Author: smiamccroskey

This collection of email messages is from 1996. Linda is Bruce’s wife. Sean is his son. Ralph is our third, middle, brother.

Perhaps due to our mother’s unique personality and perspective, or because of the wide age range among us, or perhaps just due to geographic circumstances, our family has never been very close. By far the strongest relationship for the last ten years has been between Bruce’s family and me. The weakest link is without a doubt our brother Ralph, who’s visits with other family members over the same 10 year period can be counted on one hand.

As a friend points out (and I report below), with our mother gone, who will hold the family together? Current lives and homes aside, Riverside was our “home,” and although I would not characterize our mother as a bonding element, a visit to her, although often difficult, was always a return to the family (and usually included a visit with eldest brother David, who lives nearby).

I had long ago resolved to handle this inevitable situation with as much grace and diplomacy as I could muster. In the months since my, indeed all of our patience, magnanimity, and maturity have been sorely tested. In some cases we’ve failed, in others, we’ve turned away from the struggle. We’ve each learned that there is no victory, only growth, understanding, and, at the root of it all, survival.

The Internet played a role in this saga from the outset. The news of Mom’s death reached me by telephone. My brother David told me what had happened–she collapsed in the backyard, apparently planning to add water to the pool, the neighbors saw the water from the hose running down the driveway and called the police–then, struggling to have a rational conversation, he abruptly asked me if I’d liked his company’s web page, which I’d visited a few days before.

Real communication via e-mail started the next day.

Date: Sun, Jan 14, 1996 5:31 PM EDT
From: Bruce
Subj: THOUGHTS WHILE WAITING FOR DETAILS
To: Mia
Mia,

Figured this is cheaper than the telephone, and it’s just as easy to check Email as to make a phone call. I was thinking that we might be able to coordinate flights to arrive in California together. We could try to coordinate with my first flying to New York, or meeting in Chicago for the second leg. Don’t know what’s possible, but it’s something to think about if you go United.

I am in a scheduling quandery here. I am supposed to be 1/2 of a training team conducting extensive training here next week . . . and the other half is coming down from Washington late Monday (and I don’t have the home phone number). My program manager is off on a ski trip, and there is really no one else to call. I left a message on his answering machine.

I don’t think David will hear/do/schedule anything until he hears from the Coroner which might not be until Tuesday – hope we get more than a day’s notice to get out there. Don’t know, guess I’m rambling.

Linda took it kind of hard – she wrote and called Mom a lot when I was travelling just to have someone to talk to. She’s worried about you, too, and said she’s glad you’re back here on the east coast with us. Me too.

Well, just wanted get off a quick note.Love, Bruce

Needless to say, we did fly out on Tuesday and Wednesday respectively, arrange the memorial service, and begin going through the house. David had prepared a to do list. Our brother Ralph arrived on Thursday and helped clean the garage over the weekend.

Date: Mon, Jan 22, 1996 4:20 PM EDT
From: Bruce
Subj: WE NEED A PLAN
To: Mia
Mia,

How’s it going? As I recall, Ralph leaves today, so I suspect that long about Wednesday or Thursday you’ll be asking yourself why the hell you’re still there. The answer, of course, is so that I will have a friendly face to look at when I get back on Friday. The last week has been surreal, and I feel like I am just getting back to earth here this afternoon. I can definitely use a trip to Disneyland to retreat into childhood for a while. And that’s why we need “A PLAN” (Hey! David has lists, I have plans).

Here’s an initial suggestion . . .

After much consideration I do not think that there is a lot I can do by sticking around a few days longer – there is so much to repair that I would have to remain a week or two and I cannot afford the time away from work (or the expense). David will just have to manage it.

Well, let me know if you think the plan is viable, or what we need to change to make it so. I will need to change my return flight accordingly, but since these were “no refund” tickets there will be a charge to change flights and I only want to do it once – so I will wait until we have an agreed upon schedule.

Guess that’s it for now. Take care. I guess you still have a lot of friends out there to keep you company (and I noticed ANDREW calls every day) – he sounds nice – but a bloodsucking lawyer????Love,
Bruce

Date: Mon, Jan 22, 1996 6:32 PM EDT
From: Mia
Subj: Re: WE NEED A PLAN
To: Bruce

My comments (in reverse order):
>but a bloodsucking lawyer????

Yes, but he has a very low opinion of lawyers himself.

>if you e-mail Linda, don’t mention I said anything about going
>to California (or Hawaii, for that matter).

Hawaii? Where’s that?

>Here’s an initial suggestion:
> 22 Jan – 26 Jan – (this week) You make initial contact with
>moving company to schedule pick-up during week of
>29 Jan – 2 Feb.

No problem with that. Ralph and I poked our heads into every cabinet and the garage, so I have a good idea of what’s here (and what isn’t).
> 27 Jan – 28 Jan – You and I identify things to ship, pack
>up what needs to be packed, put it all in one place (if possible).

I’ll do a bit of that this week (already started). I’ll get some boxes. I think we can fit it all at the fireplace end of the livingroom, but I may be wrong. Gloria is interested in the beds (I sure wouldn’t pay to ship them). Ralph hardly took anything.
> 29 Jan – 2 Feb – I’m training in San Diego, you make
>trip to San Francisco with mover’s pick-up scheduled around it.

Gloria offered to be here for the pick up if we have trouble scheduling it. I have to contact SF and confirm that a meeting that week works for them (it’s probably not a problem).
>I will return Friday afternoon/evening depending on how
>early I can get away.
> 3 Feb – Disneyland.
> 4 Feb – We’re outta there.

My only hesitation is that I was planning to go with friends to the Atlantic City boat show that weekend, and I could go ahead and plan to head home for it. But I’m leaning more toward your suggestion–I think I could use it too. Let me think on that for a day or so.
> long about Wednesday or Thursday you’ll be asking yourself
>why the hell you’re still there.

No, no. I need this time to say goodbye to the place and the spirits in it. I had a tough time this morning when Ralph left. I said we’d not seen each other in way too long, and he said, “well, these things happen, living in Indi-nowhere.” Well, shit, they only happen if you let them.

And he kept seeking my guidance in going through stuff here. Who died and put me in charge? He’s, what? 16 years older than me? Well, still waters run deep, I guess. But I can’t help but get this sense of defeat from him–it’s like he’s not happy with life, but he’s unable to take any action so he just floats along.

Well, in any case it was great to spend some time with him. We watched all of the films that we could get to work (but I’ll watch them again over pizza, don’t worry). By the way, my friend Dan warned me that decomposing films are very flammable (which I had known and forgotten). If I have time I may try to discard the lost parts and re-spool/splice the salvagable parts–we’re going to have to act fast to save any of the 16mm. The super 8 is still okay.Back to The Plan:

I have a rental car for this week. I can probably fly to and from SF from Ontario airport and get a ride from Gloria. You’ll have a car the two weekends you’re here, so my only concern about ground transportation is any days I spend here next week. I’ll deal.Love, Mia

Date: Tue, Jan 23, 1996 8:20 PM EDT
From: Bruce
Subj: A PLAN COMING TOGETHER?
To: Mia

If your heart is set on the boat show (and I remember your mentioning it before) don’t hang around on my account. It would be fun – never tried Indianna Jones or Splash Mountain – but it’s not like Ralph’s situation where we may never see each other again. Hell, I plan on many many years of summer beach house and Christmas visits and plenty of contact in between. Bottom line: think it would be a nice release, but I also understand about priorities.

I have come to the conclusion that Ralph has become accustomed to doing his “intellectual doctor thing” while Barbara handles the demands of everyday life. He is at a loss when it comes to making those kinds of decisions. I agree with you that it was great getting to spend some time with him – he’s sharp and certainly has the same type of sense of humor we have. I always enjoy his company and I think he enjoys mine, but at the same time I get the overall impression that he really doesn’t care if he ever sees me again or not. Doesn’t seem to be any genuine committment there.

