Year in Review 2024…and an Ending

 

For a while I have been finding it difficult to get myself to this blog. I will write entire things out in my journal that I think I want to share, but somehow I never get to the blog. I feel an aversion.

On Saturday I had an epiphany. This blog I began in spring of 2017 has run its course. The life I had then and subsequent years is gone. Not just that. 2024, with my commitment to write every day (although not achieved) seemed to cap the entire experience. The trauma, drama, agonies, and difficulties of 2024 lay heavy in this blog.

Time for a fresh start. 

One of the things I've avoided doing is the Year in Review in Photos that usually I'd do on or about January 1st. I decided if I am going to end this blog, I need to do it with the Year in Review.

I will be introducing my new blog, which is already named and set up, very soon. Meanwhile, enjoy my walk through the joyful parts of 2024 that are worth remembering. The tragedies loom so large that it is good to remember it wasn't all doom and gloom. 

YEAR IN REVIEW 2024

Feeling Connected

Kara and I visit the Butterfly House

In January, Kara and I made our first visit to the Peace River Botanical & Sculpture Gardens. On a gorgeous day, we studied sculptures and plants and works of art and butterflies. It included a boardwalk out to the river where there was a gathering of loons migrating through. It is a simply amazing place, and I hope to get back there very soon.

Moments with Loved Ones

The captions under these pictures tell the story. I am grateful for every moment with friends and family.

Iris and I met at Copperhead Books. November

Amy and I dined at Lan Xang. August

With Braydon as he tried black grouper!

With Scott at Salty Papa's Shrimp

Seeing Hamilton with Pam--May

Feeling Hopeful

In early August Jim was moved to a rehab facility, where we believed he would build up strength to come home. There were many setbacks right from the start. But on the day this picture was taken, there was hope in the air. He had asked me to bring his razor, and he trimmed his beard. He looked so good, I took a picture.  A few months later I looked at this picture and saw the intensity of his blue eyes, and how closely he was looking at me.  A day or two later he would get COVID, and his decline would begin in earnest. I see this picture and I think of that last day I held out legitimate hope that he would come home and we'd be together again.

Highlight of the Year

Without a doubt, the day that marked one of my highest moments was the gathering on November 9th to remember Jim. After years of watching him decline, it was absolutely wonderful to hear all the memories over the last 40 years when he was young and vibrant and we interacted on a regular basis with family and friends. I had no idea this celebration of his life would lift me like it did. I have written about it previously and posted the pictures, but I am posting them again so they are part of this record. 

One of the things I will remember most about this day was when Scott said the ceremony made him realize he is more like his dad than he ever thought. 

Susan and Natalie were lighthearted in comments

Stacy provide moving memories

CLMS always shows up for me. GRATEFUL

Makes Me Smile

After Jim passed, I rejoined Iona-Hope Episcopal and made fast friends through various activities. Trish is by far one of my favorites of all my new buddies. We sat together at the Christmas dinner and she taught me how to do the Princess Diana look for the camera to eliminate a double chin. Her advice: head down, roll eyes up. Here we are doing our best Diana.

Meaningful Moment

Christmas morning I took a remembrance of Jim to Bunche Beach and left him in a meaningful place. He is now in one of his favorite places: out in the Gulf with the sky and the birds and the underwater animals. It is so much better than a graveyard!

Feeling Connected, Part Two

Jim and I ended up having several weeks apart. The entire time I was in the hospital and separated from him and just wanted to be with him to hold his hand. I kept thinking we had so little time left together, and honestly, I was afraid I'd never hold his hand again if I didn't get out of there. He was going through so much and no one was there to comfort him. It was heartbreaking for me.

When I got home, the very first thing I did was get to the rehab center, and then I just sat and held his hand. I am so grateful I had the foresight to take this photo. It means the world to me. It represents every day together, how we were always there for each other, even from afar. But, of course, this physical contact was way better. If anything represents 2024 it is this. 

