I have been on the go and traveling, traveling, traveling for a week, but now I am tucked away in Shelter Cove, California, with a view of the rugged coast from right to left. Glorious! I will settle down now to write some posts, but in the meantime, enjoy some fabulous California photos!
I lost my father when I was 25. He had an irreversible lung disease, Emphysema, which was diagnosed during my teen years. He has been gone a long time, but I think of him daily. I will always miss him, every single day of my life. He gave me so much, and always I wonder, what would dad think about that? What would Dad do? What we have left is his memory, and his memory is cherished by many.
My brother and I were adopted, and did Dad love it when someone would say, oh, your daughter looks just like you! He would proudly say, “She’s adopted”, like I was a prize he had won. Dad often told me that Mike and I were better than any biological kids he and my mom could ever have!
I loved tagging along with my daddy, and after one visit to the drug store dad asked me where I got the candy bar I was holding. I took it from the shop and didn’t tell him. He marched me back in there to apologize to the clerk for stealing the candy bar. I never again took anything from a store without paying.
My dad taught us how to fish, and we spent a lot of time out on Rocky Fork Lake in Ohio. I loved being out on the water. After we went back home dad would clean the fish, and throw the eyeballs at me so I would scream. He made great fish fry!
We vacationed every single summer at the same hotel in Florida. No matter how many times we went, dad was sick to his stomach the first few days of the trip. His mind loved to travel, but his tummy didn’t like to leave home! Ft Lauderdale, Florida meant Ireland’s Inn, drinky poos (a Manhattan for dad), and macaroons in the room. He loved the sun, and turned darker than anyone I have ever seen. Mike, Dad and I loved the ocean and swimming (Mom…not so much!)
You could set your watch to my dad’s comings and goings. He left for work at 730 a.m. on the dot, and returned home precisely at 530 pm. When I was a kid, I was always waiting for him. I would follow him upstairs where he would change to more casual attire, then I would follow him downstairs to watch him mix drinky-poos, a Manhattan for him, a Vodka Martini for mom, then we would sit and talk until 6 pm, at which time dinner was on the table.
My dad called his mother every single night at 7 pm. He would be on the phone for at least 20 minutes. His commentary was usually, “uh huh”, “really”, “well, what do you know about that?”, and “talk to you tomorrow”. My Grandma liked to talk about everyone’s illnesses and how she was outliving them all. He listened, every single weeknight. He skipped Saturdays, but we always visited her on Sundays.
He had the goofiest sense of humor, and wore the most outrageous clothes. His hat would be plaid, pants striped with argyle socks…and when he dressed up, he always wore a bow tie, even when it was out of style.
We ate out every week, at a nice restaurant called Anticoli’s. Dad always ordered me a Shirley Temple. He relished fine dining, and when in Florida, we had a list of restaurants we went to, each one more delicious than the next.
He answered every question I ever put to him. My curiosity is endless, and so I wanted to know every single thing about his childhood, his parents, his siblings, what it felt like to be raised on a farm, what it felt like to lose two brothers, how he got along with his parents, etc. I wanted to know all about mom’s life too.
He grew up on a farm, poor, during the depression. At 10 years old he won the National Championship for 4 H in the Steer competition. He said when he realized they were going to take his steer away and slaughter it, he cried. He made a speech on national radio about his accomplishment, and when asked what he was going to do with all of that money (.80 cents a pound for the steer), he replied he was saving it so he could go to college. At 10 years old!
When my brother and I were teens, he decided he needed to hang out with us in order to stay close to us, so he would listen to Richard Pryor comedy albums and watch Saturday Night Live with us. Richard Pryor cracked him up.
When I was 17, my dad’s best friend died suddenly of a heart attack. Dad and Frank hardly ever spoke on the phone, but the night before Frank’s death, they talked on the phone for quite a while. I don’t remember who called whom. My dad gave Beckie (Frank’s wife) and Holly (his daughter) 100% of his support and assistance. We stood together at the funeral home, and I turned to dad and said, “promise me you won’t die. I couldn’t stand it.” He shook his head and said he couldn’t promise that. He told me his insurance company calculated he would die within 10 years. That was some rough knowledge for a 17 year old girl who adored her daddy. I pestered his doctor constantly about how to make him well, until the doctor took my hand and said, “Tammy. He will never be an old man.” He was 59 when he left us, only 8 years after Frank passed.
