Dad and Me: Acorns

It’s summer, Bible School is over and I’m too young for Little League. Mom works 60 hours a week as a caretaker, so that leaves me and dad to fend for ourselves most of the time. 

Mom and dad are starting the day doing what seems to come most natural to them, talking about me.

 Mom: Now let me get this straight. Those boys down to the sales barn want to give Garry a job tending ponies?

Dad: Not a job exactly. They just want him to ride the ponies whenever he’s got time.
Mom: Don’t those ponies belong to their daughters. Why don’t they just get the girls to ride them?
Dad: Well that’s just it. About the only times the girls like to ride is for the Boots and Saddle Club affairs, mainly the County Fair. It’s just not good for animals to be stuck in their stalls all the time.
Mom: Well why don’t they just let ‘em run free out in the pasture. Like we used to do.
Garry: They ain’t got any pasture. All they got is the woods behind the sales barn and they can’t just let ‘em run off in the woods.
Dad: That’s only about half true. Perkins has some land out on Star Route. But far as I know, Steele lives in town. Both of them have their own horses so it just makes sense to keep all of them in the same stable.
Garry: You should see their horses, mom. Especially the one Mr. Perkins rides. He’s a big old Golden Palomino. Just like Trigger.
Mom: Now Ben, I know those boys are busy. They don’t have time to be saddling up those ponies every time Garry has a mind to ride.
Garry: They’re teaching me how to saddle 'em and how to cool 'em down from a ride. I already know how to curry.
Ben: He’s tellin the truth there Zoe. Surprised me some, how he took to it.
Mom: (softening) Course you would be right there with him. (pause) You sure he’d be alright out on the trail by himself.
Dad: I reckon he would. He’s already had some short rides.
Mom: Well, I guess it’s alright with me. Now Garry, you listen to your dad. When it comes to horses, he knows what he’s talking about.

Looking back, I don’t know who was happier, me or dad.

Mom: So tell me something about these ponies.

Garry: Ones named Pepper and the other is Silver. Pepper’s a boy and always does what I tell ‘im to do. Silver is a girl and she’s ornery. I like riding Pepper way more than Silver. 

Every time I mount Pepper I become two different people. One is me, the world’s luckiest boy, riding a real flesh and blood pony through a woods big and thick enough for my imagination. The other is me grown up to be a movie cowboy hero, symbiotically joined to my horse in a partnership uniquely forged for grand adventure.

I am both the boy, ever mindful that he is responsible for his pony, and the hero, ever trusting in the sentient loyalty of his horse. As Pepper and I saunter along the trail this cloudy morning, I see no need to choose between the two.

By now I know the woods like the back of my hand. I know the rising and falling of the creek, the disappearing trails, the treacherously steep embankments disguised as sunflower and cattail groves, as well as every low hanging tree limb along the main trail. 

As every B Western fan knows, low hanging tree limbs are especially useful to cowboy heroes whenever they have to escape a band of desperados or a totally misinformed posse. The way it works is the hero and his horse are galloping furiously along, dodging lead as they go. All of a sudden a huge tree appears with a horizontal tree limb extended at least two feet over the heads of horse and rider. The hero, armed with mother whit and unheard of athleticism, heads directly for the limb, stands in his saddle, then with impeccable timing leaps for the limb and pulls himself up into the protective foliage of the tree.

 This scene never set well with Dad.

Dad: You mean to tell me they didn’t see him go up that tree and then they don’t see his horse just standing around?

Garry: Well maybe he was so far ahead of them they couldn’t see and maybe his horse just hid someplace. That’s why he hadda whistle for him.

My low hanging tree limb juts out from a huge White Oak. The tree sprawls back away from the trail but my limb stretches across it defiantly. 

 Heading into our third week together I feel like Pepper and I are as close as boy and pony could possibly be and capable of anything I can imagine. Including pulling off the (overhanging limb) tree limb escape. The big Oak looms just beyond a sharp bend in the trail. As we come around the bend I feel a jolt of excitement. Today is the day!

I give Pepper rein and deliver a sharp kick to both flanks. He responds with a jerk before altering his gait. I pop the loose reins on his neck and he breaks into a gallop. As I rise in the saddle I am totally locked into the fast approaching limb. Closer...Closer…Closer…NOW! 

In the blink of an eye I’m horseless but instead of looking down in triumph I’m still dangling from the limb. It never occurred to me that I might not have the arm strength to pull myself up into safety. But I’m only momentarily deterred. I hear myself saying, “Just get a leg up. It’s not like you never climbed a tree before.”

Once astraddle the limb, I realize that anybody looking for me could see me plain as day. So maybe Dad was right. It was a stupid plan. But what magnificent execution! Pepper and I could join the circus with tricks like that.

Swinging to ground, I can’t wait to congratulate Pepper on his performance, getting up to speed at just the right moment. But the trail is empty, no Pepper in sight.  And unlike the movie cowboy, I can’t whistle worth a damn.  I’ll have to catch up with Pepper before he gets too far away, or stumbles down an embankment or worse yet, wanders back to the Sales barn without me. 

I want to call him but I don’t know how. He’s not a dog or a cat. “Here Pepper, here Pepper, good horsey” just wouldn’t cut it.

Most likely he'll keep running for a spell. Until he gets tired or maybe wonders what happened to his rider. So I take off after him on the trot. I stay to the main trail and only glance at clearings or side paths.

Then I hear Dad’s voice in the back of my mind.

Dad: Now don’t let that pony run off on you. You ain’t no Indian.

Garry: What’s Indians got to do with it?
Dad: Indians know how to track horses. They’d take a real close look at the fresh hoof prints, feel em and smell 'em, then up and tell you how fast the horses were moving and how long ago they left. That’s tracking.

I’m not tracking Pepper. I’m just hoping to catch up to him without having to cover the mile to the dirt road that shores up the back end of the woods. The trail stops dead at a fence with a wooden gate that opens to the road. I know Pepper isn’t likely to jump the fence, but what if somebody left the gate open? No telling how far he could get on the road. Or what might happen to him either.  I run faster.

 

By the time I reach the gate I’m sweating, breathing hard and beginning to fear the worst. I start thinking about dad’s warnings.

 Dad: Stay out of that creek, whatever you do. Your pony can swim. He can even swim with you astride. But what he can’t do is pull himself out of deep mud. And you won’t be able to help him much.

Garry: I wasn’t thinking about going swimming with no pony.
Dad: Another thing. Don’t wander off the trail. You get to traipsing around in high grass or uneven ground, like as not he’ll step in a hole and break his leg.

 So what is Pepper most likely to do? Go crashing through the cattails and land in the mud, or wander off on a side trail looking for a hole to step in so he can break his leg.

In the end I decide to check the creek since there is only one of them and who knows how many side trails there are. The creek comes down from the north, then heads west and runs along side the trail for a ways.

About a quarter of a mile before the end of the trail, the creek turns sharp and runs south. Its departure is marked by a wide grove of sunflowers.  On the run again, I head for the sunflowers.

The ground leading to the grove is rough from hoof prints and slick. Probably rained some during the night. As I elbow through a thick spate of sunflowers I’m thinking how dumb it would be for Pepper to plunge through on the run and wind up in the creek.

Then I plunge through myself and realize that only a few feet of dead grass and mud separate me from the edge of the embankment. I try to dig my heels in but it’s too late. As my feet fly out from under me, my mind flashes on the fire escape shoots at school. Curvy and fast as the dickens, especially if you strategically place a waxy bread wrapper under your seat, which most of the kids do. I don’t need any wax paper today. The rain slicked embankment is plenty fast enough to shoot me right off into the creek.

 I land in the pike position. Only my head and shoulders are sticking upright above the water line. The shock of the cold water numbs my brain.  For a long moment the only sensation that gets through comes from my fingers groping in the sandy bottom. A sliver of hope rises in my chest. “At least it ain’t mud.”

That hope vanishes like quicksilver as soon as I stand up. I’m crushed with the conviction that no matter how things turn out, Perkins and Steele will never trust me with a pony again. Dad will be mad because I didn’t listen to him, and Mom will wonder how on earth I managed to fall into the creek in the first place. 

 I try desperately to fight off these thoughts. I need a clear head to come up with a new search plan.  Since I’m already wet I might as well stay with the creek. I can follow it back to the trailhead near the sales barn. At that point I will know for sure that Pepper isn’t mudded down somewhere.  And since I’ll be so close to the sales barn, I can sneak back and try to get a bead on Dad. If he’s still sitting on the benches, then more than likely Pepper hasn’t wandered back on his own.

 My heart sinks when I see the empty benches where I had left dad. I can barely stand still long enough to survey the yard and squint at the office building. Then my mind turns on me altogether. It flashes images of Perkins and Steele lashing saddle and bridle to their horses, grim as sheriffs setting off on a man hunt disguised as a search party, already expecting the worst.

I turn in a panic and start back out on the trail. How in the world can I search all the side trails before they come after me for real?

 Again, dad’s voice in my head.