Meeting in Punta Gorda: a nonet

 

Seeing each other after three years

Three not so easy years, but this

meeting again, time collapsed

There was joy and laughter

and plenty of tears

We have Common

Boundary

Deep ties

Love

Look at You

 

Look at you

 in Canyon De Chelly, 1986

You liked that tree

And asked me to take this picture

It was a trip of discovery 

We went with an idea in mind

Of the places we would visit

And it became so much more

This canyon and Walnut Creek Canyon

And Oak Creek Canyon

And even Sedona, which wasn’t a “thing” at the time

This was a reverse honeymoon

As we didn’t have plans to marry

But then we did four months later

After Scott barely survived a motorcycle accident

Everything about life takes twists and turns

Accidents and recommendations 

Then encountering a tree

And photographing the moment.

Like a Rainbow in the Desert

 Journal entry

Even when the loss of a loved one comes after a long illness…we must step over into a new country. The colors are different, the air has a different feel, and the sounds have a different echo than they did before…And we learn the colors and sounds of this new world, and after a while it becomes our world.

From Healing After Loss

I am feeling this. For a while, I kept seeing this place as “our home,“ but slowly that has changed. It is now feeling like “my home.” My first step in this was putting away the toaster that only Jim used, and then I changed up the sideboard. There is more to do.

My morning pace is much the same, but my days are quite different.

Kara sent me a card and wrote a gorgeous message in it. She said:

Jim is always with you and your heart, cheering you on from up above. I know he’s proud of you and still loving you with the essence of his being.

To this, I say yes yes yes!

Much of what I feel now is what I felt when I got divorced – – feeling my way through, figuring things out, making the evening mine and in a way that feeds me. And at that time, I had a solid grip on who I was becoming, and had entered the adventure willingly.

Although I didn’t enter this part of my life willingly, I knew it was coming, so all I can do is embrace it. The alternative is just too glum to think about. I can pace things out in a way that works for me.

So I set small goals for the week, and I break those up into the days. Little by little everything that needs to get done gets done. I really have nothing but time at this point.

Today I came across the coloring page that I posted above, and that motivated the title of this blog post. I recognize this place as Monument Valley, a place Jim and I visited in 1986. What we saw there was a dust storm, but also a lot of beauty. I have entered a new country, but there is always a rainbow above me and as I’ve said before, I have mighty helpers surrounding me. I don’t take any of this for granted. And I know that my strength comes from everything that Jim gave me starting over 40 years ago. I couldn’t be more thankful.

Jim in Monument Valley with dust devils in distance 

Many movies made here. Wagon is from a John Wayne film.

Pic Collage 1988-90

 

DEDICATION

We loved visiting the Southwest, and enjoyed this trip to Arizona. At the time I owned a Money Mailer franchise, and their 1988 annual conference was there. We took a harrowing Jeep ride into the desert with a guy named Charlie, and had an incredible hayride under the vast desert starry sky.

FRIENDSHIP

One of the best things about being friends is that we like many of the same things. In December 1989 Money Mailer had their conference on Marco Island, back when it was a bit wild and wooly. During this trip we also visited the Everglades and then on to Orlando to see family. We had to visit our favorite park as well— Epcot Center. It was this trip that helped me learn I liked the southwest part of Florida best, compared to the other places we’d been. Later, it would help us make the decision to come to Fort Myers.

UNCONDITIONAL LOVE

Christmas morning 1990 with our Black Lab, B.J. I’m going to share here what I wrote to Jim on the frame:

“Traditions aren’t supposed to come and go…but unfortunately this one did. Every Christmas we have a picture of B.J. opening his dog biscuits. Remember how they would be wrapped under the tree and he’d go by and sniff them, but never open them? This was the last Christmas in our old home, and our last Christmas with the Beej. Boy, do I miss him still”

Pic Collage 1982-84

I originally planned to do this series of posts last spring. After realizing I need to focus back to the happy times, and put aside the sad memories of this year, I decided to move forward on this idea.

The year 1993 was a life-changer for Jim and me. That June, a disc in his back blew out and he had to have surgery. This created a precarious situation. We had just built a new house two years prior, and we relied heavily on his income. He ended up on disability, and many things about our lives were forced to change.