Well, that’s about it. I’ll check on rescheduling flights and let you know.Love, Bruce

Date: Tue, Jan 23, 1996 7:34 PM EDT
From: Linda
Subj: HOW ARE YOU DOING?
To: Mia

Just got E-mail from Sean and Bruce, this is so cool. Where have I been all these years? Guess Bruce will be there in a few more days. How are you doing? Bruce mentioned you were going to San Francisco. I’m sure you won’t go back to Riverside without their sourdough bread. You know, that’s Bruce’s favorite. Are you still tagging things? Bruce told me to think of things we might need or want. What about the toaster? You know, ours is without a handle. Also my vacuum cleaner is pretty bad here. The handle is also broken, must have a thing about breaking handles. . . .Love, Linda

Date: Wed, Jan 24, 1996 4:08 AM EDT
From: Mia
Subj: Re: HOW ARE YOU DOING?
To: Linda
Linda,

So we need a post-it note color for you, too, huh?

The toaster is a functional, bagel-capable model with a working handle. You want it? It’s yours. The vacuum crossed my mind this afternoon, but I don’t really need it since our housekeeper does the vacuuming and I don’t really care what she uses. So we’ll see if it works and if so, off it goes to VB. I think Bruce has a tag on the microwave for Sean. And there is the TV, which I would take, but can’t really argue that I need–not if you guys have a good use for it. There are pots and pans that might be handy if Sean gets an apartment next year (a big bird said that might happen). Of course, there are a couple that I want …

I went through Mom’s closets and dresser this evening. I was strangely unemotional about it. I guess most of her clothes are things she bought recently so they don’t have memories for me. She did have some treasures tucked away, like a box of paperdolls that I’d forgotten exist. Do girls even know what paper dolls are anymore? We used to cut them out of magzines and paste them to cardboard. Overall, I’m doing okay–hell, the phone rings off the hook each evening, my New York friends calling from the office at the end of their work day. They all work until 9 and 10 p.m. their time, so they catch me around 6 my time. Tonight I was on from about 5 to 9:30. I’ve got to do some serious dollhouse packing tomorrow, and some work. Thursday I’m going to Laguna to visit a friend and use her computer and printer. Then Bruce comes Friday evening. Maybe I’ll make pork chops ;->Mia

Date: Wed, Jan 24, 1996 4:08 AM EDT
From: Mia
Subj: Re: A PLAN COMING TOGETHER?
To: Bruce
>If your heart is set on the boat show

Nah, not really. I’ve been the last two years in a row. Besides, it runs two weekends and I could go the second one. I’d rather check out the Raider’s ride, and I haven’t done Splash Mountain either. But before we go you have to watch the movies of us there when I was about five–it made Ralph queasy just watching us on the Teacups ;->

>it was great getting to spend some time with him – he’s sharp and certainly has the same type of sense of humor we have.

Yes, it was strange to find him so, well, familiar. We certainly had some fun at David’s expense.

he really doesn’t care if he ever sees me again or not.

Right. I guess I’m a little hurt by that.

Sometime last week Andrew wondered who would hold the family together now–he was sensing that Mom, or this house, had been a focal point. I said that you and I certainly won’t have a problem, and that you see David fairly regularly, but that I do worry about losing Ralph.

I had a very pleasant conversation with Barbara on Monday–she called after he left.

So I’ve been through Mom’s room. I found the little Mexican serape you brought her from Tijuana. It’s in your pile. I started making a list of the items we’re shipping, and picked up some more boxes to pack (the more we do, the less we pay). From the linen closet I pulled out stuff we (and I use the term losely) might want. Ralph and I figured that was the easiest way–when we’re done, David can have the remainder hauled to Good Will.

I got a message from Linda. She wants the toaster and vacuum cleaner. Seems fine with me.

I don’t know whether David called the lawyer–haven’t talked to him since Sunday. I guess I’ll call tomorrow, since Ken should be here and will want to know about gate access.

Thursday I’m going to Laguna to see some friends and use their computers and printers. I’ve got to pin down whether my client needs me in SF. I’ll let you know my schedule when I can. I also want to see a couple friends in LA. Ahh, the social whirlwind.More Later,
Love, Mia

Date: Thu, Jan 25, 1996 4:04 PM EDT
From: Mia
Subj: Update from the left coast
To: Bruce
Bruce,

Gary from A&G called this morning about the “inurnment” schedule. Mom’s being cremated tomorrow, and her remains will be back at A&G in the afternoon. We (I) can pick them up then or Saturday morning. David, when I called him with this info, said he thought A&G was supposed to deliver them to Olivewood. I don’t have a note about that–do you? This is one cartage I don’t mind performing–who’d begrudge give her this last ride?

I have to admit, however, that I do find the prospect of having her remains here overnight a little creepy. I’ll be doing a little self analysis about that one today, and decide whether I want to go get them tomorrow or wait until Saturday morning (A&G opens at 8 a.m.).

I told David the cemetary needs to be paid so that they’ll open the grave before we get there Saturday, and my notes say he has to sign something there. He wondered if the signature could wait until Saturday morning (meaning, I take it, that he’s blowing off golf). He said he’d call them–maybe he can pay over the phone–and swing by there after work if necessary.

So we should be okay for Saturday.See you Friday,
Love, Mia

Date: Thu, Jan 25, 1996 10:54 PM EDT
From: Bruce
Subj: THE ROCK AND THE HARD PLACE
To: Mia

I saw the will last time I was out there. I eventually read it and it was a standard “everything to be divided equally between my children” type of document. You are lucky Mom lived as long as she did, if you were a minor, you’d be in David’s care (just as soon as he got a copy of the death certificate and called the lawyer, that is). The rest of the bank accounts are on the first list he passed out. Guess we need to make you a copy of it. I, quite frankly, would like to spend a quiet evening at the house, so if we must go back to David’s, push for lunch after the inurnment if possible.

I think that David is overwhelmed. He has been able to ignore Mom and her house for so many years that the enormity of settling the estate and dealing with the house has him scared. I would certainly hope that once he gets started things will pick up — but I’m not sure. It seems to me that he can only work sequentially.

You probably won’t get this in time, but I though I’d suggest this anyway: perhaps you could pick up the urn at A&G and deliver it directly to Olivewood Friday afternoon. I would think they could keep it overnight. I certainly appreciate all you’re doing to make this all come off. And by the way, you obviousy have not told the Bloodsucker much about me or he would not have “wondered if David was forgetting a LITTLE thing called Bruce…”

Looking forward to getting back tomorrow night and helping you wield the sword of progress against the dragon of doldrums.

Love, Bruce

Date: Fri, Jan 26, 1996 3:50 AM EDT
From: Miamc
Subj: Re: THE ROCK AND THE HARD PLACE
To: Bruce

Bruce,
>You obviously have not told the Bloodsucker much about me or he
>would not have “wondered if David was forgetting a LITTLE thing
>called Bruce…”
Thanks for the late evening chuckle.

>I, quite frankly, would like to spend a quiet evening at the
>house, so if we must go back to David’s, push for lunch after
>the inurnment if possible.

Now that I think about it, I see your point–you’ll need to head to San Diego Sunday evening, right? So Saturday is your only evening.

I just got an e-mail from my client in SF. They’d like me to be there as early as possible Monday morning. I’ll have to figure out the best way to get to the airport. I’m glad to have a firm commitment from them–now I can plan the rest of next week.

Excellent suggestion about the remains. I’ll see about it tomorrow.

