Look What I Found At The Thrift Store

Finding reusable items in second-hand stores is like going on a treasure hunt. Here are some of the things I've found over the years.

Digging through dusty bins can really pay off if you're looking for chairs, side tables, mirrors, kitchen gadgets, pots and pans, dishes, glassware, picture frames, art, tools, books and even clothes for a fraction of the original price. It's an economical way to decorate.

One of my favorite things to collect is American-made dinnerware. If you question buying used dishes, remember that when you eat at a restaurant, you're eating on dishes that have been used hundreds of times. With the right scrubbing, disinfectant and sanitation methods, they're good to go.

Cast iron skillets make great finds for cooking steaks, fried chicken, pork chops and more. Their durable construction makes the pan safe to use on the outdoor grill, over campfires or in the oven.

Look for the manufacturer's mark on the bottom for names like Wagner or Griswold.

The skillet I found was covered in years of baked-on grease. SOS pads, elbow grease and a light coating of oil made it look like new.

Second-hand stores are great place to find vintage items as people who are downsizing donate their excess household items. Goodwill, Salvation Army, Donation Station, Friends of Strays, and Junior League stores can yield treasures from dusty attics, barns, storage units and leftovers from estate sales.

Antique stores usually have a bargain area where slow-moving items are marked down. Pawn shops and flea markets have jewelry, guitars, clocks, kitchenware, appliances, tools patio furniture and more.

This Rookwood vase from 1904 is signed by its designer, KVH, for Katherine Van Horne. It's marked with the manufacturer's stamp and a Roman numeral on the bottom for the year. Vases like this can sell for hundreds to collectors. I found this one at a garage sale.

Keep an eye out for multiple-family garage sales where people are trying to get rid of grandma's "dusty old things." You never know what you might find.

Vintage Oak Washstand from the late 1800s

If you want to learn more about the history of vintage items, auctions are good places to start. An experienced auctioneer tells a story about the items to build interest from the crowd.

Auctions

1. Arrive early and check out the items for sale. 
2. Bring a magnifying glass and a flashlight to inspect hard-to-see areas. 
3. Items are sold as is and where is. 
4. Any defects are the buyer's responsibility.
5. Find out how much the auction charges for a buyer's premium. Sometimes it's ten-percent added to the winning bid amount.

Bidders are assigned a buyer's number to be used when bidding. When the bidding gets intense over an item, the price tends to go up.

Don't worry that you'll end up buying something accidentally. If there's a question of intent, the auctioneer usually asks, "Are you waving at someone or bidding?" You'll know if you've bought something when they yell, "SOLD!"

How Much Is It Worth?

Finding values is easy with an internet search. For years, collector series books were the only source for values. They're still a great source of manufacturer's history of where certain patterns originated. Remember, an item is only worth what the market will bear.

When you check eBay for an item's worth, sign in and look at the "sold" listings. Just because someone sets a sale price doesn't mean people will buy it for that much.

Hull coffee mug in tangerine (rare) color with a matching coffee server.

Knowing what to buy is as important as knowing what not to buy. Here are some things best left at the store.

Things To Avoid When Shopping at Second Hand Stores

1. Intimate clothing, like socks, panties, bras or swimsuits, unless tagged with original manufacturer's tags and in "new" unworn condition. Always launder before using.
2. Cloth covered furniture with odors or stains are best left behind. (Crime TV makes me suspicious of red stains.) 
3. If it smells funny or has mold or water damage, think twice before buying it.
4. Avoid books or paintings that smell of mold or mildew unless they have historical value or are family heirlooms. In that case professional restoration may be required.
5. Pass on porous items like wooden spoons, wooden bowls, non-washable fabrics or other items that can't be immersed in a cleaning solution and disinfected thoroughly.
6. Consumables like make-up, body lotion, perfume, edibles and other vintage food items are likely beyond their best-use date and aren't safe to eat or use. Perfume bottles can be cleaned but the contents will likely smell strong.
7. Kitchen appliances need to be tested. Some items like mixers, toasters and lamps are safer if they're rewired.
8. Shoes are questionable unless they show little or no wear. They can be of value as theater props or decorations.
9. Some baby car seats and cribs have been recalled due to dangerous or unsafe outcomes. Check for any recalls.
10. Some old items were made with paints that contained lead or radioactive materials, like illuminated clock faces painted with radium. Avoid these.
11. If an item just doesn't feel right when you pick it up or holding it makes the hair on your neck stand up, leave it behind.

