dona's 365

The only other person in my extended family who attended college, Darlene got a teaching degree, but didn’t use it for long. She was always sweet. She must have inherited all of her mother’s nice genes, because her siblings were a nasty bunch. They must have taken after their dad.

One Christmas Cindy gave me a silver bracelet etched with the words: Lt Col Don Williamson 7-7-65 At the time the bracelet was a piece of fashionable jewelry – most teens had one. Years later I read Don Williamson’s history online and understood he was as real as you and me.

Jim and I carpooled to college our senior year. He was married; I was engaged. We bumped into each other at a sports bar after gradation. He drove me home via a secluded spot. About fifteen years later he called to say he was still married and had ten kids.

Before I could say my “r”s I called my Aunt Corrine, Aunt Queen. She is my father ’s youngest sister and she hurt his sense of morality when she divorced her abusive first husband. She’s his first line of defense these days, although she only shows up on his good days.

Of course I never met C. S. Lewis. He died before I knew of him and his Narnia. Nevertheless, he had a huge impact on who I am today. He’d probably not be pleased with what I took away from his writing though. I’m probably more pantheist than anything else.

What can you say in fifty words about a man who was your hero? Who worked long into the night to put food on the table? Who loved you like no one has ever loved you? Who drank himself into a black hole? How about: I still love you Dad.

Except for a bout of colic early on, Clare, my firstborn, has been incredibly easy. Not long after she was born I whispered into her ear, “Please love me when you’re sixteen.” She turns sixteen in about seven months and she and I remain very close. So far; so good.

We met Neal and Marie our first year in Pittsburgh. We became close friends and saw each other often even though we lived several states apart. When Marie emailed us to tell us that Neal left her, it was like someone died. It wasn’t unbelievable, but a tragic shock nonetheless.

Dave, blond and popular even in 3rd grade, once stretched his arm across the back of the bus seat we shared. I imagined his arm was around me. In 6th grade, I glanced at him. He spat, “Take a picture, whydoncha? It lasts longer.” I decided he wasn’t my type.

I remember seeing him in person only once, at a baby or wedding shower for a distant relative. His mother was the hostess and he was there in the background with some other boys. This foggy and imperfect memory is what I see when visiting his name on The Wall .

“Here we go into the cold blue yonder!” she’d sing cheerfully as she drove us to early morning swimming lessons at Wing Park Pool. Summer mornings in northern Illinois could be quite chilly and Colleen’s mom’s cheeriness felt a lot like malicious teasing to we three blue-lipped, chattering-teethed, prepubescent girls.

Sitting on the floor of Janet’s living room drinking wine, I declared my admiration that she’d been published. She laughed and said it was no big deal; the romance phase was just for practice. She had something else cooking. I see that she’s now on number twelve of that idea.

“Oh gosh oh golly gee!” or “Oh geeze oh man!” exclaimed Joyce with bulging eyes given almost any provocation -- missing homework, a bloody nose, the correct answer from a failing student. The half-year I co-taught sixth grade with this artistically talented former nun was full of these quirky expressions.

After being told by several doctors to not get pregnant, Dr. Barth, my rheumatologist, said, “I don’t see why not.” My life has not been the same since that day. I even considered naming my firstborn after him, but “Werner” for a girl? Maybe not. He said he completely understood.

A few years older than me, my cousin Cindy’s cast off clothes became my clothes. We were occasional friends; her parents acted like they were too good for us. She told me about sex; Romeo and Juliet (the Zeffirelli version ) and not getting your feet wet when having your period.

Tall, dark and slender, Barbara wore fur coats, designer outfits and high heeled shoes as executive administrator of the private school for emotionally and behaviorally disordered students. Although too overdressed to be of much help when restraining a violent student, she was real handy at soliciting funds from unlikely donors.

John lived next door to my parents when I was in college. We dated for about half a year but he was a chronic liar and a cheat. I’m still annoyed to have wasted seven months and countless tears on him. My brother calls him Elgin’s finest light bulb changer .

I briefly dated Charlie after Marcia and Terry began dating. I was never really serious about him, and dropped him when John asked me out. Marcia said I broke his heart. Not long after, Charlie got married to the girl he dated before me. I took John to the wedding.

