Memorable Teachers

I think we can all look back and think fondly (or not so fondly) on some of the teachers that had the incredible job of cramming information, morals, and life lessons in our busy youthful brains. I think being a teacher is a very noble occupation that has the ability to either lift you up or crush you into the ground. It's not a job for everyone.

I moved. A lot. In all, I went to 11 schools in 13 years (we had grade 13 in Ontario at the time). So it's a little hard to get attached to teachers because I usually was gone by the time I got relaxed. But I did have a few that made an impression on me.

My first memorable teacher was my art teacher in grade 6 at Palm Beach Elementary. For the life of me I can't remember her name but I can picture her like it was yesterday. She was actually not well liked, she was elderly and cranky. I think she was a little burnt out and just waiting for retirement. She didn't make my life easy when, on my first day at the new school, mentioned that she had been a friend of my mother's long ago and hadn't seen me since I was this big. Yeah, that went over well at that ultra snobby school. But, she was my first art teacher and she sparked a life-long love affair with the arts. If it wasn't for her would I be a graphic designer now? She and my BFF Cindy were the only bright spots in that dismal, miserable, school.

At the same time I also had an art mentor. Behind the school was a little building that had after-school arts and craft activities. The lady that ran the place let me run loose and I became her little helper. Through her I learned how to make cool stuff like copper enameled jewelry. This was not your average 12 year old paint-by-number gig, I had a job, and I was learning cool adult art! Since I was underage she couldn't pay me so I was paid in art supplies. Can I say I was in heaven! I practically lived there when I wasn't outside playing tennis. Considering how horrible I was at tennis it's a good thing I chose art.

The next memorable teacher was at Westminster Elementary in Brockville. Mr. Edmunds. What can I say about the first male teacher I ever had. I was in LOVE. Heart pounding, 10 year old, fantasy-driven love, day in, day out. And, I can't remember anything else about that class. Ah, young love, it sure does muddle the mind.

Finally in grade 10 I settle down at Thousand Islands Secondary School in Brockville for the rest of my high school academic life. I had some pretty good, and a few not so pretty good teachers there, but two of the best stand out.

I loved home economics. I'm sad that it doesn't exist anymore and I was glad that it wasn't coed when I what there. Not that being coed is bad, but Mrs. Holmes really made that class interesting and we didn't always talk about food and sewing. First, I sucked at cooking then. Everything in my house was boil-in-bag (the precursor to microwaves), Kraft Dinner, or leftovers. My stepmother didn't really cook unless it was a special occasion and then her famous spaghetti or cabbage rolls would be cooking all day...sending aroma feelers out to her whole family who would mysteriously show up around dinner time. I almost lost my fingerprints rolling hundreds of hot cabbage rolls for her. The funny thing is we always had a lot of leftovers but I never remembered her cooking the original meal!

Anyway, I digress. They always taught us stupid things like baked Alaska in cooking class (one day I will make that again and succeed!) so I didn't do well during that portion. I always loved to sew so I enjoyed the sewing part. But truthfully I don't remember if Mrs. Holmes was really that good at teaching cooking or sewing. What she was good at was handing out advise to us girls. Girl stuff. Like how to buy a good bra, frank talks about our periods, and other body issues. Stuff that we were too embarrassed to talk to our mums about. Somehow she was approachable. She even took us on a tour of her newly renovated kitchen when we were studying interior design. I loved her class. She was kind and approachable, and that's why I was glad it wasn't a coed class. We could be girls and ask girl questions without feeling inferior or giggly like we were in sex-ed class.

I'ved save the best teacher for last. Mr. Gable, my art teacher at TISS. Mr. Gable was different than the other teachers. He was bohemian because he didn't wear a suit and tie like the other male teachers. He wore a jacket and turtleneck. In 1975 that was pretty rad. He taught me a lot about art. For a long time I wanted to be an art teacher just like him so he arranged for me and another student to teach art for the summer to middle school kids. That's when I discovered I really wasn't fond of the children part of being a teacher! In hindsight, I probably would have been a good high school art teacher but those 8th graders almost killed me. He showed me how to do a lesson plan that those kids destroyed in about 30 minutes. They didn't want to be there and I didn't realize that I would have to spend most of him time corralling and disciplining them instead of teaching art. We were all pretty miserable those 3 weeks.

I did have a life lesson moment with those kids though. The school board had arranged for field trip to the national gallery in Ottawa. We were sharing the bus with a group of special needs children. The bus picked us up first and when we arrived to pickup the other kids, mine started making all sorts of inappropriate comments when they saw who they were sharing a bus with. Before I could say anything, the driver turned around and told them to shut up. Apparently he was also their teacher. My kids sat in the back and his kids sat in the front of the bus the whole trip. At the museum we had to stick together and that's when I saw something wonderful bloom. My kids started interacting with the other kids and on the way home on the bus they all sat mingled together showing each other what they bought in the gift shop. It was a good moment.

My last year of high school I ended up being Mr. Gable's senior scholar, which was sort of a teacher's helper. You had to have a spare during the day and good enough grades in that subject to be one. Thank goodness it wasn't good grades across the board, because, trust me I would never have been a senior scholar in English or math.

A few years back I accidentally discovered him on the internet. I was reading the Globe and Mail online and happened to come across an editorial cartoon. I immediately recognized his cartoon style and sure enough the signature on the bottom said "Gable." I was so thrilled to find him again. I sent him an email asking if he remembered me and he replied back that he did. He asked if I was still in the arts and I said I was, which he was very happy to hear. We've not kept up any type of "Tuesdays with Morrie" type correspondence, just a few emails. But it was nice that he remembered me.

So there are the few teachers that I was fond of who made an impression on me. I did have others that were good teachers. I can say I had more good ones than bad ones. It's a noble profession that I thought I might do but in the end I wasn't cut out for it and I knew it. But sometimes I do dream of standing in front of a classroom ready to mold little minds.

Here is a list of schools that I attended to the best of my knowledge:

Kindergarten: Palm Beach Gardens Elementary, Palm Beach Gardens, Florida
Grade 1: A school in Boynton Beach, Florida (can't remember)
Grade 2: Toniata Elementary, Brockville, Ontario (half year) & Northboro Elementary (I think), West Palm Beach, Florida (half year)
Grade 3: Roosevelt Elementary, West Palm Beach, Florida (schools were segregated back then in Florida and  I was one of a handful of white kids at Roosevelt. I still remember my best friend, Shantel Mahoney.)
Grade 4:Wellington Elementary, Prescott, Ontario (for 1-2 month) & Westminster Elementary, Brockville, Ontario
Grade 5: Westminster Elementary, Brockville, Ontario
Grade 6: Palm Beach Elementary School, Palm Beach, Florida
Grade 7: Westminster Elementary, Brockville, Ontario
Grade 8: Palm Beach Jr. High, Palm Beach Florida
Grade 9: Rideau High School, Ottawa, Ontario
Grade 10-13: Thousand Islands Secondary School, Brockville, Ontario

Monument Valley and the Code Talkers

What can I say about Monument Valley? They’re just stupendous, wondrous, and well, darn right monumental. I really was pretty well speechless, all I could say was “wow” and “unbelievable”as we drove through So I will just let the photos do the explaining.