This year reminded me a bit of 1993. I had to pull myself together in ways I never had to before. I had to live with underlying fear of where things were heading.

That Christmas we did not have the funds we typically had to spoil each other. I decided to go meaningful, and created a picture collage of photos I felt represented our years together to date. On the back I assigned a word that applied to each picture, and a little note on why.

Today I share the first three years. In subsequent posts I will share the rest.

CONFIDENCE

Jim took this photo of me standing on a large rock by Coe Lake which was behind my studio apartment. It was a beautiful autumn day in 1982, and I was feeling deeply confident about my life and direction. I note that confidence came from what Jim did for me when he came into my life. It’s amazing how we can get beaten down by others and not even know it until someone comes along and does the opposite.

HAPPINESS

This photo was taken by his sister Diane on my 28th birthday in 1983. Our first year together was full of all the happiness I could possibly imagine. We were making plans and setting a direction together. It was wonderful to have a partner like Jim. 

FUN

I have already written about the summer of 1984 on this blog on June 7. This was the first year of my life I felt good enough about myself and my body to wear a bikini! We had lots of weekend parties, and I learned to golf. I was succeeding at my job. It remains in my mind a very positive and exciting time.

Friday Afternoon Think Aloud

This week, my spirits have been very good. It isn’t that I haven’t cried – – I’ve done plenty of that.

I’m sleeping well, taking care of myself, eating well, healing well, reading a lot, and getting a ton of things done.

When things go awry, I’m finding I don’t get stressed and anxious like I did even just a couple weeks ago. I don’t overblow things in my head like I think I have for a long time. I have a renewed sense of “everything will work out.”

The images of Jim being ill seem to be minimizing. In retrospect, it has become clear to me that ever since his stroke in 2020 it was a long downhill slide that just got worse and worse. This was confirmed to me when I went through this giant stack of papers he had on his side of the bedroom. As I went back through the stack, I saw that the oldest ones were from 2020. That stroke probably did more damage than we realized.

So this afternoon, I started thinking about what the difference is now. Sometimes I wonder why I’m not feeling worse. I’m in grief. I have a million things to do, tons of stuff to figure out, and things I’ve taken on that I need to follow through on. Why am I not as stressed as I have been for so long?

And then I realized something very important. The major difference between now and before Jim made his transition is that I had to keep seeing him getting worse, in pain, uncomfortable.. I can see now what a huge stress that was on me. There was a lot of fear associated with it that never went away. And as things kept sliding downhill, and then I got ill, damn, it was just so much.

The other night I watched the Townhall CNN did with Kamala Harris. And there was a part late in the session where she was asked about her proposal to have Medicare pay for Home Healthcare (something I know is needed—it’s a huge issue). She talked poignantly about how when someone you love is sick and they pass away, you want to remember them when they were vibrant and alive, and not like they were at the end. 

It hit me in that moment how much I kept thinking about Jim the way he was these past few months. This last year, really. This was not pleasant, and the images kept popping up and making me sad. Understanding this has helped a lot. So now I’m doing my best just to remember him before the 2020s. It feels so long ago because, well, it was!

I feel I’m doing all the right things, and I believe everything will get done in time. As Annmarie pointed out to me recently, that’s all I can do. The next right thing.

Singing with the Elvis mic at Sun Studios 2014

Intention

 

Journal Entry 8.2.24

Today I was to be starting year 21 of my teaching life -- my planned final year.

Life has had other plans for me, and as the summer ends for all my teacher friends, today I feel it's beginning for me.

My accident, injuries, and Jim's health have been all-consuming. I've watched as friends took magnificent trips to the top of the Andes in Peru to zip-lining in Puerto Rico. The idea of any of these things seems far away and unrelatable to me right now.

As does teaching. Simply no way my brain can go there.

Today, however, still promotes an inner shift. I looked back at a quote I had saved in my photos for inspiration, and came upon this:

 

It's rare to hear the name Wayne Dyer these days, but there was a time he was everywhere. His popular psychology was easy to understand and he was personable and approachable. He produced books and appeared on Oprah and had his own shows on PBS stations. He was a friend of my minister when I was attending Unity of Greater Cleveland, and he spoke to our congregation more than once. I have two books autographed by him: Real Magic and Your Sacred Self. These books were guides for me in my late thirties.