The filthiest house I’ve seen belonged to my dad ’s sister, Leila. After Uncle Don died she gave up cleaning. A year’s worth of clutter, dust, mail, and dog “accidents” would accumulate until my mom broke down and cleaned her house. Too late, we realized she was probably depressed, not lazy.

Cindy and I connected as I’ve connected with no other. We met one Thanksgiving weekend and talked continuously. We promised we’d stay in touch, but I was newly pregnant and life got in the way. Years later I heard she’d died somewhat mysteriously: A winter canoe trip gone tragically wrong.

Highly opinionated and bold, Mary was editor of JASA at CMU . Although not a statistician, she was dating Rob, the cool and handsome statistics professor. Mary took nothing at face value and always seemed ready for an argument. Once we argued for an hour about preferred brands of toilet paper.

I was not familiar with the term douchebag until I met Jay. He tossed it into conversations like croûtons on a salad. I’d learned to call cursing “inappropriate language” in my teaching job so I countered Jay’s "douchebags" with “inappropriate language”. For some reason, that cracked Jay up every time.

Most lunch recesses at BLC : We’d cry, “No eating the ants!” He’d tap-tap tap-tap tap-tap on the sidewalk with his fingertips, saying “They’re my best friends! I have to eat them because they are my best friends.” We’d shake our heads and walk away. There was no arguing with that.

“Buttered Carrots! I LOVE Buttered carrots!” and “I LOVE Amelia Bedelia!” were two of J’s stock phrases. Sweet girl, but at 16 she had few interests beyond carrots and Amelia Bedelia. Her mom had syphilis when J was born. It kind of ruined J’s chances before she got a start.

When mom told me Patti’s son, Mark, was different I thought she was mistaken. She said he would not grow. I could not see it, and didn’t believe her. I don’t remember when it became apparent to me that he had achondroplasia but it never mattered. He was just Mark.

Nearly an Olympic swimmer, Jay was the most active adult I’d ever met. He was always on the go. Once he decided his house needed a new window. So he took a chainsaw to an upstairs wall hours before weekend guests were to arrive. He scored high on the Connors .

Before there was affordable housing on the corner of Highland and McLean, part of the land was farmed by a man called Hawkeye. Whenever we’d see him working among the rows of vegetables we’d holler, in singsong voices, “Hi Hawkeye”. He would then stop working and wave. It never failed.

The bane of my childhood existence, Chris ’ younger sister, Marcia seemed to be everything my parents wanted me to be until our teacher accidentally read them Marcia’s grades instead of mine. Later, teen-aged Marcia seemed to bond more with my mom than I did, and that hurt. Marcia. Marcia. Marcia.

Exasperated at being called prejudiced yet again by my inner city students, I taught an impromptu lesson on racism. We discussed the major races, where they originated in the world and the impact of migration. Lafayette sat in silence. Then: Lafayette: “Who won?” Me: "What?" Lafayette: “Who won the race?”

The most ambitious member of my master’s degree cohort, Bernie delivered her exquisitely completed projects with a smirk of self-satisfaction. When she approached me to be her partner for a project, my delight soon turned to dismay when I realized she cared much more about appearance than the content inside.

Gregarious, pretty and smart, Debbie was all that I aspired to be. She never acknowledged me however; too busy being herself to notice the shyer students. I quietly mourned her death in a car accident after junior college, then married her brother a few years later. Coincidence? Probably mostly serendipity.

I first encountered Bob at my brother ’s Cub Scout pinewood derby race to which I inappropriately wore off-white hot pants and a brown see-through blouse. Upon passing him the next day, in the center stairway of our high school, he muttered, “you looked better last night”. He ultimately dated Sally .

Sally, whose family owned an upscale department store in town, lost her eye to cancer when she was three. I remember her joy, in eighth grade, at being cancer-free for ten years. I was shocked, then, to learn she’d succumbed to cancer the day our of ten-year high school reunion.

Alex’s roommate, Martin, was born and raised in England. He taught soccer at the YMCA and somehow became a fixture in our home; his British accent filling the void Jeremy’s left behind. Years later I heard from Alex that Martin died, in his sleep, from an epileptic seizure. No fair.

