PEOPLE.....on the road (stories 26-50)

PEOPLE #37.....A REAL-LIFE ANGEL.....Flagstaff, AZ......6/10/11 (Rev. 7/2/11)

    I had just arrived in Flagstaff, Arizona at 6:30 p.m. Great timing, especially since I had no watch: My favorite band "Cadillac Angels" began playing at San Filipe's Mexican Grill at 7:00 p.m. I found a seat near the bandstand and said hello to the band members who remembered me, first, from Pine, Arizona; from Cornville, AZ last St. Patrick's Day; and from Flagstaff, AZ last summer. The band consists of Tony, the lead singer, guitar player, and song writer, who writes most of the band's songs. Tony sports a 50's doo.....more so than ever. His "chrome" hair was piled high on his head in a spectacular pompadour with the prerequisite duck tail in the back. It rivaled Sean Penn's in "Dead Man Walking." When Susan Sarandon gave her Oscar acceptance speech for that movie, she concluded with, "And I'd like to thank Sean Penn for his hair."
    Mickie Rae is the female REAL BASS player and singer. This night she was sporting a henna pageboy with bangs -- every hair in place. "Is it real?" I asked. "Sorta," she replied. Mickie Rae is a fantastic base player. I especially love it when she hits the strings hard with the flat of her hand. Sometimes when she's really in the groove, she drags her bass to the middle of the floor, puts it on it's side, stands on it, and leans over to play the strings. The third member of the group is Thumper. You guessed it: the drummer. He wasn't feeling well that night, but you would never tell it from the way he played.
    I looked up from my writing to see a young, hispanic woman seated at a table across the room. She was, in a word, EXQUISITE, and I couldn't stop staring at her. Her eyes were lowered, looking at something on the table. She had long, curly black hair which hung gracefully over one bare shoulder, the other side held back by a mostly red, multi-colored, decorative hair ornament about five inches wide. She wore a strapless black dress with a full skirt with just the hint of a red petticote underneath which you could see when she twirled across the floor. The other bare shoulder was graced by an intricate, colorful tatoo which snaked its way toward her right breast. She wore a wide, red belt and four-inch platform heels with a little leather bow on the back. Everything in her outfit was well thought out and coordinated to perfection.
    I couldn't help thinking how it took me less than five minutes to throw on my shorts, shirt, and sandals -- maybe a pair of earrings if I could find them.
    I rose from my seat and walked to her table. I said, "You are SO beautiful! Someone should paint you just the way you look tonight." I asked her name, and she replied with a lovely smile and flashing eyes: "Angel." PERFECT!
    After rereading this story several times, the synchronicity occurred to me: Her name is Angel, and we were listening to the Cadillac Angels! So you see, serendipity is alive and well in Flagstaff, AZ. I LOVE IT HERE!
    The synchronicity continued as she and her boyfriend were the first couple on the dance floor. I joined them. Afterwards I said to him," She is so beautiful," and he replied, "Isn't she? I tell her that all the time." Sweetheart that he is, he invited me to dance the next dance; so that I could forgive him when he asked if I was the woman bass player's mother. GASP! (I was probably more sensitive than usual since I have a birthday this month.)
    My new dancing friend Angel and her fella looked sooooo in love. I was lime green with envy. I got out one of my NONbusiness cards and slipped it onto their table with the words: "Invite me to your wedding!" On the other side, I wrote: "BUT don't get married!" And they both laughed right out loud.

“Philosophers have argued for centuries about how many angels can dance on the head of a pin, but materialists have always known it depends on whether they are jitterbugging or dancing cheek to cheek." ~Tom Robbins, American Novelist

People #36....GYPSY JANE TELLS ALL...Quartzsite, AZ...1/6/09 (Revised 1/11/09)

