My Dotty

Connecticut, you've done it again. I've left part of my heart in the Constitution State, and unlike the first two times, I won't be getting it back. The initial wrench was when I left Lucy, my firstborn, at college in 2000. I said goodbye and drove two hours to the airport with tears blinding my vision. When I got to the ticket counter I begged to get on an earlier flight home. I needed to see Lana and Allie. Eight years later I went through it all again with Allie, my last born. I came back to California, but part of me was still there with her.

Fast forward four years. College for Allie was a smashing success. She has graduated and best of all, returned to California. Southern California, but still, so much closer. I just had one more goodbye and it was a doozy.

Dotty married my father in 1965, when I was seven years old. She's been in my life ever since even though Dad rudely left her after fourteen years. After my stepbrother was killed and Dotty lost a breast to cancer. My father chose then to be his worst self and look for another life. That was the beginning of the end of our life with Dad.

Ironically, Dotty took my father away from my mother (and ended her own marriage as well) but then she gave him back to us. She adored him and thought the four of us were wonderful extensions of the man she loved. She valued us and she kept us all on a schedule and together as a new family with her two children. Even though we lived two hours away we saw them every other weekend and every vacation.

Dotty and Dad worked in schools so they had the summers off. We took the epic trip from New York to Florida in the VW bus, camping along the coast. They bought an old boat, Xanadu, but with six kids there wasn't a lot of spare cash. We had big, family dinners at home. Dotty cooked for everybody. I don't remember all of us eating out in a restaurant except for the occasional breakfast on a road trip.  

“Dorfy” was strong willed, so bright and very affectionate. From our earliest days together we bonded. I'd crawl in her lap and comb her hair, which she loved. We had a special hairstyle for her that we called a "Poofontay". She made us all play recorders and wear matching sweatshirts with embroidered initials. A librarian, she shared her love of books and reading. Dotty made me feel special and loved.

Wendy, Doug and Dotty - hair combing

Fun loving Dotty really enjoyed children and vice-versa. My girls got to know her as they grew. We'd visit and always get up to some kind of adventure. Synchronized swimming in the pool was hilarious. She was never too old to get right in there with the kids and have a ball. One year we formed a club with her called "The Red Devils and Black Dragons". I can't remember the point of the club, but one of the by-laws was that you had to wear one of her crazy hats during meetings.   

Dotty and Lana

Now Dotty's life is in limbo. At eighty-seven she has a dreadful disease. A God- awful confluence of symptoms - it's the worst of Alzheimer's and Parkinson's. Called “Lewy Body Dementia”, this disease has cured my lifelong fear of cancer. I've seen loved ones dies from cancer. It's horrible. LBD is a nightmare that lasts for years. She's probably five years into the disease with several more to go before her body shuts down completely.

Now Dotty is in a wheelchair, but keeps trying to walk. One of the symptoms of Lewy Body is that there are "good" days and bad days. It all looks bad from here, but when we visited she was able to recognize me. It made her cry to see me. She knew I would leave her again and became agitated. Yet, she was able to crack a couple jokes. One minute she can't get the words out, the next she says something you understand. That's what so horrified me. She KNOWS. She knows she's trapped in her own body, not getting better. It just seems so unfair and wrong.  

My stepsister, Ann, has Dotty in a wonderful facility right near her house and she is an angel to her. I do not know how she does it. I guess you get used to it, but I don't see how. In a previous visit Dotty was in a different care center. Allie and I took her swimming in the pool there. I knew she was having some dementia, but it was nothing extraordinary. That was two years ago.

Dotty has classic symptoms of Lewy Body Disease. It started with visual hallucinations. She was talking about drain bugs for a few years before any other symptoms were noticeable. It also makes victims prone to falling and several falls were the beginning of the trip down. Into the hospital, in long term care, out of her own home. The predictable pattern repeated by so many of our elders. Knowing what I know now, seeing what I've seen, I wish one of those falls had done her in. Knocked her out cold. We probably wouldn't have known it was a blessing.  

It was so hard to see her - unable to feed herself, struggling to speak. Even now, if I really think about her and how she is I feel almost hysterical. Such a wrench knowing I can't do anything for her and will never see her again. Annie loses her Mommy over and over again - every time she sees her. When Dotty goes, Ann has to lose her once more. When someone has died the sadness eventually eases. The traumatic images are replaced by better memories. This unspeakable limbo seems so unfair. I know Dotty never wanted to be like this, but here she is. There is no healing, no closure, only the prospect of something even worse.