Love, Mia

Date: Tue, Jan 30, 1996 7:28 PM EDT
From: Linda
Subj: IS IT GETTING TO YOU YET?
To: Mia

Hi! Just got letter from Bruce and he was telling me that he’s so tired of going thru all that stuff at your Mom, and that he doesn’t know how you have lasted as long as you did. He said that it’s really stressful. He also mentioned the letters the kids wrote to your Mom and the one Sean wrote telling her all about how we were still going to DisneyWorld even thou we have to go home first. Bruce said it made him feel like crap! I remember heading back and that’s all the kids talked about was going there. Yea, they were pretty disappointed; and now Bruce finding that letter. . . Poor Bruce –

Sounds as thou you two REALLY NEED a day at Disneyland!! . . .See you later
Love, Linda

We had that day at Disneyland, although it got off to a rough start when the weather was iffy. On Sunday the 4th Bruce and I both flew home, leaving behind all our packed boxes and tagged furniture, with no definite plans for moving them.

Date: Thu, Feb 8, 1996 9:24 PM EDT
From: Bruce
Subj: Re: Hippo Rock
To: Mia

Mia,

Well it took me an extra day to get caught up and ready to face the tasks ahead (or at least I think I’m ready).

You might send me a copy of the list you made of things that are in the shipment. The more I think about it the more sense it makes to contract with a mover at this end to pick up in Riverside and move here. Dealing with a local firm helps reduce the worry about the shipment disappearing (dissappearing? disapearing? dissapearing? . . . vanishing). What do you think? It’s not like we’re in such a hurry we (*I*) can’t investigate at this end.

You know, at one point I walked by your room while you were in there packing something and noticed the diploma hanging on the wall. I thought to myself that I ought to remind you to pack it, but then got sidetracked with something and forgot all about it – sorry.

I agree with the advice you have been given, the last thing we want to do is make the house a show place because somewhere along the line you reach the point of diminishing returns. The obvious *plan* is to consult a realtor (or two) and see what they think has to be done to make the house marketable.

Well, send me the list when it’s convenient and I will do some calling here for estimates.

Love, Bruce

The list of belongings to be shipped–our family’s legacy–reads like a junk shop inventory, even to me. So little of value, either cash or sentimental. And so expensive to move!

Date: Fri, Feb 9, 1996 1:40 PM EDT
From: Mia
Subj: We love lists
To: Bruce
Bruce,

Here’s the list you requested. The list of boxes may not be 100%. I counted them when I got back from San Francisco, but then we did some more packing. I’ve tried to account for that, but I may have forgotten something.

1 Desk (for the record, the lock does not work, but the key is in the front of the left hand drawer inside)
2 Coffee tables
1 Cedar chest, packed with stuff
1 Kitchet table (with leaf)
1 Library table (the people I talked to didn’t know what this was, so I said it’s about the size of a kitchen table)
*1 Dictionary stand (dictionary not included)
2 Doll houses, small one boxed, large one sort of crated
1 Futon chair
4 Outdoor folding chairs
1 Sewing table (they had trouble picturing this one, too)
*1 Pachinko machine, wrapped in quilt
1 Small box of pachinko balls, sitting in the doll crib, needs to be taped shut
1 Easel (I can never spell this)
1 Full mattress, very flexible
1 Doll crib (as opposed to a big collapsable child’s crib)
1 Child’s rocker
1 Child’s table and two chairs
1 Lawnmower
*1 Weed whacker
*1 Nut & bolt cabinet
*1 Toy player piano
*1 Basket with lid taped on (about 2.5 cubic feet)
**Piano and bench
**BBQ

2 Dish barrels
3 Large boxes (5 cu. ft)
12 Med boxes (3 cu. ft)
5 Small boxes (2 cu. ft)
1 Electronics box
*1 Picture box (big, flat)
*1 Clock box (for the record, the pendulum and key are wrapped in paper and stored inside the cabinet, along with that little lock that was inside it)
*1 Jug lady box
*1 Poster tube
*5 Cases (projectors, films, red jewelry which is wrapped up)

* I didn’t include these items in the inventories that I had estimated because a) I forgot, or b) they didn’t exist yet
**We’re probably not shipping these, but I include them for the sake of completeness

Yeah, I kept reminding myself to grab the diploma, too. It would have fit into one of my file boxes, too.

About the house, it does seem to me local realtors would know best how to sell it (in fact, I remember saying something to that effect). I guess I should have called some while I was there twiddling my thumbs 😉

Love, Mia

Date: Thu, Feb 8, 1996 9:24 PM EDT
From: Bruce
Subj: I’VE BEEN THINKING
To: David
cc: Mia, Ralph

I know that’s dangerous, but it just seems to come upon me at times.

I remember the “list” had a lot of house fixing-up items listed and upon reflection I am not sure that doing a lot of cosmetics will be worth the time or money. When it comes to things like floors and curtains it’s just as easy (and sometimes easier) to turn buyers off with patterns and colors as it is to turn them on with the fact that it’s a new floor (or new curtains). At any rate, I think the best way to proceed is to get a realtor (or a couple of them) in there to look it over and suggest the minimum fix up needed in order to fetch a fair price.

Along those same lines, we should also carefully consider re-plastering the pool. If the trade off is $1,000 off the price of the house versus $2,000 for re-plastering you know what my vote will be.

I have bought and sold enough houses and talked to enough realtors to know that when getting ready to sell there is a “fix-up” point of diminishing returns, and there are some things much more important to take care of than others, and the expert in the field is an experienced realtor.

Mia, Ralph, what do you think?

Let me know if there’s anything I can help with. Obviously the first thing is to get all of those boxes and furniture moved and Mia and I are working on it – the problem is that after leaving we have remembered some of the stuff we forgot. We’ll get it squared away, though.Bruce

Date: Fri, Feb 9, 1996 1:40 PM EDT
From: Mia
Subj: Re: I’VE BEEN THINKING
To: Bruce, David, Ralph,

Absolutely. Use the right tool for the job.

Aside from perhaps ascertaining whether or not the furnace works and maybe getting the carpets cleaned, I wouldn’t do anything before having at least a couple experienced agents look at it.

It would be helpful to have estimates for some of the bigger jobs in hand, like the pool and painting.

I have a copy of the list and was able to eliminate several items (as in, they’re done) and add a couple like what faucets drip.

So, David, how about a status report from your end? What does the attorney say about the timeframe on non-house related stuff?Mia

Date: Fri, Feb 9, 1996 8:59 AM EDT
From: Linda
Subj: WE AGREE WITH YOU
To: Mia

Your right about fixing up your Mom’s place. I know my dad, who also had homes to sell, always said not to get into alot of money fixing it up. Paint thru-out the house, inside and out, have someone come in and do a good cleaning job (windows especially), and have lawn, cut and edged and bushes trimmed. If you start putting in carpeting, some people might not like what you choose, so it’s best to just get it cleaned-up and painted. It’s amazing what a little paint will do. I wished we lived close so that we could do it ourselves.Gotta go. Take care
Love, Linda

We never received that update from David. Although he expressed frustration with the condition of the house, he did not respond to our offers of assistance, or even tell us to f**k off. Updates on the status of the estate have arrived from the attourney as form letters.

To preserve our emotional well-being, both Bruce and I have given up on having any input. We understand that David, as the man on the scene, so to speak, feels both responsible and burdened. We’d like to ease that burden, but we don’t know how.

In the ensuing months the shipment was picked up (under Gloria’s watchful eye) and delivered, and I rented a van and drove to Virginia to collect my share. It–or rather the cost of it–represented the single most difficult part of the whole affair. The strain it placed on Bruce and my relationship has not completely eased, although we’re getting there.

On January 13th, 1996, Dorothy Susan McCroskey (known as “Sue”) passed away at her home in Riverside, California.