   Those of you who keep up with my writing will be surprised to read this story, as I never write about my personal life, but here goes. A story has been cris-crossing my mind all day, prompted no doubt by a relationship I just ended. I should have known not to trust somebody who didn't like peanut butter!
   It was a long-term relationship, for me, (three weeks with one of those being by myself in Laughlin, NV escaping Christmas). Red flags appeared from the first, but hoping against hope, as usual I ignored them. (I'm trying very hard to let people be themselves and not have to agree with me on EVERYTHING.) First red flag: He's from Canada and has limited time in the U.S. Secondly, he wants a live-in relationship, which I interpret as someone to share expenses (i.e. pay her own way), cook, do laundry, clean, etc. YIKES! Been there; done that! Nevertheless, I kinda liked all the attention and the potential for an ongoing relationship.
   So what happened, you ask? The usual: Not talking about little things, letting them pile up, and then exploding. Not me, him. I thought everything was going swimmingly. But then I DO talk about everything. I just can't be constantly thinking about stuff, letting it get in the way of the relationship and "living 100% right now."
    My daughter always asks, "Is he older than I am?" Probably because my last real relationship was 19 years younger than me. I was with him for 10 years in a committed relationship (although we never lived together). Nice guy: smart, graduated from Yale -- a man I could learn from. He knew everything about music and poetry and literature, but he didn't have "street" smarts. And as for the age difference, I did more before breakfast than he did in a week! He was the one who said, "The thing about Jane is that if we're not talking about it, everything is OK." I think there's a certain security in that -- a certain peace of mind. I liked it!
   Another boyfriend said, "Jane, you have convinced me we can have a committed relationship without living together." Has it come across that I don't want to live with ANYONE? And how can I commit to anything but RIGHT NOW? Committing to someone "for the rest of my life" scares the @#!*% out of me. Why? Because I'm not the same person I was 20 years ago or even yesterday. I thrive on change! I can't think of anything more boring than being with another person for the rest of my life -- breakfast, lunch, and dinner? 24/7? My apologies to those of you who ARE, I hope, happily married, but my choice is to be together WHEN we choose for as LONG as we choose and then go to our separate corners to regroup or heal, as the case may be.
   I wasn't really sad about this recent break-up. It was too new to be attached. Besides I've been working on "attachment" and "expectations" which Buddha says are the source of all unhappiness. Maybe I'm progressing, but three weeks isn't all that long; so I don't know. Anyway, it was Saturday night, and I was ready to DANCE! Knowing dancin' almost always lifts my spirits.
   So thinking back....dare I talk about the men in my life? At my age, there have been a few. (Promise not to add this all up and guess my age. You see, right now, today, I feel about 40, realizing that age is a state of mind, irrlevant really. Some people are old at 20; others are never old. But age is another story to write!)
    I'll start with the first man (boy?) in my life -- a bright guy, majoring in chemistry, and one year ahead of me in school. We were "going steady," (pinned) my junior year of high school. I wore my class pin and his cris-crossed over my left teen-age bosum. I was so proud, but nobody seemed to notice. The first disappointment. I can't remember exactly how it ended -- probably because he went off to college. I remember my brother asking about him and my telling him that his goal was to make $10,000 a year. My brother replied, "So he's into money." That was a lot back then.
   Now we'll skip a few hundred years to last Saturday night at Silly Al's in Quartzsite, Arizona, where someone said about the men: "The odds are good, but the goods are odd." (Examples follow...) Nevertheless, I had the most fun dancing I've ever had. I don't mind dancing by myself if there's a good tune, and it's pure torture for me not to dance, but this night I was asked to dance by men all night long. NICE! I remember three men, two in particular. The first was a much younger guy who was as fanatic about dancing as I was, and he was VERY good. Turned out his mother was a dance teacher, and he said that's the reason he could waltz, two-step, swing -- ANYTHING. He was sweet too and funny and said I made him smile. The young part didn't bother me, finding most men my age seem to be couch potatoes and can't keep up with me. He got out on the floor and danced by himself once to the delight of the other patrons. Of course he hadn't any money, had just arrived in town by hitch hiking from Montana, and was sleeping in a tent on BLM land. I turned to a fellow I know and said, "Why do I always choose the crazy ones?" The real deal breaker was that he smoked, a nonnegotiable for me.....just as well.
    Another guy who sat next to be at the bar said, "You're beautiful" and asked how long it had been since someone told me that. Being kind of turned off by pick-up "lines," I responded "about an hour and a half" which was not at all true, but a snappy comeback. He proceeded, through slurred speech, to offer to do something with me when we leave; I'm not quite sure what, but I thought I was pretty safe in replying, "It will never happen" and thought, beautiful or not.
   The third guy looked promising. He was dark, nice looking, neatly dressed, and avowed he loved to dance. He talked about honesty, and he said he wasn't interested in commitment or living together. So far so good. Then he said the magic word that turned me off: BINGO! He asked why I didn't play, and I didn't want to say it's a nonthinking, time waster; so I just said I never had enough time and had to prioritize, which is true but not the truth! A red flag rose rapidly when after idly chit chatting for a few minutes during the first dance, he said, "Do you like sex?" Silly question, I thought. Who doesn't like sex? Instead I said, "Sir, I hardly know you." Later he asked for my phone number, and I told him I didn't have a phone. Pushing the sex and bingo comments aside, I said, "But you could come by for tea and a walk in the desert tomorrow." He said, "OK," and I drew him a map to my place on the back of my nonbusiness card. Against by better judgement and past experience, I got the tea things ready and spread the home-made cranberry bread with real butter. Guess what? He never showed, and I tell myself, he didn't understand the map I drew. (Do you think it was the tea? Maybe he wanted something stronger.) Then I remembered the policy I adopted when I had my own business: Never stop what you're doing until you see the whites of their eyes. I'm eager to learn lessons but NOT learn them again and again!
    Anyway he gave me hope. I began to think MAYBE there's a man out there who believes you can have a committed relationship and still live separately. Dream on...
   Well, it occurs to me that I could go on and on about past men in past lives, but this is a story, not a novel, and it fairly boggles my mind to think of all that. Maybe I'll write a sequel some time. For now I'll just close with this quote, from a friend, which always cheers me up when a relationship ends:

People #35.......STALKING EDWARD ABBEY......Moab, Utah 10/24/08

    I was about 50 miles south of Moab, when and I discovered there was a writers' conference there called "Confluence," as in writers coming together like rivers. I hit the tail end of it, arriving on Saturday afternoon; so just as soon as I arrived, I went to one of the many free events and continued nonstop for two days straight. The conference honored Edward Abbey, who is one of my idols, and now I want to read his books and learn everything I can about him. I didn't realize he lived in this area. In fact at one time he was a ranger at Arches National Park, just two miles from town. Abbey is no longer living, but on his 60th birthday, he celebrated by buying a 1975 Cadillac which the "Confluence" was hoping to sell for $26,000. I examined it reverently. It's a bright red convertible with a monkey wrench on the dashboard. (Get it?) I felt connected to Abbey when I placed my hand on the door opener -- the very same car door Edward Abbey opened many times (SIGH). (I remember having the same feeling when I touched the doorknob at FDR's "Campobello" just off the coast of Maine in Canada.)
    A highlight of the conference was a documentary about Jim Stiles who started the liberal "Zephyr" newspaper in conservative Utah. Jim is an out-spoken environmentalist who is not afraid to "tell it like it is," speaking out on the rape of the land. Jim is a brilliant writer and artist, who personalizes his Zephyr ads with original drawings of business owners. It's said that people get the paper just for the ads! Alas, Jim moved to Monticello, Utah, probably to escape the RVs, 4 wheelers, river traffic, touristy stores, numerous restaurants, and other STUFF in growing Moab. Now I hear he's moved to Australia and is getting married at 50+. What a loss to this area! I picked up a copy of "The Zephyr" and read it carefully, digesting every morsel. The first thing I saw was this bit by George Carlin and later watched him deliver it live on YouTube:

    "The Zephyr" will go online soon (no more paper copies). You can get on the email list by writing cczephyr@gmail.com. It's free and well worth the read.
    Another highlight of the conference was a documentary about singer, song writer, actress, activist Katie Lee called "Drowning River," showing what the Colorado River was like before Glen Canyon Dam was built. She fought it right along with Edward Abbey and his group, later known as the Monkey Wrench Gang. The @#!*% dam essentially wiped out most of the canyon's unique beauty and accessibility to the side canyons by raising the water level to create Lake Powell --"drowning the river." Katie spoke at the conference and at 89 is still an activist and full of @#!*% -- wonderful to see such a great spirit, and I told her so!
    I went to several other events, including a film "Lonely Are the Brave" starring Kirk Douglas (in all his glory!), based on Edward Abbey's writing. I also attended a panel on "Religion and the Environment." My hackles went up, along with several red flags, when I learned the moderator was from Brigham Young University. (YIKES!) Not, I thought, the most objective moderator. The other three panelists were a Mormon woman, a self-described "not an atheist but an earthiest," and the mayor of Moab. In spite of what I considered a "weighted" panel, it was a civil, two-hour discussion with the audience barely outnumbering the panel. I managed to bring up what I feel has the greatest negative impact on the environment and is the greatest threat: POPULATION GROWTH! I managed to get in the fact that world population grows by 210,000+ per DAY (GASP). Actually I ended up liking the guy from BYU. He was very approachable and not at all combative, although he did speak (preach?) too long about the LDS (Mormon) church and its beliefs. Because of my concern for overpopulation, I was relieved to hear the Mormon Church no longer promotes large families and says it's OK to do what they need to do to have the number of children they want. And, I think I heard him say that they need to consider how each new child affects the environment, but maybe that was just wishful thinking! When I thanked him at the end, he gave me his card and invited me to visit him at BYU where he offered to give me a tour of the campus. (I guess we can "all get along.")