Today I got curious about something I remembered I found highly inspiring and life-altering in one of his books. Back in the day, I had returned to it over and over again. I couldn't recall exactly what it was, but it was easy to find because I had kept a bookmark on the page, the number being circled and the quote highlighted:

The secret to changing your life is in your intention. (Real Magic p. 76)

When I read this over thirty years ago, I remember how it transformed my view of what was possible -- and how it is always up to me to make the most of any situation.

For weeks now -- probably months -- I have not thought much about my intentions for myself -- at least not in those terms. I've let Jim's health and other circumstances run the engine. If I had any intentions, it was related to teaching and how I was going to address the course I've responsible for teaching in a new way. As of now, that's not happening.

But I have not replaced with any other intentions. When teaching was ripped away, I had no replacement.

Today I realize it's time to think beyond the immediate. I'm in a place in my healing that I feel it's possible.

I've said over and over these past few weeks that everything feels like a big question mark. Now I think that perhaps with considering what my real intention might be, I can move away from question marks a to periods, or maybe even exclamation points. Wouldn't that be something!!!

I know I cannot rush my healing. I know I cannot predict what will happen with Jim. But I feel there is some kind of intention I can put into place that will empower me a bit.

It has to be just right, because times are tender. I don't know what it is yet.

My intention is to find out. And as the quote above says, I need to do it in the context of what life currently is. That is the only way I can do this in a way that will bring peace.

I have never understood…

 …the allure of Pink Floyd.

This band seems to be popping up a lot lately. I saw a list of the top six classic rock bands, and I agreed with all of them, but Floyd. I saw an elderly woman (anyone older than me is elderly haha) wearing a Pink Floyd shirt. And then yesterday I heard a song of theirs called “Fearless” on the radio. 

My friends and I never listened to Floyd. It always felt like background music for people that liked to get seriously high. To me, the band has no personality. You think of The Rolling Stones or Led Zeppelin, and they exude personality. The members make an impression.

Meanwhile, I couldn’t pick Roger Waters out of a line-up and I don’t even know the other band members’ names.

Am I to assume that people still listening to a Floyd still like to get seriously high? 

The only memory I hold of listening to Pink Floyd was in the spring of 1975. I was going to a computer school, and we had to write codes, type them on punch cards, and run them through a computer that was so large it filled a room. The school only had one computer, so when the end of the quarter came, everyone was vying for computer time to be sure their program ran efficiently. It was our “final.”

Our young teacher, Gary, decided we should spend a Friday night in the gloomy building downtown Cleveland so we had total access to the computer ourselves. We weren’t required to come, but he made it like a party. Lots of snacks. And a record player.

Gary was always competing with the other teachers to prove we were the smartest. 

Someone had brought a Pink Floyd album, and that is the only time I listened to Dark Side of the Moon in its entirety. It really fit with being on the second floor of a grungy building at 2 o’clock in the morning, Euclid Avenue below being fairly devoid of traffic, and the streetlights shining through dirty windows. (In the 1970s, no one went to Cleveland at night.)  In that atmosphere, I thought the music as pretty good. However, I never bothered to listen again, not even when it was rumored you could put it on and watch The Wizard of Oz and it was a perfect soundtrack.

So yeah, all these years later I still do not get the allure. I do, however, like the cover.  It’s pretty darn cool.

most amazing

When I was in high school, I loved the poet e.e. cummings. It wasn’t just his poetry, but his breaking of grammar rules. He was the first one to make me feel like there could be a freedom in expression that was not something I was taught. I tended to sign my name in lower case. 

This particular cummings poem is my favorite. It takes me back to the summer of 1998 when I was in grief over the loss of my father. I was still a sponsor for Youth of Unity and went to my final annual conference in Kansas City, Missouri with three of our members. This poem was on the back of the program booklet.