Use your good judgement on used items.

Good luck in your search for vintage items. I hope you find the treasure of a lifetime!

Burgundy Lace Dishes from the 40s

Solomon Lithograph from the 40s

Marigold Carnival Tumblers from the 60s

Hull Mirror Brown Oven Proof Dishes USA

Saving Memories for My Sister

Where Are You Little Girl?

The summer I turned 16, my mother and I drove from Miami, Florida to Tallahassee to see my sister. The 500 mile journey took us to the campus of Florida State University where Janet was a Freshman.

She was living in a scholarship house off campus with a dozen or so other students. Their house mother served as a chaperone and substitute mother to these young ladies during their pursuit of a college degree. They shared meals at a giant dining room table with living quarters in an historic house just a couple of blocks from school.

Janet took me with her to her classes and to the campus library, and nearby coffee shops where I played "Little Red Riding Hood" on the jukebox.

As we stood outside the student union, a friend of hers drove up in his shiny new Chevy Corvair and stopped right next to where we were standing.

He rolled down the window and I'll never forget what he did next.

Be My Love - Mario Lanza

This dangerously handsome guy, dressed to the teeth in a light blue button-down shirt with a skinny tie, the hottest styles during the 60s, reached out and took my sister's hand. Then, without any further provocation, he belted out the song in the video above with as much gusto and volume as he could produce.

Afterward, he simply drove off just as smug and confident as he'd driven up.

I asked my sister if that was her boyfriend. She said, "No, he's just a drama student who is deeply into his craft."

I never forgot that few minutes where I thought it was the most romantic thing I'd ever seen.

Janet found her first true love on that campus, but it wasn't the Mario Lanza impersonator. She and Jim got married in April of 1967 in a church wedding with flowers, a long, flowing white dress, a best man, a flower girl (my little 5 year-old cousin) and two bridesmaids including yours truly.

She probably doesn't remember either of these events now. She's suffering from early onset dementia. It's up to the rest of the family to keep her memories safe. 

That responsibility falls mostly on my niece, Janet's daughter who lives in the same town in South Carolina.

Those of us who have served as caregivers know the heavy burden that this entails. It's a complex blend of guilt and exhaustion from trying to do it all, caring for your mother while carrying a full-time job, caring for a retired spouse, a household and the daily grind of life's activities.

I admire her perseverance and fortitude. You know who your are.

My Take on the Sun Princess US Inaugural Voyage

 

We're seasoned cruisers with nearly a dozen trips behind us. At this point, we know what we like and don't like about the different size ships.

In October 2024, we took an inaugural cruise on the Sun Princess which had just completed its European tour. This was the first time the ship was heading out from the United States.

We flew in the night before and enjoyed a wonderful room at The Westin Fort Lauderdale Beach Resort.

The hotel was directly across from the Atlantic Ocean with a beautiful view. The hotel staff was friendly, the room was clean and quiet and we were pleased with our short stay. Walking distance from the hotel, we found the Casa Blanca Restaurant where we shared a burger and glasses of delicious sangria.

Casa Blanca in Ft. Lauderdale

The next morning we took an Uber to the port.

Embarkation day is a big challenge for many of the cruise lines. There are hundreds of people showing up at the same time, all needing to go through processing to get badges, check their luggage, go through security and then walk through the maize of jetways to board the ship.

It was clear this was the first time the port employees had seen such a volume of passengers and they were ill prepared to process so many people at once.

Hopefully, with some experience, they will have ironed out the embarkation issues and have a better method of crowd handling.

The walk back to the hotel.