    I walked into the pizza restaurant, found a seat at the counter, and from my perch on a bar stool, looked around the restaurant to see who I knew. As I scanned the crowd, my eyes fixed on one particular person. "Is that Willie Nelson?" I asked a friend -- in disbelief that Willie Nelson would actually be at Silly Al's Restaurant in Quartzsite, Arizona. "Almost," he replied. My friend said the guy was a Willie Nelson look alike who performed in Quartzsite during "the season" which lasts anywhere from November to March. January is the biggest draw offering the "mother " of all swap meets and the gem and mineral show where people come from all over the world. In January, Quartzsite is a happening time!
    Now, after several years in and out of Quartzsite, Arizona, I am quite familiar with Almost Willie, having attended his performances a few times. I'd been curious about him ever since I saw him that first time, and as luck would have it, one night I found a couple of free $5.00 tickets to his show on the floor at Silly Al's. Almost Willie puts on a traveling show wherever he happens to be, telling jokes, relating anecdotes about his life, and singing. And, he's good -- not quite as good as the real Willie Nelson but ALMOST -- hence his name.
    During his show, "Almost Willie" tells about his start in show business. One Halloween, he entered and won a look-alike contest -- bandanna, long braids, and all. He was an undertaker for 14 years he says with a slight smile, coroner for four, and a car salesman for a while. Soon after the contest he bought a guitar, learned to play it, scratched it up like the real Willie's, practiced singing Willie's songs (with the requisite nasal twang), and Almost Willie was born. On his website (www.almostwillie.com), Almost Willie says his dream was not to become too famous, and so far his dream has come true.
    He tells the story that one time he met the real Willie. They hit it off so well that Willie invited him to accompany him on his bus to Austin. At one stop, Willie asked Almost Willie if he would mind going out and signing a few autographs for the gathering crowd. Almost Willie complied, and no one was the wiser. That's how much they resemble each other.
    Almost Willie travels in a big bus, which has seen a few years and is covered with signs and paintings. He is very laid back and pleasant, mingling with the crowd during his breaks and welcoming requests. That's also when he sells autographed photographs and the T-shirts he got at a big motor cycle rally in Sturgis, South Dakota in lieu of pay (when the guy ran out of money).
    Last time I saw Almost Willie was in February 2007. He was headed for performances in Texas, but he'll be back, and I'll be listening to the closest I'll ever get to Willie Nelson.

"A fellow billing himself as Almost Willie showed up in an almost new tour bus, playing an almost Martin guitar and singing songs almost like Willie Nelson. We could say we almost enjoyed the performance, but the fact is we enjoyed if very much! Especially his fresh jokes. One dollar from each ticket was donated to the Tsunami Flood Relief Fund."....quote from the Voyager RV Resort in Tucson, AZ.

People #33......THEY ARE THE VERY MODEL OF A MODERN UNITARIAN (with apologies to "The Pirates of Penzance" by Gilbert and Sullivan).....Bisbee, AZ.....8/14/07 (Rev.9/18/08)

    Sally and Don New are the kind of people you would expect to be Unitarians. They are both active in Unitarian activities in Albuquerque and beyond. They have volunteered to go to New Orleans this October to help with the clean-up (their third visit), an effort organized by the Unitarian Universalist Service Committee with the New Orleans Unitarians coordinating on the ground and supplying support. Sally organizes the Wednesday potlucks, and when I suggested to the group that they bring their own plates (instead of using disposable ones), Sally and Don had already brought theirs. Recently when I commented on the great art show in the sanctuary, I learned that Don and Sally volunteered to hang all the work. I noticed Sally taking red roses to the service one Sunday, and later Don told me the flowers were in memory of his mom who died exactly two years before the service.
    When I took them to the Senior Center for breakfast burritos, they joined immediately. Their latest project is being foster parents to many puppies and kittens, abandoned by their mother at birth. The puppies I saw were small enough to fit in the palm of my hand. The dogs looked like so many stuffed sausages when they're all piled in bed together. They don't really bark; they kind of squeek. They require bottle feeding every two hours (24/7). Once fed, each is placed in a separate box. You can imagine how hard it is to keep it all straight with very little sleep between feedings.
    At my first Wednesday potluck, Don and Sally responded without hesitation when I asked if anyone had a place for me to park my camper, and they didn't even ask how long -- a very dangerous offer since I LOVE New Mexico. That meant Don had to park his pick-up on the street. In just three weeks, that's what I learned about them, but who knows how many other things they're involved in? Many more I'd guess because they're always ready and willing to help out. When I remember them, two words come to mind: generosity and service. They are the epitome of my Seattle Unitarian Minister's words: "Let your acts rather than your words declare your religion."

(NOTE: Unitarianism is very important to me, and when I travel, I visit many Unitarian Fellowships across the U.S. and Canada . They are kind of a home away from home for me. What can I say? I guess you'd call me an evangelical Unitarian. To find out more about Unitarianism, go to www.uua.org.)

