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On Sunday I was driving through northern Wayne County to meet a customer and look at a piece of land. Little did I know that the day ahead, and today as well, would find me filled with thoughts (and regrets) of my Dad.
Driving along the rural, fog-misted countryside dotted with farms, horses, and Holsteins, I found myself taking a bittersweet trip down memory lane as I passed by familiar signs: Upper Woods Pond, Duck Harbor Pond, Lower Woods Pond. These were places where my dad took me fishing, or planned to, one day.
I showed my customer a piece of God’s country – man, what a beautiful piece of land. Nearly ten acres, overlooking a relatively unspoiled lake. I found myself stating “My dad would have liked this place.”
After leaving my customer, I stopped short in the road by the Upper Woods Pond sign and headed back. When I got there, I was surprised that the pond was much smaller than I remembered. Heck, it had been more than 25 years since I’d been there with Dad. I don’t think we caught anything there, but somehow, I thought the pond was much bigger.
Upper Woods Pond
An older man was hooking up his boat and heading out. “Catch anything?” I asked. “No,” he said, then proceeded to tell me that his young grandson, now curled up in a ball on the seat of the pickup truck, was not feeling well and wanted to go home. I smiled and said goodbye. I looked out over the water and saw a boat with two people in it, casting their lines.
Was it me and Dad? – were we sitting in companionable silence, or perhaps was I complaining that nothing was biting? Dad was saying “You gotta have patience, patience.” Then he shook his head and lit up a Camel.
Dad, why couldn’t it always have been like this? Why couldn’t we have gone fishing together more? Why couldn’t the You and Me who got along great in the boat get along in the house?
“You haven’t got any brains, you’re so ignert!“
“You’re not my father! I hate you!”
“No wonder boys don’t like you, you’re ugly when you look like that….”
Just a bit further down the road was Lower Woods Pond. This was more like I remembered – but I didn’t realize it was a little bigger than Upper Woods Pond.
There’s Dad and me standing on the dike, casting lines, casting…trying for the big one. Mom was over by the car with Peaches, that stupid dog that Dad and I both hated.
“I hate that dog…“
“Me too….”
We had that in common, we had fishing in common, we both liked The African Queen, James Bond, Columbo, and Clint Eastwood.
Why couldn’t we like each other better?
“Karen, you stupid ***![censored]“
“I wish you had never adopted me!”
Hurtful words, painful to both of us…too many, too late to erase them.
Further down I make my last stop – Duck Harbor. I’m coming here because I always wanted to and Dad and I never got to go there together – don’t know why. We went on early morning fishing trips a lot…never was sure why we didn’t go to Duck Harbor. When I arrived, I realized why. It was too built up; too many houses, too much activity on the lake. Dad liked wild, untamed country.
Later that afternoon, The Man About the Place and I were at Promised Land State Park with the kids. We inflated the boat I bought last year. I wanted to bring the fishing poles but they were missing hooks and I forgot how Dad had taught me to tie them; they’ll have to wait until another time, when I have time to Google “fisherman’s knots.”
Anyway, The Man and I took turns taking the kids out on the lake – floating somewhat aimlessly. My oldest daughter was frustrated that we didn’t seem to move quickly enough; constantly seeing a certain house was bothering her. She wanted to get past it.
I didn’t light up a Camel, but I did find myself saying “Ya gotta have patience, Daughter. Patience.”
Dad, I have so many regrets, for things I said, things you said, for the way things were and the way they 
could have been.
I loved the Dad in the boat with the license on his ratty red coat, his bright orange hunting hat, and a six pack of PBR in the cooler (with one can actually empty, with a false bottom to hide illegally gained “over the limit” trout). He let me have sips of his beer (never told Mom). Somehow, the memory tells me I liked the beer; even though now I can’t stand the taste of beer..weird…
You were my dad, my hero, even if you did lose my stringer of fish down the Delaware River because I caught more than you.
I miss you, I need you, I love you. So much it hurts – why am I realizing this only now, years after you’ve gone? Why did it take me so, so, so VERY long to forgive you?
