DEAR JOHN

DEAR JOHN by Nicholas Sparks who wrote THE NOTEBOOK, MESSAGE IN A BOTTLE, and A WALK TO REMEMBER, tells the story of John Tyree, a young soldier home on leave, and Savannah Curtis, the idealistic college student he falls in love with during her vacation. Over the next seven tumultuous years, the couple is separated by John's increasingly dangerous deployments. While meeting only sporadically, they stay in touch by sending a continuous stream of love letters overseas—correspondence that eventually triggers fateful consequences.


This tearjerker characterizes John Tyree as a despondent adult who continues to sign up for deployment in the military to escape his ghosts. He is emotionally tied to his father, who possibly has autism, a solitary, emtionally stunted man, who has spent a lifetime collectiong and researching coins.


John and Savannah meet on the Carolina coast one summer while he surfs, and she works with friends to build an house for Habitat for Humanity. John is on leave from the Army Special Forces; he and Amanda vow to keep in touch while he is away in Kuwait and Iraq. They hand write love letters. Then 9/11 complicates matters. John returns to duty. He makes a choice between love and war.


This young couple both make difficult choices in life. They are transformed by love. but, do they end up together?

Working at Retirement

I have had almost 4,000 page views on this blog. Interesting. The counter at the top of the blog column is new. The page views are lower down the left column.


O joyous summer. When I joined Linked In recently, a friend asked, What exactly is your profession?" Practicing being retired was my answer.


No kidding. After all those years of rolling out of bed at five a.m. for forty years to prepare for my day at school, I was bereft of activities. But I learned quickly. Sleep late. Take naps. Eat whenever. Shop. Watch tv. Read. Write. Meditate. Take classes. Garden. Play on the computer. Jazzercise. Check Facebook. Go to the lake. Write letters. Lunch with friends. Cook, well, maybe not. Life is divine.


My newest endeavor is piano. Today I may look online for a piano lessons book. Or not.

The Long Trip Home

My wallet was stolen at McDonald's in St. Martinville at 7 a.m. last weekend as I stopped for morning coffee to boost myself for that long nine hour drive back to Atlanta. At least, that's what I told Larry. Actually, I placed that shiny red wallet on the hood of my car as I wrestled with my huge purse and jangly keys so I could unlock my car door, and then I drove off. How does one say idiot in French?


I didn't realize it until I stopped for gas in Breaux Bridge. I had to drive back to St. Martinville, interrogate the McDonald's staff,  borrow cash ffrom Murray and Carolyn for my trip back, then back to Breaux Bridge to gas up my car. By the time I got back on the road, it was 9 a.m. I was driving to Atlanta with no license, no credit cards and four $100 bills.


The first time I stopped for gas, I lifted the nozzle then noticed the sign on the pump read, "Pay inside for cash purchases." Of course. I walked into the Shell station and stood in line behind 15 people.


When I finally reached the attendant, she noticed my $100 bill and immediately blurted, " Mam, we ain't got no cash that big." Huh?


I responded,"This is a viable business establishment. How can you operate with no cash?"


"Saw those people in line? They all cashin' checks. It Friday pay day."


A nice woman of color standing behind me asked me to step outside. She had just returned from the bank. She told me she had gotten money to buy her grandson a cell phone and would gladly trade me five twenties for my hundred dollar bill. I thanked her and told her that I would pay it forward.


I mused as I pumped gas the convenience of credit cards. Swipe, and you're done. Cash is inconvenient. You have to stand in line, wait for the attendant, who moves at glacial speed, to enter your purchase, watch her dip into the register to fish out bills and coins, then hand you a receipt. I thought, "People who shop with cash live in an alternate universe."

I seldom carry cash. I use my debit card to purchase coffee at McDonald's, shop at T.J. Maxx, purchase a bike for Jake at Walmart, and swipe for my expensive stylist who makes my hair behave.


Using road signs bearing the names of small towns and cities I have memorized over the years on my trips from to and from Louisiana and Atlanta, I could tell you exactly the distance and time I had left to drive. When I reached Mississippi, an overturned tractor trailer blocked the highway, and traffic was at a dead stop. Madame Defarge was knitting my fate again, and it didn't look good.


While I sat there, I called AMD to check on her day, noted the current Facebook stream of posts, recited a rosary, sang along to Jason Aldeen and Kelly Clarkson, checked my cell phone for calls, and periodically moved my car to the shoulder to see if the 18 wheeler had been moved off the highway. I questioned the feasibility of driving onto the shoulder to the exit lane, but that was also blocked. After that one hour delay, the traffic moved. On to Alabama.


I stopped whenever my car registered half empty to fuel up. I saw too many episodes of WITHOUT A TRACE to risk running out of gas, stopping at truck stops, or rest areas. I got back on the highway and set my cruise control again.  I was driving without a license. I could not risk being stopped by a policeman or state trooper. I traveling so slowly that an elderly woman riding a bile passed me up. Not taking chances was my mantra.


When I arrived at the Geogia state line, the sky burst: torrential rain, thunder, lightning. Chicken Little was right.  I put my emergency blinkers on and crept along for miles until the sky cleared.