People #32......RAISING THEM RIGHT (the family at the laundromat).....Lincoln City, OR.....8/18/06

    I am at the laundromat now. There is a family next to me folding clothes at the counter -- a mother and three children (two boys and a girl). I would guess the oldest boy is a young teen, the girl maybe 11, and the youngest boy about 8. I am mesmerized by how they work together and can't help watching them for a while. They don't see me there; they are focussed on their task.
    The mother folds the sheets, towels, and household items. Each child pulls his/her clothes out of the laundry basket and either hangs them on hangers or folds them neatly in piles. No complaining, no talking back, no loud voices, no running around the laudromat -- each just quietly concentrating on the job before them. I started to write this in my journal. Then I thought I'd better speak to the mother before they leave. I walked over to her and said, "I am so impressed by you and your children. You are raising them right." It was clear to me she didn't understand; so I asked the oldest boy to translate. When he did, her face lit up with a big smile.
    This little scene gave me great joy. It filled me up inside; I know because my eyes are tearing up as I write this. Who would have thought that doing my washing, something I was not looking forward to (a had-to kind of thing), would allow me to be part of such a lovely experience. That's exactly where my book title comes from: Living the Ordinary Extraordinarily. I am filled with -- what is the word? I'll just say "awe" because what I feel is really indescribable. Like spirituality -- hard to explain. Once in a while something happens in our lives -- however small, however simple, that reaffirms that life is good. We need all that.

Becoming responsible adults is no longer a matter of whether children hang up there pajamas or put dirty towels in the hamper, but whether they care about themselves and others -- and whether they see everyday chores as related to how we treat this planet.....Eda LeShan

People #31.....LIVIN' ON THE LEDGE (the band).....Parker, AZ....4/7/06

    Livin' on the Ledge -- what a great name for a band! Especially if the group is American Indian. (I hope I'm being politically correct here.) Heaven knows I've seen a lot of LEDGES while traveling in the Southwest these past six years, especially last summer when I toured Mesa Verde National Park in Colorado, an amazing park where the history of the American Indian comes alive. How exciting to walk in their footsteps along the paths they walked and to tour their red-earth buildings. I could feel the presence of these ancient people all around me. I lived history!
    This night, I read the sign outside The Dig at the Blue Water Casino that said Livin' on the Ledge would be playing that night. I smiled immediately at the play on words and found the name to be even more perfect when I scanned the stage and found the group composed entirely of American Indians. No high falutin', matching costumes or even coordinated outfits here, and I loved it that they didn't "fit the mold." The lead male singer wore a hat, jeans, and a suit jacket. He DID fit the mold of most rock singers, however, in that his hair was below his shoulders. The female singer wore jeans and tennis shoes -- a far cry from the usual bleached-blonde singers with see-through outfits and three-inch heels. Something a little different --not exactly what one would expect -- and I found it to be natural and refreshing. The next night, being a weekend, they spruced up a little; everyone wore black.
    When I first settled into my seat, I didn't know what to expect, but the bands the casino imports each week from across the country are usually great; so I expected good music. I wasn't disappointed. They were absolutely fantistic -- definitely one of my favorite bands. The saxaphonist was the best I've ever heard; he made it look sooooo easy, effortlessly adding that little extra touch to the rest of the band. He knew just what to do and when to do it. The male lead singer was also excellent, and the female lead vocalist had the high, lilting voice of an angel. And, they could play ANYTHING.
    I stopped the female singer as she exited the stage. "Nice singing," I said. "Nice dancing," she replied. We both smiled. I walked over to the saxaphonist and complimented him on his great talent. "You belong in New Orleans or Memphis," I said, and I was not surprised when he replied, "I've been there." I also had a chance to speak with the base player and was surprised to find he (and the female singer) chose to live on a reservation just outside Scottsdale. His told me his wife is on the Tribal Council there. The other band members live in Phoenix. I chatted with Tyrone, the male lead singer, for a while and learned the names and background of the members. I asked him to write them down for this story. If I can read his writing: Tyrone Duwjenie, the lead singer, is Hopi-Haulapai. Bobby Trijo, saxaphonist, is Apache. Rudi Chavez, base, is Yakee, and Tammy Hayes, female vocalist, is Pima Maricopa.
    Did you notice that none of them had Indian names? I wish they had because I love Indian names (e.g., Running Deer, Dancing Waters). Those American Indian names paint such pretty pictures in my mind, and I love the ethnicity. One of my pet peeves in life is that people who come here to live from all parts of the world change their given names to something like Bill or Sally. We Americans are so egocentric. We think our way is the best way -- the ONLY way. (NOT!) I often think Americans are too lazy -- too important -- to make the effort to learn ethnic names which admittedly take a little effort. But I feel it is a sign of respect and absolutely necessary to make that effort. It honors diversity. I applaud Black Americans who purposely give their children unique names like Tanisha or Davonne. They insist on retaining their SELVES and not letting the American culture overtake them. They do it THEIR way; it is a statement of independence. YES!
    This respect for other cultures first came home to me when I worked as a temporary for the City of Seattle. The receptionist on one job was a tiny, beautiful woman with dark features. In her friendliest manner, she introduced herself as Aricelli. "What?" I said, finding it very difficult to pronouce her name. "Aricelli," she repeated, "but you can call me Sally." "No way," I responded, "your name is wayyyyyy too beautiful to change it." But you see, she was making it easy for us Americans who just don't want to make the extra effort to learn someone's name. I always called her Aricelli, and it was easy after just a few tries. I remember it to this day. People need to stand up for their heritage in whatever way they can in this day and age when society is pushing us all into one homogeneous mold. How boring if everyone were like everyone else!
    And then, this year right here in Quartzsite, I met the owner of The Breakfast Corner. (I have written often that they have the BEST huevos rancheros in the whole world.) When I wanted to compliment him on them, I asked the waitress his name. "Alex," she replied. I knew that couldn't be and asked him his REAL name. "Alejandro," he crooned. And I say "crooned" because a beautiful name like has such a musical quality that it just seems to roll off the lips and float on the air. He will always be Alejandro to me.
    I didn't tell the Aracelli or the Alejandro story to Tyrone that night, but I did comment on his name, thinking he might have Americanized it. I felt better about it when he said his grandmother named him. She was a big fan of Tyrone Power, a movie star who I hate to admit I'm old enough to remember. He was handsome and dashing -- a real heart-throb. Good for Grandma!
    So the story goes. You can imagine what a GREAT time I had those two nights dancin' on the ledge.

