Happy 233 Birthday America

1776 – 2009

Our first flag: January 1 — The Grand Union flag is displayed on Prospect Hill. It has 13 alternate red and white stripes and the British Union Jack in the upper left-hand corner (the canton).

Week 2

Now…week 2 proved much better. Although my husband Mike has taken fastidious care of me, I decided to take matters back into my own hands. I got up last Monday, emancipated my left eyebrow from my right (overdue plucking) and decided I would walk on my own. I made it all the way to the end of the street before I started swearing… Thank God no one else was out… except a very elderly lady in a wheel chair… that past me up… I think when I’m better I’ll ring her doorbell and run…

I started a regular routine that seems to work for me. I get up and shower, put on a loose skirt because pants over my stitches are out of the question, make my oatmeal and raisins and sit on the front porch to eat it…and then… I walk. I tried the whole loop around my inside tract today. Half way through I was looking for a short flat fence in the shade to collapse on so some neighbor wouldn’t find me face down on their lawn.. Luckily, most of my neighbors don’t recognize me by site (take’s a Halloween costume). All they know is some strange woman can be seen in a giant hat and skirt (like a misplaced southern belle) early in the morning… walking in baby steps. I think I look quite mysterious but lately I’ve seen a patrol car cruisen…

Upon completion of the tract tour, I sit on my front patio under a giant umbrella and read or listen to books on tape the rest of the day. I find I like reading better because I can make the characters in my head sound however I like. The ones on tape have actors reading and if they don’t have good accents (or have the honed skills of William Shatner)…well…it just spoils the whole story. That and the fact that I’m slightly hard of hearing (rock concert years) and I have to turn the thing way up to hear it. It’s not a good idea to have sex scenes played out really loud if you are trying to sit un-noticed on the porch…

While I sit there, I have begun to come to a couple of conclusions. First, I believe there must be a whole lot of independently wealthy people in this tract because it seems no one works for a living. Not that I can see. Oh…They leave in their cars but! they come back in a short time…as if they went to 7/11 for a slurpee and are rushing back for the day’s TV line-up. And second, we must be the city capital of dog walking. I have seen literally every shape and size of dog with their respective walkers. Being a cat owner, I had no idea how many creative ways there were to walk a dog. Some ride skateboards while their dogs run beside…others… bicycles…others are literally dragged behind…while still others just open their gates and leave them “free-to-be” to do their business and come back. Then there’s the neighbor who rides a mini bike, hell on wheels, hugging the curb while his dog chases it around the block at warp speed. Some people just hold the dog in their arms and walk. That “dog walk” I haven’t figured out unless they are really exercizing while the dog substitutes for mislocated bar bells. Today I noticed a guy carrying just a lime green pooper scooper…no dog even in sight. Who knows…maybe we have a pooper scooper assigned patrol. Yet another good reason to not let a neighbor see me…

On Friday Jamie came over to work on the Tsunami mural and relieve Mike of “H watch” so I invited Dedra (another friend) to join us in a bar-be-que. Granted I cannot drive and there wasn’t any food in the house…I still thought it a grand idea. The bar-be-que was dragged onto the front porch and Jamie drove me to the store, while I held onto my stomach muscles in the bouncing car, then I turtle walked to get the goods. We made some very fine turkey burgers and then Jamie went back to her mural. She decided she needed some other kind of paint and we were off to the Home Depot. While there, Dedra hooked me up with an electrical cart they keep and I was off. The thing had a giant pole in the back with a big flashing light on the very top and the most obnoxious horn I’ve ever heard. I had a field day zooming past folks, honking that squealing thing and sailing by with a evil smile. Sadly I had to give it back before I put anything cool in it’s giant basket. Neither Jamie nor Dedra would get in. Hey! You really should seek those out if you happen on a Home Depot. It adds whole new meaning to the shopping experience.

I read 3 more books incognito on my porch without someone noticing… and asking me to join some neighborhood bunco club… and I watched 6 more movies. My God, if I add daytime TV I should be ready to compete in game shows after week 6!