Mark 11:25 “And when you stand praying, if you hold anything against anyone, forgive him, so that your Father in heaven may forgive you your sins.”
I have SO been looking forward to the new Get Smart movie. I loathe the fact that Nick at Nite dropped the
Don & Barbara - The Original Smart Team
excellent series in order to run 14 back to back episodes of Roseanne and The Fresh Prince of Bel Air every night. To me, Nick at Nite is not about junk from the 80s and 90s, it was all about the cool stuff that you can’t really see anywhere else – Get Smart, The Patty Duke Show, Mr. Ed, Make Room for Daddy…but that was the Nick at Nite of many years ago.
*I have said it before, and I’ll say it again, I was born in the wrong generation.*
I will say this – I was not very disappointed in the new movie. I was a little disappointed, but overall, I’ll give the new Get Smart movie a B+.
- Steve Carell did an excellent job as Max. He did not try to be Don Adams, which was smart, because he couldn’t. His Max is different – smarter, but still clumsy and loveable.I admit, this was my biggest fear, that he’d try to be Don Adams. While he obviously was his own Max, Steve managed to deliver some of the stuff that made us love Max in the first place back in the day. He did use the shoe phone, he pulled the “Would you believe….” line on Siegfried….and he brought in the line “Missed it by THAT much!” Kudos to Steve – you didn’t disappoint me at all, you impressed me, and I love your Max almost as much as I love Don’s.
- Which brings me to Agent 99. Anne Hathaway was great. BUT….she was not 99. This 99 was mean spirited thoughout most of the movie. Barbara Feldon was able to be a very competent agent without being a bully….she never lost her feminine softness. Anne’s 99 was no different than your typical Bond Girl agent, trying to be a man in a woman’s body, I suppose…I think if she were more subtle it would have been better.
- Tough Guy Agent 23 – Funny. I I loved it when 23 destroyed Larraby’s cell phone during a meeting (but it wasn’t Larraby’s phone..LOL) My husband about died when Max kissed Agent 23 in order to get away, but I thought it was brilliantly funny!
- Alan Arkin was an awesome Chief. He was a bit softer around the edges than Edward Platt, but I also could never see Edward Platt punching out the Vice President or a Secret Service guy, either.
- Cameos: Thank you for bringing in Bill Murray as poor Agent 13, the agent stuck in a tree. I used to love wondering where Agent 13 would show up next on the series. Too bad Bill only had this one scene…but the best cameo was Bernie Koppell (the original Sigfried.) I was disappointed that Barbara Feldon did not appear in a cameo role; I read a rumor somewhere that she declined due to health reasons.
Hey – why did Larraby never have a number? Interesting.
Anne & Steve - Smartly Different
I also enjoyed some of the pop culture stabs – James Caan, the President of the United States, doesn’t pronounce nuclear correctly and The Chief gets really mad and yells NUCLEAR! NUCLEAR!. While Sigfried is planning on bombing Los Angeles, his partner says “Too bad about losing all the movie stars though…” and Sigfried says “Indeed…what will the world do without their keen political advice?”
Things that kept the movie from getting an A (for me…I realize this won’t bother most people, but it bothers me and will keep me from letting the kids see it) is the scattered language and some of the mildly crude sexual jokes.
I’ve seen and heard much worse, yes…BUT…
The original TV show as wildly funny and entertaining without even the tiniest trace of inappropriate remarks or situations.
Like I said, I was born in the wrong generation.
Okay, so this guy finally admits that he “drank some wine” before going to bed and then later getting up and having a hit & run accident, followed a few hours later by being involved in ANOTHER accident and killing a mother of three.
But the state troopers at the time did not feel it was necessary to check to see if the driver was DUI.
Interesting that the driver was the stepson of a state trooper involved in the investigation.