People #30.....LET IT SHINE (Dorothy McCord).....Quartzsite, AZ....1/12/06

    Dorothy and her husband were always the first to put up their outside Christmas lights -- a production of enormous proportions: lights that traveled from one side of their porch to the other, a sheet of tiny lights draped across the front, graceful reindeer, and best of all the multi-colored lights across the front yard, magnified many times because they were inserted in the tops of plastic milk bottles filled with water. It was always well into January before the whole thing came down.
    But tonight the lights were out. I wanted to run over there and say, "Dorothy would have wanted them on." But I hesitated, debated the action in my mind, and decided against it. You see, Dorothy -- wonderful, vivacious, funny, energetic, friendly, outgoing Dorothy -- the Dorothy I loved -- died today. I pause now in writing this story because after saying that, really, what is left to say? One can only sit for a moment with misty eyes in continued disbelief.
    Dorothy wasn't here and neither were the lights. Perhaps the family did it on purpose as a symbol of her passing -- the passing of a colorful spirit -- as colorful as the Christmas lights that surrounded her home. I missed Dorothy and I missed the lights.
    To my surprise, the next night the lights were back on! This time I did go over to their home, now populated by their children, grandchildren, and no doubt great grandchildren. I found LaVerne, Dorothy's husband, and said, "I'M SO GLAD THE CHRISTMAS LIGHTS ARE BACK! DOROTHY WOULD HAVE WANTED THEM ON. "Yes," replied their daughter Vernine, "We're here now, and we want them on."

    So what do I remember about Dorothy?

...First of all, her love of the birds and rabbits that frolicked around her home. She had several feeding stations, and I watched her go back and forth as she refilled the water and food containers almost daily.

...I had no furniture when I first moved into my home. The five tables, lamp, and chair she gave me will always be there as a reminder of her generosity and kindness.

...She always looked so nice, wearing a different outfit every day, unlike me with my closet full of T-shirts.

...She said she had trouble sleeping; so I went over one night and did a relaxation session with her just before bed.

...She was the first person I invited to join me for high tea at my new home on April 27, 2005. Her sense of humor showed in her response, "Should I wear a hat?"

...How can I forget her home-made doughnuts? I cherish the recipe she wrote out for me.

...And dancing! Dorothy loved to dance more than anyone I know, except me. Indeed, she died on the way to a dance session, having said to her husband LaVerne that very morning, "I'm just so happy; I get to dance all day."

...Most of all I remember, and am so grateful for, the long visit we had just a day or so before she died. She came over to see how I was progressing on remodeling the home I bought last year, and I gave her the tour. Then we sat on my porch and visited a while -- not nearly long enough.

    Every time I read this story, tears fill my eyes. I feel so privileged to have known Dorothy even for a short while. Yes, I think we'll all agree when they made Dorothy, they threw away the mold -- so unique, so precious. And I so strongly feel her presence. I know she is with us right now and deeply appreciates the love you are all sharing today.