This poem reminds me that even with our small little deaths, there is always new life. It reminds me to look and really see. It reminds me that gratitude is always possible.

In this weird summer of health issues and terrifying incidents and uncertain future, e.e.cummings points the way back to amazement and grace. I am grateful.

That Moment the Perfect Song Comes On

I’m in the kitchen making shrimp and setting up coffee

It’s Friday evening after a tough week

So many dead ends and roadblocks

My husband in the hospital

I’m listening to what Apple Music calls

“Helen’s Station”

A curation of songs based on my listening habits

And Stevie Wonder’s song

“Don’t You Worry ‘Bout a Thing”

Began to play

And I felt small movements in my injured body

And I began to sing along, happily

Honestly one of the best moments of the week

And happiest

Even though I was alone

It is astounding to think Stevie was all of 

23-years-old when he released the Innervisions

Album in August 1973

It is funky, inspiring, political, and spiritual

Every single song its own tiny masterpiece

Apple named it in Top 100 of all time

And rightfully so

I have used songs from it over the years in the classroom

Because when it comes to musical artists

I always want my kids to know Stevie Wonder

This music has been with me for over fifty years

And today one song made a huge impact 

Because it truly was the message I needed to hear

And so damn JOYFUL!

 

“There we were, where we are..”

 Journal Entry today

The only thing I wanted to listen to today was James Taylor's Hourglass album from 1997. As I listened, I journaled about what was arising in me.

By the second song the tears were flowing. The chorus of "Enough to Be On Your Way" hits me every time:

It's enough to be on your way

It's enough just to cover ground

It's enough to be moving on

Home--build it behind your eyes

Carry it in your heart

Safe among your own.

What I love about this song is that it seems to be about anything you need it to be. Something about it reaches deep inside me, even now, 27 years later. It was the summer I was waiting to have surgery for what they told me was ovarian cancer, and the whole world felt lit up and healing was within reach. Albums like this one and Sarah MacLachlan's Surfacing helped me through those July days. In fact, I even had Jim bring a CD player to the hospital so I could listen in my room. The power in the music was what I needed at that time, and has been with me ever since. I want to highlight a few of the songs here.

 

"Enough to Be On Your Way" has one of the best lyrics I have ever heard. The song is a narrative about a friend who went missing out west with some Buddhists. The story is both abstract and concrete. My favorite lines from the song come at the end:

He woke me up on a Sunday

An hour before the sun

It had me watchin' the headlights

Out on Highway Five, Nine, One

'Till I stepped into my trousers

'Till I pulled my big boots on

I walked out on the mesa

And I stumbled on this song

 

I just love the imagery of James walking out on the mesa at dawn and finding this song. It is beyond beautiful. Listen here:

I always feel that summer led me to the revelation in November that I wanted to become a teacher. It was like preparing the ground for me.

Likewise, I feel the same this summer -- the health situation with Jim and myself -- is leading me somewhere I cannot see. I sense the end of my career as a public school teacher even though in many ways I'd love to have one final year. It may or may not happen.

Another song that was a favorite is called "Another Day," with lyrics:

Another day

Another chance that we may finally find our way

The sun has begun to melt all our fears away

Another day

Overcoming fear is definitely a theme in this album, as I am just recognizing now. I can see why it was so relevant to me with the cancer scare hanging over me back then.

The song "Up from Your Life" acknowledges that we may often find it hard to get out of our own way. I distinctly remember a moment of my life with this song. It was in the fall when I was falling into depression, and had spent the early hours sunk in my own gloom. I finally pulled myself out of the house to go for a walk in the woods. I started the car and the cassette began to play:

So much for your moment of prayer,

God's not at home 

there is no there, there...

Though I hate to see you surrender,

you need to surrender,

we must find you a way to

Look up from your life

Up from your life

Look up from your life

I remember sitting in the garage laughing at myself for holding on to my own sadness instead of realizing what was available in the moment. I was way too caught up in myself! It was like James was poking fun at me. I heard the message loud and clear. 