I had my first back surgery at the age of 18. The pain was indescribable. He sat by my bed and held my hand….and when I would call him from the hospital because the nurses hadn’t brought my pain shot, he would call the nurses immediately. I received my shots pretty damned quick after that.
Mom and Dad’s friends, Bob and Dottie, set me up with their nephew, Randy Minton. We all had dinner at the Oakwood Club together in Dayton, Ohio. The next morning Dad said, “What did you think?” I said, I think I’m going to marry him. Dad said, “I think so too. I didn’t hate him.” (Not I thought he was a very nice young man, but “I didn’t Hate him”!)
After I married Randy, we drove to Dallas from Dayton the next day. I have never seen my father cry so hard. He literally broke down. I understand now, as a parent of young adults, why he completely lost it that day.
Christmas was dad’s thing. He acted like Scrooge, but he loved the holiday, our Christmas Eve party (I continue that tradition), and watching us open our zillion gifts the next morning. Every Christmas Eve he would leave the house in the 
morning to do his “Christmas Eve shopping”. One more gift for each of us.
I don’t want to think too much about the worsening of his health, the fear that walked with us all, or the desperation I felt each time I saw him getting worse. It is still so painful to remember. Today is Father’s Day, and I want to remember how fortunate I was to have him as a father. Dad was a man of deep feeling and compassion, he was the glue of his family, everyone’s favorite. Funny and loving, he also had a quick temper. I washed his new car with a scrub brush and dish soap once….I have to hand it to him though, he handled it pretty well, though you could tell he was fighting hard to keep it under control. Sorry about that, Dad.
Dad was very charitable, but always quietly. He made sure the children of his employees had Christmas gifts and Thanksgiving dinners, even when his employee drank their pay, or gambled it away. After his death, I learned even more about his generosity. I was so lucky to have him as my father.
I don’t know if a part of you lives on, dad, but if it does, thank you for everything. Mike and I are thinking of you, and always laughing at something you did or said. I know you believed that a person’s heaven consisted of the memories they left behind, and the positive things others would say or think about them after they were gone. If that is the case, you live in a wonderful heaven every moment. I would give almost anything to see and talk to you again. I hope you and mom and Frank and Beckie are playing pinochle somewhere.
June is the month of weddings, and ours occurred 33 years ago today! I cannot believe it has gone by so quickly. And…tonight is a full moon, on Friday the 13th! It must be a good omen! The last few years have been tough ones, but Randy is recovering well from his double lung transplant which occurred 9 months ago, so we are looking forward to better, and healthier, times. If any lesson was learned from the events of the last couple of years, it was a lesson confirming something I already knew: you never know what can happen, so do the things you want to do, say the things you want to say, and do it and say it NOW.
Now is all you have.
As Ferris Bueller said, “Life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.”
We were “set up” on a blind date by friends of my parents, Bob and Dottie Green, who were Randy’s aunt and uncle! We were such babies, I was 20 and Randy was 23.
Ah, we had the most beautiful and romantic wedding! We are at 33 years, and we plan to make it to 50, 60, or 70 years!
In September, 2013, my husband, Randy, had a double lung transplant. The crisis happened quickly, and was certainly not anticipated by anyone. The events were severely debilitating for Randy, who was on life support (ECMO, Extracorporeal Membrane Oxygenation, and a Ventilator), not only physically, but emotionally as well. My two children, their significant others, and family friends gathered to support us, and that support was an absolute blessing. We are all so lucky to have Randy with us, but the simple truth is, life has changed for him, for us, for our family. It isn’t always easy to deal with. (I blogged about the entire experience under the category, Transplant. An Unexpected Journey). The roller coaster ride we have been on continues. It is simple fact that of all transplant outcomes, lung transplants have the least encouraging survival rates. After a lung transplant, the survival rate at 1 month is 95%, at 1 year it is 82.7%, and at 3 years it is 63%. The 5 year survival rate hovers around 50%. Why? Because the lungs are the only organ open to the air. Any germ, bacteria, irritant, pollutant enters the body through the lungs. Because the lungs are so vulnerable, thinking about the consequences of any given activity is a must.