We entered the queue of waiting people, after making our way all the way to the end of the line which had doubled back on itself. Standing in the tropical 90 degree heat with no cross breeze or fans in the outdoor warehouse-type space was stifling. A couple of times I thought my hubby was going to pass out.

We had checked our roller bags at the entrance, so we were carrying our heavy backpacks as the line crept slowly towards the door.

There's supposed to be a priority boarding for seasoned cruisers who've achieved "Elite" or "Platinum" status due to loyalty or number of cruises taken, but there was no such thing in place.

Once inside, the line crept slowly through a security checkpoint where, everything must be placed on the conveyor belt - hats, purses, phones, luggage, all had to go through the scanner.

It was not the highlight of our trip.

The send-off when the ship first left the port was spectacular. We watched a pair of tugboats gracefully dancing in a performance with water sprays that created a rainbow effect. It was amazing!

The Tugboat Show

We couldn't help but make comparisons to other cruises we've taken. We've been on the Ruby Princess a few times. It's a smaller ship built in 2008, that holds around 3,080 guests plus a crew of  1,200. We love the quaint feel of the cozy restaurants and public places that are welcoming and warm. The Piazza has an ambiance that brings back times gone by.

In contrast, the Sun Princess, the newest ship in the fleet, holds up to 4,300 guests with a crew of 1,600. You'd be surprised at the difference 1,600 extra people make on a ship, even of this size. The shops were crowded, the restaurants had wait lists and even the bars had long wait times for service.

In port at Amber Cove

We found ourselves engulfed in a sea of passengers no matter what the venue, whether in ship stores, dining rooms, bars or at the Piazza. 

The Piazza

Speaking of which, the multi-level seating in the Piazza on the Sun, although convenient and comfortable, lacks personality.

While the super large screen makes it easier to see performances, games or magic shows on the Sun, the comforting ambiance is lacking.

We bought the drink package because we like specialty coffee, premium desserts, and the reserve dining experience where you can dine at anytime without waiting in line. With the new Sanctuary collection, the reserve collection option is removed and passenger's are assigned a restaurant of their own.

This was my dinner the first night in the Sanctuary restaurant. The steak was tough, the baked potato was hard as were the veggies. The hubby sent his Alfredo back as it was hard and cold. The Maître de wasn't too accommodating and we left with food uneaten.

As mini-suite Sanctuary guests, we were allowed to have breakfast each morning in the Sanctuary dining room but mostly skipped the restaurant and went to the buffet where they had prepare-to-order omelets and assorted breakfast food and pastries. 

For specialty restaurants, we had difficulty getting a reservation at our favorite, Catch by Rudi, so we chose the Crown Grill. It was our first time to be disappointed with the service and "quality" of the meal. We ate less than half of the lobster dinner and left before dessert.

We had much better luck with a new specialty dining place called Umai, Teppanyaki which is a hibachi grill-type venue where you sit with other people and the chef puts on a show of cooking, singing and telling jokes. 

The shrimp flipped into the chef's hat trick was different when he tossed in an egg and caught it expertly.

The food was fantastic, the whole meal was fabulous. We couldn't have asked for anything better.

Returning from a tiring day in port, we tried another new place called American Diner. That was far and away from anything resembling a diner that we could imagine. Service was slow - we must have been between shifts because we gave our order to three different people before they finally got it.

Milkshakes were watery and tasteless. The hot dogs were served on a Brioche roll (where's the beef?) with a smearing of "bacon onion jam" which we had asked them to leave off. We left most of our meal on the table.

For us, it's an easy choice to book on the smaller ships. They're more personable, friendly, and less crowded. 

Despite my complaints about this voyage, we remain steadfast cruisers who will continue to sail on the Princess line of ships. Just, for now, not the mega sized ones. See you on the sea.

Bain Honaker House in Farmersville Texas - Historic Houses

Nestled into a quiet rural street east of the Farmersville square, the Bain Honaker house is a reminder of the struggles of daily living in the 1800s. Constructed just after the Civil War, its builder and first owner, Anna Melissa Bain, was the widow of John Alexander Bain, 1823 - 1862. She was a woman of vision who with keen foresight, bought nearly seven acres in a small town fifty miles northeast of Dallas.