Week 1

Week 1 after surgery

Sheer Hell In Time

Week 1 was not the stuff dreams are made of. Hell, I barely remember the first 3 days except that apparently I asked (and text) allot of people to “please come kill me”. My sister Julie said I told her “If you smother me with my pillow I will give you my car”…I’m still here, but possibly when I had the beamer, the offer might have looked better to her.

When you’re “Out of it” you miss many conversations. One in particular would have been good to know. Every hour it seemed I was ask by some nurse “Have you passed gas?” This was starting to get quite annoying since I’m a pretty private person about such things. I’ve never been a “gassy gal” in the past so I had no idea what the hell was going on. At some point either my Sister Julie (or Jamie such as my memory is) said that they blew my stomach up with gas to get to the proper organs. Apparently they want it to come back out. I just thought they were getting rather personal.

Then there was the anesthesia…the stuff dreams are made of. I had a long conversation about asthma and my negative reaction to the dreaded anesthesia with my own anesthesiologist the night before surgery. He was a rather sympathetic chap who seemed to get the picture. When I arrived, the nurse said “I have the strangest cocktail waiting for you”. Of course I replied “I don’t drink”… while she handed me no less than 21 pills and told me to chuck them all down. I don’t do well with pills so it wasn’t a simple task. I managed to get them down as I was tossed to the gurney.

Then there was the pain medicine. At another episode of “big pink bucket fun” I heard the Nurse say “I’ve never seen anything like her”…”She can’t take anything we give her for pain”. Finally, and THANK GOD, my sister mentioned one pain medicine with some freakin Irish Leprechaun name like “Finnigan” (without narcotics) and the pink bucket was gone for damn good.

I am happy to report that as of today (starting week 2) I can walk about a block and a half without much of a grimace, hanging onto Mike’s arm like a vice clamp and as white as a sheet, I can dry my own hair standing up…and I can pick up virtually anything off the floor with my toes (although the water bottle cap was very cruel). I have read 6 books, watched 3 mini series along with something called “Iron Chef” until I truly believe I might try to cook something…Alas, I hard boiled some eggs today and they were soft boiled after I peeled them. I figure by week 3 I’ll be ready for egg salad!

Thank you all for your cards, texts, calls and good wishes.

Hyster Sister

Rarely do I bring up the subject of anything medical on this blog. oh…I did tell you about my interesting visit to the Dermatologist and received so much positive feedback (apparently some identified the whole waiting room scenario) that I thought I would share a bit of what’s ahead for me…with some H humor…

For the past year, I have been having strange…well, I’m already strange…so really strange issues with my body. I have a right ankle that swells anywhere from a annoying toddler-like puffiness to the extreme Dumbo the teenage pachyderm. (This is gonna get womanly, I warn you). I have odd numbness in my tailbone at exactly 3 days before the monthly visits. If I laugh hard or cough (both frequently) my lower abdomen kills me and I’ve been known to double over just walking. I’m in pretty good shape, eat right usually…oh there are those occasional coffee drinks that call my name… But I don’t drink alcohol (it’s not pretty) and other than an inhaler for my sudden onslaught of mystery diagnosis asthma…I don’t take a single prescribed medication. I’m more of the type that would rather bite down on a stick…

On a recent trip to the Doctor (actually many) it was decided that I would need a hysterectomy. “They decided” that I had way too many large fibroids growing in and around the ol’ uterus reeking havoc. . “I decided” to read and try everything but a witch doctor in hopes of a natural cure…until finally…I came to see “their” light. The alien love children (as I like to refer to them) would have to come out. I never planned on having any “real” children…and at 51, even though I haven’t approached “THE CHANGE”, I figure the world is a much safer place without another “me” walking and talking. It’s fragile and just not ready to take on two of us…

Funny thing about “THE CHANGE”…I’ve heard that women can grow beards and mustaches…and while that might be a negative to some women… I look at it as a big savings on my next Halloween costume. Hey, they wax most of me now…what’s another 9 square inches of chin? But I digress (see why there should only be one of me loose?).

