Life Goes On

You can say 'Life goes on' after mentioning something very sad to indicate that, although people are very upset or affected by it, they have to carry on living normally. ~ Collins Dictionary

The realization that someday we will leave this life and life will go on.  As important of a role that we play within our intricate lives, hopefully all our loved ones will find a way to continue to move forward.

This year has been the worst in my life for loss of loved ones.  Losing just one loved one in any one year is bad enough, but the year is barely at the half way mark and I’ve already had 3 losses that I am aware of.

I was told and do subscribe to the idea that, the older we get the more friends and relatives we will lose because everyone is getting older.  This year losses, however, have nothing to do with aging.  I am grateful that those that are directly under my oversight (wife, children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren are safe and healthy).

I don’t like to write about my most personal gains and losses in life, but I feel that this post will help to move on from this very life shattering event.

My family is made up of seven brothers and sisters, life normally dictates that the oldest in the pecking order should go first (expire – die).  Just before the end of June our family lost our youngest member.  My little brother was only 45 and if I had to pick the one member that was most popular and loved, of all seven he would be the one.  He would literally take the shirt off his back to give to someone in need.

The last time that he and I hung out was the year before.  We normally didn’t move in the same social circles because of our age difference.  I do know, and he told me every time he had a chance, that he loved me extra because of all the male children I looked the most like our father.

I am being selfish and writing this post strictly for my own ability to move on.  I just returned from a five day stay in southern California where we attended services and celebrated his too short life.  Because my little brother was such a life of the party in life, His Celebration of Life was very upbeat.  Over 250 people attended his loving goodbye. 

Since we believe that we will see each other again we all have reason to move forward.  So, in fact “Life Goes On,” and because of that, the best is yet to come…….

One Amongst Many

05/29/2017 - 11/22/1963

John Fitzgerald "Jack" Kennedy (May 29, 1917 – November 22, 1963), commonly referred to by his initials JFK, was an American politician who served as the 35thPresident of the United States from January 1961 until his assassination in November 1963. ~Wikipedia

• Kennedy was the youngest man ever elected to the presidency, succeeding the man who, at the time, was the oldest. He symbolized—as he well realized—a new generation and its coming-of-age. He was the first president born in the 20th century, the first young veteran of World War II to reach the White House. John Hersey’s powerful account of Kennedy’s wartime bravery, published in The New Yorker in 1944, helped him launch his political career.

• In shaping his legend, Kennedy’s personal charm helped. A witty and articulate speaker, he seemed built for the age of television. To watch him on film today is to be struck by the power of his presence and the wit and elegance of his oratory. His celebrated inaugural address was filled with phrases that seemed designed to be carved in stone, as many of them have been. Borrowing a motto from his prep-school days, putting your country in place of Choate, he exhorted Americans: “Ask not what your country can do for you—ask what you can do for your country.” ~ ALAN BRINKLEY

I am committed to writing about this very special man every opportunity I have for the purpose of keeping his memory alive so that we can at the same time maintain a point of focus for the sake of comparison.  We must never forget what a great and civil society we once were.  Because as long as we remember, we may be able to find our way back.  The best is yet to come……….

Special Anniversary

Special Anniversary

 

Growing up even as a pre-teen, I felt tough, border line invincible.  After all I grew up watching the Lone Ranger, the Adventures of Superman, Roy Rogers, Gene Autry and others, plus a real live mouthy but role model just the same, Cassius Clay (later, Mohamad Ali).  Like Clay I felt that given the opportunity, I could float like a butterfly and sting like a bee.  Later in high school I lettered in every sport I participated in (football, wrestling, and track and field).  I was raised on the farm so I worked hard, and trained hard.  My football coach once told one of his assistance that he didn’t have to worry about players like me because he knew I stayed in shape year round thanks to the farm life style.  Over hearing things like that, didn’t hurt my ego at all.

 

Later on in life, and even now I am very competitive in everything I get involved in: sports, board games, work, business, and life in general. I have a reason for establishing my behavior and attitude in the early years.  As I’ve gotten older, I feel safer when going into a bad neighborhood if Mr. Smith, and Mr. Wesson come along for the ride.  I’m sure the years has maintained my animalistic instincts except that now:  I most likely float like a bee, and sting like a butterfly (I’m being serious).