Inside the house there's a collection of items from workers, gun owners, revolutionaries, widows, orphans, musical instruments and lasting architectural design. Visitors can browse through antique books, old photos, vintage clothing, parlor-style furniture, and the remnants of lives well-lived.

Decorated in period-correct wallpaper, the interior is warmed by a shared fireplace in the wall between the parlor and the sitting room. 

"Mid-nineteenth-century homes included a formal parlor, sometimes described by social historians as a sacred space, where weddings, funerals, and other public events were held."

At times, it might hold the body of the deceased on display for visitation by friends and relatives prior to the funeral. The parlor was likely the most expensively furnished and elegant room in the entire house.

"The parlor furniture was made of richer materials and included the piano for entertaining guests. The cozier sitting room was used by the family for reading and sewing."₂

A ceramic and enamel container held excess ashes from the hearth. As the fire was the primary source of heat, it would need to be emptied on a regular basis. 

"A family would gather in the sitting room in the evening, drawing close together to share the light of an oil or kerosene lamp.

Reading was a popular activity during which the family was likely to listen to someone reading aloud. Typically, the man of the house would read aloud, while women engaged in some form of sewing or handwork."

A writing desk and a comfortable chair were highly valued items in a sitting room.

Anna Hicks Bain, born in 1834, was eleven years younger than her husband, John Alexander Bain, who passed away in November 1862. A widow at twenty-eight years old, she raised five daughters in the house following his death. She smartly supplemented her income by dividing the 6.7 acres into smaller plots which became commercial properties and by taking in boarders in the spare rooms upstairs.

This room offered entry to the house through the back doors, possibly used as the servant's entrance, or to allow boarders a private access to the stairs. It served as a mud room in inclement weather to store wet boots and outer garments or in summer as a place to cool off. Off the screened porch is a brick path leading to the outhouse and the fresh-water well.

The porch allowed access to the informal dining area, possibly an eat-in kitchen where food was prepared. Cold food was stored in the wooden ice box in the corner. A sign would be put in the window to let the ice man know what size block to bring in from his truck.

Many of the daily chores revolved around cooking, baking, cleaning, washing, mending, raising chickens, planting a garden, gathering the harvest. In the absence of modern appliances, most work was done by hand. Sundays were a day of rest and worship.

When the Bain-Honaker house was built in 1865, it was a time of national unrest with the war between the states just winding down. Supplies were scarce, tensions were high and many wounded men were returning home after battling neighbors and brothers over issues of States' Rights versus Federal Authority, Westward expansion and slavery. The years 1860 - 1864 marked some of our nation's most difficult times, certainly a difficult time to lose a husband and raise five children alone.

Music played a large role in daily life in the absence of telephones, television or radio. Books and reading, singing, sewing and hand crafts kept idle hands busy.

Anna Bain's daughters, Mary and Catherine (Cassia) married brothers Henry Honaker and Andrew Honaker. Cassia lived in the house until her death in 1928. Five generations lived in the house.₃

The bathroom was upgraded over the years. There's an upstairs bathroom with the old cast iron bathtub and another remodeled bathroom downstairs.

The house was donated to the Farmersville Historical Society by a descendant in 1989.

Farmersville, Texas is the place to visit if you enjoy quaint, old-fashioned towns with antiques and curiosities. Located near Highway 380 and Highway 78, the town has friendly merchants, good food, a quiet laid-back environment and the largest yarn store in Texas.

Sources:

1. John Alexander Bain, March 15, 1823 - November 1862. Facts from Ancestry dot com
2. Anna Hicks Bain, 1834 - 1906
3. Collin County Texas dot Gov, Bain Honaker House

Everyone Has A Story - The Tough Part is Getting It Out

 

Memoirs & Other Tall Tales, Peggy Cole

Coming soon to Amazon on eBook and in Paperback

It's been a long, hot summer and my muse has been mostly on vacation until this week. My recent desire to work on my latest book is a welcome change to previous neglect. I find that posting about my progress (or lack of it) makes me work harder either out of guilt or shame. Who knows?

