I grew up on a quiet street in Ottawa Hills, a village surrounded by the City of Toledo, Ohio. Orchard Road was mainly populated by families, so there were always kids riding their bikes and playing jacks on the sidewalk. Our two-story home had a neighbor on each side. On the corner was a single mom with two teenage boys named Ellen (I always thought that's where my middle name came from until my other advised me otherwise). To the right of our house lived an older couple whose last name was Fisher.
Mrs. Fisher (I don't think we ever knew her first name) had glow-in-the-dark bleached blond hair and wore cotton house dresses and slippers all day long, usually with a cigarette dangling from her mouth. They didn't have children or grandchildren and I never saw any visitors there. Once in a while, she would invite us kids over to her kitchen and give us Tom Collins mix (without alcohol) in paper cups. Mother put a stop to that, deeming it kind of suspicious. Frank was a balding man who was consumed by attaining perfection on his back and front lawns. He would appear on the front lawn wearing a pith helmet, sleeveless undershirt and boxer shorts, as well as dark socks and sandals. Us kids would laugh hysterically when we spotted him from our window. Frank would survey the lawn and meticulously pull any weeds he might discover. His driveway consisted of two cement strips with grass in the middle. Frank apparently hated it when delivery trucks or visitors parked in the driveway, possibly dripping oil or other fluids on his carefully maintained lawn. He painted a small sawhorse silver, put a small "NO PARKING" plate on it and placed it over the two cement strips, hoping to discourage possible offenders. In our backyard, there was a large tree. In the fall, it would drop its leaves on the ground, including on Frank's yard. He would rake the leaves into a basket and dump them in our yard since they came from our tree. This made my mother crazy. One night, my mom Barbara, who was a generally quiet and modest person not given to displays of anger, waited until very late and crept over to the Fisher's driveway. She grabbed the aforementioned silver sawhorse, plopped it in her station wagon and drove it to the nearby University of Toledo campus, where she deposited it in a parking lot. The following Halloween, she actually egged Frank's house from a second-story window, amazing us with her throwing arm and daring. I grew up and left home. As far as I know, my mom never again pulled these pranks on anyone else. The Fishers moved away, never to be heard from again.
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A few weeks ago, I saw a notice at the Rowlett library advertising a writing contest with the theme of "Into the Unknown." I thought why not and submitted this short essay. Amazingly, I placed first in the Short Work division and received a cash prize as well as a certificate from the City of Rowlett. It's a somewhat longer than my usual posts, but I hope you'll enjoy it.
Into My Personal Unknown This is not about space travel, a cure for cancer, driverless vehicles, or artificial intelligence. Instead, it is a very personal essay about the great unknown that lies ahead for every human being. I will be 78 years old in a few short months and nearly every day brings a reminder that I am getting closer to the end. I say this not with sadness or melancholy, but with a sense of curiosity about my future. Recently I have been reminded of the fragility of human life, especially for those in my wider circle of friends and family. The young father taken from my second cousin and her sons by an incurable brain tumor, the sudden death of my childhood friend’s husband and my brother-in-law’s long, complicated, near-fatal illness in just the last month have all served as a wakeup call that the expected length of our existence on earth is not a given. Grief envelops me as I contemplate these events and the deaths of others precious to me, particularly my younger brother, dead at 54 from pancreatic cancer. My father and mother passed away at 84 and 91, respectively. Death at their ages was not unusual or unexpected, but I find myself missing them terribly some days. I long to call my mom and fill her in about her three great-grandchildren. I miss conversations with my dad, who was full of wisdom. One day long ago, when I said I wished I could close my eyes and my three children would be out of diapers, he said, “Don’t ever do that, because when you open them, they’ll be getting dressed for the prom.” My closest friends are scattered around the country. Each of these women are now widows, carving