A couple years ago Dotty and I talked on the phone. I was in California and she in Connecticut. I apologized for not calling more often. She said, "That's okay, honey. I know how much you love me." Thank you for that, Dotty. For knowing and for loving me so much. And thank you, Annie, for taking such good care of Dorfy.   

Photo: On the trip from New York to Florida with all six kids. I'm the one in front with the camera.   

Allie's Wild Ride

For many Americans, getting your first car at the age of sixteen is desired and possibly expected. A rite of passage. Not so in our house. Allie, the youngest of four sisters had a decidedly unspoiled, downwardly mobile experience. Yes, she was fortunate to have car to drive at all, but not as fortunate as many of her friends.

Somehow Lucy ended up with an old Volvo and some jeeps to drive but none of them were her own. She did learn to drive a stick. Lana lucked into the Tank, AKA Big Blue. It was a Dodge Dynasty that was so uncool the other teenagers wouldn't be caught dead driving it. Lana made it cool and it only cost us a grand. The Tank was so low tech that it wasn't even destroyed when our street flooded. All the other cars were flat-towed off and had to be replaced. She just hosed that baby out and went on her way.

All throughout college Allie pined for a car of her own, but since she was in Connecticut it didn't really make sense. There was no easy way to get it back and forth. When she was on school breaks we shared our cars and it worked out pretty well, but enough already with the cooperating. The girl is twenty-two years old and moving to Santa Monica. In LA you've got to have wheels. Personally, I’m still in the pink Barbie car stage in my mind, but time waits for no one, particularly mothers.

The search began in earnest in late May. Buying a car is like most things. The more cash you can throw at a problem, the better your choices are. There was a little money left by her grandmother, but it needed to be used wisely. Five thousand dollars was the initial budget. In order to get a good car at that price point you need to be very lucky. Allie was not that lucky. In fact, she wasn't lucky at all. She looked at one pile of crap after another. So frustrating.

The search continued throughout June into July. Priorities shifted. The Saabs were cute, but potential repair prices a bit terrifying. We tried to dissuade her from going that route, but one really caught her attention. It was being sold by a used car deal we trusted. I know. Oxymoronic. She was so enamored by this vehicle that she was willing to buy it and THEN learn how to drive a stick. Now that's pretty gritty. She got a cashier's check from the bank and got out her UConn Alumni license plate holders. Woo hoo.

We took Eric with us to pick up the sexy, black Saab and he drove it for Allie since she couldn't. After the test drive he turned it off. We decided to turn it back on to check the phone charger. Nothing. Nobody could get it to do anything. It was like it had completely shorted out. Shit. There goes that car AND the ten dollar fee for the cashier's check. Allie was deeply disappointed, but I kept imaging her on the way to LA, stopped at a gas station in hundred degree heat with her phone battery dying and the Saab completely seized up.

The Saab sojourn took the starch out of Allie. She complained that all she'd done all summer was look for a car. Time was running short before she really needed to have it. Time to move onto advanced, strategic problem solving. Add more money. Also, forget the Audi's, BMW's and Saabs. Those cars are better for people with an income - not newly graduated aspiring workers.

Upping the ante came at the right time. Last week Allie announced she would buy a car in one day. She's enough like me that I knew not to argue. That tenacious and determined apple did not fall far from the tree. The girl was on a mission. Far be it from me to interfere with the PLAN. She found a used Honda at a dealer about an hour away in Palo Alto and set off by herself to take a look.

During the time Allie was negotiating (as in paying full price) for the car which was "super cute and clean", her friend Kelsie was arriving at the airport for a visit. Allie left the dealership, went to the airport and then they went back to the dealer. The decision was made to purchase the car (with a three day right of return) and Allie handed over her debit card. Who knew you could buy a car with a debit card?  Forget the cashier's check.

The dealer wouldn't let Allie drive the car away without proof of insurance. At first she was going to use our insurance, but then decided to go get her own. Doing the paperwork, obtaining insurance and having the bumper painted took another four hours! Finally, at eight that night, with poor, jet lagged Kelsie following behind in my car, Allie pulled up to the house with the new car. It is clean and super cute, with leather seats and a sunroof. It's all hers and it was worth the wait. Watch out, Los Angeles, here she comes.