I've passed the halfway point of putting together this collection of stories, some old, some new, some familiar to those who know me from other writing sites. I hope that these stories have been improved by all the time I've spent editing stuff that's already written. That has to be the worst part of writing a book, but a necessary part. 

Years of gathering information from family members, friends, even adversaries, indicates that everybody has a story to tell. The hard part is making the effort to write it down. And then, properly changing the names of the guilty (fictional characters) before publishing.

So I'm off to my battered keyboard which bears signs of my abuse. My ballpein-hammer style of typing is a gift learned during the old manual typewriter days of my youth.

This prototype cover, designed and created by Michael Friedman, is printed out and tacked to the wall in clear view of my laptop in hopes it will inspire or guilt me into working on my story. Over and out for this post and back to work. 

Happy writing to all aspiring and actual writers. All hands on deck, fellow authors!

Thursday's word count: 38,047 at 207 pages 8/25/2022

Saturday's word count: 42,056 at 225 pages 8/27/2022

Tuesday's word count: 48,020 at 240 pages 8/30/2022 

Friday's word count: 50,957 9/8/2022

People Watching in the Waiting Room

One thing that ties people together is time spent in a doctor's waiting room. The setting is familiar no matter what kind of doctor. There are the stiff, upright chairs, bright overhead lights, people behind glass panes, and often, an elevator that dings in the background.

Attendants in scrubs call out patient names while each new arrival is questioned about birthdate, insurance and changes since the last visit. They're told to take a seat and wait.

Last week's journey took me to the Eye Institute Surgical Center where folks of a certain age gathered, hopeful for improvement in their eyesight. Arrival time was nine am with instructions to be upstairs by that time after a night of fasting and no coffee or liquids of any kind. Most sat stiffly, bringing along a solid case of anxiety. To have someone cut on your eyes is scary. A couple of dozen other people and I waited to hear our names with little to do besides fidget and observe.

My driver and I chose seats in a tight corner across from a trio of women, two staring at their phones while a third sat, stony-faced, waiting her turn. Once she'd been called to the back, her companions left in search of food. They were replaced by a man who sought a chair to fit his linebacker girth. The tiny chairs were no match and as he lowered himself into it, the chair emitted a painful squeal.

It was a good time to study traffic patterns from the 4th story view of Central Expressway, busy any time, day or night. Cars sped by, coming and going to important places, their occupants unaware of our room full of tense, clean-scrubbed, lotion-less patients praying for a miracle.

Names were called to come to the room where forms were to be signed absolving the facility of responsibility for injury or death at their hand. A photo was taken to confirm our identity and add to our permanent record. Time ticked by at a snail's pace.

We maintained social distances, adorned with itchy face masks enhancing our discomfort. It was impossible not to stare as one frail woman dozed off in her wheelchair, bent forward, head down, those nearby praying she didn't nose-dive off onto the spotless tile floor. She woke with a start, and in near-blindness, demanded to know her whereabouts. Her son had "dropped me off here without a word." His booming voice, like a beacon in the cold silence echoed from the tiny registration room where her wheelchair wouldn't fit.

Finally, around 11:00 am, my name was called and I trudged back to the frigid pre-op room, changed into a gown and hair net, was hooked up to an IV and oxygen and drifted off into the land of the oblivious. Thirty minutes later I was in the post-op area drinking apple juice and waiting for my ride home; home sweet home. The cataract surgery was a success and now I await scheduling for the other eye.

People from the 1880s - CD and Eula

When I was barely a teen, I met a couple at church who were in their 80s. C.D. and Eula Walker. I was enamored by their old fashioned way of talking, their infallible courtesy, their acceptance of our family as their own.

They had an after-church gathering at their house one Sunday and I was fascinated by the way the food was presented in fancy dishes and served buffet style from a sideboard. I remember someone asking Mrs. Walker where her husband had gotten off to. 

"He's probably at the buffet building sideboards on his plate," she answered. I wasn't sure what that meant so my dad later explained it was like having a wagon with wood rails along the side so you could pile things higher. 

