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Am I stupid or what ? ? ?

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date: Fri, Jan 16, 2009

subject:  3: La première semaine d’ecole c’est fini (pau)!
I °çé&’!!!!! did it again!!!!!!
Pardonez-moi, s’il vous plaît. At least now I realize what happened. The save button is right next to the send button . . . . Alors, I’m not putting your all’s email addresses in until after I’ve finished!
La Madame. She is an absolutely wonderful hostess. She’s about my size, smaller I think.  More thin.  But she has brown hair like me, a bit shorter though.  And she looks like, well, like a classically French woman. She knows how to dress just right.  The classic black on black. She’s a school teacher at a school only a few minutes walk away. I think she was a bit nervous about what I’d be like. I could see her visibly relax when she saw that I didn’t mind the cat, that I didn’t mind that she smokes now and then (I really don’ mind. They’re those tiny homemade/hand-rolled kind). She actually stood up a bit taller when she saw that I’d be alright—polite, respectful, and all whatever else those things were that she was nervous about.  (Thanks Mom for teaching me manners. They DO come in handy at times.)
L’appartement. Oh my goodness. How did I get so lucky?
(I did it again, hit send instead of save just now! But at least this time it didn’t go, no addresses in da kine. Maybe this monkey can learn something after all).
La Madame’s appartement is in a large building by a rock wall. We are on one of the higher floors. Part of the rock wall is exposed in my chambre. For real! The bathroom is directly across from my room. It also has part of the rock wall in it. Immediately on the right when you enter the bathroom is the shower. It has a wooden base with the drain in the center. The shower head is the completely hand-held kind, there is no whatchamacallit to hang it on.  You should see me (not really!) in the morning when I wash my hair and try not to get the water all over the tile part of the floor directly by the entrance to the bathroom.No. There is no shower curtain, or floor mat for that matter. Thank goodness I brought a pareo. It sure comes in handy. Since I only bought one towel, I want to save that one pour moi! not the floor.
The rest of the apartment is comprised of a large entry/great/living room and a kitchen.  La cuisine is directly on your left when you enter the apartment. It’s got a cool wall with opaque glass on top dividing it from the main living area. She has the normal things, a fridge (smaller than most in the US, but still big), stove and oven set like Tones and I have, sink and above but beside the stove-top is the heater for the apartment. Throughout the apartment are the wall type of heaters like I remember Bearden Elementary School having long ago. The one in my bedroom is unfortunately next to the window, so most of the heat hides behind the curtain at night when I close it. Fortunately, I brought the red flannel pj’s covered with dog heads that Jan gave me for Christmas a few years back (merci beaucoup encore Jan!).
La Madame is a very good sculptor. The apartment is full of many, many figures, which she has made. They are very good. The recurring theme is the human figure–male and/or female figures and heads. There was literally a head rolling in ma chambre the first evening I arrived.

I didn’t break it, I promise! Fortunately all was well with Madame (Yes, I told her about it!) She simply moved about 5 heads, really, 5, up higher on the shelf so that I could have a place to put my makeup and lotion.

The appartement is furnished like an antique store or art shop, but sparsely. The metal table with a class top, where we have our dinner, was made by her father (John, it reminded me right off of the bookshelf in your apartment in Brooklyn; the one that you say you threw together which is so cool). There are also some really neat chairs he made and a lamp.
We eat on square clear glass plates.  Really.  It’s très, très sheek/chique (at this moment I cannot begin to think how to spell that word. Tony, help?).
Okay, believe it or not (probably yes, if you’ve actually taken the time to read all this; and I do hope you’ve printed them rather than sat at the computer for so long; and read them somewhere else like John et Cat who read the last one on the train from Brooklyn to Manhattan; I love the image of that!) 2 hours, 50 minutes and 58 seconds have gone by.  Assez!  Enough for today.  And I haven’t told you one thing about the school except that the ordi are in the hallway and it’s bad manners to be a pig and not share . . .  but I will tell you this ONE thing.  Yesterday after Barbara from Switzerland wrote her address in my little rainbow colored book, I looked it over to make sure I could read it.  As I read her name and address and came to the street number (37), all I could think of was treint-sept.  I actually was trying to find sieben und dreissig (she’s Swiss after all) and could not.  Vraiment. That’s when I knew for sure that the school was working . . . . Alors, à bientôt mes amis!!!!

What the . . . ?