You drive your car through the valley and there are places to stop and see the views. At each one were Native Americans selling authentic Navajo jewelry. About the only thing authentic was that the people making them were Navajo, I had the same beads at home and made the same jewelry. Not that they were cheap or gaudy ( I bought a rather nice bracelet) but they weren’t that special. Bruce did buy a nice stone inlay knife that was indicative of Navajo work. I’m not big into turquoise, never been a fan, so there wasn’t much I was interested in. There were authentic Navajo art in some of the stores but they were out of my price range. The rugs were amazing but didn't fit our decor anyway.

I was talking to a Native Americans at one of the lookout sites and he told me that his family has lived in the valley for generations and one of the monuments was named after his grandfather who had been a code talker. He could tell me the history of his family practically back to the beginning of time. As a genealogist, I found that fascinating and could have talked to him for hours. Imagine knowing your history that far back and it’s was all verbal.

Oh a side note, the valley is on the Arizona Utah border and the time our cell phones kept flipping back and forth because Arizona isn’t on daylight savings time.

After leaving we drove into the town of Kayentafor a bite to eat and to visit the Code Talker Museum. Well even Miss Google Map screwed that up and we ended up in the suburbs and she had us pulling into someone's driveway! After figuring out where we had to go we realized we drove right past it. Thanks Miss Google Map.

It was a small little museum, a lot of photos and uniforms but it packed a powerful punch. Those men were so brave, battling the enemy out there and the prejudice within. It was sad that they were not allowed to talk about what they had done until 1968. They didn't even get any medals until 2000. It was sad that people didn’t know that the US would probably have lost the Pacific war if it hadn’t of been for those brave men.

“At the Battle of Iwo Jima, Major Howard Connor, 5th Marine Division signal officer, had six Navajo code talkers working around the clock during the first two days of the battle. These six sent and received over 800 messages, all without error. Connor later stated, "Were it not for the Navajos, the Marines would never have taken Iwo Jima.”1

We were in there for maybe 15 minutes and then I went out to the gift store to buy some books leaving Bruce in the museum. I was in the store with tears in my eyes, their story just touched me so much. Bruce came out and I said, "You've got the sniffles, don't you?" He just nodded and smiled. I know my marshmallow Marine well. If you want to read more about the code talkers go to their website. And the Navajo weren't the only ones, there were other Native Americans that were code talkers but they were the most famous.

After that we drove down to Prescott Valley and stayed the night with our old neighbours who moved there recently. They had a beautiful house and really loved the area. Maybe we’ll go for another visit and see that neck of the woods again.

Well that was the trip. It was a great time just driving around seeing the sites. I would recommend a trip around Arizona to anyone. That state has a lot to see but it was sure nice to be back home in California!

1 Wikipedia: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Code_talker

Did You Hear the One about the California Couple Who Perished in the Arizona Mountains?

We left Winslow around 5 p.m. and figured it would take 3.5 hours to get to Monument Valley straight up highway 87. We’d be able to check in around 8:30 p.m., have a nice dinner on the way and relax. This was our last leg on the vacation and we were starting to feel the miles.

What we didn’t take into account was the fickle mind of the stupid Google map woman! I should have realized something was wrong when she crisply said “turn right” at the next intersection which would have taken us off the highway. But I was busy knitting and thought all was in hand so I didn’t look at the phone. I did think it was a little odd that we were going off the beaten path.

Word to the wise, Arizona is full of “Indian Roads” and we’ve discovered the hard way, the higher the number the less likely it will be paved.

So, Miss Google told us to turn right off the highway onto an Indian Road 4. Okay a shortcut. Then suddenly Miss Google had us go on Indian Road 8031 which looked like it went straight north, so still okay. But then it turned into a dirt road. I had flashbacks to the time I took a side road in Newfoundland only to realize it was an abandoned railroad track. That was a nightmare and it seemed to be coming back to haunt me. (I’ll have to tell you about that little adventure later.)

But we foraged on, we were in an F-150 so it could handle the dirt road quite well. But then the road started getting smaller and very rutty. I really knew we were in trouble when Miss Google told us to turn left onto a road that wasn’t there. And, that was about the time we lost cell service.I was getting tired of that bitch's condescending tone anyway. 

Did I mention too that the sun was starting to go down, we were heading into the mountains, and the houses were few and far between? I had visions of those people that get lost and perish in the California mountains in the spring snow. Well, at least it wasn’t snowing.

Luckily the map was still on the phone so I thought I could guide us manually only where we were was just a big blob of land on the map. I had to zoom in to see any roads, they were that small. So I told Bruce to turn around and I found an Indian Road that went to Pinon which was thankfully paved. Pinon was east of us so we were going in a big circle.  

From Pinon we headed west on a nice paved road that last for about 2 miles and then turned into yet another dirt road. By this time, I had gotten cell service back and could see our progress. And, thankfully even though this was a dirt road, it was well traveled. Luckily we were behind this a car the whole way. Still it was a nasty drive as by this time the sun had gone down and we could barely see the car’s rear lights because of all the dust he was kicking up. Then suddenly our road ended at a highway, a real paved highway, hallelujah! It was the road we were on before we had made the turn right. I kid you not.

We took that highway to Tuba City where we could turn onto the major highway that went north. I was intrigued how Tuba City got its name. Did a band of marauding German tuba players settle there in the 1800s? Nope, it’s named after Tuuvi a Hopi headman who converted to Mormonism. How Tuuvi was changed to Tuba is beyond me. 

By the time we got to Goulding’s Lodge at the Monument Valley it was midnight. Our 3-hour drive lasted well over 7 hours. Naturally it was pitch dark when we arrived so we didn’t realize the sights around us. We stayed in an amazing cabin at the lodge. I would highly recommend the cabins and not the hotel although they are a bit pricey, but we were only staying one night. We just fell into the bed exhausted. We did discover as we pulled out our overnight bags that everything in the back of the truck was absolutely covered in red dust. Everything. 

The view from our cabin.

The next morning Bruce woke up before me and was having a smoke out on the patio. I came out and he said turn around. Holy crap! It was so dark that we didn't see any of these huge monoliths as we drove right past them.

The drive to Monument Valley was an adventure in itself so I will post my photos of the Monument Valley in the next blog.

Standing on a Corner in Winslow Arizona

After we left Flagstaff we headed east. Our first stop was the Meteor Crater near Winslow. Now for those of you who don’t know, this is the world’s best preserved meteorite impact site on Earth. For one, it’s a fairly young impact site, and two, it is on private land. It is not protected as a National Monument because it’s not federally owned but, it is designated a National Natural Landmark. The upside is it makes money and they pay taxes which suits the government just nicely because most national parks are money pits.

