Remembering Paula

This is for my friend . 

July will always remind me of the last time I ever saw Paula.

July of every year since 1988, our phone calls focused on our upcoming week's vacation at her timeshare. Week 37 was our week.

In 2017, we had missed each other's calls for several days when she left a voice mail with an apology. When we finally connected, she shared the worst news possible.

She'd been in the hospital for ten days being poked and tested. When they finally told her the results it was an impersonal phone call from her doctor.

She had Stage 4 pancreatic cancer.

1983 at the Gold Twin Towers in Dallas

Though we lived in different states, our lives seemed to run in parallel. Each of us were licensed hair stylists and owned hair salons, then sold them.

We took real estate classes and got our real estate licenses. 

We both took jobs in the corporate world.

We had each married someone with a child making us instant stepmothers to five-year old boys. Later, we shared the heartbreak of those failed relationships and the joy of coming back from darkness to better times.

In 1983, when the TV show "Dallas" was popular, she visited Texas. We took a tour of Southfork Ranch and went to the Gold Twin Towers, the location of J.R. Ewing's fictional office.

September of1988, we spent our first week together at her timeshare on North Reddington shores. We shopped together for groceries, cooked on the outdoor grills at the resort and enjoyed spectacular views of the sunset. I remember staying up all night laughing and watching old movies on a rented VCR.

Nearly every year after that, we'd spend week 37 at the beach, getting sun tans, at the pool and hot tub. One year we brought the same paperback novels to read. We'd sadly pack at the end of the week and drive to her house for our last night together.

She'd drop me off for an early morning flight at Tampa Airport. I'd call to let her know I was home safe and she would tell me she'd cried all the way home from the airport.

She felt things deeply and wasn't afraid to show her emotions.

We shared meals at Village Inn Pancake House, Houlihan's, Friday's, Mexican Restaurants and more. We loved the paella with sangria and homemade bread at Cafe Pepe. We often drove around her neighborhood where parrots from Busch Gardens roosted in trees. My old house was only a few blocks from hers so we'd do a drive-by.

During the 1990s we'd meet up in Orlando at my dad's house to share a family meal. Dad served as the father figure she'd always wanted having been raised by a single mom. We called each other sisters. 

1995 at my Dad's house

When Dad passed away, she drove for two-hours to be with me at his funeral and afterward took me home with her. She was a source of comfort and friendship.

In 2009, she was proud that she finally could fit into at pair of size 10 shorts. Not the kind with elastic waist, either. These were the button and zip shorts she'd always dreamed she would wear. She had finally conquered her life-long battle with weight control.

2008 North Reddington Shores

Still in her fifties, she'd already been through agonizing pain and a long battle to find a doctor to do hip replacement surgery. Her osteoarthritis had destroyed her hip joint making it nearly impossible to walk. Our shopping trips to favorite places like  thrift stores were less frequent with my friend whose every step radiated pain.

1993 Kongfrontation

When she experienced numbness in her hands, unexpected falls and other more disturbing side effects, she had cervical spinal surgery, fusing five vertebra in her neck. After her recovery, she looked great. I was proud of her resilience and resolve.

Our last beach trip in September 2016, grocery shopping was dramatically different than the years prior. We passed on getting several desserts for the week. Instead, we got only half a Key Lime Pie. The multiple types of breads we usually picked out were missing, too. Potato chips, ice cream, cookies, apple strudel and chocolate candy had shrunk to only a couple of choices.

I was proud of what I thought was her restraint. I usually went home a few pounds heavier after our vacation. I had no idea that something was going wrong with her digestive tract. Something very wrong.

I didn't know that my friend had Stage 4 cancer.

When I got the news, I wanted to fly to Florida immediately. But she wanted me to wait until she started chemotherapy. By then, she had stopped eating, suffering extreme gastric reactions after eating any kind of food.

She grew too weak for chemotherapy which, at best might prolong her life a few months, maybe even a couple of years. She was resilient, still hoping to beat this disease that turned her into a skeleton.

I'll never forget her words. "Don't think the irony of this disease is lost on me. All my life I've struggled to lose weight and now I'm dying of starvation."