out new lives and navigating their senior years without a spouse. I have been lucky in that respect. My husband and I have been married more than five decades and while I hope with all my heart that he will be with me for a long time, I sometimes find myself wondering if I would cope as well as my widowed friends. I have always been independent and self-sufficient, so there’s that. That brings up another subject. If I die first, will my husband be able to cope on his own? Neither of us want to burden our children with care responsibilities. We had a taste of that last summer when I was recovering from surgery and my husband suffered from painful back problems at the same time. Thankfully, our son was able to stay with us and take over for a few weeks. But when staying in our home becomes difficult, what will we do next? Both of us are in decent health but we are very much aware that a heart attack, stroke, or bad fall could upend our lives. I try to stay as active as possible, taking care of the house and our dog. I read voraciously both online and in print and love to garden. Each day, I complete the New York Times crossword puzzle and play Wordle (though not always successfully). We support our busy daughters and their families by being available for school drop off and pick up when needed and transport kids back and forth to sports and other activities. Sometimes, I wonder how much longer driving a car will be a possibility for me. I have already stopped driving at night because oncoming headlights make it hard to see and I have trouble judging curbs and turns in the dark. Often, I cannot remember a word or name that used to come to mind easily. I think that some of this may have been caused by a major back surgery five years ago with 11 hours under anesthesia, but it happens more frequently than I would like as I age. I had a long career as a writer, so this is fairly upsetting to me. You might be getting a bit depressed reading my words so far but take heart. I have had a satisfying life, a long and happy marriage, a fulfilling career, and the chance to raise three terrific human beings. My grandchildren are a constant joy and I take every opportunity to connect with them. I bake cupcakes for birthday parties, attend every concert, cheer at each athletic contest, and rejoice in their achievements. The two older ones are buried in their phones, of course, but my youngest still loves to sleep over and play games with grandma. I hope I am around long enough to see each of them graduate from high school and maybe college. I may not get to attend weddings or hold great-grandchildren, but you never know. I always expected to live a long time. My four grandparents were an important presence in my young life. I treasure what my maternal grandmother taught me about sewing and how my gentle grandfather showed me how things grow. My paternal grandpa and grandma taught me something about business. Two of them nearly made it to their 100th birthday. I hope that I can be that important in the lives of my grandkids as they grow to adulthood. What will my grandchildren remember about me when I am no longer here? I hope that they will inherit my love of music, words, writing, and reading. Perhaps they will learn to enjoy cooking and baking as much as I do. I want them to honor their parents and remember all they have done on their behalf. What do I wish for them? I hope they have lifelong friends they can count on. I want them to travel the world and know not everyone is just like them. More importantly, I hope they will be kind to others and generous with their time and money as they grow older. May they fall in love many times, have their hearts broken once or twice, but eventually find their soulmate and have children as wonderful as they are. No one knows when life’s journey on earth will end and whether there will be a new one in the great beyond, perhaps accompanied by treasured family and friends. I want to be reunited with my three dachshunds and have as much chocolate as I desire--not kidding about this. I have had a rewarding life and continue to treasure each day as it comes, even as the end draws near. A few weeks ago, I went on a solo trip to St. Louis, Missouri to visit a friend. Our relationship is a little difficult to explain, but here goes. A couple years ago, my son-in-law Reagan, who was adopted, located his birth mother Clarita who lives in St. Louis as do his brother and sister (another sister lives in Chicago.) Last fall, she and her sister-in-law Michele came to Texas for a visit and we had a great time together. Clarita invited me for a visit and off I went.