My mother and father separated and later divorced around the time that I was about 8 years old.  For that reason, my mother for all of my life, was the go to person.  Her love for me was unconditional.  There was nothing in her life that was more important to her than her little boy.  Even as I grew into adulthood, she treated me as an adult but I was always her little boy.  At times when I was being stubborn about anything in my life she was the only person that could bring me off of my high horse, and make me reason.

Classic Beauty

 

While I was growing up without a father, she was both mother and father, and she worked two or three jobs to make sure that we lived in the best neighborhood that she could afford for my safety.  I lived my life (even now) to make her proud of me.  As tough as I thought I was, all it would take was a stern look from my mother to make me fall in line.  That was a level of authority that I didn’t dare question.  My mother never spanked me (ever), all she had to do was let me know that she was disappointed in something I said or did, and raise her voice.  I would raise my arms up to her asking for a hug, and apologizing for any wrong doing, and we were good.

 

As an adult I would call her from anywhere I might be in the country or out of the country, on her birthday and Mother’s Day.  If I was anywhere in the same State, I would drop in for a meal with her to celebrate the occasion.  I regularly called her on my birthday and/or sent flowers to thank her for giving me life.  You could say and I admit it, I was and still am (proudly) a mama’s boy.

 

Today is the 14^th anniversary of the day she was called to Heaven.  On this day 14 years ago for the first time ever, I felt alone and vulnerable.  In her last years, I knew that she could no longer protect me, but she always ended every in person or phone conversation with God Bless you my son.  I didn’t realize how powerful those words were, until I couldn’t hear them anymore.  I love and miss my dear mother, but I know that she is in a better place, and looking over her little boy.  The best is yet to come…..

Humility and Service

WW II Memorial

 One of my first contacts with a World War II Veteran happened when I had been in the United States only a couple of years.  This fine gentleman entered my life and family when my mother met my future step-father.  I have a quasi-policy of not mentioning names in the process of posting to this blog so I will continue to honor that policy.  Believe me when I tell you how proud I am of this individual, and the type of life he lead during the period of time that I knew him. 

I am sorry to say that I lost contact with many of our Texas family members a few years after we moved to the Pacific Northwest.  I still lament at the realization of how fast the years go by, and how easily you lose contact.  The person I am referring to became my uncle through marriage, he served in the Army with honor, and returned home to his wife with the memory of the horrors of war, and yet a humble and honorable man.  A great example to the many people that were in his life or crossed his path along the way. 

End of WW II Parade in New York

Those of us that belong to the proud Baby Boomer Generation (any person born between 1946, and 1964) but didn’t serve in the military were influence by these fine returning WWII Veterans.  This extremely brave men that had so proudly served their country had come home to set an example to the rest of us on how to be humble, and of service to others.  Unlike today’s society where 4 letter words are very common in regular verbal communications, our growing up years included such words as: yes sir, yes mam, please, and thank you.

The most beautiful thing that I admire about our military, and particularly the WWII Veterans is that while they are, and will always be heroes to common civilians like me, they don’t see themselves as heroes, and they simply feel grateful to have been given the opportunity to serve their country.

My uncle that I mentioned above was a hardworking man that proudly and more than adequately provided for his family.  As with most men of that period of time (the 1950’s), he was the sole provider for his family unit, and a loving father to his three children.  I have other uncles that served their country during time of war, but this person was the first time that I became aware of the leadership role that this men assumed when they returned from war.

Life in this country has changed so much that I am not sure that we will ever find our way back, at least not on automatic pilot as some things used to evolve.  A concerted effort will be required to get our society back on track.  I recently heard a program where it was reported that there are now approximately one million WWII Veterans left alive, they are dying at the rate of hundreds per day.

If you know any WW II Veterans, and you get an opportunity to have a conversation, ask them if they are interested in sharing any of their war experiences with you.  That priceless resource won’t be around forever.  Take advantage while you can.  The best is yet to come….