In 1903 Daniel Barringer purchased the land on the assumption it was an impact site and thought he could mine it. Up to that point, geologists thought the hole was a result of a volcanic steam explosion. Barringer mined for years but never found any ore. Everyone thought that the meteorite would be buried deep in the soil, but we learned from the guide that meteorites vaporizes on impact. What amazes me, it wasn’t until 1960 that geologist finally confirmed Barringer’s hypothesis that it was in fact a meteor crater and not caused by volcano activity.

One thing that does run through your mind during the tour is why haven’t we had impacts like this in recent years? It kinds gives you the same willies you get when you start watching the doomsday shows on the Science Channel.

The size of this thing is really hard to gage while looking from the rim until the guide told us the little BBQ looking thing at the bottom is really a 3-story tall generator! Yeah, it’s that big. In the 1960s NASA astronauts trained there in preparation for the moon landing. The area where they worked looks like a spec at the bottom. Like I said, you really can’t gage the size of this because its’ just so damn big.  

The guide told us before we went out that it gets very windy on the rim, they’ve clocked hurricane strength winds up there. That day it was gusty but not too bad. You will note that my trusty $100 hat withstood all that the wind had to give! I’m really beginning to love that hat.    

We were going to Winslow next to pay our respects to Glenn Fry but we missed the exit. Not just missed it, we were practically in New Mexico before we realized we had gone too far. So we decided to go to the Petrified Forrest National Park and Painted Desert. One runs into the other so it’s a 2-fer day. We got off the highway at the designated exit for the Petrified Forest and it took us down a two-lane road that went on for miles. Very straight and flat miles that stretched on forever. Where the hell is this place? Then halleluiah, there was the sign! Petrified Forest turn left here, conveniently right in front of a store that sold petrified wood. I somehow get the feeling there’s a kick-back somewhere; that the store had something to do with the exit being so far away because by the time you got to the turn you had to go to the washroom. So we stopped.

After our pit stop we drove to the park. The sign at the gate said drive through, we’ll collect the fee at the other end of the park. Oh, but what if we turned around? Hmm, didn’t think of that did you Mr. Park Ranger? We got to the visitor’s center and I was thinking, is this it? Where’s the forest? Silly me was thinking the petrified trees would be standing up. No, they were on the ground in pieces, and people were walking around looking at them—all of them, every little stick. I have to say that I became bored pretty quick. They all looked the same to me, it was like looking at little rocks on the beach one at a time. I couldn’t even get a decent photo because they just all looked the same, round and brown. I forgot to add that there was a sign at the entrance that said it was a crime to pick up any souvenirs (like I would want to). Beside we had one at home already, thanks to Bruce’s grandfather. Apparently back in the 1960s there were no rules about filching a few rocks which is probably why they have the sign now. Considering you could buy one down the road for a few bucks I don’t see why people would.

So we hopped back in the car and drove through the painted desert. It’s very pretty but again, after a while they all started looking the same. I did take a lot more photos than I did of the “trees.” I did see a pair of buzzards up close—not because I was dying of boredom. They were flying in front of me while I was standing on the side of the road. I tried to take a photo of them but they were just specks in the sky. They have beautiful white under feathers, but the ugliest faces that only a mother would love, a blind mother that is.  

After driving through, we were back on the highway and heading west to Winslow. Oh, almost forgot, at the other end of the park where we were supposed to pay, there was no one at the gate and a sign that said “thank you for visiting.” No wonder the national parks are losing money!

It actually worked out quite well, missing the stop, because we ended up going in a nice circle and from Winslow we could go straight up north to Monument Valley. Oh, wait till you hear that story.

We arrived in Winslow, and there was the corner. Actually that’s about all it seems there is to Winslow. It’s not a very large town. We took the obligatory photos of the corner, including one of Bruce standing on the corner. He was so cute. Then we went into the store across the street called Standing on the Corner.  

Bruce and I are shopping and I overhear this conversation between a customer and the woman behind the counter. The customer commented that the song says standing on a corner, not the corner as the store implied. The woman behind the counter was amazed; “I never noticed that” she said. Meanwhile, they are playing every Eagles song known to man over the music system. Exactly how many times has she heard that song? Personally, as much as I love the Eagles, if I was working at a place that played nothing but them all day, every day, I’d probably take a hatchet to the next customer that said “a corner” not “the corner.”

Here’s the other funny thing that happened in that store. They had a large selection of military items, so we bought a few Navy and Marine Corps stuff. When we got to the counter I got out my wallet to pay. She asked if we were military because they give discounts to military. I said yes, we both are and I showed her my ID. She looked straight at Bruce and said “thank you for your service.” I kid you not. Hellooooo, veteran here too, you know, the woman.

After than we went to a little restaurant across the street for a bite before we hit the road. We had asked the store clerk where is a good place to eat and after we discovered it’s the only place to eat. The lady that was running the place was from Charlotte, NC. She had moved to Winslow to be with her son who owned the store. She used to be a school teacher in Charlotte. I don’t know how many years she had been in Winslow but she sounded like she just got off the boat. Wow, that was quite the Southern twang that I hadn’t heard for years. And, it typical Southern-style we became long lost family and had to promise that we’d come back to visit soon.

Well, that’s end this little leg of the vacation. On to Monument Valley. 

Blobs, Blobs and More Blobs

Next step on the trip was the Lowell Observatory in Flagstaff. Bruce is an avid star gazer so he was pretty excited about this visit.

I have to give a little history on the observatory first. It’s one of the oldest in the country, established in 1894. It was there that the formally-known-as-planet Pluto was discovered back in the 1930s.

They had a guided tour so we joined in. First they talked about Percival Lowell of the Boston Lowells. Apparently they are Boston Brahmins, having arrived in the 1600s, long history and gobs of money. They were a pretty prominent family in New England; descendants included mayors, a civil war general, a lot of judges, the founder of WGBH, a British Countess, authors, poets, military men, bankers, and Dick Cheney. Yep good old Dicky.

The guide then talked about his wife Constance and I had the feeling that the long feud with her is still fresh in the minds of the astronomers. Apparently the woman was bat-shit crazy (often pretending she was blind) and just plain nasty. After her husband died she felt that it wasn’t fair that the observatory received more of her husband’s estate than her and started a 10-year court battle. Eventually she lost but over half of the Lowell’s bequeath was used up in court costs. She also tried to influence the naming of Pluto to no avail. She even tried to block his wish to be buried on this site. There was one nice thing she did. She had Lowell design and build the Saturn building that became the library for a number of years. It’s very beautiful inside, with typical wooden library ladders and lots of wood shelves.

