and often even trouble trying to email. It must be so frustrating for her. I am very grateful that she is at least in fairly pleasant surroundings and among good people. But I want to be there to give her a hug more often.

Good Friends

Good friends make such a difference in our lives. I've been blessed with many good friends throughout my life. Joan was my best friend from first grade, all the way through high school. We shared just about everything together for twelve years - all of the silly things, fun things, semi-tragic things, secret things, wonderful things that children and teens share. After high school, she went away to college and I went to work. We remain friends to this day, although in recent years it has become the occasional letter and a few pictures, a much less personal sort of thing.


In my twenties there were two very good friends, Nancy and Eileen, with whom I became very close. Interestingly enough, they were not friends with one another. They lived in very different worlds, and I was privileged to share both. I am very grateful to have had both experiences. Eileen was to become maid of honor in my wedding a few years later. And yes, I am still close friends with both, but long distance. One is in Arizona and one in Hawaii.


Early in my marriage I met Pat. She was the best friend among many during the years when we were raising our children. Mutual support with other mothers of small children can mean so much as we struggle with the myriad of problems and questions we have as we learn how to deal with these little people who are so dependent on us. Sadly, I am no longer in touch with Pat She moved far away and has chosen to cut off communication with old friends, following a family tragedy.


Two years after my husband's death, when we moved to New Jersey, it was like moving into another world and another life. The first real friend I made here was Wyetta. She has remained my closest friend for the past thirty-one years. I am constantly amazed at how much we have in common, despite our vastly different backgrounds. I miss having her nearby. She has been in hospitals or convalescent homes for two years now. I visit as often as I am able. I took this picture a couple of days ago.


Some years ago - I'm not sure exactly how many - Lisa came to work in the same office with me. We liked one another, and found that we could work together very easily. We became good friends, and remained so after my retirement, despite our age difference. Lisa is the same age as my children. Our relationship is somewhere between best friend and mother-daughter. I call her my "other daughter". We now live on the same street, and she looks out for me, worrying over me if my car is gone from the driveway too long or if I forget to turn out the outside light in the morning. She calls me every day, and I look forward to her chats. (And she keeps me up on the gossip from the old office.) We enjoy nature walks together, and she asks me to join her on lots of little expeditions. Every so often I manage to do something stupid, like locking myself out of the house, or locking my car keys in the trunk when I'm far from home. (Yes, it's true. I've done that.) But I can always call Lisa to come to the rescue.

Last night she came over and put up a new curtain rod for me. It's frustrating not even to be able to get up on a little step stool to do something like that, but she hung the curtain for me. I have no idea what it would be like for me if I did not have a friend like Lisa now. No - not "like Lisa". Just Lisa. She's one in a million.


And when she got up on that step stool, she said, "No pictures!" Oh well.

Ten Things I Like About Being Old

Before I get on with my list, a word about my dear friend, Wyetta, who as you may remember is still in a convalescent and rehab facility. I visited her yesterday and discovered that her daughter, Ashley, has bought her a computer! She has it by her bed, and I know that it means a great deal to her. She is in a good facility and is receiving good care, but it has been such a long, long time! Her computer will let her see what the world looks like these days outside of the walls of the building as well as enjoying her favorite scenes in nature, visiting pages of literature that she loves, reading her Bible without the need to hold the book, etc. Bless you, Ashley. You've found the perfect gift for your mom.

(And she can read my blog posts and my emails.)


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A little while ago I published a post titled Ten Things I Hate About Being Old. I suppose it's only fair and reasonable for me to speak to the other side.



1. I like having no schedule to follow. I have always wanted that. I dislike being forced to do the same things at the same time or in the same way. When I was working - at least for the last 18 years that I was working - the office was about three minutes from my home. I could have turned left out of my driveway, left again at the next corner, then right, and I was there. I almost never did that. I would go around the block, zig zag through the neighborhood, or maybe go up to the bay and drive along there. I wanted to see what the water looked like, or which neighbors were planting new gardens, or what was in bloom. I always allowed plenty of time to get to work each morning. Now it is necessary for me to do some things at the same time each day, like taking medication, or eating somewhere near the same times (though I often forget to eat and it runs late). But for the most part, I can do as I please when I please.

2. I can sleep in if I like. Strange. All my life I've been a morning person. I still am, up to a point. I do all my chores or shopping early, and by noon I'm ready to sit down and relax. But these days I find I sometimes want to sleep as late as 8: some mornings.

3. People hold doors for me! And salespeople often go find what I'm looking for while I wait by the counter. White hair and a cane seem to inspire courtesy.

4. There are some Senior Discounts. Not a lot, simply because I don't buy much very often, but occasionally I run into them.

5. People don't expect as much of me. That can really go on either list, because it can be a bit insulting. But it can also be nice if I don't feel like giving much of myself at some particular time.