We were able to attend the engagement party of close friends two weeks ago, and it was so exciting to actually be at a party, a social event! The party was outdoors, which made it less dangerous as far as picking up infections, etc, and we had a lovely time. Everyone was just so happy to see Randy! Last night, we were unable to go to the first birthday party for Bodie, the grandson of dear friends, because of the number of children who would be there, and apparently there has been a serious illness making the rounds at the local schools. Randy has been experiencing a few symptoms this last week, so we decided it would be best if neither of us exposed ourselves to anything else. That is just a small example of the changes in our lives.
I have been relentlessly positive about Randy’s outcome. There are people who make it to 10 and 20 years post lung transplant, and I believe Randy will be one of them. I wouldn’t be human if I didn’t worry, or if sometimes I catch my breath in fear. I do. Obviously, the life we had planned to live has been replaced by uncertainty. We love to travel and dive and hand glide and snorkel….some of this will be changed forever. I plan to take my dive trips, diving is truly my passion, and we are starting to travel a bit within the US. Next week we are off to San Antonio to enjoy a week at a home overlooking the city, traveling to New Braunfels ( a small German town known for its Octoberfests), and Fredericksburg (known for it’s quaint streets and art scene). I am a little nervous. When considering travel, we have to think about how quickly he could be seen by a lung transplant team, not just a doctor. Randy’s medications and ongoing treatment make it dangerous to be treated by anyone who doesn’t have some knowledge of transplants. San Antonio has a lung transplant team at the University of Texas Health partner, University Transplant Center. I’ve been in touch with our transplant clinic about the trip, and I’m sure everything will be fine, but this is Randy’s first trip away from home since the surgery. I imagine we will pay a visit to the Alamo, and most certainly the famous River Walk. Next month we are headed up Highway 1 (or 101?) in California from Los Angeles to Santa Barbara, to Big Sur, Carmel and Monterey, San Francisco, then a week in Shelter Cove. After, we head to Lake Tahoe for a week. Shelter Cove has air ambulances, and so does Tahoe. I’ve already checked.
Randy is doing very well, he is starting to build up strength and muscle, and his attitude is quite good. He is down to a fairly low dose of prednisone, the drug our transplant team calls, “the asshole drug”. Ha ha. At 9 months post, he is in pretty good shape after everything he has been through!
It always puzzles me that I am part of the “Baby Boomer” generation. If it is defined as 1946-1964, I am a boomer, but I don’t recall many of the “baby boomer” memories that are always tossed around. I do not remember the assassination of JFK, I do not remember the American tour of the Beatles, most of the “Baby Boomer” TV shows, and I had no clue at the time that there was a “Woodstock”, or what it was. I think Jimi Hendrix was gone before I knew who he was, and the same is true of Janis Joplin. I have vague memories of Bobby Kennedy and the night he was killed, I remember Batman and Robin, and the color version of Bewitched. Oh, and I Dream of Jeannie and the Monkees!
There are actually two baby boomer generations: the first came of age in the sixties, and were the “hippies” that we, who came of age in the 70s, wished we could have been. We 70s boomers learned to dance disco, listened to John Denver, Linda Ronstadt and the Eagles. Elvis wasn’t the “king”, he was an old, fat guy who could never remember the lyrics to his own songs. (I’m sorry, Elvis just wasn’t that great to us). John Travolta had Saturday Night Fever.
The 60’s boomers had:
We shared the anti-war movement, POW bracelets, and Tricky dick Nixon.
The 1970s Boomers had:
I’ve watched “The Big Chill” and I LOVE the movie, but it doesn’t “ring true” for me. I missed taking part of the 1960’s many social movements and protests, the love ins and the sit ins and Woodstock. To me, being against the “Establishment” was only words. I read A LOT of boomer blogs, but a lot of them are not actually me….I’m the second boom, remembering events in the late sixties and growing up as a preteen and teen in the 1970s.
Do you consider only the 1960’s teens as the baby boom generation? They were the revolutionaries for the most part, the hippies, the anti-war movement, the protesters. We 70s kids thought they were cool with their love beads and long hair, but by the time we became old enough to take part, it was really just pretense. What do you think? Do you consider the iconic events of the 60s as the baby boom generation? Where does that leave the 70s boomers? I guess we might just be the tail end?