An Irish Wake

Eric and the Delaney Boys

A light went out in our lives. Eric's cousin, Chris, lost his struggle with cancer. Although he'd been sick for several years, the final stage was amazingly fast. It was a fight to the end. Three weeks earlier he was still up and around and we all went out to breakfast. Chris was in a lot of pain, but his mind was sharp and his legendary sense of humor was still in tact.

The last couple weeks were brutal but mercifully short. After a brief stint in the hospital he was sent home for his final days under the care of his sons, seventeen and twenty years old. They were kids when their father became ill. Now they are men, albeit young and broken-hearted men. These two guys took turns taking care of dad while juggling their own lives and commuting two hours to his place. Sam had two part-time jobs and Max was still finishing high school.

When Hospice entered the picture in the final stage they weren't too sure about these arrangements, but what could they do? It was the best situation for Chris. The boys did it all, the feeding and cleaning and administering pain medication. They stepped up in ways a lot of people wouldn't or couldn't. We are so proud of them.

The Sunday before Chris died Eric visited with him and he was still lucid, but aware he was running out of time. Chris asked about his oldest son, who lives in Texas and his brother, Robin, who lives in D.C. When would they be here? He needed to see them. They weren't scheduled to arrive for a couple weeks. Chris insisted they needed to get here sooner, so they did. His son, Christopher, arrived the next day, joining his brothers in a harrowing time. Robin arranged a flight for Thursday.

On that Wednesday the boys said Chris was taking a turn for the worse and we should get there soon. We got to the house early afternoon Thursday. Robin arrived from D.C. about an hour and a half later. Max was in school and would head up afterwards. Chris was really suffering. The guys all agreed that when Max got there they would try to convince Chris to let go. It was time. They surrounded his bed and told him how much they loved him. Three sons, one brother, one beloved cousin. At 5:50 p.m., less than an hour after Max arrived, in the living room of his white, clapboard cottage, Christopher Day Delaney took his final breath.

Irish immigrants who worked in the railroad industry in upstate New York, the Delaneys had an indelibly sad story two generations back. In another white, clapboard house Chris and Eric's grandmother died in childbirth. The baby was lost as well. As was the Irish tradition there was a wake at the house. The remaining children, Eric's mother and Chris's father and another sister, all under ten years of age, were locked in a bedroom upstairs with a fifth child- a toddler. During the wake the toddler choked on a marble and died. The children frantically banged on the door to no avail. They weren't heard.

 In a matter of days, Chris and Eric's grandfather had lost his wife and two children. He was never the same. Eric's mom was farmed out and raised by her aunt. The other sister was also raised by family members. Chris's father stayed with his Dad, who was haunted by the demons of his loss. It was not an ideal childhood. Perhaps as a reaction to the chaos, Chris's father became a military man.

Perhaps as a reaction to HIS upbringing and as an adaptation to the times, Chris became a rebel. Flaunting authority, flirting with danger. Chris was responsible in ways and a very hard worker. He was a practical man and got the job done, but he liked his recreation and it got the best of him at times. His cancer was lifestyle cancer. Such a shame.

Chris Delaney was a concrete form supervisor and buildings he worked on stand all around the country. His last project was the parking structure at San Jose airport. When the interferon treatments made him too sick to get to the job he managed it from his apartment which became command central. Eventually, he could no longer work and had to go on disability. Two years ago he went in for surgery and they took out part of his liver. Surviving the surgery was not a given.

 Chris knew how much he was loved. The entire family trooped up to Sacramento the night before his operation. We had a huge dinner at a Chinese restaurant. Chris and Eric and Robin told some great stories which I videotaped. Three generations waited for hours at the hospital, nervously playing games and waiting. The surgery went better than expected so Chris had more time. Still, it's never enough. 

The service for Chris was held on St. Patrick's Day at St. Patrick’s cathedral. Eric was incredibly brave and gave an emotional eulogy that was perfect for Chris. There was a wake with corned beef and cabbage and a slide show that had everyone bawling.

 It's been four months now and it's still sad but we try not to think about him. I so miss the way Chris made Eric laugh. Sam turned twenty-one and Max graduated from high school, the first of many milestones without a father. The boys have a large and loving family on their mom’s side. They obviously have more than enough guts to succeed in life. They’ll be alright. So will we.