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date: Fri, Jan 16, 2009

subject:  2: La première semaine d’ecole c’est fini (pau)!
Oh my gosh, I thought I hit “DISCARD FOREVER” by mistake!
Everything I had written just disappeared. Poof! Pas du tout! Yes, everything.
All I could see was a new button I had never seen before . . . (the one with the devilish aforementioned title).
Thank goodness I’m not a complete moron and I had just hit “SEND” by mistake. Gott sei dank. Trust me, that’s exactly the right thing to say right now.
Whew . . . . okay, where was I?
Alors,
There was just enough room in the elevator for my suitcase–with it standing UP, not on its side!  I dragged it up the stairs, placed it inside the elevator, pushed the button, and très vite I closed the door. I held my breath for a minute and after what felt like 2 minutes it began to move.  The thought of either 1) dragging it up this tiny, tiny staircase made of the kind of stone which becomes incredibly beautiful after people have walked on it for over one hundred years and make a uniquely dimpled pattern or 2) climbing on top of my suitcase in the tiny elevator didn’t seem too appealing to me at the moment.  Maybe now, after a week’s rest  . . . . . . non, encorce non (not even now!).
La Madame met me at the top of the stairs huffing and puffing (moi was huffing & puffing, pas elle) just about when the elevator c’est arrivé. We dragged it into her appartement. Said hello. I took off my backpack, purse–which I had wrapped around my neck, coat and gloves; set them on a chair AND again we said our hellos. “Enchantée!”
Ecole Suisse de Langue à Lyon

First week of school stay pau.

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date:  Fri, Jan 15, 2009

subject:  La première semaine d’ecole c’est fini (pau)!
Bonjour mes amis,
I hope this note finds you all healthy and happy AND warm, because it’s been crazy cold here. Just today it’s gotten a bit warmer–meaning I’m just wearing one pair of silk long underwear and not two.  By the way, thank you Mom for that tip. You saved me a lot of uncomfortable hours shaking uncontrollably in the classroom (which is what I did on Monday since I didn’t think to put them on!).
Today is Friday the 15th of January and I’ve just finished my first week of school. It’s 3 p.m. and I’m sitting in an internet/telephone place where I’m hearing just as much Arabic as French. I found a place, which must be close to the university. I was happy to stumble past it this morning when I boldly decided to find another route to school.  I had found a chique shop right on la Saône (one of the 3 rivers, joke to follow), which I had passed most days as I took the 20 to 30 minute walk to school. It cost 2.50 euro an hour and this one is only two an hour . . . . okay, I’m watching my pennies (or centines, or something fairly close. . . .).
Okay, time to get on track. First of all, mahalo to the encouraging words which came my way, AND mahalo too to those who did not write.  When I use the ordi (short chique word for computer) I try to not be too piggish.  We are all wanting to check our email after all, (the universal umbilical cord these days, je pense).
The two-hour train ride to Lyon from Paris was pleasantly uneventful. 13:54 was a perfect time to depart.  I was able to sleep in a bit, get a free meal at the hotel (the guy who had checked me had said I’d have to pay 8 euro. That’s why I chose go next door that first morning; I figured that if I had to pay, why not go somewhere nice.  Not that the hotel wasn’t nice, but it’s full of you know, tourists like me.  Yep, it’s the ultimate hypocrisy to travel and then not be around tourist.)  Sooooo the last morning I decided to go for speed rather than style. Sure enough, I was crammed into a tiny room with a bunch of other loud obnoxious tourists (no, there weren’t any Americans there but Europeans have learned much from us too) and was given mediocre bread, croissant and instant decaf coffee (my choice).  But it did buy me time to have another pleasant hour wandering around the Sacre Coeur area.  Okay, I admit it.  It’s fun to pretend I’m Amelie . . . .
Back to the train. It was really cool actually. I was on a TGV, which means “train goes vite.”  And it really does, go fast that is. It was a double-decker and I got to be on top. I had the 2 seats facing backwards to myself.  It probably would have been a great place to watch the scenery if I hadn’t immediately fallen asleep after eating my wonderful sandwich (jambon et fromage dans un baguette).
Oh, and yet again did a confused tourist come to me for help.  I know what you’re thinking Hannah and Dwight, pourquoi toi?  It must be my très gentille visage.  (Okay WIT ladies, maybe next time I can play a mean femme and show you all that I can really act. AND alright Michele, I know what you’re thinking too . . . . but let’s not go there).  This Chinese woman who spoke beautiful French kept showing me her ticket and asking à Lyon? Oui, oui I replied.
You have to insert your train ticket in that little box before boarding; it stamps a time signature on it. If you don’t, the nice ticket person who later comes along and asks to see your ticket won’t be happy.  And why wouldn’t you want to make that person happy?
I’ll let you in on a little secret. After I got on the train and found my place, just to be sure, I turned to the wholesome looking French couple who were probably returning to their home in the country and asked, “À Lyon?”  “Oui, oui!” they replied.
Once at Part Dieu, Lyon’s main gare, it was pretty easy to find my way to my new home for six semaines.
Thanks to Tony, I yet again had a handy google map in hand.  The hour-long walk took me to le Rhone (the 2nd of the 3 rivers in Lyon).  Being Sunday afternoon and mostly sunny (but très, très froid!) there were lots of families out enjoying the cool parks along the river.
I halfway wanted to stop and slide down one of the stainless steel slides, which goes from the top level where the roadway is to the lower level where the river bank is, but I thought my suitcase might get stuck.  Plus, it was àè”&§ freezing!!!
Alors, then I crossed one of many, many bridges to get to the center part of Lyon. I kept on going and then crossed yet another river (la Saône, the first river I mentioned pages and pages ago). Now à droit along this river for bit until it was time to cross the street and chercher pour quai Pierre Scize/69005 Lyon. (hint, hint if you want to send ME une carte postale which I can show my classmates, send it c/o la Madame, merci beaucoup!)
Okay, Mister LeHoven had kindly taken me on a spin along google earth to see what quai Pierre Scize looked like.  We had been taken to the area but couldn’t find the exact appartement. I’ll be darned if the same thing didn’t happen to me! Alors, there’s a number that’s close, but where is Madame’s apartment? Could it possibly be this massive rock wall, which has a statue of something male and all in white?  No.  But fortunately this fool had at least enough wits about her to take a look at the building on the OTHER side of the rock wall; no, not behind the wall, but rather beside it. This massive, eight story, 100-year old building didn’t have a number (and why not I ask myself?); but at least it did have names with a little button to push beside each one. Voila, ca c’est la Madame.  “Je suis Susan.” “Vien à sixième étage.” “Quelle étage?”  “6th.” (mais non, pas en anglais, en francais, bien sur!)
Like most old buildings of this type, there is a foyer with mail boxes and such on the right. Toward the back and on the left are a couple of stairs, which lead to the smallest elevator in the world.
I kid you not.  There’s a très petite sign which says “tiniest elevator in the world®.” At least I think that’s what it says. I am a beginner after all.
There was just enough room in the elevator for my suitcase–with it standing UP, not on its side! I dragged it up the stairs, placed it inside the elevator, pushed 6, and très vite, closed the door. I held my breath for a minute
Ecole Suisse de Langue à Lyon