People #29.....FOREVER YOUNG (Ole and Lena).....Quartzsite, AZ....1/7/06)

    After reading my story "Teeth or No Teeth" (Stories #70), my friend Lois near Durango, Colorado wrote: "Your story reminds me of an older, Kansas, farming couple who used to come to our cabin every summer." She said the couple loved to dance, and I asked Lois if I could write a story about Ole and Lena (names I made up because I don't know their real names).
    As the story goes, the wife's first husband, Ole, farmed his own property plus a wheat field Lois' Dad and uncle owned. After Ole died, Lena married again, and she and her new husband always went to all the grange dances. They stayed in the old cabin on Lois' property: a tarpaper shack with a corrugated tin roof and no indoor plumbing back in the late 60s, 70s and into the 80s. Lois and her husband Ken built their home in 1977-78. Then they replaced the tarpaper shack with a beautiful log cabin in 1988. Ole and Lena protested that the cabin was too nice for the likes of them! But they kept coming, and they kept dancing.
    After Ole had a heart attack and could no longer dance, they went to the dances anyway, and all the other men danced with Lena. In her mid-eighties, she had to have both knees replaced, but that didn't stop her from dancing. They kept visiting Lois until Ole died a few years ago. Lois says that last she heard, Lena was still kicking up her heels once a week at the grange hall somewhere in or near Winfield, KS -- at about 95 years young!

People #28.....SECURITY ISN'T ALWAYS WHAT IT SEEMS (O.T.).....Rock Springs, Wyoming....9/10/05 (Rev. 9/13/05)

    I flagged down the college security guard to ask if the library is open today since it is Sunday. I wanted to use the computer. He not only answered my question but volunteered all kinds of helpful information, like telling me about the on-campus, paved, walking trail. So I asked if there was a movie theater in this town, and then he asked about the Multi-Pure Water Filter signs on my truck. Well, one thing led to another, and the conversation continued on through health and exercise, travel, retirement, and many other topics of mutual interest. Fortunately, I had turned my engine off.
    It turns out that O.T. has led many different lives, including hypnotherapist, fitness instructor, and massage therapist with a license in my home state of Washington! (He noticed my Washington license plates.) Obviously, he was open to adventure and sought new experiences -- kind of an entrepreneur like me -- both in business and pleasure. It is not often on the road that I meet such a kindred soul. I hunger for this kind of rapport, and I remember my promise to myself not to pass any open windows...
    I liked this man! He listened, asked questions, was helpful, had a sense of humor, and seemed grounded. During our conversation, he never failed to keep his eye on the job -- ever alert to what was going on around us. It impressed me that when he saw a woman walk onto campus with two dogs in tow, he interrupted our conversation to ask her if she planned to walk her dogs on campus and if she knew there was a hefty fine for not picking up after her dog. (And he didn't even know this was one of my "pet" peeves!) As she walked away, he shrugged and said, "They don't care." I sensed some integrity here.
    I get a feeling about people. Some call it karma -- a kind of aura people emit -- and I trust it. I can feel it right away when I start to talk with someone, and it continues to grow in one way or another, until I decide the conversation is worth pursuing or not. I don't make a snap judgement but continue the talk until I am sure. If I decide "I'm outta here," I excuse myself to some urgent task like washing my hair or peeling carrots.
    I was amazed by this experience, and I learned something. Up until now, I thought there was no way I could have anything in common with a security guard, much less spend a half hour talking with him. I just KNEW anyone connected with Security had to be a Republican, right-wing, Bush conservative. How very wrong I was!

People #27.....A PIONEER WOMAN (Josie Bassett).....Dinosaur National Monument, Colorado....9/8/05 (completed 12/28/09)

    I didn't know Josie Bassett, but I wish I had. What a thrill it was to visit her homestead and walk across the land in her footsteps. Josie Bassett's homestead was the last stop on the auto tour of Dinosaur National Monument, the Utah section. Dark was fast approaching, and thunderheads promised a rainstorm soon; so time was short. I wish I'd had a whole day there.
    Josie Barrett established her homestead in 1914 about 12 miles past the Dinosaur Quarry in Dinosaur National Monument Utah, but I don't think the Monument existed then. The area is completely unpopulated except for the two campgrounds and the huge Chew Ranch many miles away.
    The paved road ended, and I drove for a few miles on a dirt road which ended at Josie's cabin. The last bit of the road turned into a lush, green area, and I could see immediately why Josie loved it here. My car was the only one there. The cabin, built in 1935 was boarded up, but I could see through the holes in the slats: about three small rooms. Josie lived all by herself, miles from nowhere, without running water, telephone, or electricity. According to the auto guide, "She raised and butchered cattle, pigs, chickens, and geese. She canned the harvest from her large vegetable garden; heat came from wood burning in the fireplace, water came from a spring, light from an oil lamp. Josie lived a 19th centruy lifestyle well into the 20th century." In 1964, she broke her hip, was evacuated, and died shortly afterwards at age 90.
    I could have spent a whole day at Josie's cabin. As I walked in the meadow behind the cabin. The walls of the box canyon in front of her home were steep and narrow. By fencing the end, it provided a natural corral for her livestock. As I walked the trail to the corral, which she must have walked daily, I could feel her presence walking on the same path in her same footsteps. I wish I had time to vist her root celler, chicken coop, fruit orchard, and pond which were shown on the map in the booklet.     As with most good things, there's just not enough time.....but there was just enough time today for Josie to touch my soul.

