Friend Hank had been planning to stop here on Sunday night, on his way from a wedding in Phoenix to home in San Francisco.
He arrived late, and so we headed for Trilusa (described recently in these pages) for starters and drinks and called it dinner.
Hank worked with and loved Carolyn and George as well, and we decided that Hank would stay over until Tuesday AM, and then we would drive to Northern California together for the funeral.
We did that - 9 hours of shared driving is not all that much - arriving in Jackson (yes, those Jacksons were everywhere) in time for dinner at Mel's Diner.....
....no, I am not making the Jackson part up - see the sign in back of Hank's head...
Friend Suzanne (Suzanne was my mentor in the Bank of America, and was quite close to Carolyn and George, seeing them frequently in recent years.)....
.....Suzanne is battling Stage IV cancer as well, but I thought she looked terrific, and was thrilled that she had made the drive up from San Francisco to give Carolyn some support. (I think I have convinced her to do another road trip this summer to Vancouver - perhaps it was the promise of the best dim sum on the planet that clinched the deal!)
That's George on the monitor, looking just like George.
Some thoughts about the funeral. There was an open casket. I understand that this is done so that people can say their last goodbyes and get some "closure" (god, I hate that word). I found it unsettling myself. When David died - 10 years ago - the first thing I wanted to do was to get rid of all the evidence of his illness - the hoist to lift him to the wheelchair, the wheelchair itself, the special bed to prevent bed sores, the diapers, the ramps, all of it. I wanted to remember David as he was, vibrant and alive and striding down the street like the conqueror of the world. I didn't want to remember him as tired and frail.
George too was vibrant and funny and never still for a moment. That is how I would like to remember him, not the old frail man lying in the casket.
The service itself was a reminder, if one was needed, that one never really knows anyone else. Three of George's many grandchildren spoke, as did a daughter, and a member of the submariner group to which he belonged and the hospital where he volunteered. All reflected a different side of George, and all were different from the George I knew.
When I was (purportedly) dying in the hospital in 1997, George happened to be working in Washington State. He took the time to come across the border to visit, bringing a huge stuffed cat. That cat, much to the chagrin of the nursing staff, never left my side until I left the hospital; indeed, I still have it (one of the stuffed animals that made the cull of downsizing last summer). While he was there, he made me laugh so hard it hurt my (already sore) lungs.
That is the George I will remember.
Below, Hank in a sports jacket and tie....
It has been quite some time since I saw him so attired (since banking days, I think, or maybe the last family wedding) so I thought I would memorialize it. Probably more such sitings in our future though; it is the season of our lives for funerals I think...
Immediately after the funeral, we headed back to San Francisco; Hank dropped me off at the airport, and I flew back to Palm Springs. The flight was by way of Salt Lake City, but did have the benefit of being both cheap and uncrowded, and neighbor Michael was kind enough to pick me up from the airport (It's never too late to pick you up, Nora")...
So I was back in time for the gym, Zumba, the farmer's market and bridge on Thursday, an affirmation of life, you might say. Bridge partner Alex is leaving to go back to Vancouver, so this was the last time we would play for a while (although we have arranged to play in Vancouver when I get back in May).Wish we could have played better - we weren't awful, but didn't make points either!
Friend Ken and I had arranged to meet for dinner on Thursday - we have hardly seen each other this season, for various reasons (his sadness at the loss of a good friend, diverging activities, etc.). He had a new (to me) Mexican restaurant to share, Taqueria San Miguel....
It is, indeed, just like the taquerias in Mexico, and specializes in seafood. Both the margaritas and the fish were superb, and it was good to catch up.
My friends Geoff and his partner Marvin had invited me to their lovely home on Friday afternoon for a retro afternoon......
....that (above), folks is a record player. And, below, is a Victrola...
...note the crank handle on the right. Both are in working order, and Geoff has records (including early acoustical - as opposed to electrical - records to play on them. It was wonderful to hear Caruso and Chaliapin as they were originally heard. I may just have to get me a Victrola (and the records to play on it), to go with my juke box. And then, maybe a pinball machine.......
And to clinch the afternoon, we played Scrabble - live, on a board, and everything....
A wonderful afternoon, all in all. One of the great things about the season has been getting to know these folks, and having them make me part of their lives.
To close up the week, bridge on Saturday morning with Cookie resulted in some points (we came in third overall in the room; finally - it has been a dry stretch - followed by an afternoon at the pool (I see another such afternoon in my future, after lunch today).
Finally, the reading goes on. I did finish Not in God's Name. I wish you guys would read it. I would love to discuss it. His solution? The realization that a reading of the Bible shows that we are all brothers, and that there is no reason to fight - there are enough of God's blessings for everyone. How he get's there though is fascinating, whether or you not you believe in God, or, for that matter, blessings, or that there is anyone left on the planet rational enough to listen.
Sacks, the author, referred to Victor Frankl, who was big in my crowd in the 80s, when everyone was searching for meaning. So, I tried reading Victor Frankl's Search for Meaning, a biography. Well, I don't know whether I thought I understood it in the 80s - I sure don't now. So, that was tossed aside in favour of some light reading, Bruce Alexander's Murder on Grub Street, and Amitav Ghosh's Floor of Fire. Finally, I just finished Javier Sierra's The Master of the Prado. I think it was just one book to many, and I didn't have the patience - too much conspiracy theory, famous painters showing us the way to "the other side" through their paintings (thus avoiding the wrath of the Catholic church).