How old is YOUR father?

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Right off the bat I started doing extra stuff at the school. That’s what I was there for (learning French and doing new things) and I was really into it. This included doing exercises on the internet. What kind of exercises? Well, the kind where you insert the correct answer into a sentence, usually choosing from multiple choice answers. (No, it wasn’t rocket science; but it was a fast and fun way to learn or confirm what you already knew.)

While doing one of them, I had to crack up. I thought of my dear friend Mary Hunter and how she would crack up too. So I sent her the following email:

date: Thu, Jan 14, 2009

subject: I just had a Mary Hunter mement! [sic]
(It was supposed to be moment. Just TRY typing on an European keyboard!)

Bonjour mon amie!

I was just now doing an exercise for French on the computer where you choose the correct answer. Question was, “Mon père a . . . ans.” (My father is . . . years old.)

The answer was 50!!!!!

Feel it?

I felt you laugh with me!

besos,

Susan

And her reply . . .

date: Fri, Jan 15, 2009

subject Re: I just had a Mary Hunter mement!

ah oui!!
NY TIMES pictures of the day today (Friday) included one of two kids rolling a snowball in front of the Eiffel Tower, so I had a Susan mement! Hope you are warm enough…
how do you say “blessings”??…a bientot, mon amie! xxoo multi besos!

•••

I’m in my late 40’s. She’s in her early 50’s. Most of the “kids” at the school are between 19 and 21 years old.

Feel it?

C’est moi avec mon amie Mary Hunter.

Paris ice skating

I have arrived !

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date:  Sat, Jan 9, 2009

subject:  Je suis arrivée!!!!
Bon soir mon bon amis, mes bon amis?  What do I know? I just a beginner who’s only studied at home with a book and cassettes!  Yes, cassettes, not even CD’s,
So, let’s start over. Hello everyone.  I’m here in gay paree.  And wow, am I having fun.  Where to begin?  Well, first of all, I’m fortunate enough to have found an internet cafe with an American keyboard.  For those of you who haven’t ever used a European keyboard, just imagine typing on a board that just for fun throws out some of the oddest configurations.  Welcome in France!
Okay, again, where to begin?  The flights (and I do mean FLIGHTS) went smoothly.  Thank goodness and I went to sleep almost immediately upon sitting down in JFK.  It was 10 p.m. EST, 4 a.m. ala France.  I woke up 5.5 hours later for a semi-warm croissant and some pleasantly warm water (yes, I brought a tea bag, can’t remember the kind, just that it was exactly what I wanted).  I had just enough time on that final flight to enjoy a bit of the rat movie, oh shoots, the name escapes me. Oh yes, ratatouille.  It’s even funnier in French, whatever that means.  Seemed like the appropriate way to say bienvenue!
It was easy to find the train station.  Along the way I passed many good eateries.  Yes Mom, I’ll get there plenty early on the day I’m to meet you and dine at whichever one piques my fancy. A very nice young lady asked if I needed help with the ticket, I figured it out on my own but appreciated her help anyway.  Always nice to have a sweet young face smile at you encouragingly (don’t ask how I looked after 3 flights, each over 5.5 hours long!).
Thanks to my dear husband, I had my route laid out already for arrival at the hotel.  B train to Gard de Nord, # 4 line to the one with poison in the name and then only 2 stops on # 12. Easy!  Only thing was, the friendly Lamark stop had a spiral staircase to the top of the eiffel tower, okay, maybe not that high, but pretty darn high.  Thank goodness my triceps and biceps are still working for me. Once I was out in the fresh air of paree (cough) I had to look about to find the hotel.  After a short pass down the flat roadway I realized, yes, I’ve got to tote my suitcase up another flight of steps.  But they weren’t that far and guess what?  The hotel which my darling husband had booked for me was right at the top of those stairs, Hotel Roma Sacre Coeur, or something like that.