The big boy

Bruce having a peek

We then made our way to the main observatory, there are actually 3 in the Flagstaff area. These days it’s only used for a public education tool because the town is too bright for scientific research. They operate many observatories out in the desert now. The main building houses the original 24-inch Clark Refracting Telescope built in 1896. According to our guide Lowell had it shipped to Flagstaff, set it up and then decided he didn’t like the area. So it was packed up again, taken down to Mexico City, unpacked, and set up. Again, he didn’t like the area, so it was packed up and shipped back to Flagstaff. It was in operation for one day in Mexico! They have proof of this story because when it was finally cleaned there was dirt local to the Mexican location in the telescope. Must be nice to have all that money to just move a massive telescope on a whim! 

According to our guide, when the telescope was set up there wasn’t a building yet to house it. One day Lowell was in town and met two bicycle mechanics/designers, brothers Stanley & Geoffrey Sykes and asked them to build the observatory. Yes, bicycle designers. With another partner Edward Mills they built quite a spectacular building. It has an unusual roof so they could use local ponderosa pine. I loved that the roof rotates on Ford tires installed in 1957.  

The Garden Gnome

This wasn’t the telescope that they discovered Pluto with though. That one is out pretending to be a garden gnome, having been retired many years ago. It’s rather unspectacular for such a scientific discovery. But looks are in the eye of the beholder and I’m not that beholding to anything that involves astrology. I was there for Bruce.

One thing that I did find amusing. As the guide was touting all the spectacular discoveries at Lowell, I got a little bristled over our own little observatory here called Palomar. Funny how you get defensive about your home turf. Honestly, I couldn’t even tell you what Palomar has discovered but it is our observatory by gum!

Well I did a little reading on Palomar when I got back. Apparently the 48-inch Oschin Telescope at Palomar (the largest in the world for 45 years) was used to discover the dwarf plant Eris which triggered the discussions in the international astronomy community that led to the declassification of Pluto. Ha! Take that Lowell!

After the tour we drove back down the hill into town and found our hotel for the night. I was pleasantly surprised because it was a just a Days Inn. The room was typical for a Days Inn but the lobby was large and bright and they even had a gym, not that I used it, but I could have. We were pretty beat so we ordered Chinese delivery and relaxed until it was time to go back to the observatory for the night show. That was another surprise, I haven’t ordered Chinese delivery since I lived in Brockville in the 70s, didn’t know that restaurants did that anymore.

Lowell Mausoleum

The night show. Yeah...that was interesting. I did like the two lectures that we attended but standing in line to see a little white blob with a little white ring around it—Saturn if you hadn’t guessed—wasn’t my idea of a good time, but Bruce loved it! I did have to say though that the old telescope was thing of beauty so the trip wasn’t all that bad. We also looked at other blobs in the sky and Mars, which was a red blob. Bruce could tell you more but he’s not the one doing the writing is he?

What I did find fascinating was all the people that were there and they do these events every night, wind permitting. There are a lot of people interested in astronomy. I find it interesting too but I just have such a short attention span, I can only look at blobs in the sky for so long.

So that was my day at the observatory. And thank you Wikipedia for all the background information. 

A Surprise Visit and The Grand Canyon

Our original plan was to camp as much as possible on this trip. I should say that was Bruce’s idea. My idea of camping is a fully equipped Winnebago. You could say I was not into camping. To humour him, we went camping one night out in the desert in a tent a few years back. Just us, the rabbits, coyotes, red ants and whatever else went scurrying past in the night. So, I was rather reluctant to camp. But then Bruce found this really cool contraption that hooked onto the back of the truck and made it part of the tent. You actually sleep on a blow-up mattress in the bed of the truck off the cold ground. Now I felt a little safer. I just feel that when I’m on the ground in a tent that I’m just a convenient bear-sized Hershey bar. All they have to do is peel away the wrapping.

We soon realized that after leaving Hoover Dam that we would not be getting to the Grand Canyon in time to put up the tent before it got dark. So we stopped at a little place called Seligman. We were familiar with the town having stopped on the way back from our Sedona trip a few years back. For those of you who are unfamiliar with the town, it is the birthplace of historic route 66 and they have a welcome sign that says so. What you also might not know is that John Lasseter loosely based the town of Radiator Springs in Cars on Seligman. So the kind folks of that town have parked old cars all over their tiny little downtown and painted eyes on them. I kid you not, and I love it!

The tent contraption

We stopped at the general store and they had a small RV park in the back so we decided we might as well stay the night, we were tired, it was getting late and the place was cheap. Real cheap, and the people were real nice. We parked the truck and started to put the tent up for only the second time since we bought it. That’s when the wind picked up—really picked up. I guess in the spring Arizona is blessed with almost hurricane force winds on the plains and we were right smack dab in the middle of the plains. It would have probably been easier to wrestle an alligator than getting that tent up. 

We had stopped at a grocery store in Kingman on the way and bought some produce, coffee and other staples. Bruce made a wonderful meal on the cook stove and I cut up the veggies for a nice salad. We were so toasty and comfy inside the tent with our little chairs and table. Yep, so toasty and comfy until about 2 am when we woke up freezing. It was cold, bone chilling cold, even with our thermal sleeping bags because the cold seeped up from the metal truck through the air mattress right into our bones. And wouldn’t you know it, I had to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night. At least the bathroom was heated. In the morning we ate scrambled eggs and corned beef with English muffins; packed up, took the hottest shower I’ve ever had, wrestled with the tent again, and booked a hotel for the next night…and we continued to book hotels for the rest of the trip. It was just too damn cold.

At this time, I have to tell you about my very pleasant and unexpected surprise. An old friend of mine from my Brockelle Drum Corps days, Anita Proverbs, had posted on Facebook that she was at the Grand Canyon! I hadn’t seen her since I left Brockville at the age of 18. She was a horn player and I was a drummer and we were glued at the hip. She lived near me so we used to practice together all the time, to the dismay of our parents. We would have been together 24 hours if we didn’t go to different high schools. In the summer we had band practice twice a week (Tuesdays and Thursday nights after supper) and parades practically every weekend. In the winter we had practice for 4 hours on Sunday afternoon and had to do the dreaded cold Christmas parades, so we were together a lot.

Over the years though we lost touch, she moved to Calgary and I wondered throughout North America. We did get in contact a few years back via Facebook, but she’s hardly online so I was pleasantly surprised to catch her post. I got in touch with her and told her we’re going to be at the Grand Canyon soon. She was so excited! We made arrangements to meet in Williams and have lunch. And here we are.

We chatted and laughed for over 2 hours over lunch and beers. She was there with her son and his girlfriend so I got to meet the whole family. We were explaining to them how wonderful it was to be in the Lions Club Brockelles, image a small town of 21,000 people with a 150 all-girl drum corps? It was a big deal to be in the Brockelles and we wore our purple and gold band jacket with pride. The town’s parents wanted their daughters in the band because it meant there would be no boyfriends—we were just too busy! In the 1970s drum corps were a big deal, a lot of cities had them and many were sponsored by the Lions Club and other fraternal organizations. There were a lot of Lions club bands that we would meet at the big convention parades and I have to say we were the coolest in our cute dresses, white go-go boots and Scottish double-snare drums. No other drum corps had those. We were taught by the best Scottish drummer in Canada, Gary Allen, and it showed. Sweet, funny Gary just passed away this week.