We sat in their parlor on red velveteen couches with carved legs and arms. Crystal chandeliers twinkled in the dim lighting of the room as we ate our food and communed with one another.

Their house was filled with family heirlooms that looked to be from the "roaring 20s" and treasures from their travels abroad. Things they had collected mid-life when they were around 40. Mr. Walker took us on a tour of his garage where, hanging on the wall was a helmet from World War I and other mementos of days gone by. They would have been born in the 1800s around the same time as my own grandparents who lived out of state and we saw rarely. The Walkers had no children so they adopted us as a surrogate family.

I had foolishly worn my watch out to play and the band broke off. C.D. repaired it so that I could wear it like a pin attaching it to a gold Fleur de Lis broach. He presented it to me as a gift one Sunday at church. Having lived through the Great Depression, they learned to repurpose and reuse everything. Nothing was wasted.

How I wish I had thought to ask them about their lives, their travels, their experiences before it was too late.

Father's Day 2019

On Father's day I fondly recall the many things my dad taught his three children like how to catch fish, the value of hard work and the joy of learning to do things ourselves. He was big on discipline like postponing gratification and held up the importance of an enduring faith. As a Sunday School Teacher he brought the Bible to life with his well-prepared lessons.

It was during the early sixties he seated a person in the front rows at our church, someone who by policy was only allowed to sit at the back of the congregation. Dad disregarded tradition one Sunday morning when he served as an usher and for a time, we were not welcome at that church. He carried on anyway, teaching the Bible in our living room every Sunday morning until that preacher left for another church in the Deep South. Times were different back then.

The Only Church in Town

Dad was a great story teller and shared many of the stories about his own father who was born in 1880, who raised six children as a single parent while working on the railroad as a mail-carrier and who later worked as a sharecropper.

Stern and strict at times, Dad believed that "sparing the rod" spoiled the child. But he also could be funny and witty. He was a good singer and liked to play the guitar and sing, "You are My Sunshine" and "Red River Valley."

He had a great smile and an enduring love for animals. He taught us that all life was valuable. I'm grateful that he stuck around to raise us after a trial separation before I was born. My older sister and brother were small children when Mom moved back home to Grandmother's house in Texas. He followed his own father's advice and did the right thing staying around to see the children he brought into the world all graduate high school and leave home before he and Mom parted ways.

He's been gone from this world since 2005 but I will always remember him fondly and often replay in my head that last time he told me, "I love you, my darling."

Remembering Paula - 2017

This story is dedicated to my friend of many years, Paula.

Paula and I managed to stay in touch over the years despite living in different states. The calls would get more frequent before our annual week spent together at the beach.

We'd played phone tag for days and I came home to a voice mail from her apologizing for not getting back to me.

When I called her back she told me the worst news possible.

She'd spent ten days in the hospital being poked and run through a battery of tests. They told her the results via an impersonal phone call from her doctor.

Her doctor told her she had Stage 4 pancreatic cancer.

1983 at the Gold Twin Towers in Dallas

Over the years, our lives seemed to run in parallel. Both of us moved from owning our own hair salons to earning our real estate licenses, to later, taking jobs in the corporate world.

We had each become instant stepmothers to five-year old boys through marriage. We shared the heartbreak of those failed relationships and our bankrupt businesses. We also shared the joy of coming back from darkness to better times.

In 1983, during the heyday of the TV show "Dallas" she came to Texas for a short visit. Naturally, we visited Southfork Ranch and the Gold Twin Towers where JR's fictional office was.

September of1988 we spent our first week together at her timeshare on the beach. We shopped at Publix for the week's groceries, cooked on the outdoor grills and enjoyed spectacular views of the sunset, before staying up all night laughing and watching old movies.

1996 North Reddington Shores, Florida

Every year, we'd spend 7 days walking the beach, baking in the sun and swimming in the pool. We'd pack up with sadness at the end of the week and drive back to her house spending our last night together watching reruns of Star Trek. We dreaded the early morning flight when she'd drop me off at Tampa Airport. When I called to tell her I was home safe, she'd say she'd cried all the way home. She felt things deeply and wasn't afraid to show her emotions.