It’s a 2 star that’s really more like a 3 star.  I suppose the only difference with a 3 star is that breakfast is extra.  But the room is really nice. Okay, really nice to someone like me who’s a born optimist. But I think it’d even be nice to someone like say . . . I won’t say her name, but many of you know who I mean.  I have a private bath WITH a nice bathtub.  And two windows which look over THOSE stairs I trapsed up!  Pretty cool.  And 2 neat art deco yellow chairs.

Okay, so to the first day.  After finding the hotel and being told I couldn’t check in for all of 40 minutes (half French, half English . . . I seem to have a way of shaming them into still speaking French to me even though my skills are quite pitiful . . .) I set-off to find the Sacre Coeur (after leaving my suitcase behind OF COURSE!). I found it easily enough after having a nice chat (en Francais!) with a lovely lady with an even more lovely dog.  Yes, beautiful dogs are everywhere in the world.

I soaked in the gorgeous church (though somewhere I read that it doesn’t exactly fit a real prototype of a “perfect” church, but who cares!  I think it’s magnifique!)

Then back to the hotel to find my room (#205, a very audacious number don’t you think?) check out the toilet, slightly unpack (very slightly, I’m only here for 2 nights after all) and then head of to Gare de Nord (again!) to buy my ticket to Lyon.  It was a very pleasant walk via the Sacre Coeur (of course! plus it was on the way).  I made it in good time and managed to buy my ticket 10 minutes before they were closing for the day.  I managed to hack my way through completely in French until the lady rattled off in Olympic record spead, 1:54 or 2:54 p.m.????  Okay, I broke down and asked her to please write it down.  No writing! she replied, and just as quickly she switched to English (this lady has surely medaled in SOME Olympic sport of some kind!). Okay, 1:54 p.m. s’il vous plait.  Free with my one chore of the day done, I meandered down the main boulevards switching to a smaller one when it got really interesting (lots of shops and things . . ) until I found myself at Les Halles.  It was really cool looking since the afternoon light had hit that wonderful martini hour.  Wow, what’s that church over there?!  It was lit up so beautifully.

I boldly asked a man which church it was, he replied in French, well Notre Dame, of course! Notre Dame?  I took lots of pictures . . . . and wandered on over wondering why I hadn’t crossed a bridge yet to the Cite.

I happened upon a cool sculpture of a HUGE dome like rock of a face with an appropriately large hand on the side. Snap, snap.  Too good to pass up.  But is this Notre Dame?  doesn’t look like the one I remember?

I hele’d on down the road, found myself by the Louvre Place whatchamacallit.  Decided to cross Pont Neuf and voila, there was Notre Dame!

Was the man conning me or a tourist too?? Doesn’t matter. I sure enjoyed that first church and the magical light around it.  I proceeded to then find the street and address where Mom and I are going to stay in February (the original plan of my husband joining me after 4 weeks was nixed; I added 2 more weeks to my stay in Lyon and will be in France for the 8 weeks booked so long ago . . . ). My oh my, how did I find such a cool place???

By now it was 6 p.m. and I hadn’t eaten since the warm airplane croissant around 9:30 a.m.  I went for the cheapie 10 Euro dinner with french onion soup, pasta and an apple torte completed with a 13 euro half bottle of wine.  Sounded perfect to me!  The waiter was very friendly.  So friendly that he offered to show me around later in the evening.  I very politely but non-ambiguously said, “Merci, mais NON!”  He caught my drift but continued to be a decent waiter. Then I found the metro and voila, I was home to chez Roma Sacre Coeur whatchamallit room 205.

The next morning I woke raring to go at 4 a.m.  Yep, 4 a.m.  I decided to linger in bed a bit and watched some telly.  Found a bit of this and that (including Dallas ala 1980s, they still watch that???) and even a German promo show on how to buy something wonderful to make you look beautiful.  I figured that was cheating, so I switched back to some symphony.  Then that seemed like the perfect time to doze yet again.  So, from 5:30 a.m. to 8:30 a.m. I slept beautifully until the phone rang!  Yes, the phone rang! Who could that be?  Had to be Tony.  Who else has my number, unless they wanted to wake me up for the 8 euro breakfast (the way they’re all hurting these days for business, I wouldn’t put it pass them).  But there was NOTHING on the line. Darn.