Pearls and Lemons: My Town

Pearls and Lemons: My Town

Purse Dog

Purse dog. Don't leave home without it. I'm not sure when this happened, but it seems that dogs have ascended to eye level. I have a lifetime of living with dogs, but I've never seen them treated the way they are now. They are just too precious for words. No wonder Mitt Romney is in so much trouble for strapping his Irish Setter to the top of the car.

People are spending a fortune on their pets. Can we talk about accessories? Boots and jackets and hooded raincoats. Playpens and carriers festooned with glitter. You can get a cute collar with a charm from Coach for only $78. Cats have gotten precious, too. We have a cat boarding establishment near us with fireplaces. It costs extra to have a "Kitty Worshipper" sleep with your cat!

I grew up with big dogs. We had a series of German Shepherds: Dusky and Dusty, Freida and Schwartzie. Later on I had two Dobermans, Albert and Tiggy. For a short time my mother even had a Saint Bernard named "January". She could barely squeeze into the pumpkin orange Honda and did she ever drool.

We had numerous litters of puppies and all sorts of doggie adventures. One loved to roll in dead animals, another chased after the mailman. When we lived in Michigan we had a notorious chicken killer. Poor Freida was afraid of thunder and actually died of a heart attack during a thunder storm. We were away on vacation and she was at the kennel.

My mother is a dog lover through and through. Sometimes I even think she liked the dogs more than the kids. They were certainly easier to understand, if not train. They barked but didn't bite. They also didn't talk back. The kids weren't spoiled and neither were the canines. They did not sleep on beds or chairs. I don't even remember them having dog beds. For dinner we fed them Gravy Train with a little warm water. Dog feeding was one of our chores. I was fond of snacking on the kibble and remember being so small I would practically topple over into the fifty pound bag of food.

Those days (when pets and children knew their place) are long gone. Now people take their dogs everywhere. Shopping and on planes. They sit on public benches and on chairs at restaurants. People's precious pooches are so entitled they deserve a seat at the table. If you question someone they'll claim they have a "service" dog and god forbid you don't allow them access everywhere. What kind of service? Companion?

The biggest change I've noticed has been at the local shopping center which has become very upscale. Until recently dogs were not allowed on the premises. Now they are "welcome" everywhere but Nordstrom. Rules of "Petiquette" are posted. So, dogs no longer have to stay at home or in the car or left outside. They're in all the stores. I find it unnerving to be nudged by an Irish Wolfhound while checking out bras. These dogs really need to be in the lingerie department?

Of course it's not the dog (or the child). It's the owner. I was feeling bad about being such a hater when a couple things happened. I was walking to work on Valentine's Day in my new hot pink tights when a dog came tearing by me, splashed in a puddle and splattered me with mud spots. I was so pissed and turned to glare at the owner, but guess what? Rover was out on a solo jaunt. When I got to work there was an enormous pile of shit on the sidewalk in front of the store. Thank you again.

This all followed a weekend adventure. Eric and I were in the woods and came upon a wayward lab self-walking. He was such a good looking guy and obviously alone. Eric called the number on the tag to alert the owner to his pet's present whereabouts. No answer. No return call thanking Eric for his concern. Nothing but rude silence. Over the years I've tried to rescue numerous lost dogs and found it to be thankless and frustrating. It led me to this ruthless conclusion: people who can't keep track of their dogs are jerks.

I have observed that there are dog people and baby people. I am a baby person. I LOVE babies. Whenever I see one I want to make eye contact and get them to smile. I have to restrain myself from touching if it's not a baby I know. Eric is a dog lover. We stop and greet every dog - get a wag of the tail. Eric has to flirt with every leashed critter and I have to flirt with all the babies. It can be a process getting down the sidewalk sometimes. All the flirting and greeting, tail thumping and gummy smiles.

I have loved my dogs deeply. My heart has been broken when they died. They were like part of my family, but I didn't expect them to be part of your family. I don't love your dog. I may not even like them, but I absolutely adore your baby.

Photo: Toby the Purse Dog

As an antidote to going negative on the four legged friends, here's a cute piece written by Leslie Martin about Gina's dog, Boomer.