Dad: Another thing. You want to stay clear of apple trees. Sure as hell that pony will want to eat some off the ground.

Garry: What’s wrong with that?
Dad: Could give him a bellyache if you let him eat all he wants. Besides, you don’t want to waste your riding time. These horses get fed plenty.

 Apple trees! Where had I seen apple trees? Had I seen any? They would have to be close to the trail to do me any good and Pepper would have to still be there working on a bellyache. This time there isn’t much pep in my trot. Nor hope either.

I’m almost back to the big Oak with the cursed overhanging limb when I come up on a clearing with a ring of small trees. My heart jumps into my throat. Apple trees! But it doesn’t take my heart long to sink again. No Pepper. As I traipse back to the trail, I notice there are no hoof prints either. “Ok, gotta look for hoof prints before I waste more time looking in the wrong place.”

Dad’s voice in my head brings the truth crashing down on me.

Dad: You ain’t no Indian.

No I ain’t no Indian. And I ain’t no cowboy hero either. I’m just a kid who's lost a pony and let everybody down. So I do what a kid feeling sorry for himself would do. I sit down in the middle of the trail and cry. Though as cries go it didn’t amount to much. Just long enough for me to resign myself to returning to the sales barn for help.

I’m just about to stir in that direction when I hear dad’s voice. But this time it’s too loud to be in my head.

Dad: Boy, what in hell are you sitting in the middle of the road for?

Garry: Dad! Whatta you doin here?
Dad: Well, what’s it look like I’m doin?
Garry: Pepper! You found him. Dang you horse! Where in hell you been hiding?
Dad: Good question but I wouldn’t let you mom hear you talk like that.
Garry: But I looked everywhere dad. I looked in the creek. I looked around apple trees. I ran all the way to the end of the trail and back. I thought you were all were out looking for us.
Dad: Ain’t no all to it. The boys went over to Albia to pick up some livestock. Said they’d be gone a couple of hours. Told me you could curry Pepper down and put him back in his stall. Asked if you was coming back tomorrow.
Garry: Well what made you come looking for me?
Dad: Figured your mom would be sore as hell if I came home without you.
Garry: So how did you find Pepper?
Dad: I’ll tell you that as soon as you tell me how you lost ‘im.  
Garry: (Tentatively) Dad, you know how in the movies the bad guys are chasing the good guy, shooting at him and all…so the good guy sees a tree…
Dad: And Grabs the limb and….(chuckling) hauls himself up...(starting to laugh) and you tried it didn’t you…

Dad is danged fool when something strikes him funny. I’ve seen him fall out of a chair laughing. This time he just leans on Pepper and laughs himself out. I was so mad I picked up a big clod of dirt and threw it at him.

Dad: I can just see it. You dangling from the limb and the horse…Oh Lord, Garry. I tried to tell you about those stunts…

Garry: I knew you were gonna say that. I knew you were gonna give me a big ‘I told you so’. Think you’re so smart.
Dad: I ain’t so smart. You think I never lost a horse before. And I doubt I hand any better reason than you did. It’s just…(stifling himself) Ok, Ok. I know how bad you felt. Like it’s the worst thing you ever did in your life.

And then dad up and hugs me.

Dad: You know you’re gonna have to tell me how you got so wet.

Garry: You know you’re gonna have to tell me how you found Pepper.
Dad: Acorns.
Garry: Acorns? How the heck could acorns…
Dad: I told you about the creek and the holes and the apples. I forgot to tell you about the acorns. Horses love acorns.
Garry: So where did you find him?
Dad: You know that big ole Oak that has the…that’s it aint it. That’s your limb hanging over the trail. I shoulda known.
Garry: Well you didn’t so where did you find ‘im?
Dad: Not too far from there. He was standing just off the trail, munching acorns big as you please.
Garry: (to myself) I musta run right by the ornery devil. (To Dad) Dang, what am I gonna tell Perkins and Steele?
Dad: I wouldn’t worry too much about them. Nothing bad happened to their horse and you didn’t get hurt. You problem is gonna be…
Garry: Mom!

We’re home now and mom has just heard the story. Mom can be straight as a poker, but I can see a smile trying to break through before I can get to the end.

Mom: Well, here’s my two cents. I don’t think either one of you needs to see any movies for a month. And Ben, we need to get this boy some swimming lessons. Case he finds a deeper creek to fall into.  

 

Me and Dad: Dad on baseball

Garry: Hey dad, guess what my team is gonna be called.

Dad: What?

Garry: The Yankees

Dad: The Yankees? Sounds like the Civil War.

Garry: Just sounds stupid to me. We could a been the Indians.

Dad: So how did you get to be the Yankees?
Garry: We voted on it. I was the only kid to pick the Indians. The rest of the kids thought I was stupid.
Dad: I'm on your side on this one. Indians is the way to go. Take an Indian over a Yankee any day.

It's 1950 and the New York Yankees will sweep the Philadelphia Phillies in the 47th World Series. The sweep will be the second of five straight World Championships for the Yanks. Everybody on the planet knows who they are. Except for me and dad.

It's summer and I'm enrolled in the Lincoln Elementary Bible School program. Baseball is a staple in our activity schedule.

 One of the local coaches comes in once a week to extol the virtues of sports and ump a pick-up game for us.  He has just announced that we are having a Bible School Championship game in two weeks. He and the bible school volunteers will assign us to teams. From there we get to pick our team names and vie for playing positions.

 Credit the vagaries of the voting system for us becoming the Yankees. Credit divine intervention for Miss Baldwin becoming our coach. Miss Baldwin is a college student spending her summer volunteering at our bible school camp. Friendly, lively as any kid, and pretty like a movie star. We all like her but some of us are skeptical of her baseball acumen.

First Team Meeting

Miss Baldwin: Ok team, baseball is a game. You play it for fun. Some of you might be a little nervous about the big game coming up. Maybe afraid you won't play very well. So I want you to try something for me. I want you to pair up and just start playing catch with your partner. What I want you to think about is this. Every time you catch the ball, your hands get quicker. Every time you throw the ball, your arm gets stronger. Later we'll have batting practice. Same thing. Every time you swing at the ball, your eye gets sharper. Quick hands, strong arms, sharp eyes. Easy as playing catch.

Harold: But miss Baldwin. What about catching fly balls and running bases.

Miss Baldwin: We'll get to the fly balls. Meanwhile I'm not too worried about your base running. You're all fast as jack-rabbits.
Saundra: Miss Baldwin, do I have to throw overhand?
Miss Baldwin: It's the best way to throw for baseball. I'll show you how. You'll get the hang of it.
Saundra: (unconvinced) Then why does the pitcher always throw underhand?
Miss Baldwin: The pitcher has a special job. The pitcher has to give the other team's batters something to swing at.
Tank: The pitcher is supposed to strike people out. That's what my dad says.
Miss Baldwin: Your dad is right, and the best way to do that is to try to keep the ball in the strike zone so the batter can swing at it. Nobody swings at a pitch in the dirt or ten feet over his head. (laughter) So, underhand is the best way to do the job. Ok, no more questions, let's partner up and get those balls flying.

There is a scramble for partners.

Teddy: I don't have a partner Miss Baldwin.

Miss Baldwin: Well in that case Mr. Teddy, you'll just have to play catch with me.

"Lucky dog," I say to myself.

It's Championship Game day. For some reason known only to herself, Miss Baldwin has picked me to pitch. I can't decide if she picked me because she actually believed I could do the job, or because she didn't think I could handle any other position.

Like most of the kids, I was chauffeured to the game by my dad. Unlike most of the kids I did not receive the fatherly pep talk. Dad knowing squat about baseball had something to do with it, but pep talks were always a mom thing. After all, it was mom who signed me up for Bible School and mom who was overjoyed that I was developing an interest in sports.

On her off days from her caretakers job, mom would play catch with me and pitch me batting practice. I had a bat that was already splintered and pitted from swatting rocks and a plastic-laced catchers mitt that provided about as much protection as a woolen mitten.  Mom would underhand- loop me a rubber ball that bounced off my glove like a baseball off cement. The same ball that would fly off my bat with the predictability of a home-made rocket. Once in a blue moon it would launch into a long and perfect arc.

Mom: If you want me to keep throwin, you have to chase after the long ones.

Garry: Not very many of those.
Mom: Maybe not but I think you're getting better.
Looking back, it didn't take mom long to get the hang of tossing me balls I could hit.

 Game Day

Lincoln Elementary School sits atop a long hill that bottoms out at the ball field. Dad parks and shuts off the engine. I'm out of the car before he can apply the emergency brake. As I run down the hill to join my team, I'm smiling at the lightness of my feet, compliments of my new tennis shoes.

My teammates are milling around in front of the Yankees bench. I'm welcomed into the fold with a few "hey Garry's" and a couple of back pats. In the long moment before Miss Baldwin huddles us up for last minute instructions I check myself for signs of the nervousness she has told us to expect. None so far. I'm too busy comparing my bargain basement mitt with the whale catchers dangling from the skinny arms of my teammates.