Again, the phone rang.  Again, nothing.  Okay, must be time to get up and take a soak.  Please realize that I left home LONG ago and hadn’t bathed.  It WAS time.  I took a soak in tepid water thinking that tomorrow I must bathe much earlier before all the hot water is used up.  Slowly I got ready, walked to the cafe next door and had a loverly breakfast of bread, butter, jelly AND a croissant and TWO wonderful decaf coffees avec creme.

Then, the highlight of the day.  I took the metro to Hôtel de Ville to iceskate!  Remember Nancy telling us about this last June?  Well, they still do it.  I paid my 5 euros for the use of some very well-made patin and glissed for over 2 hours!  Yep, for over 2 hours.  It was just too darn much fun to stop, especially after the sun came out and lit up the entire rink.

I took lots of photos and a nice lady from the Philippines (yes! the Philippines) took my picture.  Her cute little boy grabbed my hand, so I grabbed it back.  He’s in the photo.
Hey, who’s not to want a cute little boy in your photo or in your life if only for a few minutes?  He skated by me many times and waved.  He was my pal for the next few hours . . . And then, to the marche to buy a towel for Lyon.  Seems that the French have something about using other people’s towels.  Something about sanitation.  And we lend our towels to people all the time???? Anyway, seems ALL of Paris was at THE grand shopping center by Hotel de Ville shopping.  SOLDES signs were everywhere.  I got my pretty blue towel and washcloth, a calendar for 2009 and even a little clinique for removing my makeup (now that was the ONLY conversation completely in French, either the lady didn’t know any French or was being polite, but I sure had fun getting her to understand what I wanted.  And yes, that WAS fun!).  Then it was time to head home, back on the metro to my cool pad for a bit of a repose.  Fortunately for me (and Tony) this is when Tony chose to try and call again. Yep, it was him the first time.  But this time I was dressed and ran downstairs to the reception desk.  Earlier I had told him, “Ma telephone ne marche pas.” I don’t think he believed me, but he did indulge me and forward the call to the hallway phone.  45 minutes later my lover and I had caught up on all the pressing news (Rocket Girl loves sleeping on the lazy boy!).
And now, it’s late at night 11:15 p.m. and hopefully I’ve done my bit to pacify the jetlag gods so that I’ll sleep till a decent hour.
Oh, but wait, I must tell you about my WONDERFUL dinner! I splurged and had St. Jacques (scallops ala magnifique!) l’agneau (lamb) and rose wine and then the kicker.  I asked for something chocolat. What’s your favorite I asked (in French even). But this one, of course! It comes warm.  That’s what I want, I replied.  And oh my, was it ever delicious!
So now my friends, bon nuit and wish me well as I venture tomorrow to Lyon and my hostess who lives on the river and had a chat très adorable and plus calin (who loves to be petted, I believe!)
And lastly, thank the typewriter gods that I was actually given a keyboard like those in the USA, otherwise my mistakes would have been MANY< many more.
Oh, and get this, a poor lady was lost and asked me “Bitte” for help. I thought she was German and asked if she spoke German, “A little,” she replied.  I then gave her directions in German to the closest metro! What is the world coming to when an American tells a French woman (for I think she was French after all) how to get to a metro station in her native country in her worst enemy’s language!!
Bon nuit mes bonnes amis!  (p.s. I’ll correct the grammar after I have some REAL classes)
Susan
p.s. happy late birthday Melissa, how cool to see you enroute to the airport!
Church in Paris

It’s off to France I go . . .

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In 1999 after taking a month long trip to Europe with my parents and oldest sister, I decided that I wanted to learn French.

Why?
Well, why not?
Before that trip with my family I did zero preparation in the language. Zero. I speak German and I know how much time it takes to learn a language. The thought of trying to learn just a little before the trip seemed ridiculous because I knew how much time it would take to learn something, to be able to have a back-and-forth with a French person. So I did zip. Nada.
After several weeks of not getting what we really wanted for breakfast (coffee, I’m talking the kind of coffee we really wanted), I took my sister’s phrase book and came up with something to use one morning in Annecy.  And it worked! For the first time on the trip we got large American-style coffees–black for everyone except me, cream and sugar for the youngest). “Now that’s more like it,” Dad had said.
Did I keep learning during that trip?
No. It just seemed pointless.
At first.
Then my little pea-sized brain started churning and thought, “Why not? Why not learn French?”
I had subconsciously checked “Learning a Language” off my list of things to do in life. I hadn’t even realized that I’d done that, but I had.
So, I put it back on the list and got busy. Well, sort of. In the midst of my “real” life I would manage to put in an hour here and hour there with my wonderful textbook which came with cassette tapes (a good thing, or I never would have gotten an inkling about the correct pronunciation. French pronunciation has nothing to do with how it’s spelt when you’re thinking as an English speaking person). Complete years would pass without me doing nary a thing to reach my goal of being able to speak French conversationally.
In June 2008 I realized that my “deadline” was approaching (in 1999 I’d set the mark of 10 years as my goal for being able to carry on a conversation in French) and that I needed to kick this learning program in the butt. I got on-line and found a school in Lyon that seemed perfect. I had a heart-to-heart with my husband and he said he’d support me 100% in reaching my goal (which meant that he’d be willing for me to go to France without him and that he’d carry on our business alone for that month). I booked 4 weeks in Lyon at this school starting in January 2009, set-up our flights using frequent flyer miles (Our? Yes, our. The plan was that I would study in Lyon for 4 weeks and then my husband and I would meet up somewhere in France where I could use my new found skills. We’d do a home exchange for another 4 weeks; surely we could find people who’d want to spend a month in Hawaii. Wouldn’t you want to spend a month in Hawaii?), wired the money and then couldn’t quite believe that it was really going to happen!
What comes next is the posting of many, many letters that I wrote to friends and family around the world during my stay in France. I didn’t even think about writing a blog at the time. My brain was too full with new French words and grammar for anything else. Also, there was a point when I wasn’t sure if I was even going to be able to do the trip . . . but you’ll have to read the earlier entries for the why of that. At the time, I was doing well to just keep it all together.
It was an incredible trip and I invite you to join me. I look forward to meeting you along the way.
Susan and Dad Daytona Beach