I met Jeremy when I was 17. We fell in love and planned on marrying. He lived in England; I lived in the States. I broke it off after 5 years; the distance was too much. We remain in occasional contact though, and both wonder if IM would have helped.

Last seen evading ghosts , David lived down the street from me growing up. Although a couple of years my junior, we worked together as ambassadors by performing original skits to help prepare junior high school students for the rigors of high school. An Internet search uncovers his continued ambassador pursuits .

He wore faded blue overalls and carried a large Santa-like sack. Nearly every day he would walk past our house and if I were lucky enough to be outside, he would stop, reach into his sack and hand me a stick of JuicyFruit. I wonder if I ever thanked him.

Born in Denmark to an innkeeper and his wife, my dad ’s mother traveled on a passenger ship to the United States wearing wooden soled shoes. Whenever I’d visit her, she would show me the small shoes she kept in an antique china cabinet. I never got tired of that ritual.

Generous, gregarious, and charismatic, Father Cilinski was the priest in St. Ann’s Parish during the four years I taught there. He delighted in treating his staff to dinners at his favorite Italian restaurant . Not being Catholic, nor Italian, I was mildly shocked at the copious amounts of alcohol being consumed.

Eldest daughter of my parents’ closest friends , Chris had a rough childhood. She once put her hand through a plate glass window because, she told me, her mother didn’t love her. After she came out to her family and friends, her life got a lot better. Everyone loves her now.

Another reason I became a special education teacher, Johnny was a student in an elementary school class with which I worked as a high school junior. He said his parents ridiculed him for “being stupid” and compared him to his older, more successful siblings. I wonder where he is now.

Kindergarten classmate, Greg wandered back into my life when we were seventeen. Drove me to school, bought me hot chocolate at McDonald's, blew smoke into my face. Oh, he was gorgeous. I wasn’t his type though. I pretended not to mind and told myself it was best, because he smoked.

Born nearly seven years after me, and my only sibling, Kevin and I were never really friends until we had children. We still don’t see eye-to-eye on everything, but would drop everything to help each other. I’ve nearly forgiven him for broadcasting my teen-age angst-ridden temper tantrums on his CB.

High school psychology teacher, Mr. Ishmal, challenged us to define love and showed us a strangely beautiful film of vaginal liquid crystallizing on a microscope slide. But for all his talk of love and sex, he seemed a sort of slimy, creepy character who’d probably never heard of dental floss.

A self-described ex-flapper, my Grandma Green smoked, drank, skipped, cursed and taught me the Charleston. After Grandpa died she went on with her life, had boyfriends and paved the way for her granddaughters by living with a man. She lived life fully; she died among her family. Happy Birthday Grandma.

Frank ran for an obscure office in Montgomery County. I saw him several times, campaigning the old fashioned way. Handwritten flyers, Magic Marker signs, friendly handshakes. No website nor email list for him. He didn’t get my vote though. He lost. I felt kinda bad. He’s a Republican, you see.

When you began talking loudly during the opening credits I could have tried ignoring you, but instead I asked you if you planned on talking through the entire film. You said no. So you clicked your pen, sighed vociferously, wriggled audibly and flipped the seat between us up and down.

She had a Model-T in her open garage and cardboard in her upstairs windows. I saw her twice in the three years we were next-door neighbors. When her mail began to pile up I wondered if she was ok. When the ambulance took away her body I knew she wasn’t.

Although Miss Bramer developed polio when it was still a threat in the US it didn’t stop her. Confined to a wheelchair with silver splints on her hands she became a junior high teacher. She led the school newspaper staff. She taught 7th grade English. She taught me to write.

Salesman through and through, Kevin had a child with my ex-cousin-in-law's daughter. They coveted my mother’s lake house in Wisconsin and made an offer. Mom said no, but sold him some land instead. He talked her down in price then built a McMansion in the woods, obstructing our view. Asshole.

Considered a “tom boy”, Cathy was Devin’s younger sister. She loved the color blue and riding horses. She was a lot nicer than her older sister and a heck of a lot nicer than her mom . Maybe she took after her dad, who reminded me a little of Dr. Kildare .