Miss Baldwin: Ok Yankees. Quick hands, strong arms, sharp eyes. Run fast and have fun. The coaches flipped a coin and we're on defense. Soon as the ump checks the lineup cards we can take the field.

I use this time to approach Miss Baldwin with a question.

Garry: Why did you pick me for pitcher?

Miss Baldwin: I was watching you playing catch with Saundra. You were under-handing balls to her that she could catch. Tossing catchable balls and hittable balls are pretty much the same thing. I think you can hit the strike zone often enough to make a fun game.

Garry: My mom does that for me when she pitches me batting practice.

Miss Baldwin: Then just go out there and do it like mom does it

It's the first inning and all is going smoothly. Nothing but short pop ups and slow grounders. The pop ups are caught and the slow grounders are fielded and delivered to first base just like we practiced.

 

But now Pauline Pondexter is up. Pauline the Pounder we call her. She has already beaten up half the boys in camp. For some reason I fear I'm next on the Pounder's list. Like maybe if she didn't like one of my pitches she would rush the mound and pummel me.

She won't have to. She has just lined one over my centerfielder's head and is doing a home run trot that would have done the great Bambino proud

Next batter pops up to me. I'm not surprised that I drop it. Just hell bent to pick it up in time to throw the batter out at first. The baseball Gods are smiling on me because I don't over-throw first base and the inning is over. Down only one run. 

I'm heading to our bench when I catch sight of Dad standing behind the home plate fence. He's beckoning me. "What the heck?" I say at first. Then "Oh, jeez!" as he goes into a full arm beckon.

Dad: Garry, I been watching you out there. Throwin the ball in the same place all the time.

Garry: That's what I'm supposed to do.
Dad: Ok, but listen. (He's grinning like a Cheshire cat.) I got this idea. What you do, see... you step up and swing your arm back. (demonstrating in slow motion) Then swing it forward like you're gonna throw. But just when they think you're gonna let fly... you stop dead and just hold onto the ball. They won't know what to think. (he takes a wide-eyed pause for my reaction)
Garry: That is the stupidest thing I ever heard.
Dad is crestfallen for about three seconds before the grin resurfaces.
Dad: Well what if you do this?
Garry: Dad, I gotta go.
Dad: Wait, you'll like this one. See, you do everything the same like you been doin except this time you toss it straight up in the air. High as you can. Bet they can't hit that.

Then I hear Miss Baldwin say, " Come on Garry. You're the next batter up." 

As I trot over to grab the lightweight bat she has wisely chosen for me, I realize how close I had come to calling my dad a lunatic to his face.

Miss Baldwin: Let the ball come to you, Garry. Don't go fishing.

Fishing or no, I pop up the first pitch I see. My teammates don't fare much better as we quickly collect two outs with nobody on base. Tank is coming to the plate. Tank is bigger than most of us and his bat is almost as big as he is. He stands disdainfully in the batters box until the first pitch, then blam! He wallops one to deep center field. Our bench goes nuts. We are sure it's a homer. Oddly, Tank doesn't think so. Otherwise, why isn't he running?

Pauline the Pounder is why. Tank watches his herculean swat disappear into her glove for out number three.

 There is a lull throughout the middle innings as both teams get better on defense and neither team does much hitting. As far as I'm concerned, the only excitement during this period is my mad dash around the bases. 

I'm batting in a two-out, nobody on situation. I'm hitless so far but I have been making contact with the ball and haven't struck out yet. I hit a surprisingly sharp grounder down the first base line and take off. I know nothing about base running, but I figure it's pretty much like playing tag.

I blow by first base hauling hard for second. The right fielder throws behind me and the ensuing throw sails over the second baseman's head. I'm flat-out flying to third with serious intentions for home. Safe. Not gonna be "it" today. As I round third I catch Miss Baldwin out of the corner of my eye. She looks really excited. Charging home I'm savoring my victory. Nobody can lay a glove on me. King of the schoolyard!

I don't know where the ball came from but I'm twenty feet from home plate when I hear it plop into the catchers mitt. As the catcher steps out to protect the plate, Miss Baldwin's words rush into my head. "Nobody can outrun the ball, so just get it where it goes." But I've already crossed the Rubicon. I don't know how to slide and my patented schoolyard dodge to avoid the tag at the plate fails. Out three. 

Miss Baldwin is trotting back to the bench. She is smiling and shaking her head.

Miss Baldwin: Hey, jack-rabbit Garry. You're too fast for your own good. You were supposed to stop at third when I gave you the hold-up sign.
Garry: So that's what you were all excited about.

Now it's the bottom of the last inning. Game tied. Bases loaded. Two outs. Pauline the Pounder is the next batter.  As she settles into the batter’s box, I do something I never dared do before. I look directly into the Pounder's face. Mouth turned hard down. Eyes wide and cold. Nostrils flaring. I'm sure I know what she's thinking. "I'm gonna drive this ball down your throat."

Something snaps in me. My fear of Pauline the batter and Pauline the intimidator has turned into defiance. I want to defeat her somehow. But with what? A slow pitch in the strike zone?

The count goes to three balls and two strikes. Even her two strikes are formidable. One a towering pop up that lands behind the home plate fence. The other a screaming line drive just foul of the left field line. 

The moment of truth. I'm motionless on the mound. I hear the umpire say, "Ok pitcher, let's play ball." Like any kid in a pickle, I look for the nearest parent. I don't see dad in the crowd behind home plate. But curiously I do see him in my mind’s eye. And hear him, too.  "...this time you toss it straight up in the air. High as you can. Bet they can't hit that."  

I'm suddenly struck by an irresistible impulse to do something totally unexpected. I step into the throw harder, dip down further, and heave it heavenward with all my might. I watch the ball on its upward arc, much higher than I had any reason to expect. But as it plummets to earth I'm watching Pauline.

She appears momentarily dumbfounded, but even before the ball thumps to ground, she is looking my way. Neither of us realize that the ball has landed a foot from Pauline in foul territory.

Pauline: You jack-ass. Whatta ya think you're doin?

Umpire: Watch your language, batter. That's ball four. And that's the ballgame. 

The Dodgers go wild and swarm Pauline. She ignores them, still staring at me. I stare back. I have thwarted the Pounder's desire to go out in a blaze of glory, and she knows I did it on purpose. I don't think she will come after me in front of all these people, but I don't care. I'm one of Miss Baldwin's jackrabbits and she could never catch me anyway. 

Some of the Yanks wear hang-dog expressions, but most just seem eager to get onto the next thing in their kid lives.

Miss Baldwin: I know you're anxious to get with your families and friends. I just want you to know how proud I am of everyone of you. You did everything I taught you and you did your very best.
Saundra: It was fun Miss Baldwin. I didn't think it would be. Thank you for coaching us.

Dad is beaming all the way back up the hill to our car. The joy of a co-conspirator. We had actually pulled off his cockamamie idea.

Dad: That was some throw, Garry. I didn't know you could throw so high.

Garry: It was high, wasn't it.
Dad: Why didn't the girl swing?
Garry: She's not stupid. And who cares anyway.

 We are home now, eating supper.

Dad: I tell you Zoe, you shoulda seen it. Garry just dipped real low and slung the dang thing so high you would a thought it would never come down.
Mom: Well why on earth did he do that?
no answer
Mom: Garry, what made you do such a thing?
no answer
Mom: If you asked me, you should have pitched it like you were supposed to.

The boys are smiling down into their plates. We know mom just doesn't get it, but we also know mom always has the last word.

 

Bernice and Garry: Requiem and Godspeed

Requiem
Today, 20 months after her passing, I find this memory, above all others, to hold the essence of the woman I knew and loved.

February 2009 My daughter Brett is here on her annual escape from the frigid climes of Detroit. While I was working (I retired from Rio Salado College in 2008) Brett spent most of her time hanging with Bernice. Since Brett was most interested in warmth and sunshine she fell right in with Bernice's habit of spending afternoons in our condo pool. Bernice would read and Brett would lay out. Bernice's job was to watch the clock and turn Brett every fifteen minutes. This scheme never produced a full-blown tan, but Brett at least acquired some light browning to show for her time in the desert.