Right to the end, she remained grateful for the small comforts and blessings of life and friends who loved her dearly. She was steadfast in her love for her two  dogs whose actions showed they were clearly aware of her situation.

She loved her mother whom she'd helped recover from a near fatal infection the previous year. Joyce never expected to outlive her daughter.

I treasure the photos of forty years I shared with my friend. Her house was always welcoming, warm and inviting. We laughed at her cockatiel, T.C. Wilson, who talked to the legions of dogs that came and went over the 20 years he lived. 

1995 with Nevada and Chloe

I recall our many coffee talks in her living room watching through the front window as her neighborhood changed with time. She was a someone who could put you instantly at ease whether watching TV or just hanging out. We could be comfortable even reading books, both of us silent for hours. There was no pressure to follow a schedule or do things. We were there for each other.

She remembered to call on birthdays, holidays and in-between, when we'd share the latest changes in our jobs and our lives.

She was a great listener.

She had an amazing recall of my family members, remembering names of aunts and cousins from stories told over the years.

When our roles expanded to caring for our aging mothers and their live-in partners, we often shared the joys and difficulties of being caregivers and about the day we might lose our mothers. We never imagined that one of us would go first.

2016 at the beach

She passed away on July 21st, 2017, just two quick months after her diagnosis.

I still reach for the phone to call her, even after these years. I still think of us sharing a cup of coffee in her living room with the dogs, cats and T.C. Wilson.

She loved the Lord and had a strong faith. I hope she's had a chance to meet Him and reunite with her pets that have crossed over: Chivas, Aramis, Nevada, Spunky, Chloe, Zoey, Hansel, Gretel, Dakota and TC Wilson.

Paula is gone but not forgotten. She lives on in my dreams and memories.

Beach Therapy Please

Tomorrow my best friend will face the hardest day of her life. She's scheduled for an appointment at the cancer center to find out what options she has.

Our days go way back in time, way back to working in a hair salon, sitting for our real estate exams, climbing the corporate ladder, each trying to be a good step-mother to our ex's only child. We've faced hardship and joy together over the decades and now, she faces the hardest times ahead.

I think of her comforting me during my darkest days and realize there's no comparison to what she must be going through. Even now, in these days of bad news, P.E.T. scans, emergency room visits, missed diagnoses and pain, she keeps reminding me that God is in control. She is assured that He will do what's best for her and help her get through whatever lies ahead.

The last time I saw her, I couldn't believe my eyes. She was thinner than I had ever seen her. She has always battled extra weight, up thirty pounds, down ten, up twenty, down five. Now, she tells me she weighs only a few pounds more than I do. Down a hundred.That's not necessarily a good thing.

We've shared a week together on the beach at her timeshare right on the Gulf nearly every September since 1988. The memories we made won't fit into any photo album. There are thousands of scenes in my mind, captured along the way. Seagulls soaring, dolphins swimming, surf roiling, Hurricane Gilbert, poolside chats, beach strolls, sangria toasts, apple strudel, Beach Boy Video and precious time together with no cell phone anywhere near.

We've spent thousands of hours sharing personal issues, dilemmas, new jobs, joy, unemployment, stories of our past lives and loves. She has truly been a sister to me and a genuine friend in thick and thin. Time for some beach therapy.

I'm thinking of her today and praying.

Vacation on the Florida Gulf Coast

Toward the end of June, as our scheduled vacation grows closer, phone calls between me and my life long friend revolve around our week when she invites me to spend time with her. 

Since 1988, we've enjoyed relaxing together in the sun, swimming in the Jacuzzi, and catching up with each other's lives during a care-free seven days on the beach. Over the years, much in our lives has changed, but that time remains consistent.

The routine is the same year after year. I fly in from Dallas and she picks me up at the airport. We drive to her house to get the dogs ready for the kennel then we wait for Saturday afternoon when we can check in at the resort. She wisely invested in a one-bedroom timeshare years ago, and every year, come rain or shine, she has something to look forward to. What I've learned about vacations from her is that if you don't plan one, it won't happen.