6. I can speak my mind. Not that I haven't done that most of my life, but now I can get away with it more often without repercussions.

7. I have time to blog - or whatever I feel like doing. Or doing nothing at all.

8. I am no longer responsible for anyone else, day to day. We all have responsibilities for others all our lives of course, just because we are here on this earth along with them. But I no longer have to cook or sew or wipe noses or write notes to teachers, or deal with teen-age angst. I miss that sometimes. But mostly - not so much.

9. I don't have to answer to anyone. I would give anything if my husband were still here to answer to. But that aside, I no longer have an employer, and that is all good.

10. I still have a grandchild young enough to be pure joy as I watch his development and share his excitement of the discovery of the whole, wide world around him. He lives 3000 miles away of course, which is a huge disadvantage, but I am fortunate enough to have a daughter who keeps me well informed about his doings and sends many pictures on a regular basis, and encourages him to talk to me on the phone.


Well, that is ten. And at this point, as my life is winding down, my favorite thing is remembering. I have been very fortunate all of my life. It has always been very full of love and happiness, and many good people.The best of all, my husband, Ralph. I could not have asked for more.

So, I guess I'll stay around a little longer and enjoy it. Whenever the good Lord wants me, I'll be glad to go, but until then, I'll try not to turn into a crabby old lady. I'll keep on keeping on, as they say, and I know one of the most important things to keep me happy will be my blogging friends. So - thanks.

Once upon a time...Part II

I think maybe I owe a debt of gratitude to my daughter for suggesting I start getting back to telling stories of my life. I have been feeling inundated with political hoopla. and I have been a part of it. Definitely time for a break!

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When we left my story, I had just agreed to move to New York's Long Island with an old high school friend. When I hung up the phone, it came rushing into my mind - how would my mother take this? Would she be able to keep the apartment and take care of her needs without me? (Many years later, when my son soberly told me that he wanted to move out, and would I be able to handle things without him?, I would remember this day, and have to fight to keep from laughing in his face.) When I broke the news to my mother, her first words were, "You're not taking the TV, are you?" So much for my concern.

My friend's mom drove us to Long Island and let us go apartment hunting. It was surprisingly easy. That done, we went home to pack. She drove us back with a small U-Haul to move in.

My friend had a boyfriend who lived in Brooklyn, and she had been to New York many times. I knew no one and nothing. Didn't even know how to start looking for a job. Since I had been working for some time in a Philadelphia hospital, it seemed logical to start by applying at the nearest hospital there. I found a low-paying, going-nowhere job in their Admitting Department. It would pay the rent until I could find something else.

I continued working at the hospital for a little over a month. It was pleasant enough, but since it was a Catholic hospital, I was working with the nuns. I never had any contact with other staff nor with patients, so it didn't offer any social life for me. That was taken care of with a couple of men from Philly who made the trip to see me, and by a seemingly endless stream of roommate's BF's co-workers and clients he insisted on bringing to meet me - each one worse than the last. But one morning I missed my bus to work, and had to call a cab. The cab driver was a college guy, and we got along very well. Didn't have to ride the bus any longer. He then introduced me to his sister, who was pregnant and therefore leaving her job. She took me to meet her boss - a local dentist. I got the job.

Through my work as a Dental Assistant, I met my future husband, and a year later we married. I'm sure I have covered that story before in earlier posts. But until then, I really enjoyed working for the doctor. He had another office in Manhattan where he worked two days and some nights during the week. The other three days and a half day on Saturday, I assisted at the chair. The rest of the time I developed X-rays, kept the lab clean, made appointments, and sent out bills, but it was a real pleasure to have the place to myself most of the time. I would lock the door at lunch time, and eat in the waiting room to the accompaniment of the radio. The office was just down the street from our apartment - and later, when I moved out on my own, it was still not far away.

After our marriage, I was a stay-at-home housewife, and 14 months later, a mom. That is the way it remained for the next twenty years, except for a brief foray as a Tupperware dealer when Ralph had his first heart attack.

Two years after Ralph's death, we moved from Long Island to Cape May County, New Jersey, near my mother and sister. And then the job search began once again.

It had been a long time, and I wasn't really ready to plunge into the working world again. I was still in a rather zombie like state, unwilling to accept the idea that my husband was not coming back. I was still going through the motions of daily living, without fully participating in it. That took me a long time. But I decided I needed to find at least a part time job. I found one. Just a few hours a day, in a Foto Booth. Do you remember them? Pre-digital days. The kiosk was in the local shopping center parking lot. I've always been crazy about photography, and it wasn't a very demanding sort of job. Why not? I enjoyed it. I got to look at everybody's pictures. And - best of all - that is where I met Wyetta. We quickly found we had a great deal in common. And she was as much of a photo nut as I was. Her kids were about the ages of mine, and that is always a great thing among friends. We made many a trek to the Point, or to Leaming's Run, or any place we could find where we enjoyed taking pictures and just soaking up the beauty of nature, sometimes just the two of us, sometimes with the kids. I was even able to set up a dark room of sorts at home. Good times.

