Patrick Swayze: Sad But Hopful

Having experienced the sudden diagnosis and death from pancreatic cancer of someone very, very close to me... the headlines scare the bjeebers out of me. Pancreatic cancer is deadly. By the time my loved one became aware, it was far too late.

I'm hopeful that Patrick Swayze will be the exception to the rule. From this blog to God's Ears. I pray it so.

I'm not so much an admirer of his work, but I'm a huge fan of Patrick. In the interviews I've seen, he seems totally Texan, totally humble and genuine... and just himself. I'm a big fan of loyalty, and he's been with his wife, Lisa Niemi, since she began taking dance lessons (she... at age 15) with Patrick's mom. And they married in 1975.

I also live in Oak Forest, the neighborhood in Houston, Texas, where he was raised. I pass, regularly, by the schools he attended. Many people who grew up here, now choose to live here. It was a place of humble beginnings, and I think it's reflected in Patrick's character.

He and Lisa are in my prayers. God has a plan and it's not for us to question. We can only pray.

Mary Lammy, My Yellow Lamb Pinata

Yes, this is a pink pony. Mine was a yellow lamb.

She was brought home to me, in preparation for a birthday party. I, along with my closest friends had banged the heck out of a red, white and blue star on the 4th of July... and Mama and Daddy thought such an activity would be perfect for my big day.

There was one thing they forgot.

And that's the sentimentality of their daughter, who had consuming empathy for all creatures and a multitude of inanimate objects.

The first thing I did was name her. It was obvious to me that she was a "she", but I vascillated over whether she was "Mary" or "Lammy". (Remind me to tell you about my favorite stuffed animal whose name is 'Deery'. For the time being, I'll let you guess what animal he actually is). I was nothing, if not clever.

Needless to say, Mary Lammy was put away safely on the big day, and I would have gladly been hung from a tree limb and pounded with a stick to protect my precious ewe.

Mary Lammy was moved carefully in Mama's car, along with all of my treasures too delicate to pack, from my pre- to post- fourth grade home.

She lived a comfortable life in my second floor flat (bedroom) for many years, before finding her way into the guest flat (bedroom). As teenagers, you see, we each needed our personal space.

Several years after my father passed from this life, with Mama in a long term care facility, and when we were clearing that home of all its furnishings, its memories, its treasures... I found Mary Lammy in the closet of the guest bedroom. Clearly, after I left home, Mother had felt comfortable in exiling her, and while I might have felt slightly offended, I found comfort in the fact that she hadn't thrown the old gal out.

The day was emotional for me, more emotional than I can begin to describe.

I had limited space... in the truck I had rented, as well as the tiny townhouse and storage unit with which I had been forced to 'make do' (because of other losses, 'nother story, 'nother day).

And I had limited time. I won't go into the reasons, because it is a source of real contention and pain. They are reasons with which I have come to terms and accepted. And I have forgiven the other parties involved. So I shan't say more than... I was in a huge hurry.

And there was Mary Lammy. What to do, what to do... I struggled. Today, I'm sad to say that I left her behind, because today, for whatever crazy reason, she's on my mind... and I miss her.

I cried every one of the 155 miles home that day, and for many days of many years thereafter. I left a lot of myself behind that day. Today I'm grateful that I can recall, with fondness, a tiny portion of that self, my former life.

While 'googling' the internet, hoping to find a yellow lamb pinata... I encountered the pink pony, who shares similar eyes and the same size and build... though, Mary Lammy's legs were straight as boards. I'll admit... if my searches had yielded even a remote facsimile, she would be on her way to me... express shipping. I can only assume that she would then either reside in my toy/memory/exercise room... or occupy a place of honor in the guest bedroom!

Welcomed Childhood Memories

I went through an extended period of overwhelming stress, and frankly, clinical depression, in the 90's. It was a time of great, almost uninmaginable loss. And in the process, I lost a lot of the memories that I had previously treasured.

Sobbing on my therapist's couch, I mourned that there were so many moments of my past that I couldn't force my mind to retrieve. Likening my situation to post traumatic stress disorder, she assured me that these memories would return. I can't tell you how much I wanted them. I needed them to remind myself how truly I had been blessed.

Many have now returned. Many have not. In quiet moments of reflection, I often dig and scratch at the journal of my mind, trying to remember the joys of life, pre-1992. I rarely succeed.

Those I do recall, I consider souvenirs. And I give words to them, so they'll never be lost again.

Alice Ghostley Passes Away

Resurrecting many wonderful childhood memories, Alice Ghostley, famed television and film actress, passed away yesterday at her home in Studio City, California.

Her filmography credits include movie parts in With Six You Get Eggroll, Please Don't Eat The Daisies, The Flim Flam Man, To Kill a Mockingbird, The Graduate and The Client...

And she played many characters on television in shows like Evening Shade, Designing Women, Good Times, Love American Style... and many, many more.

But I will always fondly remember her as the good witch and slightly off-kilter Esmeralda on 'Bewitched'.

Ghostley died after a long battle with colon cancer and a series of strokes. Passing from this life is often a blessing, but it's sad for those left behind...

1952 photograph, above, courtesy of AP. As Esmeralda, courtesy of this website.

The Worst Day of My Life

Today is the 14th anniversary of the worst day of my life... the day my father died.

I've written volumes, expounding on what he meant to me and how much I miss him. But truly, there are no words that come close to explaining.

I would love to tell you who he was, to tell you everything about him. And I would love everyone to know how much a father can mean, particularly in his daughter's life.

For now, and pardon the impersonality... I love what Linda Ellerbee said about her father:

He was generous with his affection, given to great, awkward, engulfing hugs, and I can remember so clearly the smell of his hugs, all starched shirt, tobacco, Old Spice and Cutty Sark. Sometimes I think I’ve never been properly hugged since.

Daddy's hugs meant love and security in their purest senses and were far from awkward, but I remember them distinctly. It's funny, though, the older I got, the more I didn't want him to let go. I know, for a fact, that I've never been loved or treated, by anyone else, the way he loved me, or treated the way he treated me. No one has ever even come close.

As an example, Daddy and I had a telephone conversation one day, the content of which I don't remember, but he said something that made me cry. When the call ended, I can only assume he felt as bad as I did.

The next day I received, in the mail, a typewritten letter from him that read simply:

Sometimes daddies say the wrong things. And sometimes daddies say too much.

Your daddy is sometimes like that.

The letter was signed, "Your daddy always loves you. Daddy." And there was a $20 bill enclosed which, to this day (and I've kept it), makes me smile. That was just SO Daddy.

The bottom line is that no one has ever believed in me like Daddy believed in me. And I know I've never been properly hugged, loved or believed in since.

My First Boyfriend's Birthday

Today is my first boyfriend's birthday. I won't outright name him, but I will cryptically say... JLH, Jr is his name.

He was truly special to me and always will be. And I will never forget his birthday... ever.

I will also never forget our 10th year high school reunion, when he declared that I was his first love. He even spoke in detail about the nature of his affection, as well as the notes and gifts that I had given him those MANY years earlier.

It seems that it was my advanced mathmatical aptitude, along with my ability to punt and pass (I won blue ribbons in punt and pass) in the fourth grade, that won his heart... well, not to mention my stunning good looks!

He endeared his place in my heart even more with those special and thoughtful memories.