Back to the story…Upon my recent visit…this one being the “PRE-OPP”. I arrived to the waiting room and signed in. Now I have a Doctor that is constantly running past me…off to bring another baby into the world…so it’s hard to actually SEE her. On this visit, there were 2 lovely young girls… I’m guessing the oldest was 5, the youngest 3. They had taken over the lobby and were bouncing from chair to chair, and while in full flight, they would smack the painting on the wall with tiny palms at whatever height they hit. Just when it looked rather dubious for the 4 forlorn chairs, their Mother came into the room and yelled “You both are getting shots if you don’t sit down”. Those were the magic words…I never saw 2 girls sit more quickly, quietly, facing straight ahead with hands folded in their respective laps. I never heard another peep.

The next group came in with one little girl about 4. She smiled at me…I smiled back…and in her new found interest in me…she promptly smacked her head into the wooden arm on the chair. The screaming subsided about 5 minutes later when her Mother produced a sparkly glitter lip gloss. She, after re-initiating eye contact, proceeded to try to put in on with rather precarious aim. Giving up on that method, she pulled her bottom lip out as far as it would go with her thumb and index finger, looked down cross eyed and matched up gloss to extended lip. I think the supermodels should try this method out. Imagine the photo opportunity and doesn’t every Photographer deserve a bone!

While this was going on, there was a woman (apparently of some great importance) who dialed and blabbed on her phone incessantly. It soon became apparent that reception would need a hall monitor…and… because I always sit in the chair closest to the door of escape, it was I that received “the pleading look”. Every time the receptionist needed her, she would look at me with emploring eyes and I knew that was my cue to open the door and yell “Hey” to the blabber. The woman would then promptly hang up and come back in, thank me and resume with reception for more questioning. Just when we were getting rather good at it, my name was called.

Now my Doctor (Dr Lee) is pretty dog gone sharp. She’s Mid 30’s, beautiful, with the long shiny black hair and a brilliant working mind that’s all business and no humor…and then… there’s me. The poor dear. She likes to explain (in great, exacting detail) what will be happening while I like to ask all kinds of crazy questions. I’m used to the “patient look”, the sigh…then the next explanation. I think she has probably heard every question terrified women (who’ve searched the internet) has asked…and has her own version of what will really happen memorized to the minute detail. Sadly, I ask her things like…”How long before I can sit in a car for 7 hours?”… “When can I resume my coffee addiction?”… and most important “When is it ok to start building my Alien spaceship for Halloween?”. In my defense, I did ask if my vagina will be shorter. She looked rather pained. She clarified that everything that worked before will work after…and hey, that was darn good enough for me.

Then came “The Packet”. Now “The Packet” contains all the paperwork that you really don’t read because the type’s too damn small and they explain it really fast anyway. It was when she got to the blood transfusion sheet… boy, did she finally get my attention. That’s when reality hit. I asked her in my most adult voice to tell me how many 51 year old women could she name that had never smoked, drank, or took a drug that wasn’t prescribed for a temporary illness (including nerds). She was stumped until I raised my hand. We came to an agreement that if I went that very moment, I could leave my own very special “girl in a bubble blood”. We shook, I signed and was off.