Memorial Day is the day to remember and thank all those who have served in the US Military. The vast majority have served with integrity and good heart, and I do thank them and honor their memories. I like to remember my dad and his family on Memorial Day, since they served our country well.
My Uncle Paul Warner served in the 2nd World War, was there on D Day, and helped liberate Dachau. He lived in Germany for 2 years afterward. He never talked about it, and did not want to. I cannot imagine the horrors he saw. Also, I have realized that I cannot find one image of Paul in uniform. He was 12 years older than my father, and perhaps his son has those photos, but I cannot find a single one in my family collection. I do know he didn’t like to think about his time there, when I visited Munich and Dachau he was flabbergasted. What on earth would she want to go to that hell hole for? he asked my Dad. I tried to question him a little bit, but Paul wasn’t talking. I believe he saw hell when he was over there.
My Uncle Chappy (Charles) Warner served at the front during the Korean War, only to come home and die in a terrible accident 6 months later. My grandmother gave me all of the letters and photos he sent her during his tour. I never met him, but I know my father felt his loss deeply, as did the rest of the family. He always seemed such a romantic and tragic figure to me, I guess he still does.
Dad, or Herm Warner, joined the Navy when he was 17 years old, and the war was winding down. He was shipped out to the Pacific fleet in San Diego. My father’s dream had always been to go to college, and he saw the Navy as the way to achieve his goal. He served 5 or 6 years, 4 of them going to college. Thank you FDR for the GI Bill!
One would think that 8 years in the Navy would be enough to serve one’s nation, but my dad was drafted into the Army during the Korean War. He did everything possible to avoid being drafted, pointing out that he had already served, he was 28 years old and about to start a business and a family. Uncle Sam did not care about that, and off Dad went. After boot camp, being a drill sergeant, and being given the impression he was headed to the infantry in Korea, he was suddenly stationed outside of DC, in Silver Springs, MD, to serve in the Central Intelligence Corps. Mom moved to be with him and worked at the base. She said dad would come home with briefcases locked up, top secret, eyes only. I asked him about that, and he responded that he disliked his work for the CIC, he knew “things” he did not want to know, and worked on “things” he did not want to have any part of. And no, he never told me one damned secret even though I pestered him forever about it. “Just one”, I would beg. He did tell me that the government did “things” he could never have imagined. It’s pretty difficult for me to imagine my dad in the military because, though I am sure he did his duty and did it impeccably, he had such a gentle soul. (I’m not saying he didn’t have a temper, because he most definitely did.) My father never hunted, abhorred violence and never allowed a firearm of any kind in our home. “Having a gun around is an invitation to getting shot,” he would say. My uncle bought my brother a BB Gun for Christmas one year, but Dad confiscated it immediately and it was gone, never to be seen again. I would have liked to have heard the conversation between my dad and my uncle after that! Ha ha. I’m sure that would have been entertaining. You know, my dad would say that serving in the military taught discipline, and a year or two of military service wasn’t a bad thing for young men growing up. However, as my brother crept toward the age of 18, my dad became pretty vocal about the fact that “his son would never serve in Viet Nam. I’ll send him to Canada if I have to”. From what I could piece together, the similarities between the Korean War and the Vietnam War were many, and dad considered our involvement in Vietnam “inappropriate”. He respected the soldiers, but did not want his son to have anything to do with “that war”. I guess knowing the “things” he did about what went on in Korea made him adamant that my brother would never serve in Vietnam. Fortunately, the war ended, though most everyone would agree it didn’t end soon enough.
Dad’s mother’s family was Mennonite when they came from Germany, and I often think this influenced his view of guns and war. Mennonites are non violent. And yet my dad’s ancestor, Jacob Werner, was a Hessian soldier who was paid to fight on the side of the British during the Revolutionary War. He quickly took the side of the Colonials, and stayed in America after the war ended. Who knows? Maybe Jacob fought against my husband’s illustrious ancestor, General Nathaniel Greene, Washington’s 2nd in command! Obviously, my father’s stories and peaceful nature influenced my views. I’m sure there are many who would argue his positions, and that’s okay, he always enjoyed a good discussion. But I have to say I am glad I was raised by my dad, and his non-violent, gentle soul. I miss him, and I’m sad that my children were never lucky enough to know him.
Thanks to all who serve, and who have served.