Footnotes

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One of my fondest memories from the time I spent with Dad as he was (as we now realize) dying, was simply this.

One afternoon when I was alone with him in the hospital room, he looked up at me and said, “Kid, I can’t tell you how much I love you.”
How’s that for something to cherish always in my heart?
Yep, I’m one lucky girl.
•••
During the one night that I alone stayed with Dad at Hospice, the big ‘ole night nurse came up to me. “Honey,” he said, “If you hear only one thing I say tonight, hear this. Our God is a loving God, he doesn’t operate on guilt. If you’re down the hall getting a cup of coffee or getting a bite to eat in the family room when your Daddy passes, then you weren’t meant to be there.”
I can’t recall his name now, but I can see him. A big man that I surely couldn’t have wrapped my arms around, and at least a foot taller than me. Think of Hoss Cartwright, for those of you who remember Bonanza. But even taller.
As it turned out I was there, with my husband, brother and sister. But Dad died within minutes of Dayton and then Jan arriving. Seems it was really important that they be there. And Mom and Hannah arrived about 30 seconds after. Seems it wasn’t important that they be there. But still, we were ALL there just after.
Thanks Mr. Hospice Nurse. That was some really good advice. I passed it on to a friend whose mother was dying. She later told me that she found comfort in that bear of a man’s words (she was not there when her mother passed).
Mahalo Mr. Hospice Nurse. Mahalo.
•••
About four months after Dad died, I was lucky enough to go to Wyoming with my husband–to go skiing. On one particularly beautiful run, I thought of Dad. I was all alone (literally, no one else was on the slope with me). With the brisk white around me, I felt peaceful and calm. Above, the sky was a brilliant blue with just a few puffy white clouds.
“Come on Dad,” I called, “Hop into my heart and come along for a ride!”
And he did. I imagined his face in one of my favorite shots of him (taken when we were in London together in 1997) and his explosive laugh. Immediately, I felt chicken skin travel from my toes to the top of my head.
“So this is what it feels like,” I heard him say. I felt his pure joy and light course through my body. “This sure is fun!”

Dad and Susan in London 1997

“Yep, Dad,” I replied, “It sure is.”
Tennessee flower

An Email from a Friend

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The following email came from a high school friend on December 10, 2008. I was the maid-of-honor in her wedding and she was a bride’s maid in mine.

I have been thinking and thinking about you and your family and wondering. I am so grateful that you gave us the opportunity to walk this journey with you.
I have a theory that as family spread apart geographically and communities have become more complicated, death has been treated as almost a unnatural part of the life’s journey. What a tremendous blessing it has been to me 500 miles away to share this path with you.  Thank you for that privilege.
I am sorry for yours, Jan’s, Hannah’s, Dayton’s and your mother’s loss. But I rejoice at the love, laughter and fun memories you have to cherish.
I always loved your father. He is one of my best memories from track.
Love,
Beth

Go In Peace and Worry Not, Hallelujah

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date: Dec. 10, 2008

subject: This is VERY long. You may want to print it before you read it . . .