 

And today it was the same. These are the words that tumbled out of me while I listened:

 

There is light

There is a way

Fear has no place

Expect the unexpected

 

Give a listen to this very special song.  Branford Marsalis on the sax is stunning!

So those were the songs from 1997 that had me in their grip. So why did I need to listen today?

To discover this one: "Up Er Mei." This is another one that has a lot of abstraction, and today that spoke fully to me. I will need to spend more time with these lyrics to see what they hold for me, so I am adding it to my Emerge Playlist for 2024. By the way, Mount Er Mei is a mountain in China and is the location of a Buddhist temple build in 1st century CE. (Link below) I never even bothered to look this up until today.

Anyway, back to the lyrics: 

We were walking in paradise, never did tumble.

Blind in the Buddha land, looking for trouble

We had been told of a place far beyond this vale of tears

We could never have guessed, we were already blessed

There we were, where we are,

in the garden

in the garden.

 

Seems like words to hang onto! I'll keep you posted if I discover anything new.

 

Listen to lyric video below: 

Mount Er Mei

 

In Dreams (for Dad’s 95th)

Today would be my dad’s 95th birthday, and coincidentally I came across some items related to him this week that were of interest…some I remembered, some I had forgotten.

I have been working through purging a lot of things, and the journals and notebooks I have stockpiled here were a good starting point. This brought me to a journal I started in 2006 I designated as a “synchronicity” journal. I believe it was a gift from my friend Pam, or perhaps just the idea was hers.

The journal begins by detailing events that seem to synchronize together, but very quickly that focus drops off. Apparently, then I started going through one of my morning journals from 1993 looking for important things to write down. That is when I came across these notations:

My dad said to me “You are a strong presence in our family.” February 1, 1993

My dad tells me that Richie, Uncle Frank, his dad, and Grandma Maslyk came to him in his dreams. February 3, 1993

 I really do not remember him telling me these things, or why he did. What were we talking about that would have prompted these statements? Were we alone, or were others present? I really don’t know.

The journal then changes directions to documenting a meditation practice I had. The two notations above are the only things worth keeping. 

Then I came across this little velvet book.

The book is small, 4” x 6” and I’m sure I used to carry it with me. (My father was also a carrier of small notebooks.) It has a lot of quotes and notations to start it off, some little drawings, and comments my friend Carol made when we’d walk in the Cuyahoga Valley. A few items do include dates, all in 1997. 

Then it shifts to 1998 with these three notes. These are already seared in my memory:

A butterfly erratically flew into me while I walked in the woods the morning of the day my father died.

“Helen, I am taking instructions from the Big Guy and His Holy Host of Angels.” (This was 2 hours before he passed on May 31, 1998)

“Will you come to the park and talk to me, that pretty little park in Lakewood.” (My father speaking to me in a vivid dream in the early hours of June 13, 1998)

I have clear memories of all three of these.They are always with me.

I’ve decided to keep the velvet book, and I have moved the quotes from the first journal into it. I want to continue to put little quotes and important things to remember in this velvet book, because a long time ago I made a good start, and now I want to keep it going. I plan on writing more on this blog about the other treasures found in the velvet book.

**

I went looking for a picture of my dad from 1993, and there were only a couple. I decided to include this one from the Christmas season with his granddaughters Emily, Kim, Cheryl, and Kate.

Happy Birthday, Dad. We love and miss you. Thanks for sending messages my way, in all the forms they take.

I go back to June 1994…

I’m reading a novel called Factory Girls that begins in June 1994 in Northern Ireland. Since the chapters are the dates of the events in the book, it caused me to think of where I was in June 1994. I realized it was our second visit to the cabin in North Carolina, the one built and owned by Jim’s Aunt Joanne and Uncle Dick. Eventually it would become a home away from home, a real sanctuary. But this was just the second visit.

At this time of year, wild rhododendrons bloom in the Blue Ridge mountains, and Roan Mountain in Tennessee is most famous for these flowering bushes. Every year on this weekend they have a festival, and this is where we went that June weekend in 1994. Roan Mountain was about 90 minutes or so from Ashe Country, so it made a nice day trip.