Now I haven’t been to Hoag Hospital, the Diamond of Newport Beach, (the very rich and famous city next to my poor old one) since the cat bite experience. Oh you laugh but I stayed in the 4 star hospital with a 4 million dollar view of the Newport Harbor for 4 days because my own cat bit me while breaking up a fight between her and her unloving sister. I got put in Oncology because that was the only place they could find a bed and most people thought I was so sick that I couldn’t get a shower for the life of me. I did get a sponge bath but until I left the wing, I couldn’t figure out why! But that is a whole other scar story …

When I arrived this time…I was yet again lost. They have whole wings named after very wealthy old dead people and they have the most God-Awful portraits of these dead people hanging in halls (like you’re walking through a bloody old castle in England)…just in case you want to know first hand who you are indebted to for all the finery. (I find I’m happier with a little mystery). I must have looked bedraggled when a stylish nurse found me wandering halls. She found the blood bank people and put me on the phone. I was told to go to the cafe, eat something (she scorned my coffee and piece of toast breakfast) and come back at 3pm. I was then told to go to registration. Hell, they have valet in the emergency…why not registration. I began wandering. I found registration and after the 29th form I asked if there was some mistake. The woman looked at me and inquired why. I said “I didn’t come here to buy property…I was here to eat, give blood and get out”. I got “The smile”. We finished shortly and I was sent to the cafe. At least they had designer coffee drinks!

Within 30 seconds of ordering food from the beret wearing cafeteria women, my airways were accosted by an older woman, wearing the entire collection of perfume sold in America. My asthma started..and yes…the inhaler was safely locked in my car. I passed the stylish nurse in my frantic exit through the hallways and back onto the parkway. The valet watched me zoom in and out, probably hoping he wasn’t going to miss his bloody tip. I made it back inside to find that the blood bank was outside, down yet another parkway…and into Oncology. OMG

After searching for a parking place because I was too cheap to valet, I found the next reception, which sent me to the blood bank. Now this place was done up with ribbons and balloons and everyone was laughing …so I asked if I was at a party. “No”, I was told…”It always looks like this”. I was brought to a chair, had my finger pricked and was told my iron was excellent. I never thought otherwise but the lady sighed and told me even on a good day, hers was 10 points below my own. I told her it was the genes…but not to be too envious.

Then she led me to a chair and proceeded to coax a vein to obey. Now this has always been trouble and even though she was a total pro, she called in the ringer. Even the ringer fretted for a while. They made me squeeze on a rubber world ball for quite sometime. I saw the rubber brain in the box, told her I preferred it to the world I presently had… and with the exchange, I’m proud to say up came the vein They got what they needed and then sent me to the waiting area. This is the area where they observe you in case you’re going drop on the floor. She said eat whatever you want. Well, my God, they had their own Good Humor freezer. How is a person supposed to stop at one? Drumsticks, ice cream sandwiches, sundaes…hell I could have stayed all night what with the oreos and cool stuff. I had juice, ice cream, cookies and raisins until I was stuffed. I left as happy as any kid to go back up the hill to reception.

At reception, I had to have my last tests done. I guess they want to make sure your not germi or infectious. They swabbed my nose, took more blood and told me to go home (which I was more than happy to do as fast as I could)!

I report to duty Monday at 5am. My uterus and cervix will be removed in one of 2 ways. I’m to be surprised. I do hate surprises. My Doctor and I are even though. She takes 2 body parts and I keep 2 body parts. After much study (on my part) and the helpful article confirming my study from my NY friend Kathy, those ovaries are definitely staying put.

We won’t be talking for a while…maybe I’ll just post a word. Maybe “Pain” or “OMG” or “whoohoo good drugs”. Keep posted
My love to all of you…some of you more than others…I’ll let ya wonder

I just had to come back…to tell you…my anesthesiologist just called. Truthfully I’m more afraid of the anesthesia than the actual surgery because of past bad experience. I spoke to him for a pretty long time and he knows all the particulars and is going to do extra battle to save me from the worst reactions I have to “the dreaded sleep”. I had to laugh because, well it is Newport Beach (land of the rich and famous) and when I heard his name I had to ask… He confirmed he’s second cousin to the actor Mark Ruffalo. Maybe I’ll get lucky and he just as cute! Hey, does anyone know if Johnny Depp has a brother that’s a nurse?