 And, we had a little mascot. One of the girls was going to have to quit because her mum had passed away and she had a little sister she had to look after. So, the band mums dressed her up in a little matching outfit and gave her a little stuffed lion to hold. She proudly marched in front of us saluting the crowd. She was awesome! I still to this day tear up when I watch the kids on TV marching in parades knowing how they felt; so proud and honored that your heart is about to burst from your chest.

See joined at the hip!

We were talking about our best memory. The Grey Cup Parade in Ottawa. This is a big parade as the Grey Cup is Canada’s version of the Super Bowl so you’re playing in front of thousands of people. I remember like it was yesterday: the parade turned the corner into the stadium and Don Shaw was standing there shouting and pointing #1. We had won the band competition! I think everyone that day played the best they ever did when we entered that stadium, grinning from ear to ear. Gives me goosebumps to this day. Anyway, we were all talking about this and her son kept commenting that he never knew this about his mum. I told him she was the drum major her last year. That’s quite an accomplishment.

So, we finally said our good byes and Bruce and I walked over to the hotel we booked to check in. I have to tell you about his hotel. If you are ever in Williams, you have to stay at the Grand Canyon Hotel. It is the oldest hotel in Arizona and it’s not that expensive. For one night we booked a room with a shared bathroom, just like in the wild west, and it was great but I would have loved to have stayed in the suite with the claw foot tub or one of the suites. The couple that own the place are so nice, you really felt like you were a guests in their house.  All the rooms are themed and we stayed in the Corner room. You can see a photo of all the rooms on their website. The only downside is the floors were creaky and it’s not that soundproof. There were whole mess of German tourists up at 6 am to get their tour bus, and German is not a soft language. Speaking of German tourists, boy there are a lot of them. We met them everywhere we went in Arizona. I guess it’s because they have all the money right now.

After we lugged our stuff up to the room we decided to try and make the Grand Canyon before the sun when down. I wanted to get that shot because I’m not the type to get a sunrise photo. The drive up was a little longer than we realized and the speed limit was a lot slower than we thought. Unfortunately, Bruce, being a truck driver, has to drive the speed limit because he can’t afford to get a ticket. But I was about ready to jump out of my skin when we had to drive 30 mph most of the way. I kept saying, it’s okay if we don’t make it” but I desperately wanted to get that shot. The minutes were ticking down and I thought we’re never going to make it, only 10 minutes to go, and we were just getting to the park. That’s when Bruce told me his truck clock was about 15 minutes fast! Whoo hoo there is God!

We practically ran the whole uphill path. I’m huffing and puffing because the air was so thin, and the smoker next to me is just honky dory. (He says it’s because he’s used to not having enough oxygen from the cigarettes.) I didn’t think we’d ever make it to the rim and then suddenly—THERE IT IS. Right in front of you in its full glory. The canyon sort of sneaks up on you because it’s hidden by the trees until you’re right on it. And it’s breathtaking.

I was speechless, and I kept telling Bruce that, for truly anyone who knows me knows that I’m rarely speechless even when I am speechless. Then I got into action, snapping all sorts of photos as the sun when down. And I got it. That shot, the shot of all shots—the trophy shot. And here it is. I will never, ever, take a better photo as long as I live.

Damn, That's a Big Dam!

The first leg of our trip was a short drive out to Hoover Dam. As we were driving along we could see Lake Mead in the distance from the highway. Then you have to get off the highway and drive down a little two-lane road. It seemed odd to me that this behemoth was accessed by a neighbourhood-type road. I realized though that this is the way they traveled back in the day, on small roads over the dam as the highway and bridge wasn’t built yet. So I felt a bit like I was passing back in time. Well not that far back, the bypass bridge was only building in 2005 which, by the way, is call the Mike O’Callaghan-Pat Tillman Memorial Bridge.

Like this only USMC green 

The first thing you come to once you are in the park is the gate and a security check. Since we were in a truck with a cap we were pulled over for an “extra” security search. Now, remember, I used to do anti-terrorism training when I was in the Navy, so I watch these things with interest. The gentleman walked up to the truck and asked Bruce if he could see in the back and they walked back for an inspection. So far so good. Less than, maybe 3 minutes, Bruce was back and that was it. Three minutes! We had a lot of crap packed in the back of the truck because we were going camping. Bruce had 2 huge Army-style storage containers, they were green and very military looking, you couldn’t mistake them for anything else. The guy just asked him what he had in them. “Food” Bruce replied and he said “Okay.” AND THAT WAS IT. We could have had a howitzer in there for goodness sake! The trainer in me was freaking out because this is a very big target if you ask me. But then we were on our merry way without having to take the truck apart so it was all good.

Driving across the dam is pretty cool I’ll tell you, and boy was it windy. Not breezy, not gusty, no…south coast of Newfoundland windy! Ah but I had my trusty $100 hat and it was firmly and securely on my head. I would expect nothing less with a $100 hat. I was going to get my money’s worth with that hat.

One of the first things I notice was all the brass, not just on the door knobs or something small, they had walls of it. The military in of us shuddered thinking of having to polish all that brightwork—almost like a bad acid trip in cammies.

The second thing I noticed was how low the lake was. Not just a little low.  I mean, wow! I may not drink another glass of water until it rains, low. I know we’ve been having an epic drought, we have to live it, but to see the affects was unbelievable. To give you an idea, I found the photo on the left on the internet and the one below it is the one I took of the same intake towers.

Speaking of the intake towers, don’t you just feel like they going to start yelling “Exterminate!” Okay for those of you scratching your heads right now go here. The rest of us are looking for our sonic screwdrivers. I wonder if that’s where they got the idea for the Daleks? WHO knows. Okay enough of the puns.

What we also thought was a little funny was that the electrical towers were slanted down the side of the cliffs. A good earthquake and poof.

So, the dam was built from 1931-35, the height of Art Deco, one of my favourite art styles. And boy did they go to town! From the clocks on the intake towers, one for Arizona and one for California, (because Arizona is “off kilter” time-wise half the year IMHO), to the statues it just oozes Art Deco. Bruce said the men’s restroom was very luxurious with brass doodads and pedestal sinks. I’ll have to take his word for it although I was tempted to give him my camera. So I went into the women’s washroom thinking, oh goodie this is going to be great, and was very disappointed. It was just a regular industrial washroom, nothing special except for the Navajo floor design in the lobby (it’s 2 stories). Then I realized that since all the workers were men the women’s washroom was probably an afterthought and done years later for all the tourists. Perhaps but I was disappointed. (I’ve since Googled the men’s washroom and well, meh.)