This year was different. My being home more gave the three of us a chance to do more things together.
Sitting on west patio taking in a sunset
Brett: I thought you guys did a lot of hiking. I told my boss I was going get some exercise this time out.
Bernice: We've been slacking off. Making excuses. Too tired. Too old. Just too damned lazy really.
Brett: Bernice, I thought you hiked with your girlfriends.
Bernice: My main partner Dominica just up and quit on me one day. The rest of them are just too fast for me anymore. Can't keep up. One girl died up in Canyon De Chelley. Right in the middle of the hike.
Garry: We've been doing North Mountain some.
Bernice: Your dad's been doing North Mountain. I just hike around the ramadas at the bottom until he comes down.
Brett: Is North Mountain where I beat you running up that really steep incline?
Garry: Where you bushwhacked me you mean. I didn't know you could run that fast.
Brett: I think you let me get ahead.
Garry: Like hell! You know I never let you girls (daughters Brett and Amy) beat me at anything if I could help it.
Bernice: You're lucky he didn't trip you, Brett. He hates to lose.
Brett: That was a good hike. I wouldn't mind doing that again.
Garry: Hell, we can do it tomorrow if you want to.
Brett: You feel like doing it Bernice?
Bernice: I'll go with you guys. I don't know about the mountain. It's been a while.
Next day the three of us hit North Mountain. Not early because Brett likes to sleep late on vacation. Heat not a factor given the time of year. Bernice is sporting her walking stick that she has used as far back as I can remember now. She seems eager to get started.
Bernice: I'm gonna be slow on these rocks. You all go on ahead. Wait for me where the road pitches in.
Brett: I'm not in any hurry. I remember this hike now. Like Camelback Mountain at first. Then the paved part gets really steep.
Garry: We'll stay with you babe. We be the Three Musketeers.
Bernice: Make that two musketeers and one slowpoke.
So slow and steady we ascend the rocks. We take our first breather and our first water "where the road pitches in", less than half-way to the top. Bernice is huffing a bit but still smiling as we banter.
Garry: So what you think Brett? Shall we run it?
Brett: Get real! I might run down if I'm not too tired.
Bernice: You two just take it easy. You may need your strength to carry me down.
The paved portion of the hike consists of long, sometimes nasty stretches of up, hidden from each other by switchback-like curves. Impossible to see what lies around the bend. After a couple of these stretches you start thinking that what lies around the bend might be the end of your journey. NOT! Brett and I are keeping a close watch on Bernice. By the end of the first stretch she has fallen silent. As we round the curve for the next stretch she seems to be searching the mountain's rocky wall.
Bernice: I need to lean on something for a minute.
She finds an indentation with enough angle for her to partially sit. She settles in and takes a long drink.
Garry: You OK babe?
Bernice: (not looking at either of us) I can't seem to catch my breath.
Garry: Your legs holding up OK?
Bernice: My legs are fine. Stop trying to talk to me.
Brett and I exchange nervous glances. Bernice seems to be shifting her focus internally, taking stock of her reserves.
Brett: We don't have to do this today. Far as I'm concerned I already got my exercise.
Bernice: You came here to climb the mountain, you should climb the mountain.
Garry: I'm with Brett on this one babe. I say we ease back down the road and go to lunch.
Bernice: Do whatever you want, but don't say you're quitting on my account. I don't want to hear it.
Brett gives me an "it's up to you shrug". I have nothing so we fall into a long silence. After a while Bernice brightens and breaks the silence.
Bernice: How you doin Brett?
Brett: I'm doin fine. So far. I just know it's a long way to the top.
Bernice: Be even longer if you two don't get moving.
Garry: You packing it in?
Bernice: I ain't packing it out!
Garry: Well let's just rest then. We got all the time in the world.
Bernice: I'd feel better if you two just went on without me.
Garry: You know we can't leave you here.
Bernice: I don't know why not. You been leaving me places for years. Always wanting to see what's around the next corner, scrambling up places too steep for me.
Garry: That's because I knew you'd be OK.
Bernice: You didn't know, you just hoped I'd be OK.
Garry: But you always were.
Bernice: That's my point. Why should now be different? I got water. Getting my breath back.
Garry: (treading lightly) I know you'll be OK if you stay put. But you've never been good at that. How many times have I come back to the spot I left you and you weren't there.
Bernice: So I get bored easy. I'm getting bored right now. Make up your mind. Are you gonna hike the damned mountain or not? Sorry Brett. Your dad can be aggravating at times.
Brett: No apology necessary. I'm with you on that.
Garry: (after giving Brett a scathing look) So you'll head back down to the car?
Bernice: How about I just do what I feel like doing. Like I always do.
Garry: I worry about you falling on the rocky stretch.
Bernice: I worry about you falling off a cliff lookin at some lady's backside.
Garry: Smile when you say that.
Bernice: (brandishing her walking stick) I'll smile when I land this stick on top of your head. (she is smiling now)
Garry: C'mon Brett. We don't have to stand here and take this abuse.
Brett: What's this "we" shit Tonto?

Brett and I take off at a pace we can't possibly hold longer than it takes to get out of earshot.
Brett: You think she'll be all right?
Garry: I'm more worried about me right now. You in a hurry or something?
Brett: Seriously dad.
Garry: I think she'll be OK if she stays put. I've seen her like this before. She always rallies after a rest.
Brett: But have you seen her like this lately?
Garry: Not really. It's like she said. I do the mountain and she does her loop. Then we go to breakfast. She's been OK with that.
Brett: What if she doesn't stay put? What if she goes down those rocks by herself?
Garry: Got to think about that. (We walk on in silence, assuming a more comfortable pace. Typically we meet folks coming down from the summit, alone, with a group, couples, people with dogs)
Brett: Dang! How come all these folks look so happy.
Garry: We'll look happy too, on the way back down.
As we spiral toward our destination we take a few breaks to appreciate the view of North Mountain Park. To me the most scenic respite is the one just below the final short-but-brutal stretch leading to the towers at the top. Hikers can sit on a stone bench and enjoy a great look at the city as it spreads out far below. I told Brett that we could stop there for our last major break before starting back down.
Brett: Dad, look at that woman up ahead. Is she reading a book?
Garry: I'll just be damned! She sure as hell is. Walking right on the edge too. That's an insult to nature.
Brett: Maybe she just likes to get some exercise while she reads.
Garry: Exercise my ass. For two cents I'd shove her right off the edge.
Brett: You're sick dad. I'm gonna tell Bernice you said that.
Garry: Speaking of Bernice, I wonder how she's doing.
Brett: You think she'll start down without us?
Garry: I'd make book on it.
Brett: You worried?
Garry: No, I think she'll get to the rocks and hunker down and wait for us there.
Brett: (sudden exclamation) Dad, look. I see the towers. They don't look too far.
Garry: They're not. But the last 50 meters are vertical. Just when you think you got it made.
Shortly we arrive at the vertical. We stop. Look at each other
Brett: You've got to be kidding.
Garry: Hell no not kidding! You say "go".
Brett takes two cheater strides and says go. We battle kneck and kneck to the top, then across the top to the big metal Warning sign hung on the chain mail gate that keeps folks from fooling around with the towers. We smack it simultaneously for a tie. After a five minute pant we start down the vertical, allowing gravity to pull us into a trot.
Brett: We gonna stop at the bench?
Garry: Let's not. I want to get back to Bernice as quick as we can.
Brett: Good! Me too.
Leaning back to provide plenty of braking time should the incline pull us too fast, we descend the mountain. We round the first down stretch laughing and start into the second. Suddenly we put on the brakes and come to full stop. The figure coming up towards us is all too familiar.
Brett: That looks like Bernice.
Garry: It is Bernice. My God, she's goin for the top!
Brett and I scamper like two kids to greet her.
Bernice: My aren't we the frisky ones.
Garry: Hey, you. We were just streakin down the mountain to save you.
Bernice: Don't need savin! Might need some pushing though.
Garry: You must have caught a second wind.
Bernice: More like a second opinion.
Garry: From who...whom?
Bernice: From myself. My first opinion was "put a fork in me", I'm done. But every time I started to go back down something stopped me. (She lets the thought hang for awhile, conserving her energy.) 
Then I started thinking about all the times I did this hike. I would get tired sometimes but I never quit. She looks and nods her head at both Brett and me. Determined. Confident. Happy. Through with words.
Brett: You go girl!
From that point we move on in reverent silence, three companions on a mission. Me, 'I'm thinking The Three Musketeers got nothing on us.'

Finally we reach the vertical before the summit. To our left is the stone bench and it's accompanying view. To our right is the final challenge.
Bernice: I want to sit awhile on that bench coming down.
Garry: Gotta earn it first babe. It's all about the sign now. What did we always say?
Bernice: 'You don't bang the sign you never did the climb.' Let's go!
Bernice reaches the sign, raises her hand and then pauses. Hard to say how long. Maybe seconds. Maybe years. Maybe long enough to remember every single time she declared this victory. At last she lays her hand on the sign, pats it and turns around. Invites us into her moment.

The three of us are sitting on the stone bench, Bernice in the middle.
Garry: I think I like this view of the city better than the one from South Mountain.
Brett: I remember that one. We drove up to the top, right?
Garry: Right. We called that our Chamber of Commerce tour.
Bernice: Funny how people remember different things.
Garry: How so?
Bernice: You guys remembering South Mountain. You'd never guess what I'm thinking about.
Garry: All the times you and Dominica did this hike?
Bernice: I miss Dominica. Our non-stop conversation. But that's not it. You should know this Garry. Think night time.
Garry: We did this at night?
Bernice: Several times. Certain time of the month. (pause as she waits for my light to go on) Too slow. I'm remembering when several of us would hike all the way to this bench just to get a view of the full moon. Just hanging there over the mountains. So big and bright. So close you could almost touch it.
Garry: Oh my gosh! How could I forget. But you know what I remember most? How we all forgot to bring flashlights and we blamed Walking Ellie because it was her idea in the first place.
Bernice: I just remember how beautiful it was. How thrilling. (pause) You would have loved it Brett.
Brett: I'm sure I would have.