Dear Friends,
Dad died Monday, December 8th at 11:15 a.m. His passing was very peaceful.
As many of you know, Dad went to St. Mary’s Residential Hospice center on Wednesday, December 3rd. Within an hour of his arrival, he wanted to lay down and take a nap. He never got out of the bed again. Late that afternoon he did awake and have one last latte with his best friend, Reese. Our sister-in-law Sheila sat with him early Thursday morning and joined him for his last meal (which he only partially ate, he had enjoyed his real last meal during our impromptu picnic the day before). Afterwards, he had no more interest in food.
Mom stayed with him Wednesday and Thursday nights; Hannah, Friday night; and I, Saturday night. The three sisters then stayed with him Sunday night. As he slept he slowly withdrew from this world. The hospice books told us that he was preparing himself for separation from this world. The books also spoke of someone lingering only if they have any fear of death or “unfinished business.” To ease his release, we each told him in our own way that it was okay for him to go when he was ready. “We are all fine and you don’t need to worry about us. We will take care of Mom.”
The nurses thought that Sunday was most probably the day. Jan arrived from Pittsburgh, and some other family members also gathered. As I wrote to you earlier, in the late afternoon of Sunday, the immediate family and Dad’s best friend gathered around Dad to read his favorite Psalms (121), sing some hymns (albeit in our pitiful but loving way) and share good DAD stories. As you can imagine, as we all spoke fondly of Dad, belly laughs came as well as tears.
Dad’s last night was peaceful. He slept comfortably and even began to snore in his more typical way. I made my nest in his wheelchair with its deluxe $400 cushion–tipped the chair way back and set my feet upon an adjacent pillowed chair. Hannah took the not-so-very-comfortable reclining chair. Jan set up her camp at the table where she was finishing 10 pages of photos with relating copy . . . pictures of Dad as a kid, Dad with his grandchildren, Dad at the beach, etc. (remember, she’s the Creative Memory pro).
Just about when Hannah and I had managed to sort of relax for half a moment, Jan said, “I need some copy.”
“That’ll be Susan,” Hannah replied.
The last thing Jan was designing was a large poster. She wanted to add a few lines about Dad. The first two sentences came easily, then it all just started sounding incredibly hokey and NOT like Dad. I said to Hannah under my breath, “He could also be ornery too.” Hannah burst out laughing and said, “Put that in, I like it.”
We three kept working on it when I said, “Well, we all know that Dad’s not your average bear.” That made the cut too. I volunteered to take the guff from Mom when she reads it and tells us it’s not proper (earlier in the evening she’d told us, “I don’t want any of that digital nonsense at my funeral. It’s just not proper!”)
Dad’s last morning (in this world) was incredibly peaceful and beautiful. Mom and Tony (Tony graciously offered to take Mom home Sunday evening) arrived around 6:30 a.m. Jan has just laid down on the small 2 person couch a few hours prior. So she proceeded to move to a more comfortable couch down the hall in the family dining room, I took her place on the small couch. About an hour and a half later after a deep, deep sleep, I awoke to find myself in the room with just Dad and Tony. Mom and Hannah had gone to IHOP for breakfast. I was awake but just deeply exhausted, so I chose to stay comfortably cozy on the couch with Dad’s tennis quilt wrapped around me (Hannah gave Dad this, his quilt on his 87th birthday on the 8th of March earlier this year.
It’s very colorful with tennis rackets and balls woven into the design, as well tennis type prints throughout). Tony was simply sitting at Dad’s side holding his hand. He then pulled out his ukulele and played a variety of pleasant tunes. He also began singing (something that you who know Tony know he rarely does). It was beautiful.
“Row, row, row your boat, gently down the stream. Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily, life is but a dream.”
When he started playing “Michael row your boat ashore” I couldn’t help but join in and sing. “Hallelujah. Michael row your boat ashore, hallelu . . .u jah.”
Next came, “Daddy loves us and we love him, Hallelu . . .u jah. Daddy loves us and we love him. Hallelujah.” Followed by, “Go in peace and worry not, Hallelujah. Go in peace and worry not. Hallelu . . u jah.”
Tony continued to play and sing. “Oh when the Saints, go marching in. Oh when the Saints go marching in. Oh how I want to be in that number, when the Saints go marching in.”
I contemplated getting up and going to Dad’s side but thought, “No, he knows how exhausted I am and he’d want me to rest.” I then closed my eyes and gave thanks to Dad for his wonderful early birthday gift. As I remembered him singing and then bursting out laughing, “Happy Birthday me again Daddy!” (a unique trait of mine–since childhood I would ask Dad, “Happy Birthday me again Daddy!” and he would), Dad sent me another gift. I don’t know how else to describe it but to say that within my very core I felt my father’s presence. He was within me, yet separate from me. With my eyes closed yet fully awake I saw his right arm (which was also my right arm) rise up and show me how he had held me in the palm of his hand when I was newly born.
And then I knew (I suppose this may sound presumptuous to some, but I really felt it in the core of my being) what he’d been doing for the past four days as he slept, he had been going through memory after memory, looking at it, cherishing it and then moving on.
I stayed in my cozy nest for a few minutes more before Tony sat down his ukulele and joined me. Still reclining and wrapped in the quilt, I draped my legs over his. We cuddled and I told Tony what Dad had just shown me.
A few minutes later, my brother Dayton arrived. He asked if there’d been any changes. “No, not really. He’s resting well and breathing more calmly. But his feet are very cold now.” Dayton checked them and said, “One’s cold and one’s warm.” “It keeps changing,” I replied. Jan then returned from her nap in the family dining room. She readied herself for a shower and disappeared into Dad’s bathroom. Dayton sat down at the table to open his address book for numbers of friends to call. Tony and I stayed snuggled on the couch.
“His breathing has stopped,” Dayton said as he rose from the table and went to Dad’s left side. Tony and I got up and stood next to Dad’s right. We waited and maybe 15 seconds later there was a very short exhalation, more like a muscle spasm really. Dayton rapped on the door and called for Jan to come out. There was one final puff and he was gone.
I cradled Dad’s head and sang, “Go in peace and worry not, Hallelujah. Go in peace and worry not. Hallelujah.”
Mom and Hannah came in the room maybe 30 seconds later. We held hands and gathered around Dad and gave thanks for his life.
I’ve wondered at times whether it was appropriate for me to write such personal thoughts and experiences to you all, but then your replies would come and I’d feel a confirmation of how connected we all are and that you DID want to be informed of the changes . . . . I thank you ALL for “being there” in spirit and remembering my family in your thoughts and prayers. I know I’ll miss my Dad, but I can’t help but feel so very thankful for his very full life, and for the time we got to spend with him saying goodbye, and for his quick departure. And mostly, I am just so very thankful for getting to have him as my father.
And as if this missive wasn’t long enough, I’d like to end with a bit of humour. It ends up that his older sister Hannah was mistakingly included in the “preceded by” section of the obituary (she’s still alive). No one, and I mean NO ONE, caught it before it went to print! (Please realize that Dad died at 11:15 a.m. on Monday and the deadline for the obit was 4 p.m., I think it’s amazing we got anything in there on the same day at all. Well yes, we had a draft written, but still . . .)
So, guess who called yesterday morning saying, “I’m still alive!”
We’re all calling it a Freudian slip . . .
love and hugs to you all,
aloha,
Susan