But then I saw the statues and I was in love again! They had to be one of the most beautiful art deco displays I’ve ever seen. Gigantic, mesmerizing, aspiring, stupendous…well you get it. But there was a little voice in the back of my head saying, this looks very Nazi. I couldn’t help it. There was something about them that reminded me of all Nuremberg rallies. They were too perfect, too straight, too Aryan. 

But I still loved them and they photographed well, once I got all the damn tourists out of the way. And the patina on them was so beautiful.  

So that was our tour of the Hoover Dam. After than we went over to Boulder City and had lunch at a little pizza joint run by a little old lady. We had a good Philly-style sandwich. If you’re ever in Boulder City go to Tony’s Pizza, it’s pretty good.

Okay here are some trivia facts about the Hoover Dam, it’s a real cool video so watch it! And get this, it was built 2 years ahead of schedule and under budget. Wouldn’t happen these days.

Next, trying to camp and a wonderful surprise in Williams.

Vegas Baby

I went to Vegas for a friend’s wedding. Back in my salad days, when I was 18 I moved to the Comox RCAF base on Vancouver Island to live with my brother and his wife for a while since I was unemployed at the time. That is where I met Wendy Alexander and through her met Lori, her best friend. Even though I moved a year later we’ve kept in touch. It was the two of them that got me through my divorce, having been through it themselves. They cheered me up and made me laugh.

Fast forward, Lori and Mitch are getting married and they decided to do it Vegas-style, Elvis and all. Luckily I’m not far from there so I was able to fly in for the weekend. Bruce was going to meet me afterwards and we were going to drive all through Arizona and see the sights.

Thursday night I met Wendy and her daughter Chelsea at the airport, as I had made arrangements to arrive at the same time as their flight, and we were staying at the same hotel. However, since their flight was international I had to hoof it over from terminal 1 to terminal 3. Apparently there is a subway tram that takes you to the baggage claim but I managed to not notice it and had a long walk. Oh well, I needed my steps for the month. (For those of you not in the know, my company discounts our insurance payments if you walk 125,000 steps a month.)

Wendy and me at the wedding.

Speaking of hotels, the hotel that we booked was amazing. The Marriott Chateau is also a timeshare so it had full kitchens, security, free mimosas in the lobby and no casinos. Not bad price either and right in the middle of the strip. Even though it’s mainly a timeshare they also rent out the rooms and the only mention of a timeshare was a message left on the answering machine. I highly recommend staying there if you’re ever in Vegas.

For those of you who have never been to Vegas, well, you see some pretty strange sights there; the little old Asian ladies handing out strip club advertisements, girls walking around in stripper heels and spray on dresses or better yet bathing suites (I kept seeing the same college-age group of girls in their bathing suites just parading up and down the strip, not a pool in sight), guys acting like they’re rich in obviously rented Italian sports cars, and some amazingly bad buskers. I swear the high rollers have a uniform— chino pants, oxford shirt and jacket without a tie.

Mostly the first day Wendy and Chelsea wanted to shop so we walked around and they shopped and I took photos. I was sitting outside of Macy’s while they were shopping and started talking to the older gentleman next to me. Turns out he and his wife lived in my neighbourhood. Small world.

The Friday night before the wedding we all met at a restaurant on Fremont Street. Wendy, Chelsea and I were about 45 minutes late. We took the shuttle bus there and didn’t realize how long it would take for the 6-mile trip as the bus stopped at practically every blessed corner. We got there and everyone had finished eating, so we gulped down a quick meal and met everyone outside. I love Fremont Street, it’s such a party atmosphere. We were singing and dancing while drinking all the way down the street. The highlight is watching the overhead show they had every half hour. It was a Bon Jovi tribute so we were all singing “it’s my life” at the top of our lungs.

Lori and me on Fremont Street.

Lori was wearing the obligatory “bride to be” sash and I bought her a tiara to match. She was one of many brides to be that night and they would greet each other like they were in a sisterhood. It’s fun to have the spotlight and have people acknowledge your happiness. The poor groom never gets the spotlight, although I did see some guys wearing “groom to be” shirts. I hope some of them showed up at their wedding because they were pretty wasted LOL. Lori and I did win a little money that night. We sat down to rest and we put in about $5 in a penny slot and won over $200! I’ve never been so lucky, must have been Lori’s touch.

Later, Mitch went down the zip line that was overhead but by that time Wendy, Chelsea and I had gone back to the hotel as we were exhausted. I don’t know how Mitch and Lori stayed out so late and then got married the next day all bright-eyed. Luckily I don’t suffer from hangovers either as long as I drink a glass of water before I go to bed. Mind you, I don’t get a full night sleep since I have to get up in the middle of the night to pee, but at least I’m headache free!

The wedding was absolutely amazing. I’ve never gone to an over-the-top Vegas wedding. My cousin was married there a few years back at one of the wedding chapels but it was a regular wedding. This could never be described as “regular.” Lori was wearing the most beautiful wedding dress but the officiant was dressed as Elvis, as was the groom, and there was a pink Cadillac in the middle of the chapel. It was funny watching the two Elvis’ (or is that Elvi?) compare blue suede shoes! Mitch even managed an Elvis lip twitch or two while repeating his vows. At the end we all danced to an Elvis song and it was magical.

In the lobby they had photos of all different types of wedding they perform. I was seriously eyeing the Star Trek one for a possible future renewal of our vows, but I don’t think Bruce would go along with it.

Afterward we went into this quaint little bar next to the chapel for one drink while we waiting for the party bus to arrive. Yes, Mitch ordered a party bus and it had a stripper pole! Only in Vegas baby. I don’t think I’ve had so much fun laughing, drinking and seeing the sights. The bus stopped off at the Bellagio water show, and other places I don’t remember because I was sitting next to the box of Coronas! I do remember the Vegas sign which surprised me, it was rather short, I thought it was much taller, which is nice because we could get a group shot in front of it. They have people there that, for a small donation, will take a few photos with your camera so I was able to be in the group shot.

The party bus dropped us off back at the Flamingo and a few of us congregated back at the Margarita bar in the casino. I didn’t stay long, ate a pizza and then walked back to the hotel.

I was very drunk in this photo.

Oh I forgot, while in the lobby a few of us went into the convenience store for food and this girl was selling rabbit ears that lit up for $15. Best $15 I ever spent. I love those ears. And as you can tell I’m a bit lit up myself in this photo.

Wendy and Chelsea had already gone back to the hotel so I did the drunk-walk by myself back. Man, that seemed like a long walk. The ears were very popular with the people I passed, although it was so windy that I almost lost them a few times. BTW, I clocked 16,000 steps on my pedometer that day, the most I’ve ever done and I didn’t feel a thing LOL. Not bad considering 5 months ago I was on crutches with a sprained knee and just finished physical therapy. The daily Motrin and alcohol probably helped as well.