So the obituary reads. She’d been ill–heart trouble, diabetes, eye trouble–for nearly two years. My sister-in-law Gloria had taken the lead in seeing to her needs. Her frequent visits, along with Marty, a home-care worker, Ken the pool man, and the yard man, were Mom’s only exposure to the world. She lived as she chose, alone in her house with her memories and fears. I defended her right to do so, not, as some may suggest, because it meant I didn’t have to deal with her condition, but out of love and respect for her. She’d lived a long and sometimes difficult life and she deserved to do whatever she wanted with it.

There was never any doubt that Mom would always do exactly what she wanted. Before she grew ill she was independent and strong. She despised weakness. And as it overtook her she fought not to dispise herself. We all knew of her fears, of enemies real and imagined seeking to steal from her, to injur her. But I also knew her real fear, of her own mind and body’s failure.

Toward the end, Gloria reports, she was not caring for herself properly. She was becoming more prone to injury and less willing to seek medical attention. Although Gloria certainly felt that Mom’s life might have been prolonged had she only taken action, insisted that she be placed under round-the-clock care, taken her to the doctor the week before, when she told Ken the pool man that she was feeling ill.

Although not always what the mainstream world would call alert, she knew her limitations better than any of the rest of us. She abhorred the notion of a nursing home. I prefer to believe that Mom chose her time and place. That, although she did not want to die, in the end she chose it over the next inevitable steps of life. I support her choice, not because it removes the burden of her ongoing care from me and my siblings, but because it so exemplifies the life of a woman who never surrendered her dignity.

This note from my friend Elizabeth, intended to amuse and cheer me up, in fact did much more. It reminded me of one of Mom’s long forgotten adventures and provided me with the spark for some truly meaningful reflection.

Date: Tue, Jan 16, 1996 11:55 PM EDT
From: Elizabeth
Subj: Once again I chased the Garbage truck.
To: Miamc

Yes I have this… how shall I put it nack. The first time I chased the garbage truck I was eating breakfast in the kitchen and they were early. I grabed that smelly bag and ran out the front door. Not only did a miss the truck but I had left my keys on my kitchen counter and was locked out. this happened in November.

Today As I got out of the shower at 7.45 I heard the garbage truck, yet again banging down the street. It usually gets here after I leave for work around 8:30. Well today they were early and they were two houses away.

Thank god I bagged the trash last night and it was waiting in the Garage. I tossed my clothes on, skipping my under wear, grabed my coat, and sprinted to the basment. Hit the open button and flew down the drive way with two bags in hand. As I returned with the third bag the truck was just leaving, but yes I got that bag right into the back of the truck. And I was on time to work as well.

Now if I had been thinking, I would not have sprinted down an Ice covered driveway. Shit I could have really killed myself, or at least broken a leg. Besides my Garage is so God damn cold I could leave dozens of bags there for months, and not even the rats would know.

I am assuming that you flew out to California, since your answing machine is not on. I’ll keep you in my prayers and hope that you and Bruce can together work through it all. Don’t take any shit or chase a garbage truck that is not worth catching.

Ciao for now Elizabeth

Mom was known for telling the same stories over and over, but her garbage truck story was one that I hadn’t thought of in years. As I read Elizabeth’s note I realized that Mom’s adventure was one of the best examples of her and the way she lived her life. On my flight to California I wrote it down, and later edited it for her memorial service.

Earlier this week my friend Elizabeth sent me an e-mail about how she’d chased the garbage truck, bags in hand, down her icy drive that morning because it was early making its rounds.

In her kind attempt to brighten a difficult day she unwittingly reminded me of a story that I’d like to share here. It was my Mother’s story, just as it was her adventure, but I don’t think she’d mind my borrowing it.

When I was in elementary school, Mom and her friend Mary took classes to learn to make hooked rugs. One morning Mary’s husband dropped her off early at our house, and rather than carry her rug, supplies, and loaves of fresh bread for the class inside, she left it all in the the driveway next to Mom’s car.

They were enjoying coffee–caffiene wasn’t a sin back then–when Mom heard the garbage men rattling and banging in the driveway.

“Mary, where did you leave your rug?”

“Beside the car.”

“Beside the trash cans?”

“Well, I guess so . . .”

They ran out to the driveway and found–nothing. (Garbage men were less picky about special bags and cans with lids back then.)

“Your rug!” cried my mom.

“My bread!” Shouted Mary.

They ran down the driveway, but the truck was out of sight.

“He can’t have gone far,” Mom reasoned, so off they went, driving around the neighborhood following the sound of crashing cans.

At last they waved down the truck. They explained the problem to the two men collecting the trash. The driver, once he understood, removed his hat, threw it down, and followed it to the pavement in the middle of the street. According to Mom, he kicked his heels on the pavement muttering, ” no, no, no …”

His partner remained a little more rational. When he realized that these two women would not be put off, he explained that the only way to retrieve Mary’s belongings was to dump the truck.

“Fine, go ahead,” said mom, “you should never have picked up that rug in the first place.”

“Lady, the only place I can unload is the dump.”

Well, neither Mom nor Mary was afraid of the dump.

“Fine, we’ll follow you there.”

He tried to talk her out of it, Mom was not to be put off. All the time they argued the other guy lay kicking on the ground, “no, no, no …”

Finally the garbageman reluctantly agreed to drive to the dump, got his partner off the ground, and lead the way. Mom and Mary followed in Mom’s ’68 Mustang.

The garbage truck entered the dump, Mustang right behind, and stopped at the edge of a hillside of reeking trash. Mom, Mary, and the garbage man stood back as the truck disgorged its load.

Finally, from amid the dripping bags and mashed leaves Mary’s rug and contorted hooking frame emerged. Mom plunged in to sort out bags of dyed wool and scissors from bags of kitchen trash. Mary was more concerned with another package, and kept searching after the rugs had been retrieved.

“My bread!” she wailed, holding up a sodden, flattened paper bag, “do you think it’ll be okay?”

My mom chased a lot of garbage trucks. She won a lot of the small victories that are the fabric of every day life. She often struggled with what other people might think. But she rarely let it stop her.

That was her greatest gift to me: When others lie Kicking in the street, press on.

It takes the same courage to chase a garbage truck as it does to face all of life’s adversities.

She would say to Elizabeth, to me, and to all of you: “Stop kicking, get up, and go after that truck.”

For the past 18 months my mother faced life’s most difficult, inevitable challenge. I will forever admire her strength and independence and thank whatever trick of genetics or nature or nuture that gave some of those qualities to me.

And I will forgive her for finally giving up the chase. It was her race, not ours, and who are we to say whether she won or lost?

But I am left pondering one thing: Mom? Is the bread okay?

Despite my efforts at composure I had a difficult time delivering this eulogy. After the service my brother Bruce gave me a hug and whispered, “I think the bread’s just fine.”

I sent Elizabeth the story to thank her for being my muse, and she replied:

Date: Wed, Feb 7, 1996 11:32 PM EDT
From: Elizabeth
Subj: The Garbage truck
To: Miamc

I really love the story about your Mom. In a very active voice it lets the reader know exactly who she was. She was not afraid to be different and she always fought for what she believed in. She was a strong and opinionated woman, who cared about the people around her greatly. Describing her would not have given the reader the same sense of the individual.

I guess the best gift a parent can give a child is the strengh to go into the world and persure their dreams, along with the skills to do it.

…. chat later… Elizabeth

This is my brother Bruce’s memorial page for our older brother David.

On the morning of March 31st David was carrying his golf clubs from his car to the pro shop for his regular Monday morning round of golf.  The Lord had other plans and David collapsed, suffering a fatal heart attack.  He was taken too soon, but taken while doing what he loved.