Bernice was in her 80th year. She would not do North Mountain again in her earthly form. On her birthday, the October following her death, we hiked eleven strong to a secluded space on the backside of the mountain to scatter her ashes. I have returned to that space alone several times since. Each time I've spoken my heart, told her how it was with me. Being without her. Bernice never spoke but somehow managed to lever the workings of my mind. The last time we met I shared this epiphany. Caught in the twilight zone between wanting to forget and wanting to heal, I came to the happy conclusion that the one thing I would never have to give up was loving her. I could keep on loving her and still have room in my heart to love others.

Godspeed
This is the final episode in the Bernice and Garry Story. I began telling the story as a way to work through my grief. At first I thought I was simply preserving Bernice's memory for myself. But early on in the telling, I realized that my greatest need was to share our story with others. I wanted family, friends, the whole world if it was so inclined, to know that we once lived and loved and formed a beautiful partnership. In short, I began to approach our life together more as a storyteller, a writer. Perhaps I can be forgiven that because I am a writer. But as a writer, I'm still a mensch, a human being, a good person. It is the mensch in me that thanks you for reading this blog. I take your readership as an act of love, for both me and Bernice. It is the mensch in me that cannot say farewell. I can only say what is in my heart-Godspeed good souls, Godspeed

Postscript
The Bernice and Garry story will remain available on the Run for Your Life blog. Still to come are new posts under Notes on Grieving and Progress Report. In the near future Run for Your Life will be included on my still-in-the-works website, Garryspeak. The website will include new blogs featuring all my writing projects. One to look for is my current novel, World Without Midnight.

Progress Report: A Dream Deferred.

What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore--
and then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over
like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load
Or does it explode? Langston Hughes

After my life partner, Bernice B. Wagner, died in February 2011, I decided to create the blog Run For Your Life in her honor. The blog breaks down into three parts; 1) The Bernice and Garry Story; 2) Progress Reports; & 3) Notes on Grieving. All three parts served the dual purpose of honoring Bernice and finding solace through the grieving process.

Sharing our life together and processing my grief over the last ten months have brought me peace. These two blog components will continue at least until The Bernice and Garry Story is complete. Unfortunately, the Progress Reports on my preparation for the 2012 New York City Marathon have come to an untimely end. On 9/27/2012 I informed the Pat Tillman Foundation, my race-team sponsor, that I was not physically able to continue my training for the the NYC Marathon.
Dream Deferred.

Timeline:
The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly
One door closes, another one opens:
The Silver Lining

The Good: 11/11/11
Ran Veteran's Day 11 k and averaged ten minute miles. At that point in my training my long runs ranged between 10 to 14 miles. Right on target.
The Bad: 12/8/12
I schedule an appointment with my primary care doc, Dr. Thomas Bauch. Reason: even on a good run day, it takes me a mile or so to get into any sort of pace. My right hip feels locked, sending pain messages with every foot strike.
Scene: my primary care doc's office
Dr. Bauch: (tapping on an x-ray of my right hip) There's your problem, right there. Arthritis.
Garry: Where?
Dr. Bauch: (pointing to the hip socket) Right there. You see that thin white line between your thighbone and and your hip socket? That's the cartilage that stabilizes the fit and allows your leg to rotate smoothly as it moves through the socket. Without that you've got bone rubbing on bone. Garry: That doesn't sound good.
Dr. Bauch: No it's not good. Once that cartilage is gone, you'll be in lot of pain and your hip will pretty much lock up.
Garry: But there's still some cartilage there, right?
Dr. Bauch: Yeah, but let me show you something. (toggles to ex ray of my left hip) Take a look at the cartilage line in this hip.
Garry: Wow, big difference! Two, maybe three times as much cartilage as the other.
Dr. Bauch: Right, and that shows you how much damage the arthritis has already caused. And the thing with arthritis, it doesn't get better. It can only get worse.
Garry: You're not telling me to stop running are you? Cause if you are, you're wasting your breath.
Dr. Bauch: I'm not telling you to stop running. But I am telling you that I have had this conversation many times over and I know what your next question is.
Garry: That's more than I know. So what's my next question?
Dr. Bauch: If it's gonna get worse, how long can I continue doing what I do?
Garry: So pretend I asked. What's your answer?
Dr. Bauch: As long as you can stand it, my friend. As long as you can stand it.

More Bad:
1/26/12 Running log indicates arthritis keeping me awake at night
9/08/12 Despite shots, acupuncture, yoga, and three months of intense physical therapy, Arthritis prohibits any full-body-weight running.

The Ugly:
9/27/12 Gave up my my spot on the Tillman Foundation 2012 New York City Marathon race team.

One door closes, another one opens:
The promoters of the New York City Marathon offers a slot to charitable entities like The Pat Tillman Foundation. The slot allows for a race team of sixteen members. For the privilege of running the great NYC Marathon, each team member pledges to raise $4,000 to provide assistance to student athletes in need. To date I have been reluctant to reach out to friends and institutions for support in meeting my pledge. I could not in good conscience ask for money after it became doubtful that I could participate in the race.

Enter Mark Zimmer and the continued support of the Tillman Foundation. Mark has agreed to be my replacement on the race team. The foundation has worked out a plan for Mark and I to work together to raise the outstanding pledge obligation of $2,120. Any shortage that exists in December 2012 will come out of my pocket. Just so you know, early on I personally contributed $700 to show I had "skin in the game." I intend to jump into the remaining fundraising with both feet, which means I will be blogging, emailing and making personal calls on behalf of my commitment to the Tillman Foundation. Mark will be right there with me, representing himself, me, Pat Tillman and my dearly loved Bernice to whom I dedicate this noble endeavor. You can donate through my donation page at this link http://www.active.com/donate/teamtillmannewyork12/garrycox70

The Silver Lining
10/9/12
Conversation with Dr. Bauch
Dr. Bauch: (me up on the patient bench, Dr. Bauch seated, holding in his lap what, after 16 years of treatment, has become my voluminous patient chart)
So what can we do for you today, Garry? Says something here about advice on hip replacement.
Garry: (what I'd planned to say) Oh no, doc. I'm thinking I could be a candidate for Viagra. All the adds say "consult your Dr. before using." I figured I should check to see if me being on blood thinners would hurt my chances.
(what I actually said) To be honest, the mere thought of that kind of surgery scares the hell out of me. I already know enough about the replacement procedure to last me a lifetime.
Dr. Bauch: What is it about the surgery that bothers you?
Garry: Well, the fact that I'm on blood thinners for one. I don't want to terminally bleed out on the operating table.
Dr. Bauch: You won't. If anything, being on blood thinners will work to your advantage.
Garry: How does that work?
Dr. Bauch: One of the biggest problems with this type surgery is that people tend to sit around a lot afterwards. This causes pooling in the extremities that sometime leads to strokes. You are already on blood thinners to reduce the likelihood of a stroke. The surgeon will know in advance to do what is necessary to prevent excessive bleeding. Put it another way, your condition will insure you of extra attention. You're an active guy and probably won't sit around, but even that they will pay more attention to.
Garry: What about age doc?
Dr. Bauch: Not so much about age. It's about your physical condition. You're in good health and you're in good shape.
Garry: So it's not about my age now. But this is what everybody keeps asking me. "Do you want to endure this pain until you get to be 75 or 80 and than have the surgery?"
Dr. Bauch: Your body's age and your chronological age don't automatically match up. Right now, your body is closer to 60 years old than 70. You shouldn't be any more at risk when you turn 75. Now when you, or anybody, reaches 80 all bets are off.
Garry: You know I've stopped running, right.
Dr. Bauch: How do you feel about that. I know in the past I wouldn't dare suggest you stop running. You wouldn't hear about it. Like it was a death sentence or something.
Garry: I thought I would die without running. No purpose in life and all that. I think I'm past that. I'm closer to my family and friends now. I have my writing and my theatre. Maybe I can't run but I can still hold my own on the dance floor.
Dr. Bauch: How are you doing with the loss of Bernice.
Garry: The worst part seems to be over. I'm not immobilized by the pain anymore. They say one thing you have to do after the death of a loved one is to accept your new reality. I'm getting some purchase with that. Big change is my condo. For 16 years it looked like our place. Now it's looking more and more like my place. And I'm planning a big 70th birthday party for myself. My daughter Brett will be in town to help me with that.
Dr. Bauch: I'm glad to hear all that. I see a big change in your attitude.
Garry: A good attitude isn't going to help my hip much though, right?
Dr. Bauch: (smiling) It will help everything, Garry. Just be aware of one thing. I think I told you this before. People have the idea that arthritis is linear, a gradual deterioration. But it doesn't work that way. You go along at a certain level, you manage it, then you experience a precipitous decline in your mobility along with more pain.
Garry: Yeah, I think I've already experienced a couple of those percipt...what you said...drops.
Dr. Bauch: So you know where that puts us, don't you.
Garry: (smiling) Right back where we started from.
Dr. Bauch: You remember what I told you after your first x-ray?
Garry: Like it was yesterday. I said, "How long can I keep this up?" and you said...
Dr. Bauch: As long as you can stand it my friend.
Both of Us: As long as you can stand it.
(long pause)
Garry: Since Bernice died I've learned not to take anything for granted.
Dr. Bauch: You're happy to take it one day at a time, right?
Garry: Bet your ass, doc!
Dr. Bauch: (looking down at my chart) Good to hear. You need any scripts refilled?
I walked/limped back to my car in a jubilant mood, but still wishing I had played my Viagra joke.