Like Father, Like Daughter

Emily finished her painting in the Young Rembrandts class and Jame and I thought it was so special that we wanted to share it with you. I thought it would be nice to have her portrait in front of the magnificent photograph her Daddy gave me. Jonathan shoots several different exposures with custom pinhole cameras that he makes himself. He then makes prints like this graphic that even old Ansel and his zone system would be proud of…

Emily is 10 years old and it took her 4 very patient weeks (one 2 hour class each week) to finish… I believe you can definitely see…creativity runs in the Family!

Oops

Somewhere along the line, I accidentally deleted a post. It showed Jamie’s progress, on the Hokusai Tsunami mural she’s working on, covering my garage…so here it is as it now stands…about 80% there. I put back the wonderful comments as well

You get a “Wow, that is sooo cool!” out of Joseph and an “Incredibly beautiful” from me. You’ve also created a travel point for your neighbors. “We live next to; across from; two houses down from….the house with the giant wave on the garage door!” Always can count on you – “If there’s a will, there’s a way!” And you never disappoint.
Kathy and Joe

It is beautiful…you two look cute in your hats out there painting. What made you decide to have the wave face West? he he.
Julie

Stunning! I’m so happy to see the finished mural. Beautiful. I know where to find your house when I’m in the area…the one that’s waving.
QuoinMonkey

Oh, that is so gorgeous! She makes it looks so easy.
ybonesy

Heather, that is absolutely beautiful! Hope you’re doing well…miss you!
Love, MaryBeth

Jeff, my buddy

Thursday, a dear friend of mine will retire, after 30 years at our company. It’s a “voluntarily-forced” retirement, in that he’s not really to go, but will do so to save some other person’s job. His home is paid for and he’s within 3 years of retirement so it was the choice they made together. Another friend and manager told me “Heather, it’s going to happen whether we like it or not, so we better make the best of it”…and he was right. From that moment on, I have tried.

I was put in charge of Jeff’s going away bash and we were lucky enough to find the best gift ever. Jeff’s been a longboard surfer for more years than I’ve been alive and with a little pleading…and money to back it…we got him into a session with Robert August, making his own board. Mr August is a legend in the surfing world and Jeff will be in 7th Heaven. That makes me so darn happy…because there’s no better heart on the planet… and he’s like family to me.

I just finished the last details (the surf guitar legends music) and I’m hoping that everyone that has a Hawaiian shirt, skirt or flowered swim trunks will wear them. I did warn the owner so he wouldn’t think he’d arrived at some frightening version of spring break or a time share meeting.

When I look back at the years I’ve worked with Jeff, I have so many great memories…the kind that only people who were there (in that moment) can laugh at and understand…but there’s one I think worth sharing. It goes back some 12 years or so… at a time when I was just getting back from a 3 week vacation.

Now some people, when they go on vacation, they still think about work and what will be there upon return. I am not one of them. When I go, my mind forgets what day it is, where I live, work or what I do for the living that allowed me to take the vacation in the first place. I’m a clean, blank slate.

It was my first day back…the “fog day”. This is the day I walk around in a vegetative state trying to remember how to use my phone. It’s where I repeat the same stories, of what I saw and did on my time off, for no less than 40 people. It was on this day that the owner decided to have a meeting. Now the owner is a very nice man and rarely, if ever, gets mad about anything. When he does, his face turns a really bright shade of red…and then it’s time to stop talking or make up some really good BS.

This particular meeting was about some signage…you know..the kind that says inspirational work type stuff like “Having fun getting it done” or ” We find a way”…meant to rally the troups. We had apparently decided on some really big signs that were going to go over all the entrance ways in the bindery and pressroom, so that even those with bad eyesight could see them clearly, without a bit of squinting…

We were all gathered into the conference room to sit and listen to the latest. The owner started talking about the new signs and about possible slogans that would lighten our hearts and make us work happily, diligently and content. He read off some of the better choices and that’s when the problem started. He looked me in the eye and asked me my opinion…

Now you have to picture 10 people sitting around a table very close together…each waiting to give their serious views…but…it was sadly me who was asked first. I stared round the table for one revolution…and then burst our laughing. Now, I don’t mean a sissy, quiet little laugh…I mean a whole body laugh… from the soles of my feet, up through the diaphram and out my big, damn mouth. Have you ever had a moment where you knew it was innapropriate…but you couldn’t, even to save your life (or career), stop laughing. That was my moment.