Even though he was my brother, I do not know many details of David’s life.  Growing up we were separated by 6 years – a veritable chasm during that period of our lives.  When we were old enough so that the age gap no longer mattered, we were separated by miles, continents, and oceans.

I can tell you that David was

• a paperboy

• a boy scout

•  a summer lifeguard at the Capistrano Beach Club.

David

• played clarinet in the high school band

• was in ROTC (and bounced between private and corporal several times).

On particularly cold nights he earned some spending money by going out in the orange groves to help light smudge-pots.

David was a Marine, joining the Corps to get out of Riverside.  He made it as far as Oceanside where he spent nearly all of his enlistment at Camp Pendleton.

He was an engineer.  Putting himself through Cal Poly, he ended up working at the same lab our father helped establish.

David was the epitome of a Southern Californian – only natural since he’d been one all of his life

• he owned a boat, and a pool, and a sports car

• he was an avid golfer

• he never missed an opportunity to brag about the weather – and he never bothered to mention the traffic and the smog.

David was a husband, a father, a grandfather, and a good friend.

David was my older brother.  I say “older” because he always took great amusement in referring to me as his “BIG” brother.  While David and I did not speak or correspond to any great extent, I was secure in the knowledge that he was here.  On those much too rare occasions when I could visit, he was always ready for a round of golf followed by a round (or two, or three) of beer.  As soon as I stepped through his front door I was enfolded in the warm embrace of family.

David, my brother, was a safe haven in this busy world and I will sorely miss him.

1948 – 2004

It began with a worrisome message from my nephew David. His father, my brother, had chest pains and was going to the hospital to be checked.

Bruce never reached the hospital. For my brother’s family the tragedy that occurred early in the morning of May 29th will weigh heavily on their hearts and minds for years to come. For me, the loss of a second brother in just over a year is almost too difficult to comprehend.

But comprehend we must, just as we trust in the Lord to watch over them.

For my brother…

 was born twelve years after my brother Bruce. Our mother liked to say that his name was one of the first words I spoke. Everyone knew that he was her favorite.

When I was three he taught me to swim.

When I was six he came to my school to pick me up and take me to lunch like a grown-up. On his motorcycle. He believed in behaving lawfully and exhibiting courtesy and respect for others, but he was not above a bit of joyful silliness in the celebration of life.

A couple years later he crashed the same motorcycle in the Cajon pass. Our father drove into the mountains in the middle of the night to bring him, and the bike, back home. Bruce learned about being a parent from our father Mac and mother Sue. There was nothing he would not do for his children.

In the spring of 1969, Bruce was at the Naval Academy when our father died. Our mother delayed telling him for a day so that he could finish his final exams. I don’t know if Bruce resented her decision not to tell him immediately, but the message – that his father would have wanted him to do well – was clear, and Bruce took it to heart.

In the ensuing years our lives took different directions: Bruce met Linda, the love of his life, and they were married. He was accepted into the nuclear submarine service, which he’d wanted to do for as long as I can remember. The Navy transferred him from place to place and he and Linda started their family. I got through high school and college and started my own career.

But in the fall of 1987 fate brought us together again – sort of. By coincidence, at the same time that the Navy sent Bruce and his family back to Virginia Beach, my career took me to New York City. A lifeline formed between our two homes – tenuous at first, but over the years solidifying into a strong family tie.

I who had been the alien – the sole, late-life girl child raised mostly by mom – was accepted into my brother’s family. Although I’ve never lived in Virginia Beach, the drive here from New York City feels like a journey home because my brother is here.

Just over a year ago I sat with my brother in a house in Southern California while he composed words much like these for our older brother David. On that occasion, and when our mother passed in 1996, Bruce was my rock. He was a gentle, powerful presence who seemed to absorb the grief and emanate calming comfort.

Bruce leaves an enormous void in the lives of those who loved him – and there are many. But he also leaves us with his strength of character, his high moral standard, his loving, generous heart, and his wonderfully wry sense of humor. He was always an officer, a gentleman, and a gentle man. I see these traits of his manifested in his children. And I feel his presence in my own heart. Right now he’s giving me a hug and a little chuckle, assuring me that I’ve said enough, I’m embarrassing him.

Maybe now, finally, he and our brother David can play a full eighteen holes of golf together.

Obituary, Bruce Adrian McCroskey

Bruce Adrian McCroskey, 56, of Virginia Beach, VA, passed away on May 29, 2004.

Born January 6, 1948, in Camden, New Jersey, Mr. McCroskey was the son of Adrian Aubrey McCroskey and Dorothy Susan McCroskey.

He is survived by his wife, Linda Fletcher McCroskey; and his children and grandchild: his son and daughter-in-law, David and Renee, and their son Tyler; his son Sean; and his daughter, Meghann. His is also survived by his sister, Mia; and brother, Ralph; and his golden retriever, Maggie. He was preceded in death by his brother, David.

A devoted husband and father, Bruce played an important role in his childrens’ activities, especially in high school and college bands. He was an active “band parent” and constant supporter at concerts and competitions. He served as a youth advisor when his children were in their church youth group. Bruce was also an accomplished microbrewer.

Bruce was employed at Summit Research Corporation as a Senior Data Analyst in charge of the Commander in Chief, U.S. Atlantic Fleet (CINCLANTFLT) Navy Lessons Learned System (NLLS) Management Site. He retired in 1991 after a distinguished twenty-year career in the United States Navy. His service included four years as a Submarine Operations Officer for the Commander in Chief, U.S. Atlantic Fleet and two years as a Operations and Plans Officer with Commander Submarine Group Five. He also served as an Operations Advanced Training Officer, stationed at the Naval Submarine School. He served for ten years aboard nuclear submarines: as Executive Officer on board the USS Cincinnati, as Navigator/Operations/Weapons Officer aboard the USS Tullibee; and as Division Officer aboard the USS Puffer.

A graduate of the United States Naval Academy, Class of 1971, Bruce was also a graduate of Basic Submarine School, Naval Nuclear Power School, and Naval War College. Bruce was graduated from Riverside Polytechnic High School in Riverside, California and attended the University of California, Los Angeles prior to entering the U.S. Naval Academy.

The funeral service was conducted at St. Peter’s Episcopal Church in Virginia Beach on Friday, June 4th at 2:00 p.m. with The Reverend John M. Eidam officiating. The burial will occur at Arlington National Cemetary on August 9th at 9:00 in the morning. Expressions of sympathy in the form of contributions can be made to the American Heart Association.

This post is from early 2000.

It started on New Years Eve, at a party at the home of a friend’s parents’. The Guy Lombardo crowd–politicos and professors and musicians, average age 55–celebrated the millenium ensconced in an eighth-floor mid-town apartment. Pictures and more in Ringing it In.

Liz and Mia’s annual New Year’s Day Recovery Party was missing a hostess–Liz was detained in Pennsylvania. Party attendees included many of the regular faces and several new ones–both new friends, and new little people hatched by the old gang.

At the end of January the Ronin’s state inspection certificate expired. After several forays to used car lots in January’s near-zero temperatures, we learned two things: Even used car salesmen don’t bother you when it’s 2 degress outside; and used Volvos are overpriced. When we found a cherry little Subaru at a Ford/Mazda/Subaru dealer (really, we visited the lot to look for a used Miata), for a price closer to our target, we went for it. Say farewell to the Ronin and hello to the new Wheels.

That same evening, we had the immense pleasure of pulling one of the all-time best pranks on News reader Dan Katz. Unbeknownst to him, Andrew and I arranged to attend the Quadrille, a white-tie ball with a special dance performance in which Dan’s girlfriend Katie was performing. Dan expected to spend the evening watching Katie and socializing with people he didn’t know. Check out the pictures, as you may never see Dan in tails again.