Once upon a time there was a little black and white border collie named Boomer. His parents called him Boomer because they thought it was a cute name and he was such a cute puppy. But Boomer didn’t like his name. All the other dogs called him Doomer Boomer and Boomer Sooner and made fun of him. The bulldog down the street, who was named Spike, said “What kind of dog is named Boomer? That’s not a name! That’s a sound! Ha! Ha! Boomer doesn’t even have a real name. It’s just a sound!” All the other dogs laughed and growled, “Yeah, a boom is a big noise. Hey Big Noise, how’s it going?” Boomer was so sad. He hung his head and tucked his tail and walked slowly back to his yard. I’ll show them he thought. I will become Mighty Bitey Boomer and then will see who makes fun of me and with that, Mighty Bitey Boomer was born.

Shop Talk

I've been minding the store at Moss & Daughters for over two months now. There is a bit of rhythm to the days, but no rhyme or reason. It's dead when you think it will be busy and busy when you expect it to be slow. The best day we've had so far was one of the 49er playoff days. That was one screaming Saturday. A woman bought enough gifts to last for a lifetime of weddings. Or maybe she's like Lucy who is attending eight weddings in two years - five of them as part of the bridal party. Waves of weddings. 

The last playoff day and, of course, the Stupid Bowl itself were really slow. There can be a morning lull or a morning rush and vice-versa. One day I sold nothing for the first four hours but ended up with a good day. Only four customers made purchases, and oddly enough, they were all in the store at the same time. Before and after - nothing. 

I have discovered a few ways to make sure we get busy. One method works every time. Try to close. When I  start bringing in all the outdoor items, the shop is so crowded you can barely move around. Inevitably, a customer will appear. Intent on buying something, they're oblivious as they step over baskets and around flower carts. More than once twenty-five percent of the day's business has been transacted after closing time. 

It's fascinating to see the way people shop. The most money is spent by customers who are in the store for the shortest period of time. The turbo shoppers. They'll cruise through the store with impressive efficiency, loading items onto the counter with barely a glance. Pay, bag it up and done. If you didn't have the charge receipt you might think it never happened. A shopping mirage.

Other types of customers are more work. Like the serial returner. There are the 24 hour approval junkies. They shop, make a choice and bring it back the next day. It could be an oil painting or a lamp. The same people keep going to different shops. They buy. They return. Most people are somewhere in between. They browse, they find something they like and then they buy it. Normal people.  

Some people don't buy. They just touch. One day a woman started at one end of the shop and worked her way through, compulsively touching everything within reach. I was so fascinated that I just watched her. At one point she turned and made a comment about it. She hoped it was okay that she was touching things. I smiled that fake "the customer is always right" smile and assured her it was fine. Of course she touched everything but bought nothing.

Other customers don't JUST touch, they rearrange. They'll pick something up and put it down in a slightly different place. And then there is the bull in the china shop. One lady had such a flowing poncho that she knocked over a glass piece and it broke. These things happen. You've seen those "you break it, you bought it" signs. It's not really true. You're not going to charge a customer for something they broke by accident. The store eats it.

I love to watch the couples. Our shop is a little feminine and can make certain men kind of squirmy. Manly men. I try to steer the guys across the way to the antique store where there's more to entertain them. It doesn't always work. Then they can really interfere with the shopping process by looking bored, sighing or overtly nixing every potential purchase. Some women deal with their guys directly. One lady sent her husband to wait in the car. Another one told him to wait outside, like a dog. I thought I heard her say, "sit" and "stay".

Other men are much more cooperative. They just whip out the charge card no matter what. It's all good. Wrap it up. We'll take it. She wants a candle that costs $120? She wants a large, paper mâché Rhinoceros? She wants it shipped to Los Angeles? Done. I love these guys. No muss. No fuss. Decisive, authoritative. No over thinking or buyer's remorse. That's the way to spend money.     

I don't expect all customers to make purchases. It's an experience. Sometimes you just want a little fantasy, an escape. A bit of inspiration. Sometimes you feel like crap and you just want someone to talk to for a few minutes. A lot of people are lonely and need to feel a human connection. Some customers are killing time. Others are breezing through and have no time. 

What surprises me most about my job isn't what I do. It's what I don't do. I don't use a computer. I don't read or write anything but sales slips. I rarely talk on the phone. I unpack shipments, price product, feed the fish and tend to the plants. I sweep the floor and tidy up. I see people I know. One of our customers was Lana and Allie's first grade teacher. Mostly, I chat with people. 