I arrived at the lake at 10 p.m. exhausted.  Larry and two other couples greeted me on the boat. We sat and talked until the witching hour.


As I dressed for bed, I wondered how many more trips to Louisiana I had left to visit with Mom.

THE UNITED ME

Today I received a Spanish newspaper addressed to me.

Yesterday I received a clothing catalog marketed for women of color, also addressed to me.

A grandfatherly gentleman asked me as I grocery shopped at Publix if I was that lady on the soap opera. Huh? 

The owner of the Gyro place where I ate lunch today spoke to me in Farsi. I know because one of my best friends is from Iran.

A lady at Jazzercise asked if I was from Brazil.

A couple from New Jersey who asked to see the inside of our houseboat asked if I was Puerto Rican. I gasped. Enough already. I asked why he thought that. He said, "You're flying the Puerto Rican flag."  I glared at Larry. He flies at least ten flags on the top of our boat. We look like the United Nations building. He grinned and said, "I bought that flag on sale at Big Lots. It's red, white, and blue. See . . . ."

Any answers?

LOREAUVILLE VISIT 6/2011

I visited AMD [my mother] last week in Loreauville. Larry and I drove from Atlanta on Saturday. Wanda, my sister and I took him to NOLA on Tuesday so he could fly away to ATL on the first class ticket I bought as a surprise. I needed to spend more time with AMD.


At 87, she's frail, has lost her will to live, and does not speak. She is traumatized by the fact that her driver's license has been taken away, and full-time caretakers stay with her day and night. Her hair is thinning, her skin wrinkling, and her body shrinking. Her mission in life was to be seen as the most viewed, the most intelligent, and the most beautiful and well-dressed person in her entourage. Her independence has been whisked away, so she sits.


I sat with her every day for six days, on the swing on her Main Street front porch, on the couch near her rocking chair, and on the recliner as she lay on the living room couch. She wouldn't speak, so I spoke.


I reminisced about growing up as her daughter and reminded her that I inherited her verbal sense and her love of nature. We laughed as I recalled for her my Saturday shopping  trips to New Iberia to buy the list of supplies she needed for the family. I admitted to her that Chriscola packed picnic lunches for Larry and me so we could meet at Sam Broussard's where he worked on weekends. I recalled how she and I loved to shop at Wormser's and Abdalla's and Mangel's before shopping malls forced the demise of family-owned stores.


I spoke about my life in Atlanta. I talked about my 35 year old daughter Alicia and her quest to save animals in her work with an underground railroad to transport strays and abandoned animals to safe homes all over the U.S. I talked about our 40 year old son Braden and his tremendous success in his IT career in Atlanta and how he recently purchased a home near Hines Ward, the DANCING WITH THE STARS victor. I told her about my grandchildren, Talia, 9, who recently starred in her fourth stage play, CINDERELLA, and Jake, 4, who says to me, "Grandma, I love you thissssss much," and how he melts my heart.


As AMD dozed, I relayed to her how some of her living progeny will some day reside in Dante's HELL, where Virgil's feathered RUMOR, covered with eyes and ears, pokes out their eyeballs, stuffs their ears with cork, and cleans out their mouths with LYE. Fast asleep, she didn't hear me, of course, but I took great pleasure in noting that description.


When AMD awakened, we sat on the porch swing surrounded by my sister Laurene, who regaled us with stories about her life as a state child welfare employee, while my other sister, Wanda, rolled her eyes and suggested they take me on a tour of Loreauville, and Mable, AMD's amazing, loving, day nurse, who pecked away at her cellphone updating her Facebook status as we spoke.


As the conversation waned, we sat quietly. Curious and surprised by the amount of traffic in this sleepy village, I questioned everyone about the destinations of these people.  Wanda commented that they were passing through to somewhere else, and the same persons would drive by in a few minutes or hours on their return trip. I asked AMD to help me count cars. Then she wanted to record the number of white cars, then black cars, and so on. Hilarious, mind-numbing fun.


I asked AMD if she had a Bucket List. As I explained the concept, she told me that she had never fished and  never watched the rain on a rainy day. As rain miraculously poured from the skies, we sat quietly and listened to the raindrops splashing on the concrete, shuddered as thunder boomed, and saw lightning strike a transformer down the street. I vowed to take her fishing next time I visited. I also suggested she list more items for her Bucket List as I noted that she had much more life to experience.


I prepared an afternoon snack for the group. We nibbled on Babybel cheese rounds, ate chilled watermelon with a fork, and dipped cupped corn chips in peach salsa. Our palates satisfied, we watched taped episodes of her favorite tv shows, EVERYBODY LOVES RAYMOND, and that sequined Vanna White who seductively flips lettered squares as contestants spit out,"I'll take a vowel, please."  Lord, save me from boredom and contempt for inane game show producers.


I drove home on Friday, a day early, because I was lonesome for Larry. I missed celebrating our June 22nd forty-third wedding anniversary with him because I needed to spend more time with AMD. He sent me an incredible, huge flower dragon-fly themed flower arrangement fashioned by Bobarena's creative florists. I will make it up to him when I return to Atlanta.