Inspired by a casual question from a friend, In January we polled News Readers and many other acquaintances about their New Year’s resolutions. The results are as varied as the respondents. Read all about your determination for 2000.

If you bought into the millennium frenzy as 1999 wound down, you might have regarded your New Years resolutions as new millennium resolutions. Talk about commitment! Here at the News we resolved to pole readers, friends, and acquaintances, asking what they’d resolved, if anything. Beyond simple nosiness, we thought this exercise might reveal our audience’s moral condition, not to mention morale, as they face this artificial new beginning foisted upon the western world by marketing managers everywhere.

I resolve this year to get into great shape!!!

What we learned is reassuring. For the most part you’re not in a “new millennium” fever. Many of you are aware of and wish to correct physical and intellectual lapses and bad habits. A few stalwart individuals firmly refuse to resolve. We can respect that. But perhaps your lack of resolve stems from lack of a good idea. We’ve decided to adopt Scott See’s submission, to get rich this year, so we’re offering the New’s first e-commerce effort, the New Year’s Resolution Delivery Service ($10 minimum order). Even if you made resolutions, check out our menu for some tasty new choices.

I try not to be too ambitious because I failed miserably last year trying to juggle all of my balls.

Our favorites are the carefully tempered resolutions, put forth by individuals who have learned to work within their capabilities. For example:

Year after year I have resolved to lose weight and improve my physical fitness. New Years Eve after New Years Eve I have realized that I am heavier and in worse condition than the year before. After half a century of observing this trend the light has finally dawned and this year I resolve to gain weight and be as lazy as possible.

. . . to tap the creativity well more deeply, and to take that giant leap from the idea stage to the action stage. And since I cant seem to do anything positive about what I look like, I’ll try to do positive things about what I sound and seem like. And if all my efforts at self improvement fail, I hope to find solace in the fun-loving, pain-numbing realm of self delusion.

Mine are pretty boring. I try not to be too ambitious because I failed miserably last year trying to juggle all of my balls. So I kept it simple. Trying to keep myself healthy (because I was sick so much Sept. to Dec.) by treating my body “well” (notice I did not say lose weight) and whole. Also to go to church at least twice a month (part of the wellness too). Not to procrastinate or panic as much about “perfection” at school work, etc., and keep in better touch with friends.

While one could call these faux resolutions–is a resolution that acknowledges previous failure but fails to correct it really a resolution?–we appreciate their sincerity and humor. Those who refuse to resolve for fear of failure should take note of this soft-sell approach. One non-resolver would probably benefit from some marketing and time-management courses:

I’m sorry that I will be of no help to your article. [Ha!–Ed] I have never made a New Years Resolution. If I were to do so now, it would be to clean up my office here (which is still in a terrible disarray from the move) and to put up pictures so it looks like we really live here. But I will probably do those things no matter what. It just doesnt seem like my priority.

Here we have the perfect resolution material — a task that she wants to do, and admits she will probably get to. Management consultants always tell you when you’re making a “to-do” list to put on a couple items that are done or nearly done so you will have the satisfaction of crossing them off right away. There’s no rule that says a New Year’s resolution has to be an ongoing, year-long process.

No real resolutions this year. Working on re-filling my karma account. Completely blew all my good karma. Long story, but go see Sweet and Lowdown, the new Woody Allen flick. You might recognize somebody in it…

This tantalizing non-resolution begs several questions: what sort of bad behavior has the resolver engaged in to deplete his karma account, and how does it relate to appearing in a Woody Allen movie? We at the News would argue that just participating in a Woody Allen movie is enough to suck the good karma from anyone, but we don’t think that’s quite what our friend means. (If a news reader, other than this resolver who knows who he is, would like to submit a review of the movie in question, we’ll happily publish it in the Global Village‹we’re not likely to see the movie.)

Working on re-filling my karma account.

It’s telling that our faux resolves tend to address a common resolution theme: exercise. Surprisingly, given our image-conscious society, we did not receive an abundance of physical fitness resolutions. Those non-soft-sellers who did make a body-oriented resolution ranged from the mild:

 . . Do at least a little bit of yoga every day. . . . Walk more.

My resolution is to floss my teeth every day! So I don’t wind up like my mom, with false teeth!

To the ambitious:

I resolve this year to get into great shape!!! I would like to buy a pilates exercise system!! (A 21st century rack or torture device to help build sinuous muscles. Ahem!!!) Wish me luck!

My New Years resolution has been to use our new Nordic track. . . . Ive been getting on it every other day for about half an hour. I am due to use it today, but I am in a lazy mood. Wish me luck!

[On January 19 this resolver admited that she’d procrastinated again–Ed]

Wish me luck!

Perhaps most telling about these resolutions is the request to “wish me luck!” Click here if you’d like to send encouragement to these resolvers and the News will forward it to them for you.

Take up the oboe

Curiously, nobody specifically resolved to “diet” or “change my eating habits.” So maybe the soft-sellers–the only ones who did address this area–are at the forefront of a new trend in resolutions‹the resolution to accept their bodies and focus on their minds and spirits. Spiritual/intellectual/self-improvement resolutions must be the most common, and the most often broken. Our readers offer up plans from the sublime to the ridiculous. Examples, in semi-reverse order:

• I’m afraid my resolution is not very creative though I hope its possible. I’m going to stop swearing, damn it! Oops! I guess I’ve got to keep working on it…
• Take up the oboe.
• Dress for success.
• I havent made any real resolutions but I heard a good one I would like to try. It is to make someone smile every day.
• Study Italian and/or (ee-yoo) German [Get it?‹Ed]
• Learn the mezzo-soprano solos in the Verdi Requiem.
• Join a professional organization that holds conventions, and go to one.
• To focus, concentrate and put more effort into my job.
• Get a new job as soon as possible!
• Mine would be to quit worrying over things I have no control over and to find inner peace with myself.
• I have already quit smoking and it will be a year Feb. 15th. Harder for me than quitting the nasty habit is that I am trying with all of my will not to get so overly involved in [my children’s] lives. I made the resolution and, of course, have already broken it. . . .
• Listen.

The simplicity and elegance of a resolution like “Listen” almost conceal how ambitious it is. Listening‹really listening, not just hearing‹requires breaking and remaking lifelong habits.

Get a new job as soon as possible!

The people with good body images tend to push for quality-of-life improvement. Some are both realistic and profound:

This year, my resolution is to make more time to see my friends The catalyst for my resolution was an unfortunate accident that killed a friend who was at my 40th [birthday] party. On January 4, he was in a freak accident. He leaves behind a 5 year old daughter and a wife that is 4 months pregnant with his son. It makes you think.

[This resolver has already made strides toward success by organizing an outing with a group of friends — Ed]

Others seem to regard the resolution as a wish:

Im tired of wanting for money. I want to get rich this year. A little rich would be okay. But filthy rich would be even better. Rich enough to charter a sailboat in the British Virgin Island one month a year would be best.
Ill be curious to see this. I wouldn’t have even had a nyr if you hadn’t inspired me… While some combine the achievable! With the nearly impossible!

To go on a nice vacation…again. Thats my life’s resolution. And to curb my Loehmanns habit.

And some just sentence themselves (but maybe that’s all a resolution is):

My resolution is to fix-up/improve our new house *quickly* to free up time to spend on other things!

And finally, our favorite response, probably because is sounds like what we think we’d get if we could ask this question in the year 3000:

Thanks for your note. I will be out of the office until Wednesday, January 19. If you need assistance in the interim, please contact . . .

This is the story of how I celebrated New Year’s Eve, 1999. Note that although many do, I do not refer to it as the turn of the century. That would be the end of 2000.