I don't worry about work when I go home. Nobody expects me to be on call 24/7 like when I sold real estate. It's peaceful and you can't beat the commute. Five minutes if I drive, ten by bike and twenty to walk. Every day is different. There's a lot going on with the restaurant - special events and photo shoots. Come by if you're ever in the neighborhood and we'll talk. Shop talk.    

Aloha Again

Trying to write while sitting on our balcony in Poipu Beach, Kauai, but the whales are just so darn distracting. Spouting, cavorting, doing belly flops. Every time I try to look away, they draw me back. Oh, look. There it is again. A spout. A fluke. Just magnificent. Eric swears he can smell the whales. He may have read Moby Dick one too many times.  

I absolutely love Hawaii. Mostly because my skin is happy here. And when my skin is happy, I'm happy. Over the years I've been to a couple other tropical places. Belize, the Yucatan. For me, Hawaii is better. You can drink the water. You can eat the food and brush your teeth without fear. It's part of our country. The currency and language are the same.  

You can also slip in and out of Hawaii without being witness to soul crushing poverty. I already feel bad about destitute people with no hope for the future. I don't need to see sad, skinny kids begging when I'm on my vacation. I'm worried that I can't really afford the trip in the first place. Maybe it was a poor financial decision on my part. Maybe those folks made similar poor financial decisions and look at them. See where I'm going with this? I may have a problem with over-empathizing.

Hawaii also has the "aloha spirit". Traditionally, "aloha" in the Hawaiian language meant affection, peace, compassion and mercy. Good stuff. Now it really means a welcoming culture. Locals seem so warm and kind to children, although it doesn't pay to generalize. Or mess with the wrong dudes. My step-brother, Peter, lost his life in a drug deal gone bad on Oahu. So not aloha.

A couple things about Hawaii just crack me up. The Haole couples with his and hers Hawaiian outfits. She's wearing the new dress in a loud, floral print and he's got on the male counterpart, also in bright colors. You've got to love the vacation impulse - to buy what you wouldn't be caught dead in later. Also the strange artwork and souvenirs one will purchase when traveling. We've all done it. Much of the tourist economy is based on it.

I also love the exercisers. You're in one of the most beautiful places on earth yet you work out on a treadmill, just like home. A treadmill? Why not bring along the millstone for around your neck? The power walkers are slightly better. All ear buds and fanny packs, they walk with grim determination, but at least they're outdoors. The ones who walk along the busy road in the mid-day sun really confuse me. People, you're in Hawaii. Go jump in the ocean and take a swim  

Tropical vacations have their own stresses. All the sun and swimming take a toll. I've had trips where each day I felt more tired than the day before. Happy, but a little exhausted. That may have been when the girls were young and they just never stopped. The requests all ran together. Mommycanwegotothebeachnow? Mommyletsgotothepool. And so on. The pace is pretty mellow with the two of us, though Hawaii does dictate a certain schedule. One MUST be up to see the sun rise. You also have to be in place for the setting sun. It's mandatory. You just don't want to miss it.    

There is a gentleness to the air here that is so soothing. You can see people, obviously in their final hours on the island, soaking it all in. Like they're trying to remember it - now wonderful it all feels. Hoping to take it home with them. I'm pretty sure there's a trick here. You remember it well enough to know you want to replicate the experience, but not well enough to internalize it. Why is it so difficult to really learn things - even simple stuff? Like how to breathe when you're feeling anxious. To put in your contacts before applying lotion.  

I love the rhythm of a beach vacation. The lazy hours with books and magazines. Lying on the sand just staring off towards the horizon. The smell of the sunscreen and all the layers of dried salt on my skin. The naps. When you shower at the end of the day you can inspect the tan lines and burned places and think about boat drinks and where to go for dinner. Repeat the next day.     

I'm so sad it's almost time to go home. It's been way too short. Oh well. It's not so great here, anyway. All the hours with nothing but leisure, no deadlines. The peace, the quiet. What's the fun in that? It's not even all that quiet. The waves constantly roaring in the background. Pounding pounding. So relaxing you can't even remember which day it is. Who needs it? And day after day sunrise, sunset. Sunrise, sunset.