Bernice and Garry: Adventures in Paradise

The Triad
The electric arcs across the great Prongs of our Life-Triad are strong, brief and luminous. And so it is with memories. There for us to see but gone before we can touch them. (author)

Prong 1 Bernice Becomes a Champion  
Prong 2 The Dreaming Pool  
Prong 3 Grammy

"Is that a gun in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?" Mae West

Bernice Becomes a Champion: Garry's Scheme
Setting: Security Checkpoint, Detroit Metro Airport
Time: Four years before 911
on the way to Phoenix to join Bernice "for good"
Security Officer #1: (stretching his beefy body up to bolster his barely average stature) Sir, step over here please.
Garry: Is there a problem?
Security Officer #1: I need you to tell me what this is. ("This" was an eight pound shot-put with rubber coating to allow for indoor competition. Red in color.)
Garry: Oh, that's a shot-put. Bought it for my girlfriend.
SO #1: Sir, I don't know what a shot-put is. I need you to tell me exactly what this device is used for.
Garry: It's used in athletic competition. You throw it, or "put" it. Whoever puts it farthest wins. Do you ever watch the Olympics?
SO #1: (rolling the suspicious object over in his hands) Sir, I'm going to ask you a very serious question. There is a seam in this object. Obviously sealing two halves of a container. And there is something inside this container. (shaking the orb inches from his ears) I can hear moving parts. What's inside?
Garry: OK, let's go with the seam first. It's a seal for the two halves...
SO #1: Sir I know what a seam is. What I don't know is what the seam is holding together. You need to tell me what's inside immediately.
Garry: Shot. Like in a shotgun shell.
SO #1: Shot? As in shooting? As in gun powder and explosives? (eyebrows raised to hairline) Sir I need you to dismantle this device immediately. The airline considers it your private property. That makes you responsible for its content. Attempting to bring explosives onto an airplane is a Federal Offense. I have the right to confiscate this item. I'm advising you that failing to follow my Directive will result in your immediate arrest.
Garry: Arrest? Are you kidding me? I'm getting arrested for a shot-put? (suddenly there is a second Airport Security person taking an oblique stance less than three feet from me.)
SO #1: (to the newcomer) I have instructed this individual to dismantle. Take a look before you relinquish possession to him. (Hands hands the ball to SO #2)
SO #2: (tall, slender, not imposing. Turns the ball slowly in his hands, bringing all his powers of deduction to bear) Heavier than it looks. Dam strange thing to have in your carry-on. I'd advise you to open it like he said. Nobody needs to get arrested and nobody needs to get hurt.
Garry: (hurt, did he say hurt?) There's no way I can take this thing apart, but I'm telling you it's nothing but a heavily coated ball filled with...BB's to make its weight.
SO #2: BB's?
SO #1: BB's! A dirty bomb! Could be filled with BB's and God knows what else. Secure this individual and his properties. I'll get a supervisor over here ASAP. (Walks off with exaggerated pace, speaking urgently up his sleeve.)
Garry: I hope you guys have a sense of humor. You're gonna  need it.
SO #2: We get paid to take these things seriously. (pause) For what it's worth, I hope you're right.
Within minutes SO #1 returns with Supervisor, compact middle aged Afro-American woman with authority written all over her face.
Supervisor: Sir, I need to see your driver's license. (after a brief glance, hands it back to me) Mr. Cox, I've been asked to take a look at your carry-on item. (looks at SO #2) This the item? Let me have a look.
SO #1: There is something inside that thing.
Supervisor: And you think I'm going to shake it to find out?
SO #1: No mam, of course not. Should I notify the police and request bomb detection personnel?
Supervisor: This looks like a shot-put to me. Used to throw one just like it back in the day. This a shot-put Mr. Cox?
Garry: Yes mam, for my girlfriend.
Supervisor: (smiling, starts to hand it back to me then checks herself and hands it off to SO #1) You can return the item to Mr. Cox. (To me) Next time put it in your luggage.
Garry: Yes mam. (As I turn to retrieve the rest of my carry-on items I glance at the two SO's. SO #1 is staring blankly into space. I can't be sure but I think SO #2 just threw me a wink. Whatever, I suddenly experience an overwhelming urge to hit the restroom to check my pants for fall-out).

Bernice Becomes a Champion: The gift that keeps on giving
Setting: Phoenix @ Shadow Mountain High School track

Bernice: What in the world made you buy me a shot-put?
Garry: Well, what else do you buy a woman who has everything?
Bernice: What made you think I would want this thing.
Garry: More like I want you to have it. It's a ploy on my part to keep you coming to all my track meets.
Bernice: Between Detroit and Phoenix I've already been to God knows how many of your races.  Why would you think I would stop now?
Garry: I don't know, insecurity I guess. It's just that I listen to my track buddies talking about their wives and how they feel about sitting around in the stands, bored, waiting for their husbands' events. I actually heard one of their wives say, "I really don't get what all the fuss is about. A bunch of old farts chasing around after each other. Not my idea of a good time."
Bernice: Garry, you know I don't like it when you compare me with other women. You love this track stuff, you're going to do it no matter what. If it makes you feel any better, being here with you is better than being left at home.
Garry: Nice try, but I still think you need a personal buy-in.
Bernice: OK, but why this?
Garry: Because you're a natural. You're dirt strong and you're athletic. I think you could be really good at this. Hell, I think you could be a star.
Bernice: Well you drug me over to this...what do you call this I'm standing in?
Garry: The throwing circle.
Bernice: So show me what to do with this cannonball thing.
Garry: I thought you'd never ask.
Due to my lifelong love affair with track and field, I know the techniques required for most events. For Bernice I chose the old-school, back to the foul line, bend, take three gathering steps forward, turn and release approach. After several impeccable demonstration throws, Bernice has seen enough.
Bernice: Look, I don't see myself doing all that. Why can't I just stand sideways, hunker down and come up throwing?
Garry: I guess you could. But you won't throw it as far that way.
Bernice: Just give me the ball and let me try.
She takes about five throws in the manner she described. After each throw I cheer her on and offer priceless critique.
Bernice: You know what? This isn't going to work. If I'm going to get into this, I need to get a real coach. Like I did with my race-walking.
She did just that. In her search she came in contact with the great ASU middle distance runner Cliff McKenzie. Cliff recommended a young woman who was currently doing throwing events for the ASU track squad. After a couple months training Bernice was ready for the circuit.

Bernice Becomes a champion: Deja Vous all over again
A postcard from when we were still getting to know each other back in Detroit
Dear Garry,
Having a wonderful visit with the kids. Drove to the (Oregon) coast and down the beaches. Very beautiful and green & lush. weather finally turned warm and & sunny & I'm enjoying that. Tomorrow going to Seattle & then LA. I'm relaxing a lot & exercising too little & enjoying it all. Miss you
Love Bernice

Once more with feeling
Bernice: OK now you're going to have to help me work this thing out. What's your grand plan again?
Garry: Well, it's a triumvirate. First weekend we do a National track and field meet in Canada. Second weekend we do a National meet in Spokane, Wash. The third we do an International meet in  Track Town USA, Eugene, Oregon.
Bernice: I'll never make three weeks. Let's skip Canada. So it's Spokane and Eugene, OK?
Garry: I can live with that.
Bernice: Good, because I already figured out how we could do the two meets in the states.
Garry: So you don't really need my help?
Bernice: Of course I do. Well, maybe I just need you to listen to my plan. But I do need you to go along with it. Heart and soul. The only way I want to go.
Garry: The only way we should ever go.
Bernice: Right! So here's how I see it. We'll start in Valencia (Ca), Sandi and Jody and the girls (Nicole & Kelly). Spend two, maybe three days with them. Then we'll drive up the Coast Highway to Portland Oregon and spend time with Patti, Patrick and Garrett. From there we hit the road for Seattle to see Ellen and Zach. Then Spokane, then Eugene. I'll have to call the girls and see just how much time we can spend with each of them.
Garry: Wow! This is a dream come true. The great Pacific Coast Road Trip!
Bernice: You'll love the Oregon Coast. It's beautiful beyond words.
Garry: Pretty sure we'll both love it. Thinking about that postcard you sent me. But you know what's going through my mind? California Redwoods. The great Redwood Forest. Wanted to see them since I was a kid and read this western comic book where the bad guys were holed up inside a big ole redwood.
Bernice: I think what I have to do is get a tighter time frame. So we have time to play it by ear. Stop wherever it suits our fancy. I'll get on the details. You just make sure you do your job.
Garry: Which is what, exactly?
Bernice: Get your car ready. I'm not sure if your little Escort can handle the trip.
Garry: Little Red can handle it, trust me.
Bernice: Can I tell you something?
Garry: Anything.
Bernice: I'm nervous about the track meets. I bet those national girls are awfully good. Will there be a lot of people watching?
Garry: Oh yeah. Lotta people watching you kick booty. (a sly grin on her face?)
Center stage in this Odyssey was the galvanizing effect Bernice's audacious choice of event had on her family. Every daughter, every son-in-law and every grand child insisted not only on a demonstration of her prowess, but also the chance to have a go at it themselves. Back yards teemed with kids and grown folk throwing, grunting, cheering and jeering. The part she seemed to enjoy most was the inevitable teasing she got.