No, what I think I need now is some more movies.....
He arrived late, and so we headed for Trilusa (described recently in these pages) for starters and drinks and called it dinner.
Hank worked with and loved Carolyn and George as well, and we decided that Hank would stay over until Tuesday AM, and then we would drive to Northern California together for the funeral.
We did that - 9 hours of shared driving is not all that much - arriving in Jackson (yes, those Jacksons were everywhere) in time for dinner at Mel's Diner.....
....no, I am not making the Jackson part up - see the sign in back of Hank's head...
Friend Suzanne (Suzanne was my mentor in the Bank of America, and was quite close to Carolyn and George, seeing them frequently in recent years.)....
.....Suzanne is battling Stage IV cancer as well, but I thought she looked terrific, and was thrilled that she had made the drive up from San Francisco to give Carolyn some support. (I think I have convinced her to do another road trip this summer to Vancouver - perhaps it was the promise of the best dim sum on the planet that clinched the deal!)
That's George on the monitor, looking just like George.
Some thoughts about the funeral. There was an open casket. I understand that this is done so that people can say their last goodbyes and get some "closure" (god, I hate that word). I found it unsettling myself. When David died - 10 years ago - the first thing I wanted to do was to get rid of all the evidence of his illness - the hoist to lift him to the wheelchair, the wheelchair itself, the special bed to prevent bed sores, the diapers, the ramps, all of it. I wanted to remember David as he was, vibrant and alive and striding down the street like the conqueror of the world. I didn't want to remember him as tired and frail.
George too was vibrant and funny and never still for a moment. That is how I would like to remember him, not the old frail man lying in the casket.
The service itself was a reminder, if one was needed, that one never really knows anyone else. Three of George's many grandchildren spoke, as did a daughter, and a member of the submariner group to which he belonged and the hospital where he volunteered. All reflected a different side of George, and all were different from the George I knew.
When I was (purportedly) dying in the hospital in 1997, George happened to be working in Washington State. He took the time to come across the border to visit, bringing a huge stuffed cat. That cat, much to the chagrin of the nursing staff, never left my side until I left the hospital; indeed, I still have it (one of the stuffed animals that made the cull of downsizing last summer). While he was there, he made me laugh so hard it hurt my (already sore) lungs.
That is the George I will remember.
Below, Hank in a sports jacket and tie....
It has been quite some time since I saw him so attired (since banking days, I think, or maybe the last family wedding) so I thought I would memorialize it. Probably more such sitings in our future though; it is the season of our lives for funerals I think...
Immediately after the funeral, we headed back to San Francisco; Hank dropped me off at the airport, and I flew back to Palm Springs. The flight was by way of Salt Lake City, but did have the benefit of being both cheap and uncrowded, and neighbor Michael was kind enough to pick me up from the airport (It's never too late to pick you up, Nora")...
So I was back in time for the gym, Zumba, the farmer's market and bridge on Thursday, an affirmation of life, you might say. Bridge partner Alex is leaving to go back to Vancouver, so this was the last time we would play for a while (although we have arranged to play in Vancouver when I get back in May).Wish we could have played better - we weren't awful, but didn't make points either!
Friend Ken and I had arranged to meet for dinner on Thursday - we have hardly seen each other this season, for various reasons (his sadness at the loss of a good friend, diverging activities, etc.). He had a new (to me) Mexican restaurant to share, Taqueria San Miguel....
It is, indeed, just like the taquerias in Mexico, and specializes in seafood. Both the margaritas and the fish were superb, and it was good to catch up.
My friends Geoff and his partner Marvin had invited me to their lovely home on Friday afternoon for a retro afternoon......
....that (above), folks is a record player. And, below, is a Victrola...
...note the crank handle on the right. Both are in working order, and Geoff has records (including early acoustical - as opposed to electrical - records to play on them. It was wonderful to hear Caruso and Chaliapin as they were originally heard. I may just have to get me a Victrola (and the records to play on it), to go with my juke box. And then, maybe a pinball machine.......
And to clinch the afternoon, we played Scrabble - live, on a board, and everything....
A wonderful afternoon, all in all. One of the great things about the season has been getting to know these folks, and having them make me part of their lives.
To close up the week, bridge on Saturday morning with Cookie resulted in some points (we came in third overall in the room; finally - it has been a dry stretch - followed by an afternoon at the pool (I see another such afternoon in my future, after lunch today).
Finally, the reading goes on. I did finish Not in God's Name. I wish you guys would read it. I would love to discuss it. His solution? The realization that a reading of the Bible shows that we are all brothers, and that there is no reason to fight - there are enough of God's blessings for everyone. How he get's there though is fascinating, whether or you not you believe in God, or, for that matter, blessings, or that there is anyone left on the planet rational enough to listen.
Sacks, the author, referred to Victor Frankl, who was big in my crowd in the 80s, when everyone was searching for meaning. So, I tried reading Victor Frankl's Search for Meaning, a biography. Well, I don't know whether I thought I understood it in the 80s - I sure don't now. So, that was tossed aside in favour of some light reading, Bruce Alexander's Murder on Grub Street, and Amitav Ghosh's Floor of Fire. Finally, I just finished Javier Sierra's The Master of the Prado. I think it was just one book to many, and I didn't have the patience - too much conspiracy theory, famous painters showing us the way to "the other side" through their paintings (thus avoiding the wrath of the Catholic church).
No, what I think I need now is some more movies.....
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