As the year ground toward New Year’s Eve 1999 it became increasingly evident that sensible people were going to spend it camped amid their stockpiled bottled water and canned soup watching CNN’s 100 hours of coverage. Truth be told, as late as noon on the Eve I was tempted to do the same. But I’d been invited to a party in Manhattan, in an apartment with views of Times Square. But in the end I decided that if I didn’t go–if I passed up the opportunity to see the ball drop live on this particular evening–I’d regret it.

The next dilemma was transportation. Getting into town at 7 p.m. wasn’t a problem. Getting home after midnight would be. There was not a chance that I would ride the #6 train home then. Nor was there a chance that I’d be able to get a taxi. The express bus doesn’t run that late. While I could stay on the couch at a friend’s apartment, that would definitely interfere with setting up for the New Year’s Day party in the morning.

No, my only viable option was to drive. And park. I usually park in a garage in the city and pay the astronomic fees (so I don’t do it often). But garages have security gates. Security gates are powered with electricity. How much did I want to rely on Con Edison’s Y2K compliance? In truth, I didn’t expect anything to happen to the power grid. But I’m not one to tempt fate.

I drove in and, meeting no traffic to speak of, arrived in my friend’s neighborhood earlier than expected. There were several open garages, but since I had time I decided to circle the area. After about 10 minutes of cruising the local streets (not that long to search in some neighborhoods) I found it–a parking space too small for most cars, but just right for the Ronin. And only a couple blocks from Katie’s place.

Score!

While Katie hurried off to help her parents set up the party, Dan and I sought out a Sushi bar for a snack and a saki. Then we walked across town toward the party. It was 8 p.m. At 6th Avenue and 57th Street we met our first police checkpoint. We had a letter from Katie’s parents telling the police that we were invited to their party. The officers studied it briefly. We studied the pile of riot gear leaning against the building on the corner. The officers conferred. We noticed the row of bottles of booze next to the riot gear. My first thought was, “bribes to get into the restricted zone!” Dan, doubtlessly correctly, thought, “confiscation!”

At 7th Avenue we were waved on by the police. 7th Avenue had been divided into a firelane on the left and crowd pens on the right. The people that had been flowing into the Times Square area since morning were backed up to 57th street. They were contained, in each block, in these big rectangular pens. If they left a pen, the had to leave the area and could not get back in. We felt terribly priveleged with our letter of transit.

Katie’s parents live at that corner on the 8th floor. From their livingroom window we leaned out and saw the crowds continuing to fill the blocks to the north. By 10 p.m. they were filling Central Park. We sipped champagne and dined on gravlox and empanadas, listening to live jazz. Every once in a while someone would lean out the window and peer down at the crowd, then south toward Times Square. The concensus was that none of us would want to be down there, although some of us felt we could at least fit in down there, while others certainly would not.

At 11:30 we went up to the roof to secure our vantage point. We watched the ball descend 14 blocks to the south, then turned and watched fireworks in Central Park. We all agreed that the Paris celebration that we’d seen on TV looked much more exciting.

The lights didn’t go out. They didn’t even flicker. When I got back to my car at 2 a.m., it turned out to be Y2K compliant.

The next day I was still in a frenzy of preparation when my first New Year’s Day Recovery guests arrived, but they pitched in. Soon the ninth annual party kicked off and hummed along.

Amid the old faces there were several new ones–both new friends, and new children. For Dan, who had not been around the New York crowd in a couple years, seeing old friends with new families was particularly strange.

This story is from the 2001 Quadrille Ball.

A quadrille is a French country dance, with partners grouped into eights and a caller instructing them in the moves–rather like an American square dance. The Quadrille, in New York, is an annual ball benefiting a German society that grants scholarships to German graduate students.

We know several people who’ve participated in the Quadrille–the part of the evening where twenty couples dressed formally alike perform the formal Quadrille. It’s an honor to be invited to participate. Learning and practicing the dance takes five months. For the big night the men wear white tie and tails and the women wear white gowns, all alike. Their hair must be up, and they all wear tiaras. The attire, like the dance, is enforced with German rigidity.

This year, News reader Dan Katz’s girlfriend Katie was invited to dance. That meant Dan would attend, but for a large part of the night he’d be on his own in a ballroom full of strangers.

One person he would know was our mutual friend Elizabeth, whose family always has a table. A few weeks before the ball, Elizabeth’s father offered two seats at their table to Andrew and I. We decided not to tell Dan we’d be going.

A couple days before the ball Dan called and asked if wanted to get together for a drink on Saturday afternoon. He’d be in New York (he lives in Boston while Katie lives in New York), but Katie was busy all afternoon. “Sure,” I said, imagining the fun of asking him all about the ball he was going to.

That afternoon, after buying a new car, I took the bus into the city to meet Dan at Andrew’s. I slipped in and hid my garment bag, then we all went out for sushi. Andrew and I gleefully probed Dan about the ball. What was he wearing, what did the ticket cost, did he expect to have a good time . . . It seemed as if a big part of his justification for going was because he thought he’d never have a reason to wear white tie again. When he asked us what we were doing that evening, we hedged, and said we were thinking of renting a movie. Andrew even suggested that I would have to go get it because it was so cold out he wasn’t going back outside.

Parting from Dan we rushed home giggling to change into our own white tie attire.

At the Plaza we met Elizabeth and her husband Matt. Shortly after we had acquired our first glasses of champagne, Dan turned up:

“Okay, so how long have you guys known you were coming?”

The Cocktail hour ended and the guests, several hundred in all, were escorted by liveried pages (ballet students from Julliard) and West Point cadets up to the ballroom. Dan was seated with Katie’s brother and his girlfriend, but he found cadet at Katie’s table who was willing to trade. The dancers all sat together, and they were not allowed to dance before dinner, although the rest of us were.

The dance floor was quickly filled with whirling, dazzling guests. More amazing than the glamorous women were the men, all in tails, many wearing medals. Eventually dinner was served, and as dessert was being distributed the presentation began. First the cadets posted the colors and the band played the American and German national anthems. Then there were speeches, and finally the introduction of the dancers.

These formalities completed, the Quadrille itself takes approximately 12 and a half minutes. Afterwards, the dancers are finally allowed to come back and socialize and dance. Around midnight, a repeat of the quadrille was organized with any of the guests who wanted to participate. This, quickly degenerated, but was great fun.

The ball ended at 1 a.m. The post ball party was in the next ballroom over. Taking a bottle of wine and the centerpiece from our table, we staked out a new table near the swing band. The only challenge then was to keep on dancing, which we did right up until 3 a.m. While a certain more mature element left at one a.m., most of those who stayed for on were still going strong when we left.

Donna (Antonia) Holloway moved to Barcelona in the 1990s and plied her trade as a technical writer and on-line documentation specialist. We should all be so lucky as to manage to make ends meet living in a Mediterranean town! She sent this not long after moving there. She has since passed on, so we’re preserving this story on her behalf.

The last several weeks have been quite busy looking for work, I swear it work harder getting work than I do when I actually GET the work…all this being social and dashing here and there… is quite hard in fact for my little hermit self. I decided what I needed was a quiet day at the Med. and reminded myself that I really haven’t been since I have been here. On sunday I dash down on my bike, meet a friend, take a brisk walk, but really, just to be a sand lizard, I haven’t.

So, Wednesday I jump out of bed (having been quite deligent in the work hunting-gathering thing on Tuesday) and got my beach toys together. Umbrella, little lunch and drink, towel, sheet, oil, book (English), Spanish verb book, walkman. I was ready for the day.