With Certainty

John F. Kennedy 5/29/1917 -11/22/1963

See the post:  Killing Kennedy February 21 2013 ( http://www.being50.com/2013/02/killing-kennedy.html )

·       The axiom is that every one of his generation knows just where they were when they heard Kennedy was shot. The reality is that many also recall precisely how it felt as word broke, in a staccato series of news bulletins.

·       They can still hear the voice that brought the news, breaking into a song on the car radio or disrupting a lesson over a school public address speaker. They remember the prayers offered up from sidewalks and sofas, some whispered and others wailed. They can still taste the tears.

·       Even 50 years later, Americans who lived through the day President John F. Kennedy was killed do not have to pause to summon recollections.

BULLETIN

DALLAS, TEX., NOV. 22 — REP. ALBERT THOMAS, D-TEX., SAID TODAY HE WAS INFORMED PRESIDENT KENNEDY ... WAS STILL ALIVE BUT WAS "IN VERY CRITICAL" CONDITION.

12:57 P.M. ~msn news

Unlike any other day in my lengthy life, this morning, as I sat in front of my computer in my home office, my mind transported me to a specific cold day in November 22, 1963.

While I don’t remember how exactly this morning started, I do remember how very similar every morning went:  from getting up and finding my beautiful mother in the kitchen bundled up and wearing a warm sweater, the smell of coffee carried throughout the house by ventilation.  Just like in the coffee commercial with the coffee percolator.  She always woke up at 4:30 to get breakfast ready for everyone, and prepare lunches to carry us throughout the day.  This morning was a typical November morning with a cold dry weather (clear blue sky, not unlike today in Western Washington.

This morning like some others, I had some errands to run for my mother after school so I was driving the family station wagon and dropping of my step brother at his school along the way.  Everything about this morning was like any other day, different from present day in that we didn’t start our day by checking social media, and turning on the television to catch the newscast.  We actually had pleasant family conversation about upcoming plans (Thanksgiving Day), and the preparation involved.

I remember the drive to town (14.5 miles, I just mapquested it) for school like it was yesterday.  I had traveled that route for so many years that I could do it with my eyes close.  Typical of the old days, I knew people all along the way.  I knew who owned most of the farms that I passed along the way.  Whenever I stopped for gas or at a general store, people would greet me by name.

School started like any other day.  We congregated in the halls of the school, and discussed the weather, the upcoming holiday short few day vacation.  It was common to ask another student what answer did you get for problem number 7 in the Algebra homework assignment or some other subject.  Like an episode of the very popular Twilight Zone television series, we had no clue that within a couple of hours our lives, not just now but forever, were about to change.  The pain inflicted on the population of the country couldn’t be any more painful if we had been blood related to our beloved and respected president John Fitzgerald Kennedy.

From the actual time of the incident my recollection remains the same as previously described in the post: http://www.being50.com/2013/02/killing-kennedy.html please read it.

This morning was different for me in that for a split second of concentration, I actually felt myself being transported to that day and time in 1963, and my eyes teared up as I recall the terrible events that followed and that forever changed my and everyone else’s life, and future.  I don’t know if we will ever know exactly what was lost that day, no one can predict with certainty what might have been.  The best is yet to come….

Last Cab Ride

Last Cab Ride

 

I was raised to respect my elders; no one said I had to appreciate them, but with respect, appreciation often follows.  I have spent a life time helping the elderly and less fortunate people than myself.  I found this article but couldn’t locate the author, but just the same I thought it was worth sharing.  At the end of the article we are asked to share and I am doing it by way of this posting.  I know that if you take a moment to reflect, you can think of at least one person you know that this instance might apply to.  Enjoy the posting and pass it one if you get a chance.

Last Cab Ride

I arrived at the address and honked the horn. After waiting a few minutes I honked again. Since this was going to be my last ride of my shift I thought about just driving away, but instead I put the car in park and walked up to the door and knocked.. 'Just a minute', answered a frail, elderly voice. I could hear something being dragged across the floor.

After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman in her 90's stood before me. She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940's movie. By her side was a small nylon suitcase.