Well, eventually the time came when I felt a real need to find a full time job. One of the regular patrons of the Foto Booth was a township cop, and he suggested that I apply for a job with the township. The pay wasn't anything wonderful, but the benefits were, and that mattered to me, since I still had two of the girls at home. Hospitalization as well as generous vacation time and personal days were very important to me. The hours were ideal with one still in grade school. And I lived only a half mile away, which was also extremely important since I cannot see to drive at night. I took a Civil Service Exam, came out at the top of the list, and got myself a job in the Land Use Department. By the time my youngest was 18 and the Survivor Benefits ran out, my salary at the township had increased enough to allow us to do just fine, thank you. A long, long way from the $32.50 a week that was the starting salary in 1950!

I worked for the township for 18 years. I could write a book about that alone. I don't think I want to. I retired eight years ago, and wouldn't go back for any amount of money!

And there you have it - the history of my employment. Hope you enjoyed it, Kitty. It may not have been all you anticipated. If anyone made it all the way to the bitter end - well, you were very brave. I'd like to end with "happily ever after", but "ever" hasn't arrived yet, and I guess "happily" is relative. But - I'm almost there.

More About Wyetta

I haven't written about my friend, Wyetta, since last March. You may remember, at that time she was on a respirator and spent her days lying in bed, unable to speak.

Wyetta is still in the convalescent home, but she has come a long, long way toward the day when she will come home. She has had set backs along the way. She had one recently, and it has her a bit discouraged. But she has been off the respirator for a long time. She has a trach, and can now talk. We have even had a couple of phone conversations!

It's been a long, hot summer, which has kept me at home most of the time. So, once again, I haven't been seeing her very often. But now we do have the phone, and of course, letters. Wyetta is out of bed, in her wheel chair, doing physical therapy, eating in the dining room and participating in social activities. When I call her, most of the time I get no answer because she's busy elsewhere - and that's a good thing! She has actually been able to stand on her feet for short periods of time.






The day will come when she goes home. After a recent short bout with pneumonia, she was feeling down, and worrying that she might not make it home, because she still requires so much care. But she will make it. - I know she will.

Wyetta

I miss visiting with Wyetta. I miss our talks, sitting at her kitchen table. We would talk about literature, art, travel, religion, gardening, the environment, our children, the general state of the world, our memories from childhood, photography. I'd often bring photos to show her. Except for my husband, I found I had more in common with Wyetta than with anyone else in this world. We share an outlook on life.

We have known one another for more than thirty years. In "the good old days" we spent many hours together - often with our children as well - always with cameras in hand, roaming the beautiful Jersey shore, fields and forests.

I don't see Wyetta often these days. For many months we never saw one another at all. I wrote to her, but she couldn't write back. It wasn't a very satisfactory arrangement. For well over a year now, Wyetta has been in hospitals or nursing homes. Today she finds herself in a convalescent facility within an hour's drive of my home, and every couple of weeks I manage a visit.

It's usually early morning when I start up the Parkway. I pull into one of the parking areas, hoping against hope to find an empty space somewhere near the rear door of the building. Sometimes I get lucky. It's a long walk down the hallway, no matter how close the parking. I don't do long walks very well these days. It's a very cheery building though. Lots of windows looking out onto pleasant landscaping. Several large community areas with comfortable seating and big screen TV's. Best of all, the staff is always smiling and friendly, from the men mopping the floors and the young women who change the bed linen, through the nurses and therapists. All are courteous and ready to help either patients or visitors.

Wyetta's room is near the end of the corridor, in the respiratory unit. Her face always lights up when she sees me. It's a little difficult to give her a hug and kiss. The trach gets in the way. But we manage. I usually bring her fresh fruit. She claims the food is terrible, and sometimes her breakfast tray is still in the room, untouched. She makes short work of an apple or a bunch of grapes. We'll chat for a while. Well, I chat. She mouths the words while I try to read her lips. At least once or twice during the visit she'll tell me, "I want to go home!" When I took her a picture of her house, she held it and stared at it for a long time. I took her a picture of herself that I had put onto the cover of Vogue, through magmypic.com. She got a kick out of that one. I asked if she thought her daughters might enjoy being put on a magazine cover. She told me "Ebony", but magmypic doesn't offer that one.

I don't stay too long with her. She tires easily. So it's another hug, and I say good-bye til next time. Wyetta is such a beautiful person. I am very fortunate to have her in my life.