Just when it was getting really bad, when his face was the brightest red I’d ever seen…when people were starting to look scared…God bless him…my buddy Jeff (sitting directly across) came to the rescue. He kicked me really hard, in the shin, from under the table. I think I owe him my last 12 years of employment because I finally shut up and the meeting was abruptly abandon. I never saw that group of people move faster before or since that day. And, after all these years, all I have to do is say to Jeff “remember the sign meeting?” and it will get a chuckle out of him every time.

I probably won’t mention this story tomorrow. I believe the owner has finally forgotten…but I never, ever will.
God Bless you Jeff…in your future endeavors and I’ll see ya on the outside

Alder

Dining Room Arts

As most of you know, Anuvue closed it’s doors last month and will remain so until the economy (or we) recover (which ever comes first). In the meantime, the Young Rembrandt Art Class remains intact, a gathering of all the young artists we can fit in my dining room.The kids are a delight to be around, what with those smiling faces, so very inspiring to both of us. I witnessed Jamie coming in tonight from a tough, frustrating day at work, to a totally revived woman by the end of the night. That’s the kinda stuff that makes me very happy, that and being able to watch, as she mentors these kids. I snuck out for treats…and she told me “nothing messy”. Of course Jamie being the professional Mom (and I the child), I came back with ice cream sandwiches and chocolate chunk, chewy cookies. Truthfully she and I dove in first! YUMMMMMH!

Presenting the Young Rembrandts…

This is all 8 of us. (I’m in the glass)

The Thomas Gallery Visit

Last weekend Micheal and I traveled up the 395 for the 99th Birthday celebration of Carroll Thomas… and especially to give him the portraits painted by the 818 Artists.

About 2 hours into the road trip there’s a place out in the middle of nowhere that suddenly opens up into a shopping center. You know…the kind of development where the new houses all look the same and are built right next to the road…even though there’s miles of land around. I can’t figured out why anyone would choose to live 10 feet from the highway…but hey, that’s me. I always laugh at the signs with the city name (which I forget) and the slogan “Land of Endless Possibilities”. The first two that come to mind are “heat stroke” and “dusty sandwiches”. Anyway, the destination has a Starbucks which normally means a clean restroom and a liquid snack… so it’s always the first stop.

I packed sandwiches but knew we would be arriving in Olancha for stop #2 and some of their famous fresh jerky. Mike loves the stuff. It’s housed in a old, rundown “used-to-be” gas station but I think it’s kinda charming in it’s own “stickered up” way. The person behind the counter always implores me to try a sample and though I gave up jerky when I gave up meat, I always show them a big, wistful smile while I say “no thank you”.

Next stop (when my liquid snack has been in me long enough) is about an hour farther on up at one of those highway rest stops. At this particular place the wind is usually blowing hard enough to make you walk bent over just to stay upright. It’s the last rest stop before Manzanar, the WWII Japanese Internment Camp so typically there are “history seeking lurkers” camped out on a picnic bench. On any normal trip, it’s me sharing the bathroom with one of them and a misguided squirrel looking for the exit. But on this Saturday, it was me and about 5 chartered buses, all full of Middle and High School teens. The line had already formed from the first bus of arrivals and I groaned very loudly as I got out of the car. I ran to get in front of the rapidly exiting, liquid overloaded, others in the parking lot. I snuck in the side less noticeable to the unobservant or unknowing traveler and found about 10 girls hugging their flat bellies. I heard a loud commotion… more a wailing sound… “I caaaaannnn’t fluuuush the toilet” and then another and another. Since no other adult (and I use the term loosely) was around, I took matters into my own hands…or rather…my feet. I went into one of the stalls and proceeded to show them that with a little patience and tenacity, the wall foot pedal would oblige… and the problem would be taken care of. I proudly heard the wooooshes going off as the intervals of understanding came into their young minds. I left with my head a little higher and the invisible “Flush Master” cape on my back. Some even waved good-bye!