The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets. There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or utensils
on the counters. In the corner was a cardboard box filled with photos and glassware.

'Would you carry my bag out to the car?' she said.
I took the suitcase to the cab, then returned to assist the woman.

She took my arm and we walked slowly toward the curb.

She kept thanking me for my kindness. 'It's nothing', I told her.. 'I just try to treat my passengers the way I would want my mother to be treated.'

'Oh, you're such a good boy, she said. When we got in the cab, she gave
me an address and then asked, 'Could you drive through downtown?'

'It's not the shortest way,' I answered quickly..
'Oh, I don't mind,' she said. 'I'm in no hurry. I'm on my way to a hospice.

I looked in the rear-view mirror. Her eyes were glistening. 'I don't have any family left,' she continued in a soft voice..' The doctor says I don't have very long.' I quietly reached over and shut off the meter.

'What route would you like me to take?' I asked.

For the next two hours, we drove through the city. She showed me
the building where she had once worked as an elevator operator.

We drove through the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived when they were newlyweds She had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that
had once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl.

Sometimes she'd ask me to slow in front of a particular building or corner and
would sit staring into the darkness, saying nothing.

As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said, 'I'm tired. Let's go now'.

We drove in silence to the address she had given me. It was a low building,
like a small convalescent home, with a driveway that passed under a portico.

Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up. They were
solicitous and intent, watching her every move. They must have been expecting her.

I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to
the door. The woman was already seated in a wheelchair.

'How much do I owe you?' She asked, reaching into her purse.

'Nothing,' I said

'You have to make a living,' she answered.

'There are other passengers,' I responded.

Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug. She held onto me tightly.

'You gave an old woman a little moment of joy,' she said. 'Thank you.'

I squeezed her hand, and then walked into the dim morning
light.. Behind me, a door shut. It was the sound of the closing of a life..

I didn't pick up any more passengers that shift. I drove
aimlessly lost in thought. For the rest of that day, I could hardly talk. What if that woman had gotten an angry driver, or one who was impatient to end his shift? What
if I had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then driven away?

On a quick review, I don't think that I have done anything more important in my life.

We're conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great moments.

But great moments often catch us unaware-beautifully wrapped in what others may consider a small one.

PEOPLE MAY NOT REMEMBER EXACTLY WHAT YOU DID, OR WHAT YOU
SAID ~BUT~THEY WILL ALWAYS REMEMBER HOW YOU MADE THEM FEEL.

If you have read to this point, you won't have to be asked to pass it along
you just will...Thank you, my friend!  The best is yet to come….

Being Grateful

Being Grateful

 
I was raised in such a humble style that appreciating what we got was the biggest part of receiving anything.  My parents taught me that there were no guarantees in life, that every day was a gift.  Whether going to school, going to work or vacation every departure needed to be very nice and memorable because you were never guaranteed a return by either one or both.  My mother came from a commercial fishing family that lost some loved ones at sea, and my father worked as an ambulance driver while working his way through school, so he had seen more than the average person gets to experience in a lifetime.

We were also taught to be respectful of our elders, and to be of service to others.  I remember that as a child of elementary school age, I would walk in a different direction just to help and elderly lady cross the street.  Family members and friends would drop by our house unannounced and they would be invited to stay and join us for our next meal regardless of whether it be breakfast, lunch or dinner.  I sometimes wondered if my parents weren’t taken advantage of by their families because of their giving and sharing nature.
Looking back I remember that 60% of the family or friends that visited our home had some kind of problem and were looking for help. 

My parents could always be counted on to assist in any way they could.  They themselves were always self-sufficient, and typical of the times, the man was the wage earner.  My mother was a stay at home housewife.  My father loved her so much that she was actually spoiled by my father.  The following is an excerpt from the book I am writing (working title: East Lincoln):

·       My father was an educated man able to provide the needs, comforts, and even some luxuries for his young family. My mother was a stay at home mom able to provide all the love care and attention of her love and joy (me), I forgot to mention my given name is Armando.  I didn’t know it at the time but we were decently well off.  My mother had hired help around the house, and she maintained a standing appointment for hair and manicure/pedicure.   She definitely was a classic beauty and always looked the part. 