"Are you sure you can throw far enough to clear your toes?"

"Grammy, are you going to wear one of those tight spandex outfits?"

"Bernice you gotta learn to grunt. You don't even squeak?"

"Are you sure anybody your age actually does this?"

Through it all she smiled and laughed and lapped up the attention.

USATF National Masters Track and Field Competitions Spokane Washington
Masters Track & Field athletes compete in five year age groups. Bernice was in the 65-69 group.
Images: Bernice in her que waiting for her fourth attempt. Ordinarily a fast starter, she is out of the money at this point. Her usual stoicism in the ring has been replaced by a constant shifting of weight from foot to foot, a head down glower, and some serious deep breathing.
Event Marshal: Wagner up!
Images: With the slightest of nods, Bernice pivots off a foot shift and moves deliberately into the throwing circle. Into her standing position. A look out across the throwing vectors. A beat, and into her crouch. Deeper than usual. Locks her throwing elbow into her side. Tighter than usual. Free arm reaching skyward, straighter than usual. Up hard out of the crouch and the ball flies. Later Bernice would say, "I knew it was a good one. I could feel it all the way up from my toes."

The interminable measuring wait. Finally the formal distance announcement, followed by a sizable wave of appreciation from the crowd. Bernice leaves the throwing circle with a small, satisfied grin. Ultimately the throw stands up, good for a National Silver Medal.

WAVA (now called the World Masters Championships) International Track and Field Competition Eugene Oregon
Hayward Field stadium full to capacity. Big time buzz around the shot-put venue. Some serious lady athletes chatting, back slapping, plowing through their warm ups. Even from my vantage point in the stands they seem bigger and more resolute than any ladies Bernice has gone up against thus far. Bernice herself has found a swagger I didn't know she had. She's strolling through the ranks of her competitors, shaking hands, laughing at somebody's joke. Me I'm hoping she's getting stoked  on the supercharged atmosphere because she doesn't seem much interested in warming up.
Image: Bernice is wearing an extra large WAVA T-shirt that extends nearly to her knees. The officials start the competitors roll-call and Bernice comes out of the shirt. Holy Batman! Spandex has nothing on this girl. She has opted for a form fitting, one piece, powder blue bathing suit with aggressive white stripping. I know distance belies age to a point, but from where I stood she looked like a blond bombshell about to go off.
Image: Bernice is far enough down in the throwing order that by the time she steps into the ring I have reconciled myself to her bodacious outfit. Talk about casual. If she were carrying a book in her hand instead of a shot-put she could be strolling down a beach somewhere. She does three relaxed squats in preparation and suddenly rips through her toss in a blue blur. Her momentum leaves her standing on her tip-toes to avoid stepping over the foul line. She recovers in time to see the throw and slaps her thigh in satisfaction. Not waiting for the measurement, she steps out of the ring and gathers up her shirt. Waits for her ball. Takes it and strides through the ranks. Normal. Find a spot to rest until her next throw. Instead she continues on through the crowd, across the track, and heads up into the stands towards me.
Garry: Bernice, what the hell are you doing? (she just grins and hands me the ball) You can't leave the competition like that. You'll be disqualified.
Bernice: (with a shrug and a grin) That throw was good enough, I don't need another one. If they beat it they beat it.
Garry: It was pretty damned good. Looked better than Spokane. But Sweetie, you have to tell the officials you won't be taking another throw.
Bernice: OK, see you in a few minutes.
"That throw was good enough, I don't need another one." Good enough for another Silver Medal, International this time.

Partners in Paradise
When I rejoined Bernice after my 9 month sojourn in Michigan, we started our new life with a vengeance. Bernice was retired and I was the next best thing, unemployed. Better still, I was drawing unemployment from the Detroit Public School System. I was free as a bird and could pay my own way, at least for awhile. Our future was finally now.

Bernice wasted little time filling me in on the routines she had already established in my absence. Hiking with the club, regular pool days with our building 8 buddies, morning and evening walks along the golf course, and random searching for the perfect happy hour and the best Friday night fish establishment within easy driving distance. On the weekends that we didn't do all day hikes, we would catch the latest movies. Evenings at home would start with wine or beer on the patio followed by one of Bernice's twenty-minute dinner specials. After dinner we would read or watch a favorite TV show.

The Dreaming Pool (1)
Every day after leaving the scorching water pool deck and slogging maybe 30 meters back to the condo, we would shuck our swim-suits and lie naked in the spare bedroom. The room had a twilight ambiance created by closing the blinds to soften the blow of a raging sun. With our bodies supported by pillows and a soft carpet, we would day-dream in hushed tones content to let evening roll around whenever it felt like it. We called the room our Dreaming Pool
Bernice: Sometimes I think this is the best part of the day.
Garry: I feel like I'm on vacation.
Bernice: You are on vacation.
Garry: No, I mean like a permanent vacation. Sort of a never-ending holiday.
Bernice: You're not planning to go back to work?
Garry: It's in the back of my mind. Planning would be a stretch.
Bernice: Back of your mind is good. Leaves room for today. For us. (pause) You know how I'm always kidding you about being a dreamer? I don't know why. I think it's what I like best about you.
Garry: Are we talkin' daydreams or lifedreams here?
Bernice: Lifedreams. The ones you've shared with me. Back when we were getting to know each other. Your years in the theatre, living on bread and relish sandwiches, hustling 24/7, fighting for rehearsal space, eeking money out of tiny budgets, but still bringing the show in. Your salad days. (pause) I have a confession to make. I used to daydream about those days. Used to pretend that I was part of that life.
Garry: Funny, when I was telling you all that stuff I wasn't thinking dreams.
Bernice: I know, you were trying to impress me. And it worked. But even then I had this question in the back of my mind. Why did he stop? Why isn't he still doing what he loved?
Garry: Well, one answer would be he liked to eat. He liked to have a roof over is head. He wanted to at least marginally take care of his kids.
Bernice: I get that. I even get that at one time you thought Adult Ed was the ideal backup plan for someone trying to make it in the theatre. But I also get that by the time we started seeing each other you had come full stop.
Garry: I don't know full stop. But I was ready for a serious break. The whole field of performing arts is a struggle for anyone. I was starting to look at the handwriting on the wall. If I was gonna make it, I woulda already made it, that sort of thing.
Bernice: Don't take this the wrong way, but I think you just stopped trying.
Garry: You're starting to lose me
Bernice: No, I think I'm starting to find you. Do you remember telling me the story about you wanting to quit your lousy Babe Ruth baseball team because your manager was a drunk and the team was playing lousy and your sponsor still hadn't come up with any uniforms?
Garry: Like it was yesterday.
Bernice: And what did you mom say?
Garry: Something like she wasn't gonna let me quit the team because I'd never been a quitter...
Bernice: Right, she said you had never been a quitter and you never would be. So here's what we know about you. Your dreams will never die, and quitting on them is just not in you.
Garry: So what are you saying?
Bernice: I'm saying that you're lying here with me, a beautiful woman in a lovely condo with no financial worries. Your kids are doing good. Sayin' maybe it's time for us to get after your dreams. The two of us. The stars may never line up like this again.
Garry: What about your dreams?
Bernice: I'm living my dream. Doin' everything I want, when I want to. The only thing could spoil my dream is an unhappy partner.

So I took the shot. I signed with a talent agency and found early success with a string of commercials and two Indy films. When I joined up the agency was half modeling, half talent. But early on the handwriting on the wall revealed that the money seemed to be in the modeling game. After a couple of fat years the agency fazed out the talent side of the operation altogether. I was on my own without an agent in a secondary market. Adult Ed to the rescue. In the waning moments of my film career I was invited to join a prestigious Rio Salado College Leaning Center that partnered with the ground breaking Maricopa Skills Center. I felt good about the opportunity to earn a little money while coming up with a new game plan to crack the commercial market. September 2012 I'm still working on that game plan.