We shared numerous meals at the Village Inn Pancake House, Houlihan's, Friday's, Puerta Vallarta and Café Pepe where we ordered paella with sangria and homemade bread. We shopped the thrift stores for stuff to sell in my antique store and we drove around the neighborhood where parrots from Busch Gardens roosted in trees near her house. My old house was only a few blocks from hers and we'd do a drive-by.
During the 90s we'd meet 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 made the two-hour drive from Tampa to Le High Acres to be at his funeral and take me home with her. She was a source of comfort and friendship during my grief.

In 2009, she was proud that she finally got into her first 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'd finally conquered her life-long battle with weight control.

2008 North Reddington Shores

She'd already been through agonizing pain and a long battle to find a doctor to do hip replacement surgery. She was still in her fifties. Her osteoarthritis had destroyed her hip joint making it nearly impossible to walk. Our shopping trips to favorite places like Donation Station, Goodwill and other thrift stores met less enthusiasm from my friend whose every step radiated pain.

1993 Kongfrontation

In 2015, she underwent spinal surgery, fusing five vertebra and several vertebra in her neck. The symptoms of numbness in her hands, the unexpected falls and other more disturbing side effects lessened. She looked great. I was proud of her resilience and resolve.

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

I was proud of her restraint and mine as well. 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.

My friend was in Stage 4 of cancer, too weak to take the chemotherapy which might prolong her life a few months, maybe a couple of years. But she was resilient, still hoping to beat this disease that made her look as she described, "like a skeleton."

I wanted to fly down there immediately but she wanted me to wait until she started chemotherapy. At that point she had stopped eating because of the gastric reactions she'd have after any kind of food.

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."

Even to the end, she remained grateful for the small comforts and blessings of life: friends who loved her dearly; two precious dogs whose awareness of her situation was clear in their actions; a mother who never expected to outlive her daughter after her own critical illness the prior year. Paula had spent months helping her mother recover a near fatal infection in 2015.

I treasure my photos from forty years spent with my friend. Her house was always welcoming, warm and casually inviting. I have fond memories of her cockatiel, T.C. Wilson, who talked to the dogs that came and went over the 20 years he lived. We shared mutual losses of beloved canines, felines, birds, relatives and friends over the years.

1995 with Nevy and Chloe

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

She was a friend who remembered to call on birthdays, holidays and in-between, always sharing the latest news and listening and sharing the ups and downs of our jobs.

She had an amazing recall of my family, the names of aunts and cousins, 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 short 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.

For the Good Times

The heartbreak isn't over but I'm beginning to see the light. I've never lost a best friend before. 

Yesterday I was measuring the refrigerator for a replacement. After eighteen years, the old one has finally given up on making things cold. All of a sudden, a magnet jumped off the side wall. When I fished it out from the narrow space between the counter and the appliance, I realized it was the magnet my best friend gave me many years ago. It seemed like a sign to me that she's still with me. I smiled for the first time since Friday when she passed away.

The magnet reminded me of the time at her house when I was raiding her refrigerator and slammed the door too hard. Her little ceramic angel magnet fell off and broke in two. The head rolled underneath and was lost in the dark kingdom of dust bunnies. She'd had to leave town unexpectedly, following the loss of her grandmother and my return flight was not changeable, so I waited alone to go home. I wrote her a short, sorrowful note of apology with an offer to buy her a new magnet to replace the one I ruined. She forgave me with no hesitation and the matter was closed.

My next trip to her house, I was amazed to find the angel magnet hanging proudly on the front of the refrigerator door. She'd found the lost piece and glued it back together. I carefully closed the door on the cold realm of leftovers and sodas and smiled.

My friend will never call me again. We will never walk on the beach looking for shells. Or watch the glorious beauty of sunset we like did so many times on our vacations together. Somehow, I cling to the hope that we are still together, even if separated by life and death, and that one day we will again walk along the shore in awe of God's handiwork.

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.