I see Sarah everywhere. We were never friends – our sons knew each other. We always talked when we saw each other. When she died last year I didn’t go to the funeral because I didn’t think I knew her well enough and because I didn’t need it. I was wrong.

That my cousin Charlie died in a car crash is about the only thing I remember about him. I remember the phone call, and my father’s grief. I remember his widow and their two young children. I remember a home movie of my dad and Charlie wrestling. But that’s all.

“Does the Pope know? What does the Rabbi think?” She joked after we wrote our names on her mailing list. Because my last name sounds Catholic and my then live-in boyfriend looks somewhat Jewish, we understood. We laughed with her, not wanting to spoil the friendly levity. We were Methodist.

You were a regular at the Harris Grill ; we saw you at the bar every time we stopped in for an ouzo or glass of retsina . When the bar reopened after being remodeled we saw you once again: “God-damned Yuppies,” you muttered under your breath as you walked away forever.

The first vegetarian and Buddhist I knew, Cindy and I were best friends for years. Then she got on a different track, graduating from high school early, moving to Maine and becoming Cynthia. She now lives in an adjacent state, but we’ve not really reconnected. Maybe next year. Or not.

Carole’s son had a developmental delay with seizures and impulsivity. Once Carole gave me a car ride. Her son put his hands over her eyes. She told him that was dangerous. The following year Carole and her son died in a car crash. I always wonder if he didn’t listen.

Mrs. Anderson was years ahead of her time. She tossed the basal readers and encouraged us to choose our own books long before the term “Whole Language” was coined. We immersed ourselves in the delicious words of L’Engle, Tolkein, Lewis, and Grahame for the whole of our sixth grade year.

The first person I hated, Mrs. Tidwell said she wanted to be an opera singer instead of the fourth-grade teacher she became. She humiliated me -- my art, my singing, my work . She laughed at my ambition to be a doctor. So I taught; hoping to replace a Mrs. Tidwell.

My cousin Bonnie and I are close in age and were good friends as kids. It was reassuring to have someone non-threatening to compare notes about growing up. Unfortunately time, distance, family squabbles and different life paths got in the way. I doubt I’d even recognize her on the street.

Ali McGraw look-alike, Ann divorced my cousin Ron for a richer man but that ended in divorce too. Now church mouse poor, Ann lived last winter in my mother’s Wisconsin summer home. She used very little heat. The dozens of empty boxes of wine she left may have helped some.

When I worked at the all-night pancake restaurant I had some regular customers. One group was the night shift from Beef Villa . The night before I left for England they braved a blizzard and brought me a present: a stuffed polar bear I named “Chucky”. I still have that bear.

Ashley is hard to know. She can be petulant and bratty or cheerful and sweet, but she decides her moods, and is not easily swayed. Some say it's just her. I think she does it to protect herself from pain. I worry about her the most, my brother's youngest daughter.

A flight attendant and cancer survivor, Barbara made frequent trips to Mexico to buy altar decorations for her church. I knew Barbara was very religious, but was even more certain when I saw the five-foot brightly colored Jesus next to her bed when I took care of her six cats.

My parents’ friend, Bob, ran a gas station but dressed more like he ran a casino. Bob’s wife wanted a round bed and when I asked if she’d gotten one my mom quickly shushed me. Discussions of beds were taboo after his wife found him in one with another woman.

“Want a sheet o’Rabbits?” I thought I heard the farmer say as he wrapped a skinned, gutted rabbit in white paper. “No,” I whispered “Come on, let's go see the rabbits,” persuaded my aunt, taking the package - our dinner. “Okay.” They showed me the caged bunnies destined for someone’s table.

Large, soft and kind, Millie owned the Indianhead tavern in Chetek Wisconsin. On Tuesdays Grandma and I helped Millie prepare the stuffing for the chicken dinner served at her restaurant in the back of the bar. Whenever I tear up pieces of bread for stuffing I always think of Millie.

The first thing I noticed about Dan was his missing hand. Then it didn’t matter and we became friends. We worked on the yearbook staff together, went out a few times, and even kissed once. But we stayed just friends. He thought it was his missing hand. Maybe it was.