Sunday, we had some time to kill as we were switching hotels for the day. The Marriott prices for Sunday went up drastically so we switched to a hotel near the airport. We had to check out at 11 a.m. but couldn’t check in until 3 p.m. so we had some time to kill. We went to the Mile Mall and did some shopping. I bought a hat that I didn’t realize was $100 until I got to the cashier. Should have realized it since I was in Tommy Bahama’s. But it turned out to be a
pretty nice hat so I think it was worth it.You'll see it in a later blog.

The rest of the day was spent taking a nap and hanging out with my husband as Wendy and Chelsea had gone shopping at the outlet mall for the day. The next day they flew home and Bruce and I started our tour of Arizona.

Music Sooths the Soul

I was once asked if you had to choose which one you could live without, your sight or your hearing, what would you choose? I would have to grudgingly say my sight and I say grudgingly because without music I don't think the world would be as bright for me. But at least I wouldn't be bumping into more walls than usual.

I don't remember not listening to music. My sister was 10 years older than me so I cut my teeth on the Beatles, Rolling Stones and other giants of the 60s. My mother was of the big band era so I was also exposed to Glenn Miller and others. And, because of Bugs Bunny and Ed Sullivan I was exposed to Vivaldi, Pacini and other opera composers. I may accidentally sing Kill the Wabbit while listening to the Ride of the Valkyries, but at least I know it's Wagner! I went to sleep with the radio on, it was a constant in my life.

In my day you didn't have stereos in your room, or headphones, you were stuck listening to what your parents listened to at home and in the car. I didn't get a stereo in my room until senior year. You waited until the parents were out and then you blasted the house with your rock music until you saw the car in the driveway. Even when I had a stereo I had to listen with headphones because of that "eternal racket" as my father would say.

Oh but do I remember listening to stereo records on my headphones to classics like Dark Side of the Moon and Procol Harem's Live album. The first time the alarm when off in DSOTM I almost jumped out of my skin...wasn't expecting it. And the scream in Pink Floyd's Careful with that Axe, Eugene on the Ummagumma album. Another skin jumper.

Then there was the funnier times. I bought the National Lampoon's Lemmings album after hearing it at a friend's house. I was listening to it without the headphone because the family was downstairs. I had forgotten about the part where the MC screams, "We're in the NY Times, the "fucking" NY Times!" Of course that was right when my stepmum came up the stairs.

Speaking of Lemmings. So many times music has been the touchstone of my life. Listening the Lemmings in David Noel's basement with Nancy McKay. I wanted to go out and buy that album when I heard David had died. And pretending to like the Ohio Players because a guy I liked listened to them. I still remember the songs but not the guy. Listening to Peter Frampton when I was living in Toronto the summer of '77. Rushing home on a Saturday night to see Queen on the Midnight Special. And the Midnight Special, the most amazing show on TV.

All the concerts I can remember, and some that I can't remember. They were all wonderful times. Queen, Supertramp, Boston, Alice Cooper, Stevie Wonder, Styx, The Knack, the list goes on and on of wonderful concerts.

For me life would be dull without music.

Screaming Secret Writer

I have tried over the years to write a blog but I’ve been unsuccessful and it bugs me. See, inside of me is a writer screaming all these ideas, but unfortunately the screaming only happens in the car while I’m driving. Then what happens when I get home? Blankness, pure blankness. For the life of me, I cannot remember one witty line, and I know they were witty because I was cracking up in the car. I was brilliant and clever, and full of insightful knowledge. When I get home, all I can think about is “is there pudding in the fridge?” Most times I guess I’m so glad to be in the door, my sanctuary from the mean outside world that I think my brain just dumps. So right now, I really have nothing to say. Nothing about politics, my animals, work, my family…nothing…nadda…zilch. I guess I’ll go to bed. But I will guarantee in the morning I’m going to be absolutely fabulous—until I get to work and sit in front of my computer.  

The New Year

Ah, the coming new year. Time to reflect, time to make plans, time to make resolutions, and time to break every single one of them. I don’t  know why we go through all that soul-searching and agony of trying to remake ourselves in one night. As if we can undo years of habits in one fell swoop.

 

I have some pretty bad habits that I’d like to address, but for once, I’m not going to get all philosophical and think I can fix years of  habits in one month. But I will lay them out and see what I can do with them. And I'm only doing two, no need to get all heady.

 

1. Be better organized in the morning. Too often I end up buying lunch because I don’t have time in the morning to make breakfast or lunch. So often breakfast is the same thing, yogurt and berries when I get to work, and then I have to buy my lunch. It’s becoming too expensive and I eat too much when I buy it.
2. Lose weight. Now this isn’t some “gee I’d like to be the same weight I was in high school”…ain’t going to happen. But my weight is a major part in controlling my diabetes, and stopping the pain in my knees and back. I don’t have to lose a lot but I’ve been up and down so often that I’d like to maintain my weight anywhere but where it is.

 

So that’s about it. 2013 wasn’t a bad year. I had some fun, I had some lows, but I have to say the year tipped more towards the fun side.

 

Every Christmas I buy an ornament or two that represents what I’ve done this year. Some years I’m wracking my brain to find one thing. This year I bought four ornaments. So yes, it was a good year.

 

Hopefully in 2014 I’ll buy six ornaments!   

Jellyfish Clouds

It’s funny how things that pop into your head as questions get answered the next day. I was looking at these strange clouds yesterday. They looked like jellyfish because they had hanging tendrils under them. I had never seen clouds do that. Then the next morning I was watching the news and the meteorologist was talking about the same thing. She even said they look like jelly fish.

 Speaking of meteorologist, what do you call the female ones if they aren’t meteorologists? Some of them don’t have the degree. We call the men weathermen but what do they call the women? Back in the dark ages they called them weathergirls. Apparently back in the day, women who had the same job as men weren’t allowed to grow up. I’ve never thought of that.

Anyway, I digress. So I looked up the jellyfish clouds and this is what I learned today on Weather.com (you know I didn’t write this stuff).

They are called altocumulus castellanus. When warm, moist air rises, the invisible water vapor eventually cools and condenses into tiny water droplets on particles called condensation nuclei. As the process continues, water droplets further accumulate upwards, creating visible heaps in the sky known to us as white, fluffy clouds.

However, in the case of jellyfish clouds, the warm, moist air can only rise so high in the atmosphere before it gets stuck. The moist air encounters an area of much drier air, which causes the moisture to evaporate at a faster rate than it can condense. Essentially, the cloud vaporizes at this height of the atmosphere, thereby stunting the cloud's growth and producing the "dome" portion of the jellyfish cloud.

At the same time, water droplets within the cloud are becoming too heavy to remain suspended in the air. As gravity pulls the water droplets toward the ground, they encounter yet another layer of dry air and evaporate before they can strike the surface of the earth. This phenomenon, known as virga, produces the tendril-like streaks in the sky below the altocumulus dome.