·       As a child you don’t go around bragging about your parents, but I know that whenever I was with them I felt a certain level of confidence and satisfaction at who my parents were.  They never acted as if they were better than anyone else, but I am sure proud of who they were.  They stood out not only for their good looks, but more importantly for their humbleness and kindness.

 

Since my mother and father divorced when I was young, and I was raised by my mother, I dedicated my life to being obedient to my mother, and making her life as easy as I could,  I was grateful for her love, and for never abandoning her children when the going got tough.  By my accomplishments I wanted to show her that her sacrifices were all worthwhile.  I learned from her that when things get tough, that’s the time when your true character comes out, and shines or not.

To this day I dedicate my life to be like my parents, and lead my family by the example they gave me.  The best is yet to come….

Tough Love

Tough Love

 

How many of our youth today are asked or are made to take responsibility for themselves?  I am grateful to my parents especially my mother for making me carry my own weight around the house. I am proud to admit that I am the product of a loving home from parents that like many others divorced during my growing up years.  The growing up years often referred to as the formative years.  The reason I say I am proud to admit it, is because many people that go through life making mistake after mistake often point at divorced parents as the reason for theirs bad choices.

 

As it was, I wasn’t asked who I wanted to live with, no one laid a set of options before me.  When the time for the separation was presented (abruptly as most often happens) my mother made the decision to leave my father and take the children (my older sister and me).  There is something known as Monday morning quarterbacking, and I am glad that I wasn’t given a choice.  I loved both my parents, and I was young enough that I would have been confused if not traumatized to have to decide.

 

All the character traits that I carried (or that carried me) throughout my life can be traced back to the way my mother raised me.  My love, respect, and appreciation for women, was either instilled in me by my mother or grew in me out of the respect and admiration I’ve always had for my mother.  My mother always carried herself before her children with the dual role of mother and father.  She could be strong and strict, while at the same time loving, caring, and considerate.  She always provided above and beyond the needs of our single parent home.

 

I remember growing up and feeling on equal ground with friends that came from a two parent home.  Having been raised in the time that I was, I could safely say that if I was to give a title to the way my mother ruled the roost, that title would have to be Benevolent Dictator.  Our household was definitely not a democracy, but our dictator was very loving and considerate.  I know for a fact that my mother would skip a meal if it meant making me happy by buying me something I wanted or needed.  Had I known that then, I wouldn’t have asked for anything, but I know now that it happened more often than I would like to admit.

 

The way my wife and I raised our family was very similar in that we made our children’s needs a priority, but the sacrifice factor was not the same level (type).  Unlike our parents, our sacrifices were of a different type; like not having the luxury car (settling for a more reasonable model), not going on a European vacation choosing instead to build an extra room to the house for a playroom, and building a playground in our backyard.  Because my boyhood vacations were always hard work instead of fun (see Post: Cotton Fields Back Home – May 27, 2013- http://www.being50.com/2013/05/cotton-fields-back-home.html ) our young children were often treated to visit family in Southern California and of course cousins Mickey, Donald Duck, Goofy, etc., etc.

 

Growing up, however, I was raised to be responsible from a very young age.  I remember waking up in the morning, and making my bed while I waited for my turn at our single bathroom.  When coming home from school, my sister and I would clean dishes, and performed other house chores before settling down to our school homework.  By the time my mother arrived from work, the house chores were taken care of, all she had to do was prepare dinner.  With regard to dinner my mother was a most wonderful cook, and my beautiful wife gives her all the credit in the world.  Proper credit where credit is due, my wife’s cooking is a perfect balance between healthy, and delicious, where my mother’s cooking was nutritious and delicious with emphasis on delicious, and the heck with healthy.

My mother trained me to be respectful to my elders, to open doors for people, to carry my fair share of the workload, to be of service to others, to give until it hurts.  If in fact I’ve been a good equal partner to my wife, I owe it to my upbringing, and directly to my first love, my mother!  The best is yet to come….