The accident occurred 2 years ago. Now, he’s finally “come clean” and claims that he drank some red wine, went to bed, got up hours later and dashed off to work in a mad rush. (Okay, sure….I don’t know about you but if I drank “some” red wine and slept for a few hours I’d probably be pretty sober by morning, but hey, I guess it depends on what your definition if “some” is.)
Anyway, he claims that his stepfather did NOT try to hide anything and in fact, told him to “be a man” and take responsibility for this. The way it was worded made it seem that the trooper told him this at the time of the accident, but I could be wrong..but if I’m not…
Which begs the question: if the stepfather / trooper told him to “be a man” and “take responsibility” why didn’t the trooper step forward and say “Hey, he was drinking…” While three children are without their mother, this poor guy has been “unable to drive” and has needed “counseling.” Oh, you poor thing.
On the day of the accident the hospital took blood tests which showed him to have a significant blood alcohol content, even then – HOURS and HOURS after he supposedly drank “some” wine….why was this NEVER investigated THEN?? Didn’t someone at the hospital think “Hey, this guy caused an accident that KILLED a woman, shouldn’t this blood alcohol level be reported?” Oh yeah, his PRIVACY, his precious, murderous PRIVACY needed to be protected.
This is only coming to light because if a very diligent estate attorney for the victim’s family. If it weren’t for the attorney, this would have been swept into a pothole, or under the trooper’s hat.
Coming from a family of drinkers, and having lost a brother to drinking and driving, this is a very sore spot with me.
DRUNK DRIVING SHOULD BE A CAPITAL OFFENSE. It kills INNOCENT PEOPLE who have families who need them. It should also be a CRIMINAL OFFENSE with STIFF PENALTIES – as in, JAIL TIME, for those who cover it up.
Doctors and nurses are required to report suspected child abuse, they should also be required to report DUI offenses as well.
While trolling the Salvation Army bookshelf one day, I came across a treasure: The Haunting of Hill House
At 14, I read Pet Sematary
Over the years though I grew weary of the consistant stream of profanity. When I was a kid, it was fun to read all the words I was not allowed to say. When I was an adult, it was tiresome to read the words I did not want to say.
At some point in time, I lost interest in Stephen King and got rid of my paperback collection, though I’ve kept a few favorites here and there (probably my favorite books are The Stand
Shirley Jackson’s book entertained me without the unnecessary expletives and crude references that seem to be King’s trademark; I prefer the more subtle (hauntingly subtle?) approach as I wander through this world…real or make believe. I could relate to Eleanor, on a certain level; my mom had been very controlling of me until I was well into my 20s, so I understood her need for freedom…I closed the book wondering if there really is a Hill House somewhere in the world, and if there is – I’d love to go see it.
Hill House – not sane – stood by itself against its hills, holding darkness within. It had stood so for eighty years and might stand for eighty more. Within, walls continued upright, bricks met neatly, floors were firm and doors were sensibly shut. Silence lay steadily against the wood and stone of Hill House and whatever walked there, walked alone.
When describing the house, Jackson tells us that just looking at Hill House causes one to be upset, disturbed; things seem wrong; and that’s before stepping inside. I’ve seen houses like that – on the surface, you can’t really put your finger on anything, but there is an undercurrent with certain houses. Attic windows look like sinister eyes watching your every move, doors look like gaping mouths ready to devour you as you enter…while other homes look normal; benign, welcoming.
I thoroughly enjoyed The Haunting of Hill House, and wish there were more books as scary – without the foul language…more and more, I’m convinced that I’m wand’ring through the wrong generation.
People in the church come in several categories – and the two that I’m thinking about today are the Mooches and the Moochees.
The Mooches are those people who prey on the soft-hearted Moochees. They keep asking, and asking, for more, and more and more, and the Moochees, so tender-hearted and anxious to serve their Savior, give, and give, and give.
The Mooches take without giving back, or they promise to give back in the future, as soon as they get a job. But no job is available to their liking. Or they get a job and either quit after a couple of days or get fired because they have many excuses not to show up: “I have a headache,” or “It rained and I might get wet and then get pneumonia,” or “It snowed and I couldn’t find a shovel,” etc. Thus the Mooch has no place to go, no money to pay for rent or food, and as a brother in Christ, it is the obligation of the Moochee to support the Mooch, till the Mooch gets on his feet.