I’ve never met Mandy, but I’ve received several complaints from her about posts I let through our school email list. She complains about UNICEF messages and posts for Red Cross. Why am I not surprised, after googling her name, to find an email she wrote on a site called complaints.com?

Bob, our 14-year old paperboy was my first “boyfriend”. With him came my first real kiss. We lasted a month, but the fact that he went to a “special school” bothered me and I was embarrassed to be seen with him. He’s one reason I became a special education teacher. Penance?

Persistently angry at the world, my cousin Bob channeled his anger into weight lifting. He won some world championship competitions and jokingly credits my dad for getting him into the sport because my dad always lost at arm wrestling matches to my much younger brother, but never lost to Bob.

Mr. Jordan was my best friend’s dad. After Cindy and I lost contact, Mr. Jordan and I continued to write each other at Christmastime. He kept me up to date about Cindy and her family. The last letter I ever got from him he was optimistic about his prostate cancer.

I met Beverly after emailing her about redesigning her film club website. She was delighted to hear from me and asked me to join the board of directors. She loves foreign and independent films and is a psychoanalyst. Her mother is 102 years old and particular about her nail polish.

Older than I, recently divorced, and an artist, Barbara was one of a long line of teaching assistants assigned to me when I taught emotionally disturbed students in Pittsburgh. She and I didn’t always see eye-to-eye concerning our students and I’m pretty sure she loved them more than I did.

In my grade-school imagination, dark, bold Angelina was an exotic gypsy child. I visualized a horse-drawn carriage in her run-down garage. In reality they were probably just very poor. It was rumored her mother stabbed someone with a butcher knife; but remember, we were kids. We believed everything we heard.

“The world’s most agreeable baby”, Andrew developed a temper at eighteen months. Every day was his “the worst day ever”. We laugh about it now and Andrew, calmer but still occasionally volatile, cringes at tales of his tantrums. I wouldn’t change him for the world. Andrew, my second-born, my son.

When Mrs. Wewell, our next-door neighbor, said I should pray for her instead of the soldiers in Vietnam, I complied. The next day she caught her arm in the wringer of her old wringer-washer. When I tried it again, a car ran over her dog. I quit praying after that.

Prolific writer of sometimes funny, sometimes gut-wrenchingly sad, but always on-target songs, Dan Bern has been a part of my life since 1997. I never know what I’m going to get at a Dan Bern concert, but I know it will be memorable. I’ve learned to arrive with no expectations.

A kindergarten classmate who disappeared from my radar screen by second grade; short and intense Alan reappeared my promiscuous year. He resented tall men who dated short women and said short women should save themselves for short men. Our friendship didn’t last long. I wasn’t very nice to him. Sorry.

Andre claimed he was in a rock band in the eighties. He said he was very well known back then in his country of Belarus. He still played music when he wasn’t studying business. He hoped to make a comeback in the States as a singer-songwriter. I hope he does.

Quiet, kind and handsome, Alex was a short-order cook at the all-night pancake restaurant his Greece-born uncles owned. It was said they were grooming him to take over the tiny franchise. His eyes disclosed a different plan as he served a side of philosophy with the orders of eggs over-easy.

Butch owned the B & B Bar in Chetek, Wisconsin and was my first real crush. I was ten and bored with the bar and its jukebox, pop and donut-shaped ice cubes. Butch talked to me to keep me from annoying my parents too much. Their drinking paid his rent.

I don’t even know her name but she convinced my cat-hating dad to bring home a black kitten for me when I was 13. When Dad fixed some appliance or another for her parents she told him the kitten would be put to sleep if he didn’t take it home.

Devin lived on the corner in the red house with the ancient apple tree in the yard. She was sneaky-mean and made us play her way. Once she dared me to touch an electric line when we climbed a tree across the street. I’m lucky it was a telephone line instead.

Cathy lived in the haunted house on the corner. We were best friends the summer I turned twelve. Her older brother was in Vietnam and her younger brother rode a tricycle.Her mom looked like Bette Davis and smoked cigarettes until there was nothing left. Then Cathy moved away forever.