 

Tribute to My Father

Plaza

 With Father’s Day around the corner I felt the need to render a tribute to my wonderful father. Going as far back as I can remember (probably the age of 3 or 4 years old), I remember feeling comfortable and safe in the presence of my father.  Whatever I wanted, was readily available to me.  I also remember that my father was not big on expressing his love with words.  I was 42 years old when he first said I love you (to me).  It was significant enough that I remember the moment to this day.  I was at the Ontario Airport, ready for my return flight home from one of my annual visit.  I had already crossed the security gate so I couldn’t even react properly.  I recall that it was a long walk to boarding the airplane, and I just kept replaying the moment in my mind over and over.  I had always known that my father loved me, but this time he actually said the words.

In any case there was much more to my relationship with my father (see Post: Father and Son Reunited, www.being50.com).  My father and mother separated and soon after divorced when I was 8 years old.  I didn’t see my father again until the summer that I turned 16.  Within a week of the reunion it was like we had never been apart.  I never lived near my father, and I visited whenever possible never letting any more than a couple of years go by without seeing him.  I called him 3 or 4 times per year.

After I divorced and remarried my wife and I discussed that life goes way too fast, and with her support and encouragement agreed that I should visit my father at least once per year and twice where possible.  I personally wanted to make sure that I didn’t have regrets later in life at not having spent enough time with my father.  I even arranged for my father to come and visit us in the Northwest after he retired.

I am in the process of writing a book (working title: East Lincoln) and the following is an excerpt from that book:

As a toddler, I remember that my family's favorite past time was to go for walks around the midtown plaza. It seems in Mexico every town of decent size has a central plaza where people visit to relax and enjoy either as couples, family or even individuals just to read or people watch, as a way to pass the time of day. Plaza Globitos was our plaza. Our plaza was a city block square with a kiosk at the center, concrete paths that crisscrossed, and benches strategically placed so people of all ages could enjoy their time at the plaza. Vendors sold helium filled balloons, corn on the cob churros, mangos on a stick, and more. Shoe shine boys were everywhere plying their trade. You could see young men and women courting, walking hand in hand enjoying their time together.

Across the street was my mom & dad's favorite movie theater. When we tired of hanging out at the plaza we would cross the street and catch a movie. At the time the popular movie stars were Pedro Infante, Maria Felix, Jorge Negrete, and many others but these were definitely among the "A-List."

One of my fondest memories as a toddler is that we would go for long walks on the beach (Tampico is a city on the Gulf of Mexico), and whenever I got tired I would simply run a few steps ahead of my parents, turn around and raise my arms over my head and either one would carry me the rest of the way. For some reason life has never again been that simple or accommodating. Trust me there has been many times in my wonderful existence when I wish I could just raise my arms over my head and someone would carry me at least for a while.

This year marks the 10^th anniversary that my father passed away, I miss not having him a phone call away.  “Happy Father’s Day,” to my hero, my dad.  The best is yet to come…

Tribute to mom

Classic Beauty

My mother’s mission in life was to make sure that her children had a better life than she herself had.  During her life, my mother was married twice.  Once for love; my father was the love of her life, even though her marriage to my father only lasted 13 actual years, she loved him until the day she took her last breath.  The second time she married was to provide a real family environment to me and my little sister.  For a three years (between marriages) she was a single head of household, and maintained two jobs at times three jobs just to meet all of our needs, and many wants.  Her second husband loved her very much and she loved him, their marriage lasted about 24 years.

February 15^th will always be a special day in my life.  On this day 92 years ago my mother was born.  My mother passed away in 1999, but not before she got to see her son (me) reach the level of success she wanted for me.  I adored her than as I do now, and I know that I made her proud.

At some point in life she stopped being my mother, and crossed over into being my biggest fan.  To this day I don’t know what it’s like to get in trouble with any kind of addiction, or be in trouble with the law.  All my efforts throughout life have been to make my mother proud, and I know that she was.  Every time we visited or talked on the telephone, the conversation ended with, “God Bless You Son.”  I know that all my life I’ve been blessed because she prayed for me, and today I am blessed because she looks over me!  I love you mother!!  The best is yet to come……….