Enjoy A Picnic Whenever & Wherever It Appears, for It May Be Your Last

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date: Dec. 7, 2008

subject: The “end” is near . . .

Dear wonderful Girlfriends,

Dad’s course really took a turn on Thursday . . . he has begun his journey and the “end” is near. Jan, Hannah and I (the three sisters) are here in the room (Jan brought her computer, turned it on and found that there is Wi-Fi here) and we’re staying the night together.

Earlier, the entire family (the four kids; my husband, Tony; Dwight, Hannah’s husband; Mom and Dad’s best friend, Reese) gathered around Dad and sang songs, read Psalms 121 (Dad’s favorite) and #130. We then each shared many, many good memories. It was truly beautiful.

Then we sat down to a dinner of salad and hamburgers that Dayton brought (we hadn’t had a “real” meal all day and everyone was ravenous). We obviously don’t know when Dad will go . . . but we feel it’ll be when things quiet down. Mom said very comforting words to Dad including, “I know you’re tired Clyde. It’s okay to go . . . we’re all fine, you don’t need to worry about us.”

Yes, of course I’ll miss my Dad; but at this moment, I can’t help but feel so very thankful for the good, long life he’s had. He has obviously touched so MANY people. What a gift my siblings and I have had to have him as a father. I will carry him in my heart forever . . . when he was ill and I was still at home, I carried him perched on a pedestal in my heart as I went for bike rides . . . now I feel like he’ll have a permanent place there.

Love to you all and mahalo for your many, many wonderful and caring emails.

Susan

p.s. There’s one story I didn’t share . . . our last “picnic” with Dad.

Tony was driving Dad and Mom from the Patricial Neal Rehab center in downtown Knoxville to St. Mary’s hospice facility in the north part of town. Jan and I were in Dad’s Subaru Baja truck. Jan had asked Dad if he wanted to stop at a drive-through for lunch. “No, “ he adamantly replied, “I want to go straight there.” But after we passed a Wendy’s, Jan’s cell phone rang. “Dad wants to stop for lunch,” Mom said. We all turned around and pulled into a Wendy’s.

We parked side-by-side and went inside to order lunch. It was a beautifully clear day (amazing how that has happened on the days when Dad’s been in transit . . . it’s been so cold and rainy on all the other days). Tony, Jan and I piled into the back of Mom’s Toyota Avalon. Mom sat in the driver’s seat and Dad in the front passenger seat.

First Dad devoured (and I mean devoured) his chili. “Yum, this is good!” he said. Then he devoured his burger. Again, “Yum!” Next followed the frosty and a milk. At one point I said in my typical optimistic way, “This is fun!” Dad burst out laughing. He didn’t say anything, but I could feel him thinking, “You always have so much fun Susan doing the simplest things.”

That was our last picnic with Dad. What a gift!

That was on Wednesday the 3rd. Later that same afternoon he said he was tired. He’s been sleeping ever since. The two booklets that Hospice has on hand have been incredibly helpful in describing the journey he’s currently on. And reading them, we realized that he had begun the journey several weeks earlier. I think my Dad in his ever tenacious way had been giving every moment ALL of his energy. Once he arrived here he could feel (I think) this special place’s spirituality and that he had arrived at a safe haven. What a gift we have been given. May this and all hospice facilities continue to be blessed for the wonderful care and compassion they provide so many people.

Love to you all