The Mooch is very smart – the Mooch knows how to get free room and board, and sure as heck isn’t going to do anything to upset that apple cart! The Moochee is trapped.
There is a passage in the Bible, however, that should come as a relief to Moochees everywhere. The Bible says that you do not have to put up with this, and in fact, the Bible gives you specific permission to oust the Mooch and say “GET A JOB, MOOCH!”
Here it is, from 2 Thes. 3:6 – 15
6In the name of the Lord Jesus Christ, we command you, brothers, to keep away from every brother who is idle and does not live according to the teaching[a] you received from us. 7For you yourselves know how you ought to follow our example. We were not idle when we were with you, 8nor did we eat anyone’s food without paying for it. On the contrary, we worked night and day, laboring and toiling so that we would not be a burden to any of you. 9We did this, not because we do not have the right to such help, but in order to make ourselves a model for you to follow. 10For even when we were with you, we gave you this rule: “If a man will not work, he shall not eat.”
11We hear that some among you are idle. They are not busy; they are busybodies. 12Such people we command and urge in the Lord Jesus Christ to settle down and earn the bread they eat. 13And as for you, brothers, never tire of doing what is right.
14If anyone does not obey our instruction in this letter, take special note of him. Do not associate with him, in order that he may feel ashamed. 15Yet do not regard him as an enemy, but warn him as a brother.
This is not about someone physically unable to work. This is about someone who won’t work, for whatever reason. The person who can do anything else – go shopping, go visiting, go on trips or vacations, etc…it is just that nasty job that they can’t handle.
Clearly the Bible teaching above indicates that not only is the Mooch Freeloader in the wrong, but the Moochee is in the wrong as well, by enabling the Mooch to continue Mooching.
Hey, it’s the Aposle Paul’s words – from the Inspiration of the Holy Spirit, not mine. Don’t mooch, and don’t encourage or support mooches and their freeloading. Seems simple enough.
Previously, I wrote a brief comment about my experience at the recent Women of Faith conference, and especially my encounter with Sheila Walsh – who spoke about her experience dealing with the death of her dad, who drowned in a river when she was five.
Sheila’s angst over not having her dad for all those years spoke volumes to me. In recent months I’ve been really struggling with the fact that I am an orphan. Even though I was adopted by a couple after the death of my mother when I was a toddler, I spent my entire life feeling very much the “outsider” to varying degrees – sometimes it was just some random fleeting thoughts, but as I got older it felt even more “true” and much stronger.
My mother, Ellen, died when I was a toddler, but my father Nick simply took off. I do not believe he even stayed around to sign the adoption papers – I have vague recollections of Nick, but nothing more than a shadowy figure from the distant past who wore a cowboy hat. In fact, my only memory of him – if it is of him – is of him ordering me back to bed. It could have been one of my brothers, I suppose, but for some reason I always remembered opening my bedroom door and seeing Nick jump off the sofa yelling at me to “GET BACK IN THERE.”
Nick liked to drink, and liked to be away from his kids. My brother Michael has stronger memories of Nick since he was older. I really resent not remembering my mother or father.
My adoptive dad and I didn’t get along too well – I guess we did up until I was about 8 or 9, but it went downhill from there. I remember spitting out the words “YOU’RE NOT MY FATHER!” to him in anger during a fight, and he’d reply with “HE WAS GOOD FOR NOTHING AND DIDN’T WANT ANYTHING TO DO WITH YOU ANYWAY…”
Was he? Was he really good for nothing? Did he really want nothing to do with us? The Pollyanna within me wants to know if he stayed away from us out of love – maybe he knew that he would totally stink at being a father…and he figured it was for the best if he disappeared. I don’t know, and I’ll never know, since he died a long, long time ago – when I was about 12, I guess.