The Dreaming Pool (2)
Garry: So Ms Wagner, where do you see yourself in five years?
Bernice: (eyes closed) I hear Lake Louise up in Canada is one of the most beautiful spots on earth.
Garry: I see us white-water rafting down the Colorado river.
Bernice: I don't know. Those rapids are dangerous. I don't swim that well.
Garry: You kidding? You swim like a fish.
Bernice: Oh right, you're the one who doesn't swim so well.
Garry: What about famous cities.
Bernice: OK, I'll take famous cities for $500.
Garry: You'll take a poke in the booty and like it.
Bernice: OK, London. I've always wanted to go to London.
Garry: New York City for me. Then maybe Rio de Janiero.
Bernice: I've already been to New York. Never had a desire to go to South America.
Garry: Fair enough. So we do London, should we add Paris to our Junket?
Bernice: No. Just London. (pause) Can I tell you what I really have been thinking about?
Garry: Please!
Bernice: Hiking the Grand Canyon.
Garry: Really?
Bernice: Really. Hike down to Phantom Ranch. Get a big steak with corn on the cob for dinner. Lay out and look up at the sky after sundown. Fat stars filling up the whole sky. Hike back out the next day. Maybe run up to Laughlin after. See a show, play some slots. (pause) Think I can do it?
Garry: Do what, hike the Grand Canyon?
Bernice: Yeah, I've heard it can be a rough hike. I ain't no spring chicken.
Garry: What, Mt. Lemon wasn't rough enough or Mt. Williams with the wind blowing our shorts off. Hell Squaw Peak is rough enough for your average thirty-year old.
Bernice: You're right. I can do it. Guess the real question is, can you?
Garry: You're my hiking guru. You tell me.
Bernice: Not sure I'd bet money on it, but you're starting to get the hang of it. You got time.
Garry: I got time, meaning...
Bernice: Meaning I've made reservations to overnite at Phantom Ranch this coming March. I want to give Sandi (daughter) a special birthday present. Something she can share with Jody (son-in-law). Get us a nice place to stay on the Rim. The four of us do the hike. What you think?
Garry: Think you just blew me out of the water.
Bernice: I mean do you like?
Garry: I love!

Images: Hikers know that often as not climbing down a steep trail can be harder on the body than climbing up. Unfortunately Bernice proved to be a case in point. After maybe a half mile down the South Kaibab, Bernice's knees began to hurt. At first "like the dickens" but soon "every step I took was like an icepick in my knee." Fellow hikers noticed her plight and offered everything from ice packs to pain pills. I never knew so many hikers carried drugs. If memory serves she did avail herself of some supped up Tylenol.

What a difference some grub and beer, an evening under the stars and a good nights sleep can make. Bernice totally had her mojo back as we lit out from Phantom Ranch at 6am the next morning. Footbridge across the Colorado River and up Bright Angel Trail. At Indian Gardens we split our foursome. Jody was anxious to get into a power hike, and I felt up to the challenge. Sandi and Bernice would stay together and meet us at the rim.
Bernice: Garry, you remember your promise. When you guys get to the top, you turn right around and come back for me. You promised to push me on up if I needed it.
Garry: You got it Sweetie. Hope you won't need it though. I'll be pretty tired by the time I get back to you.
Turns out "pretty tired" wasn't the half of it. Jodi was fit and forty and on a mission. He clearly meant to kill me with his pace. Later he would say, "All you had to do was tell me. I could have slowed down." Yeah right. Like you didn't know the old buck never asks for quarter and the young buck never grants it. I did go back for Bernice, but only after Jody and I had grabbed a shower and a snack back at the hotel.

One of the striking features of a hike up Bright Angel is the sharp contrast in weather conditions. On this day, it was balmy around the Colorado River bottom and snowing on the South Rim. By the time Jody and I started back down to meet the girls a thick fog had set in. Oncoming hikers were preceded by the colors of their caps and jackets long before their bodies jumped into visibility. I counted 16 switchbacks before I saw a bright orange nylon jacket like the one Bernice had wisely packed.  Could be her. As she slowly rose out of the mist the ball of orange grudgingly revealed a splotch of white. Bernice's face, upturned, grim to infinity, with droplets of moisture hanging off the end of her nose. She did not smile when she recognized us.
Bernice: You said you would come back for me.
Garry: I did. I'm here.
Bernice: You should have found me a long time ago.
Jody: Bernice, what did you do with Sandi, push her off a lookout point?
Bernice: (not amused) Her back is killing her. Some young fellows offered to take her pack and wait for her at the top. She insisted I go on. You better go find her.
Garry: So babe, you still want me to push you.
Bernice: Hell yes I want you to push. You shoulda been pushing me way before now.
To her credit Bernice thanked me for the pushing she did get and admitted that for the most part she was no worse for wear. She was seventy-two years old at the time.

Memorable afternoon with Bernice and her pool girlfriends, maybe six years into Paradise:
Don't remember whether I actually overheard this conversation or Bernice told me about it later.
GF 1: These girls today, they have so much surgery no telling how old they are.
GF 2: Not important how old you are, just what you look like.
GF 3: I wouldn't mind a few nips and tucks. I'm such a flabby Abby.
GF 4: I just want to get rid of some wrinkles and some crows feet.
GF 5: You can do that with Botox you know.
Bernice: I don't think I'll bother with any of that. Garry likes me just the way I am.

GRAMMY
From daughter Ellen: (circa 2012) Here is what I can tell you about Mom and the grandkids.

She loved being a Grammy. I think more than being a mom.
 

When (son) Zach was 4 I started going to conferences 2 times a year. She would arrange her vacation time and go with us. She took care of Zach in the morning while I was at meetings and then the 3 of us would play in the afternoons.

 

Memorable trip: We went to Fort Lauderdale for Benjamin's (Ellen's nephew) bar mitzvah and then Mom, Zach and I went down to the Keys for a few days. We had a great time in a small hotel on the beach. I remember that it was Mothers day weekend 10 years ago, I took her to dinner at the Westin Hotel in Islamorada. We had dinner in the restaurant way up high looking out into a jungle with water on both sides watching the sun set. It was wonderful.

From daughter Patti: (circa 2012) When I think of her visits though what I remember is all the time she and Garrett sat together in the recliner and read and talked...hours each day.

Memorable trip: For Garrett's 13th birthday, we went to Hawaii. We took a helicopter ride, went whale watching and snorkeling and then there was the adventure of the coconut. She and Patrick found a coconut on the beach. I begged them to leave it behind but they were determined to open it up. Well, I never smelled anything so foul as that rotten coconut milk and the two of them covered with it. It was a long drive around the island that day.

From daughter Sandi: (circa 2012)
Memorable visit: Whenever my mom came to visit (Sandi, Jody, and granddaughters Nicole & Kelly), we always looked for fun and adventurous places to go hiking. In our town, often there would be streams of water that you had to cross at some point during the hike. On this particular occasion, I recall there were several crossings involved. At each one my mom would say - "Oh, I hope I don't slip into the water." Finally, after about 3 attempts at crossing, she said "Oh screw it, I'm just going to walk through the water." the funny thing was that she never complained about her sopping wet feet for the duration of the hike. Everytime I go hiking, I think of that experience and a smile comes to my face. I have to thank her for giving me the love of hiking!

Adventures in Paradise: Prologue To An Era
Living Room of our condo. Bernice in her spot at the end of the couch, feet on her leather foot rest. Me in my easy chair that nobody likes to sit in but me.
Bernice: So this is the big year?
Garry: All our years are big. What's special about this one.
Bernice: I'm talking about your retirement, silly.
Garry: Oh that little item.
Bernice: Little item? You have been dying to retire since you were 62 and now you can and that's a "little item?"
Garry: No, it's huge. I never thought it would happen.
Bernice: Do you regret not retiring at 62?
Garry: Not really. Least not now. I didn't hate my job. And I trusted your judgement.
Bernice: Always with my judgement. My advice. My guidance. I'm about sick of all that. Did you ever think what not having you home those three years meant to me? What it cost me? So you hadda work three more years. Big deal. Just business as usual for you. Me home alone. Half my friends moved away or dead. Every day between the time I read the poem you left in the morning and the time you came waltzing through the door in the evening...fixin my smile.
Garry: I'm sorry. I always thought you smiled because you were glad to see me.
Bernice: I was dammit! But that smile you like so much? You need to know there were days I had to work pretty hard to get to it.
Garry: Guess I never thought of that. I should have. What can I do...
Bernice: Finally he asks! (pause) Not much you can do. I just had to get it off my chest. OK if we just move on? What I'm interested in now is what we're going to do with the time we have left.
Garry: Be together for one thing.
Bernice: That's one big thing for sure. But there's more to it than that. I'm getting older. My health is not what it used to be. You've said you would take care of me and I believe you. But you have to understand, I need more than you. I need my girls. They want to take care of me too. And you have to let that be alright. Sometimes you act like they're intruding when they show their concern for me.
Garry: I didn't mean...
Bernice: You didn't mean for it to show. Well, it did but that's not important now. What's important now is for you to get what I'm saying. Let it sink in. Let what I'm telling you now be important to both of us moving forward. (long pause) And one more thing, we're gonna  be doin some traveling babe. No more summers in Phoenix. I'm not going to be a prisoner in my own house ever again.  So start thinking about where we can spend this summer coming up.