Howard Frankland Bridge by By Miscelena 1

We drive across the Howard Frankland Bridge connecting Tampa Bay mainland to the west coast, stopping at Publix to pick up a supply of groceries for the week: steaks, baking potatoes, lettuce, tomatoes, hot dogs, and hamburger, veggies and an assortment of bread, cereal, milk, sodas, chips and snacks.

We travel light, our suitcases filled with shorts, tank tops, swim suits, flip flops and a good hat to protect our skin from the blazing sun. No fancy attire is required even when we eat out at beach side restaurants. Casual attire is king in Florida.

Next, we detour to the package store to pick up a gallon of burgundy and brandy for an endless pitcher of home made Sangria to share with our neighbors. Once we settle in to our room we visit the nearby shops to stock up on sunscreen and touristy things like T-shirts emblazoned with palm trees, sea oats and pelicans.

We're assigned the same room year after year, so we know exactly what to expect when we arrive. Each year, when we pick up the keys to her balcony apartment overlooking the sparkling pool and check in, it's like a step back into time. 

The keys are attached to green plastic tags with the room number. 

The kitchen has a full-size refrigerator, a range and oven, microwave, coffee pot and even a dishwasher. The unit is equipped with pots and pans, real dishes and silverware.

The kitchen is small but equipped with everything we need.

There's cable TV, although it holds less interest than usual for the week while we bask under umbrellas reading our paperback novels.

The couch makes into a hide-a-bed, and there's a queen sized-bed, comfortably allowing for four guests in this unit.

Our days are spent swimming in the pool, soaking in the Jacuzzi spa, grilling out on gas barbecue grills, and searching for shells. We alternate between dips in the pool and the Gulf  listening to the squawk of seagulls scrabbling over scraps of food.

Rhythmic waves pound against the glistening beach shore providing a relaxing and soothing reassurance that the ocean is eternal. We doze off in our lounge chairs, heads nodding while the warmth of the sun performs its magic, baking away our cares as we sit in the shade of the umbrellas and watch the waves roll out. (Sitting on the Dock of the Bay - Otis Redding)

Over the years improvements have been made at the resort. The balcony railings, formerly made of dark stained wood, have been replaced with practical white plastic rails. 

The uneven concrete walkway has been upgraded with beautiful patio stones that surround the pool and travel along the path leading to the outdoor shower. A locking storage unit has replaced the open lean-to which once housed the bright blue lounge chair mats.

Beach loungers are available at the resort

A crew of young college students perform routine maintenance vacuuming the sparkling pool and cleaning the swim spa jacuzzi. It always looks fresh and inviting for our week of vacation.

Perhaps the best part of the week is the quiet appreciation of nature in the evenings. The residents tend to gather under the umbrellas near time for sundown each night to enjoy that gift of serenity and beauty, a momentary splash of every color imaginable before the sun dunks into the ocean one more time.

As evening draws near, a contingent of beach goers gather at the shoreline in anticipation of the evening's spectacular view. Taking photos at sunset is a standard part of the week's ritual. And once that lightning fast week is over, sharing the photos brings back the joy of the week for years to come.

1 Photo of Howard Frankland Bridge, By Miscelena (http://www.flickr.com/photos/miscelena/403636460/) [CC BY-SA 2.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0)], via Wikimedia Commons

Wish You Were Here

Feeling in the mood for some tunes this morning. Sharing a couple of them here as I write. Pink Floyd sings it well.

I hold on to many good memories of St. Petersburg FL beach during a time when I was considered family. We shared meals, beachside barbecues, each of us took turns reading The Mephisto Waltz, later trekking to the movie theater in downtown St. Petersburg to watch it together.

That was the summer the deck was built to connect the sandspur ridden path from the beach, winding between the sea oats abundant that year before arriving at the back of the cottage where the glass door led to the kitchen. A table with an umbrella called quietly for a long read of the Sunday Newspaper listening to the screech of sea gulls swarming over stale crusts of bread. 

London Broil was baking in the oven; fine food were consumed while we wore sandy swimsuits and flip flops and singing the tunes of the day playing on the radio. The pulsating shower head in the downstairs bath: drilling away the salt; stinging the fresh sunburn; washing clean all the cares of the world. And for that brief moment I belonged.

That was a beautiful summer; the Summer of '69.

Paul Mauriat, "Love is Blue" 1968