Jellyfish clouds develop during fair weather days, when there is enough moisture in the air to produce clouds but not enough for them to grow large or to produce rain.

So now you know.

Thanksgiving

Yesterday was Thanksgiving in the US. After all these years, this Canadian kid can’t get used to Thanksgiving in November.

We had a wonderful dinner with the family. Only one of the boys was missing due to work, but two had to go to work after dinner, so we had it early. And that is the reason for this blog today. I have two that work in retail and one that works at a retirement home. Obviously, the one who works at the retirement home is needed, but did the retail stores have to be open on Thanksgiving Day?

There’s been a lot of debate on that issue this year on the social media sights. People are complaining that we’ve become too commercial and that family should be together on Thanksgiving. Of course, people have been complaining for years that Christmas has become too commercial. I think even back in Dicken’s day they were complaining. Has there ever been a time that Christmas wasn’t commercial? I think we all hark back to days that never existed—the rose-coloured glasses of Christmas past. At least in my lifetime Christmas has been very commercial. Shoot, I bet about the only time it wasn’t commercial was the first one in Bethlehem!

There are always the ones that say Christmas isn’t about the presents, that we should stop buying and enjoy the season for what it should be. Now my first thought is, “What would their reaction be to a tree with no presents under it?” I remember one Christmas that I spent away from home. I was living with some friends of my boyfriend. They bought me one token present. It was the most miserable Christmas of my life.

Christmas is about a lot of things: the birth of Christ; giving gifts; receiving gifts; enjoying the season; loving each other, etc. People zero in on the commercialism and forget that it’s part of the whole package. Yes, I love finding the perfect present; yes, I love going to midnight mass; yes, I love watching the kids open their present; no I hate the snow (had to throw that in).  

Also, since I have two children in retail I’m rather glad of the commercialism because they have jobs!! Both were unemployed for a long time because people were not spending and companies were downsizing. We shouldn’t go into debt, but retailers would go out of business and the country would crumble with Christmas shopping. So even though it cut into my holidays I was rather glad it was because of work.

But, should the stores be open for Thanksgiving. I say no. Give us one day to stop, and take a breath, before the madness of the holidays. Although I have to say I was tempted by the 30% off all items at Michael’s and thought of going there late last night. But after eating all that ham and fixings, I was too full to move out of the chair LOL.

The Horrors of Being in a Hospital

I lived on Keating Drive when I was four and six years old. The year between we moved to Boynton Beach. Mom was a nurse and had herniated her neck, lifting a patient I think, and was having difficulty finding work so we moved to Boynton Beach. Before we moved she had met Rene, my future step-father. A person that I would grow to dislike very immensely over the years.

When we were in Boynton I started kindergarten. The only thing I remember about Boynton was careening down a hill on roller skates (apparently I survived) and graduating from kindergarten. I remember that vividly because I wore a white cap and gown. It was quite the ceremony. That was also the year that Kennedy was assassinated but I don't remember anything about that. I guess at five you just don't notice how parents are reacting around you.

I thought for years that mom "married" Rene when were in Boynton. They were going to a wedding or something like that and mom was dressed up in a cream suit with a nice matching hat. Somehow I thought going to a wedding was the same as getting married. So until I was in my early 20s I thought they married in 1963. What I didn't know was that my dad would not give my mother a divorce until 1968 when he met my future step-mother Lena. I discovered the truth when I was helping mom with her citizenship papers and saw her wedding certificate. Mom was a bit chagrined when I called her on it. Which makes me think that they did tell everyone that they eloped. A lot of hints though fell into place. I remember I asked her once why she was called Mrs. Durnford at work and she gave me this cock and bull story that it was a hassle to change her nursing license. But at 9 years old I bought it. I guess they figured since dad was in another country and no one in Florida knew her past they could act like a married couple and no one would know. Pretty risky for 1963!

In 1964 we moved back to the house on Keating Drive. Mom's neck was better after surgery and she was able to find work. That was the year my world fell apart.

When I was 6 1/2 I started having strange medical issues. My temperature would shoot up to dangerous levels for no reason. Mom would take me to the doctor and they treated her like a hysterical mother, not the nurse that she was. Doctors were so sexist towards nurses in those days. This went on for months. I don't remember too many of the details but at one point I was delirious from high temperatures and thought there were snakes slithering up the wall. To this day I'm terrified of snakes.

Then one day mom noticed I was limping and asked me why? I replied innocently that is was because of the "bumps." I was at the age where I could dress and bathe myself so mom hadn't seen me naked for some time. She look at my groin area and there were these three large hard bumps on my upper left thigh. I was booked into the hospital right away.

To be a child in a hospital in those days was a horrid place to be. The doctors and nurses did not explain anything to kids so I was terrified all the time. I was in a Catholic hospital and even thought they were nice to me, the nuns in their long, black habits were scary to a kid who had never seen a one before.

The first few weeks I was in isolation because no one knew what was wrong with me. At one point they thought I may have a contagious disease and then they thought I had leukemia. My sister was in Canada and flew down because everyone thought I wasn't going to make it. She told me years later she overheard the doctors mention leukemia and didn't know what it was. She looked it up and read that it was an incurable cancer (at the time). That must have been an agonizing time for her because we were, and still are, so close.

This was the type of horror I went through. The doctors decided to biopsy the bumps. Well, they weren't solid bumps as everyone thought (no ultrasound in those days) and when they cut into them all hell broke loose. This is gross, but blood and puss sprayed everyone like a volcano. They were all panicking and I was screaming my lungs off. No one had thought to give me any type of sedative so I was quite awake and terrified out of my mind. To make matters worse, even though she was a nurse, they wouldn't let my mother in the room so I very much alone among all these strangers all covered up in surgical gear.

For the next few weeks I had these 3 gaping holes in my upper thigh while all the poison drained out of my leg. They figured I had blood poisoning in my leg from a cat scratch or mosquito bite. (I really grew to hate that song Cat Scratch Fever when it came out.) Every day when they changed the bandages they had to clean the tape off the raw skin with alcohol and I would scream my head off. Now they have tape that doesn't stick to the skin and leave a residue. Mom said it was the most horrid thing for a mother to go through as she could hear me scream from all the way down the hall. Again, they wouldn't let her in the room when this was happening.

I spent my seventh birthday in the hospital with family around me in gowns and masks. I also had to learn how to walk again since I was bedridden for so long. I remember one night I had to go to the bathroom and there was a woman outside the hall mopping the floor. I called to her that I need to get up (there were no call buttons in those days). She either ignored me or didn't hear me so I tried to get out of bed myself and fell. Somehow I half crawled to the bathroom and back. All in all it was a horrid experience and I had nightmares about it well into my early teens.

I'm glad that doctors and nurses explain more to children when they're in the hospital now, not like in my day.