Next stop, Lone Pine…the small town Ansel Adams hung around, taking photgraphs in his early years along with the Japanese Interment Camp. His Lone Pine photograph is one I always remember because he had to stipple out the big “LP” the High School kids carved into the side of the snow capped Sierras. If you ever happen to see it, look closely and sure enough, you’ll see the finely dotted letters. Lone Pine is a beautiful little town of about 1800 folks…most fisherman and hunters. I love it there and they have some really good eats! Might make a great place to retire.

Manzanar is after Lone Pine, a place I’ve sadly driven through many times… and then comes Carroll’s town, Big Pine. Now Big Pine is home to about 1200 people who wave at your car when you drive down through their homes. Yes, they have tract homes…kinda. They also have a beautiful park where the town folk walk their dogs (and kids) and they have antiques, art and weird, cool places. The people are super friendly, many being transplants from another place, like Carroll himself. At each shop I went in, I mentioned I was in town for Carroll’s Birthday. They all knew and loved him but I never got the feeling (like you get from some of the smaller towns) that there were any nosy rosies. This town minds it’s own business, probably because many are transplants, hoping for a quieter life in a beautiful place. I think they lucked out and found it! Another cool place to retire.

After walking the town, we went to Carroll’s Gallery and Helen, his girlfriend of 32 years, with long silver hair and a smile of indeterminably age, greeted us at the door. I told her we were “The People from Huntington Beach” and she lit up another grin. She went to the speaker that apparently connects to their home next door. She told Carroll we were here and he replied “I’ll be there in 10″. Sure enough, 10 minutes later, he emerged in western wear and a fancy bollo tie. Always loved bollo ties. I hadn’t see Carroll in 2 years and even then, it was only the one time, to stop in, chat and buy a painting. He looked exactly the same, maybe a bit thinner, but now sporting an air tube. Without any hesitation, he promptly blamed it on Helen, saying “She thinks she needs to keep me on a leash!”.

Now Helen was in on the surprise, but she hadn’t told Carroll the particulars, just that there was something he would enjoy. We had him sit in his rocker, handing him package by package, until finally he was rendered speechless and I’m betting, with his sharp dry wit, that doesn’t happen often. He looked up at me and said “There must be a place saved in Heaven for you… to go to all this trouble” which in turn, made me speechless. I told him “I’m merely the delivery girl” but I did present him with the photograph I took of him holding his own painting that now hangs in my living room.

He carefully read all the short bios telling him about each artist and I filled in what I could. I gave him posters from the show and told him all about the people that came. All I can say to Shiela, Jamie, Karen and Tak is that you made me a very proud women that day. Of all the things (the many great things) that happened in the short, sweet year my Gallery existed, this presentation to this wonderful man…was by far the best thing of all. Without your talent and effort, it would never have come to be. Thank you from both Carroll and myself.

From there, we were introduced to his Family, all wonderful, colorful people in their own right. His 2 sons donned the same exact “T” chin (which Carroll says is the Family trademark for Thomas). They both have the same wit as their Papa, but funny thing, he has all the hair.

Helen took me on a house tour where I saw many more originals in this talented man’s life work. Beautiful, flowing water colors, intricate oils, amazing, all amazing!

We left after the cake but I do remember Carroll telling me “The first 100 years is the hardest” and I guess he would know. He said he planned on living to 105 and that would be enough to make him content. From everything I saw, I do believe he’ll make it. He is an amazing character and one that I am so very privileged to call friend. If you ever travel on the 395 and you find yourself going through Big Pine…make the stop at the Thomas Gallery. His four new portraits now hang just inside the door along with a photograph… of he and I.