Up until his death, I entertained ideas of finding him, reuniting with him, and making him love me. I never felt like my adopted dad loved me, though I suppose he did in his own way. I longed for, and yearned for, my “real family.” Does that make me ungrateful to my adopted family? I suppose.
I’m jealous of people who were adopted and then later reunited with their birth parents. That can’t happen with me….they’re dead. Now that my adopted parents are both dead too, that connection is gone as well, and I feel like an Ishmael…in spite of my wonderful husband and beautiful kids, I still feel somewhat disconnected from everyone and everything and I hate Mother’s and Father’s Days.
As I said, I could so relate to Sheila’s yearning for that father who was missing from her life. I have no idea if my father is in heaven or hell, but all I do know is, that I wish I had my Daddy.
Whoever he is.
I like to say that I love classic movies because of the more creative dialogues; back in the day strong words had to be exchanged without expletives…I love them because there is no chance of seeing people fall into bed with one another, no chance of seeing naked flesh against more of the same. Even in my rebel-heathen days, I never enjoyed seeing people do what should be kept behind closed doors.
But the truth is, I love old movies because of the beautiful people – male and female. They seem to be of a different caliber than the “hot stars” of today; maybe it’s my imagination, but I think these stars were just more appealing and delicious than those gracing the screen today. Maybe it’s because they behaved, on screen, with more class; because they dressed so elegantly..I don’t know. But at any rate here is a rundown of my personal favorites.
Paul Newman. Who doesn’t love Paul Newman??? It’s almost a cliche to have him on my list, but I couldn’t leave him off! I first discovered his cuteness in Cat on a Hot Tin Roof. I soon gobbled up such classics as The Sting, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid (sorry, not a Redford fan though) Cool Hand Luke, and The Long Hot Summer. His chemistry sizzles whenever he’s on screen whether he’s the leading man or somebody’s crochety dad; he was the only thing I liked about Message in a Bottle.
Cary Grant. He was one of the few actors who could do comedy and drama with equal aplomb. I’ve loved even the silliest of his comedies; he was enchanting – and in fact, he still is. My favorite movie with Cary is probably His Girl Friday, though I enjoyed him in Bringing Up Baby, The Awful Truth, My Favorite Wife, and North by Northwest, to name a few. Probably the only movie I didn’t really care for was Indiscreet - don’t know why, but I just wasn’t turned on by that flick.
Vivien Leigh. Nobody could have done Scarlett O’Hara as perfectly as Vivien Leigh. I found it impossible to believe that studio heads were trying to get Katharine Hepburn for that role; that’s just ridiculous. One would think that Margaret Mitchell had Vivien in mind as she created everyone’s favorite spoiled brat southern belle. Though best known for her role in Gone With the Wind, I absolutely worshipped her in Anna Karenina, and she literally ripped my heart out in A Streetcar Named Desire.
Joan Fontaine. Versatile comes to mind when I think of Joan Fontaine. Such a beautiful woman – she could be transformed from her stunningly beautiful self into a mousy, uninteresting creature with ease; yet, even when disguised as a bookish old maid, her charisma shines through. I first discovered Ms. Fontaine in Rebecca – quite possibly the best film adaptation of a book ever. I later watched her in Suspicion (with Cary Grant) and Jane Eyre (with Orson Welles). Jane Eyre was particularly interesting as there was a beautiful child in the orphanage with Jane at the beginning of the movie – none other than a young Elizabeth Taylor as Jane’s sickly friend Helen.