The walk through the woods and up the mountain was not terribly difficult, although I’m sure Joanne and Dick didn’t climb to the top as Jim and I did. At the time I had a nice Minolta camera, and tried my best to photograph the flowers, but it seemed hard to get results. I think the day had leaned toward rain and haze, so the clarity wasn’t there.

Eventually, Jim and I got to the top and I took this picture. It was the only one that had any clarity of the sky and the valley below. 

All in all, it is a pleasant memory—a day spent with people I deeply love. I became closer to Joanne and Dick as the years went on, closer than I was to any of my aunts and uncles. I bless the day they came into my life because it made it so much richer.

 http://www.roanmountain.com/rhododendron-festival/

The Way I Remember You

 Dear Wayne,

Yesterday I unexpectedly found this photo of you I did not even remember existed.

 It’s from June 1994.

You are holding Danny’s daughter Heather.

I showed your dad. He looked at you a long time, but had no words.

I am aware I have not written about you, memories and all.

Still so difficult knowing you’re gone. 

So this is a step.

For you, my son.

Monday Morning Gratitudes

 First…the sunrise today.

I am grateful for all the friends who reached out this weekend. Thank you X a million.

I am grateful we are starting to get a handle on what we will do in case of a hurricane. That has been a relief.

I am grateful Jim woke up feeling better. The last few days were rough from the chemo, but he seems to have recovered. 😊

I am grateful my energy has returned and I’m getting things done around here. I’m taking it easy on myself, and am committed to doing things at a pace that works for me.

Along with that thought, I have decided to abandon reading One Hundred Years of Solitude. There are just too many other books I think I will enjoy more. Going to get on with that! Grateful for so many books! 

Seven years ago today is when I had one of my favorite concert experiences in a Tennessee cave called The Bluegrass Underground. I am grateful for the times Jim and I had traveling to places that matter to us. Nothing will ever take away those memories.

I go back to the summer of 1984…

It started quite by accident. The movie Footloose is on Netflix, and since I had never seen it, I decided to watch. It took me back to the time when nearly every song on the soundtrack was a big hit, there was no internet or compact discs in our world. Boomboxes with cassettes were prominent in the movie.

Then June 4 came, and I heard it was the anniversary of the release of the album Born in the U.S.A. by Bruce Springsteen. That was all it took. 1984 had a hold on me!

It was my first summer living with Jim at his house in Macedonia, Ohio, halfway between Cleveland and Akron. The home had three quarters of an acre of land and an above ground swimming pool. It was a great place for entertaining.

The Springsteen album was our standard background music. The house was a split level, and we could put the stereo speakers in the windows and blast it outside. I know there was plenty of other music we played, but this album is the one I remember best. 

This essay isn’t about the album so much as remembering the people and a couple of events the summer I was turning 29. I dug out a few pictures I have that represent summer weekends at our home, and a couple other related items.

First, check out my office at Freeman Manufacturing where I was the credit and collections manager. The picture was rather dark and taken with a crappy camera, so I adjusted as best I could. I got a real kick out of the seeing the computer. What a lunky box!

I had a couple of friends at work —Jeannie and Arlene—and one Saturday they came and hung out at the pool.

On the 4th of July we had a pool party for friends. It was mostly people from our work places with others sprinkled in. The weather wasn’t super, but the pool volleyball happened anyway.

On my 29th birthday, my friends from work took me to a bar/restaurant called Pickle Bills which was on the Cuyahoga River in the Flats, an up and coming entertainment area. At the time, singing telegrams were popular, and my friends paid to have some Tarzan guy come and sing to me and tell jokes. It was crazy fun, although frankly, he was a tad creepy. (Jim and I had celebrated over the weekend because he played golf on Mondays.)

To finish off this little walk down memory lane, I’m including a video of the Springsteen song from the 1984 album that has stood the test of time with me. I won’t say the summer days of 1984 were exactly “glory days,” but they did represent a certain time in my life where I was enjoying the results of decisions I had made a couple years earlier. Everything felt new and exciting, and so in that aspect, there was a touch of glory!