The two ladies had all kinds of things planned for my visit. First we went to historic Main Steet in St. Charles, MO where there were many shops and restaurants, including Siostra, a Polish pottery store that had everything you could imagine. I bought a cruet for olive oil for my husband. We had lunch outdoors at a barbeque place called Salt + Smoke, where I tried a local favorite, toasted ravioli (which exploded its pimento cheese filling when I took a bite). On other days, we went to Yayas, a European bistro with a delightful menu, and a little Greek place. A visit to the St. Louis Botanical Garden was both a history lesson and a tour of the gorgeous flower beds, with trees in full bloom. We also went to the Butterfly House, a glass-enclosed building with a tropical environment for the 1,000 types of butterflies from many different countries that flew around us. Another day took us a short distance to Kimmswick, a historic river town that had many shops in the original buildings of the town. We enjoyed a lazy lunch at The Blue Owl, a wood-paneled down-home eatery that served Levee High Apple Pie, a towering dessert with a domed top crust, and had fun shopping at Mississippi Mud, where we each bought something fun. Clarita and I had a brief visit with Reagan's sister Susie, her husband Deet and their two young daughters. Michele fixed an elegant dinner and I had a chance to meet John, her husband. Dessert was a St. Louis tradition, gooey butter cake we purchased from Gooey Louie's. It's sort like a cross between a brownie and a cake, very rich and decadent. I later got to meet her husband John and we enjoyed a long conversation. On my final day in St. Louis, we attended a 16th birthday party at the home of Reagan's brother Dan and his partner Monika. The birthday girl was her daughter Sophie. I got to meet her brother Pascal and Dan's daughter Hannah. It was great to put names with the faces Hannah and Reagan had described to me. Then I was off to the airport to fly home. It was a great trip, with lots of time with Clarita and Michele. We vowed to get together again very soon. Yesterday, I did something I've been waiting to do for two years. You see, last summer I had surgery to re-attach a torn hip muscle. I had to use a walker for six weeks and could only touch my left toes. Not fun at all. I spent most of the summer in a lift chair provided by my daughter. The summer before that, I had urgent surgery to repair hernias on my right side. Another six weeks spent mostly in bed or in the lift chair. Needless to say, I wasn't able to do anything in the yard except to occasionally water my patio plants and perennial garden with the hose. I vowed that this summer would be different. Off I went to purchase flowers at Lowes. I bought a couple of flats of flowers and a bag of potting soil but was still missing some other plants I had in mind. I visited Home Depot where I found sweet potato vine, a plant that will spill prettily over the side of the planter as it grows. Finally, I went to my local nursery where I asked a staff member to suggest a "centerpiece" plant that would be taller than the others. He showed me something called Angelonia, which was new to me. It sports little purple blossoms that look like miniature snapdragons. Sold. So now I had yellow zinnias, pink vinca, and coleus in addition to the others I mentioned. In a couple of trips using my garden cart, I moved all my purchases from the car to the backyard. This morning, I smoothed sunscreen over my skin, donned my Phillies bucket hat and put on my new gardening gloves. I got out my little gardening bench which has handy pockets for my tools--this has been great for me, so I don't have to bend over so far. Then I put a set of flowers for the first planter into the cart along with a small bag of potting soil and set off for the pool deck. After two years, some of the soil had compacted or washed away, so I broke it up, removing any weeds. Then I added enough new soil to come to the top. First came the Angelonia for the center, then two each of the zinnias and vinca and one each of the coleus and sweet potato vine. Another trip to the patio with enough flowers for the other two large planters came next. This time, I broke into the larger bag of potting soil which was just enough to top them off. I moved the finished planters into position next to the pool and moved onto the next job--two smaller pots that would flank the pool deck furniture. This time, I supplemented the soil with some found in another pot. I watered everything (something I will need to do each and every day in the Texas heat), cleaned up all the plastic pots and returned my gardening bench to a spot near the back door. All that remains is to mulch each planter to help keep moisture in and give them a more finished look, which I might do after it cools off tonight. Now we have some bright colors to enjoy when we're watching our grandchildren swim. And yes, this makes me as happy as can be. I have a couple of other backyard tasks to complete, but I'll need the help of my eldest grandson for those and be happy to pay him for his trouble. Come on, summer! |
AuthorI'm Chris Barabasz, retired from a 35-year career managing communications for health care development (that's fundraising for you civilians). I'm a wife, mother, grandmother and freelance writer. My husband Andy and I moved from Delaware to Texas to be closer to our daughters and three adorable grandchildren. Archives
January 2024
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