People #26...I FELT LIKE I WAS DANCING A TOM ROBBIN'S NOVEL (George)....Prescott, Arizona.....6/6/10

    I was dancing for the third day in a row at the Jersey Lily Saloon on Whiskey Row in Prescott, Arizona. (I work out every day, and if I dance I don't have to, and dancing is A LOT more fun!) I was just sitting there listening to Larry, the terrific guitar player and singer, when a man walked up to me, greeting me as if I were his best friend. "Do I know you?" I asked. "No," he replied and after we chatted for a minute or two, he moved on. He was about the friendliest person I'd ever met. Let's hear it for brief encounters.
    A while later, he asked me to dance. Since I thought he was about 20 years younger than me, I wondered why. I said, "I bet you just asked me to dance because you like my shirt." He laughed loudly and nodded his head YES. I had worn a very loud, bright yellow and black plaid shirt over a black tank top -- my kinda "out there" rock 'n roll shirt. He laughed even more when I said, "You want it; don't you?" More nodding and laughing. Actually I thought it would look better on him than me.
    We started dancing. Correction: I started dancing; I don't know what he was doing, but whatever it was, there was quite a bit of JOY involved. Talk about a free spirit! He waved his hands in the air, bounced up and down, turned in circles, swooped and swung, occasionally holding my hands in a kinda jitterbug attempt. I felt like I was dancing a Tom Robbin's novel. My face registered a cry for HELP!
    I danced with him several times during the evening. He was sitting outside on the smokers' balcony, and I was sitting inside as far away from the smokers as I could get. He was drinking nonstop "rum and diet," and I was rationing a $2 bottle of designer water with the word Fiji on the label. I certainly hoped it wasn't from Fiji. He offered to buy me a drink; I said, "No thanks."
    Although we never sat together, I learned quite a bit about him between dances. He had been married. We bonded on that issue, saying we'd both tried marriage, and it wasn't for us. Neither was living together. Although he looked much younger than his 58 years, he was retired from working at a school for the deaf in the Midwest for about 30 years. He moved to Prescott not too long ago to live with his 86-year-old dad. He says the highlight of his dad's day is going to the same restaurant every day at 10:00 a.m. where he drinks two beers; then they go to different restaurants for lunch. George says his dad is doing well but needs a little help with his paperwork. (Who doesn't?)
    I couldn't tell whether George's hair was blond or gray. He said, "Both; my partner does it for me. He's a hair dresser." Slight pause, then he added, "I'm gay, but you knew that." Now I was confused. Didn't he say he had been married and was divorced? I said, "You threw me off with the married bit." He went on to explain that he had been married for seven years, that his former wife was a wonderful person, and she had helped him "come out."
    The funny thing was that I had my hair cut a couple of days later by an admittedly gay hair dresser. From the minute I walked in, I wondered if this was George's partner, but how could I ask that? As we progressed from shampoo, to cut, to style, the hair dresser revealed he was moving to L.A soon; so that answered my question. It would have been wonderful, though, if he had been George's partner. I was hoping for a little synchronicity.
    A pause in the conversation while we danced to "Walking the Dog." Every time the chorus started up, we faced the same direction, imaginary leashes in hand, and walked our dogs across the dance floor in time to the music. It was great fun; I loved every minute of it.
    "George," I said, "the thing I like about you is that you're so comfortable in your own skin." He was 100% George! He agreed with me, and added, "I'm gay, and if people don't like it, they can leave." The second thing I told him I really liked about him was that he definitely liked to have fun. (When people ask me, "What do you do?" I often reply, "I play." "Play?" they respond, as if I were speaking a foreign language. Some people don't know how to do that. George does.) And third, he LOVES to dance. When I told him I was obsessed, he understood.
    When I left, he gave me a big hug and said we were soul sisters. I hugged him back and told him he would always have a dancing partner. George, if you're reading this, you made me feel like I'm a great dancer and funny besides. In short, George, you made my day!