Now, what bus was I suppose to take? My flatmate suggested the 41 and that meant a brief hike of 8 blocks–downhill–no problem. Off I go. The bus was hot, but not too bad–because it goes through the town–it takes about 40min to get to the water. Well, actually it doesn’t get to the water. It stopped in a parking lot and the sign said “fini.” opps. What happed to the beach? Lucky for me, a family, mom, dad, baby, grandparents had got on the bus early and I followed them off–trying to look worldly.

Cross the big street, through the Mcdonald’s (honest) and then… water! Clear, beautiful, salty water. Little beaches broken by the jetti’s. I got there about 11 a.m. and already the sand was littered with people, kids, umbrellas… but not yet toe-to-toe, I sighed and hoped it would not get too much more crowded.

Got myself settled and was a happy little hermit. Dunked myself in aquamarine water, tasted the salt. The morning was so bloody hot, not a whif of a breeze, the cool water felt great. I noticed when I came out of the water the old lady and old man next to me–they had beach chairs, were chatting comfortably with the people on the next patch of sand. Then I notice the little grandmotherly type had no top on. just boobs and bottoms. Just chatting away to the strangers one towel away. Made me grin… a total Mediterranean experience. As I was settling in to my mystery novel, I glanced up, just one contented puppy… as I noticed the little grandfather type get up and kiss his little women–ah, how sweet. then he slowly moved to the water… he was wearing a thong — a little strip of nothing.. the man was older than my dad (no offence dad, but I couldn’t help but chuckle and wish brother was here… old grandfatherly types look kind of free and well, very strange in a thong-type swimsuit.

In a flash, I pretty much decided the beach folks were much more interesting than the mystery novel. I looked around. From toddlers to grandparents, people were swimming, sunning, playing tag ball, without tops and little bottoms. All bodies, fat, skinny, just right, and super models. I thought, how do these people face each other the next day at work? Clearly, my Roman Catholic upbringing was showing. I swim topless or more in the lake at home, but Mr. South doesn’t have the eyesight to see across the lake anymore… and I don’t think his horse grazing in the field is terribly impressed either. I wondered how long it would take me to find the courage and invisibleness to shed my top. I had to be home by 6 p.m.–my flatmate was teaching me to cook a curry/rice dish…

The beach got progessively more crowded. People in Barcelona (BCN) are so darn used to having no space, being totally social and accepting of crowds, they just plunk their towel right next to you–I mean, you can get stepped on when they get up. The wind started, the tide changed. The windsurfers came out, you could see the sailboats going to and from the marina. Almost like Zuma beach in LA–except for the topless part. The water is very salty — and was surprised how clear it was — I could see past my toes and down to the sand. My flatmate (Shiela) says it is a bit dirty on the weekends. I don’t see how you could get in on the weekends–way too many people.

I noticed a very pretty woman sunbathing to the right of me…just touching the water line. One of those nice, all over tans, thought hummm… perhaps I should move my towel closer to the older fat women chat group even futher to the right. Their boobs hung down to their string bikini line and the funny thing was — they often put their top on while sitting under their umbrella, but when they went into the water, they left their tops on their chairs.

When I saw the hunky lifeguard, I decided that Baywatch just shoot their series here. About mid-to-late 30’s and to die for cute. I couldn’t tell what his purpose in life was (other to make me grin and wish I’d be faithful about going to the gym). He strolled along the beach, checking out the horizon–the windsurfers were way to far out for him to swim too–occasionally I saw the red rescue avon (rubber raft) zip out to collect one. There are no lifeguard stands so I have no idea where they hide until they are needed. But I truely wish I had better Spanish so I could flirt properly. Actually, he was one of the few that actually had a real swimsuit on–and of course that lifeguard t-shirt that clearly implies “I have been going to the gym since I was in the womb.”

The beach crowd thins out as the wind kicks up and 1 p.m. rolls around. People head home to take comida (lunch) and for small amount of time my mystery novel is more interesting than the beach crowd. However very soon I was once again entertained by the the new sun worshippers. A gaggle of teens plopped down beside me… and as with teenagers all over the world, they run in packs and very soon I felt like I was inside a high school play yard. Screeching, boys pulling the girls into the water–girls squeelling “no, no” All over me… Very friendly people these Barcelonans. I wondered if it was genetic that girls–regardless of where they grow up–learn how to flirt and shriek and squeal. some of the girls soon took off their tops and I thought gee I wonder how they see the boys in school and not blush. But the afternoon was warming up quite nicely–it was now bloody hot–and I was spending as much time in the salty Med as I was on the beach sheet.

The European flavor and heat and feeling totally invisible I decided to shed my top. So lovely to swim free. It was not too long before my internal nagging convinced me that it was now about 4 p.m. and people I know could be wandering down to the shore. I can’t help it, I know I would feel wierd if someone I had just had an interview with came strolling by and said “hola, Antonia, dia buena.” I just don’t know if I could carry on a conversation with a total stranger with my boobs dancing free in the air. Ahh, sometimes it is good to feel free. The water was grand, the surf provided a nice rhythemic pounding, the children cried when mommy forced them off the beach, husbands came down in search of their families, the teens played on. Not a single boom box appeared and blessedly–no rap music at all. Beat the hell out of Zuma beach.

Finally, body and soul tanned and rested, I gathered my toys and headed for the bus. Traffic in BCN is like 285 in Atlanta on a Friday night — getting through town is a pain. Didn’t get much of the mystery novel read, but had a lovely day, felt that I could now say truthfully–I had been to the Med. Read my mystery novel all the way home on the bus and walked up hill for 8 blocks.

Some days are just better than others.

This story about the only vehicle I’ve ever bought new is from 2000

If you live in the New York area, next time you’re out on the road take a look around. Count the Subarus. Pull into a suburban parking lot. What’s next to you? Or across the row? They’re everywhere. How had I not noticed before?

The Suzuki Samurai known as the Ronin joined us in the fall of 1986, replacing Landspeeder, the 1974 orange Fiat Spyder that was totaled on the San Diego freeway. Fourteen years and 220,000 miles took their toll on the little mini-jeep, body and soul. In 1987 he carried me, Argus, and Dick LeFevre across the country (well, Dick got out, sore and stiff, in Chicago). During his life in New York he was vandalized, stolen and recovered, towed for illegal parking (bad car!) and had a new (used) engine installed.

In the winter of 1998 it cost $3000 to bring him up to safety standards. He made one last drive to Nag’s Head in July of 1999, but by the fall I was unwilling to take him as far as western Massachusettes. As the 2000 inspection approached I suspected more repair would be necessary, and they would not be worth making.

I starting paying attention to cars. I surfed the net. I watched the traffic. Eventually I started visiting car lots. I wanted a used Volvo, but the prices were prohibitive. In my web comparison shopping I usually included a Subaru. I’d looked at them at the auto show a while back and thought they were a cost-effective choice.

On yet another freezing day in February I set out to visit the car dealers in Westchester county. I got into the Ronin and his battery was dead. Now if that isn’t a sign, nothing is.

At the first dealership, a Ford/Subaru/Mazda lot, I came across the green Subaru Impreza Outback. I had a mental list of desired features, but only a souped up Miata with a magic trunk could meet all those requirements. The Impreza had the space combined with a relatively small size. It had luxuries like power steering and ABS brakes and power windows. And air bags. So it wasn’t a convertable, nor did it have a sunroof, and it didn’t have a full-size tire or a cd player.

The price was more than I’d wanted to spend, but reasonable for what I was getting (I later comparison shopped and was assured of this). The dealer would throw in a 12/12 warranty. And he’d give me $100 trade in on the poor old Ronin. Yes, they did actually get to see the Ronin before making this offer. [My brother had some thoughts on trade-in vs. sell yourself. — Ed]

By the following weekend I was driving the Suburu, and noticing all the other people on the road doing the same thing.