Gregory Peck. What is there to say? To Kill A Mockingbird is easily one of the best movies (and books) of the 20th century, no doubt thanks to his portrayal of the attorney Atticus Fitch. I was swept away with him in The Snows of Kilamanjaro, I was spellbound watching him with Ingrid Bergman in Spellbound…the weirdest role for him had to be as the evil Damien’s dad in The Omen. He was more than a bit too old to be adopting a baby, if you ask me…
James Stewart. Whether he’s playing a mild mannered, slightly senile duffer by the name of Elwood P. Dowd in Harvey, or the frustrated nice guy George Bailey in It’s A Wonderful Life, James Stewart captures my heart anew every time he’s on screen. The only roles I dislike are the westerns. I have loved him in Vertigo, Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, The Glenn Miller Story, and The Philadelphia Story. Perhaps my favorite Stewart movie though is Anatomy of A Murder, because it is so shocking (well, it was shocking for its time…it mentioned panties, and sperm, and it had Lee Remick….and that really awesome Duke Ellington soundtrack)
Rosalind Russell. Full of spunk. That’s how I’d describe Rosalind Russell. She was the perfect match for Cary Grant in His Girl Friday; I got a kick out of the idea of her marrying bumpkin Ralph Bellamy…I loved the wordplay in this movie; all of the characters were perfect, but Rosalind was superb. She was witty, exciting, smart, and fun; exactly the kind of woman I would love to be.
Rosalind was also a riot as the extremely catty and petty Sylvia in The Women. In My Sister Eileen, I see the same strong spunk that made her shine in His Girl Friday. Though one of her best known roles was Auntie Mame, I didn’t care for that movie very much…
Judy Garland. What a voice, what a voice. First enraptured with her in The Wizard of Oz, I grew up admiring the little girl born with the unassuming name of Frances Ethel Gumm, not only in this great movie, but also in the Andy Hardy movies with Mickey Rooney…these played every Sunday afternoon on the public TV channel. While I never was much of a fan of musicals, there are a few that I love, and all but two of them star Judy. Meet Me in St. Louis is quite possibly the most favorite. My heart has always ached for Judy once I learned how this extremely talented and beautiful woman was plagued for most of her life with insecurities and self-doubt, doped up on drugs for weight control and to make her perform acceptably for the studios. What a horrible waste.
Humphrey Bogart. As a kid, one of the movies my dad and I enjoyed together was The African Queen, starring Bogie and Kate. I never forgot the horror I felt when Bogie came up into the boat covered with leeches. I followed Bogie though the Dark Passage, Key Largo, The Maltese Falcon, and To Have and Have Not (“You know how to whistle, don’t you, Steve? You just put your lips together and blow…”).
Of course, one can not mention Bogie without remembering Casablanca; I cry my way through that movie every time.
George Sanders. This guy is definitely the most awesome creep with one of the most distinctive voices ever. Many people will recognize his voice as that of the evil tiger, Shere Khan, of Disney’s The Jungle Book. I caught a few of his films here and there, seeing one of his Falcon films one rainy afternoon; but he will forever be remembered by me as the maleovelent Addison DeWitt in All About Eve, as well as being superbly cast as a slithery cad in one of my favorite movies of all time, Rebecca. (Apart from Gone With the Wind, Rebecca has to be one of the most perfectly cast movies ever; it is so true to the book that one would think Daphne DuMaurier created her characters around the actors who starred in the film.) He did a good job of snarky scene stealing in The Picture of Dorian Gray, as well. He holds the distinction of being married to two of the Gabor sisters – Zsa Zsa and Magda.
Irene Dunne. Cast opposite Cary Grant in classic romantic comedies The Awful Truth and My Favorite Wife, Irene Dunne simply sparkled when paired with Cary. She was coy, funny, energetic, resourceful, and above all, beautiful. Interestingly enough, Ralph Bellamy played a character similar to the one he played in His Girl Friday with Grant and Rosalind Russell – the “bumpkin-like love interest” for Cary’s gal in The Awful Truth.
In My Favorite Wife, Cary Grant’s Nick has his wife Ellen (Dunne) pronounced dead after being missing for 7 years following a boating accident. After the legal procedure, Nick marries a catty girl named Bianca, not aware that Ellen survived the accident with hunky Randolph Scott; she has just finally arrived back in town. It is so much fun watching Nick try to tell Bianca about Ellen not being so dead after all. The Awful Truth finds Grant and Dunne cast as a bickering husband and wife who decide to divorce and share custody of their Jack Russell Terrier. As each tries to move on with life & other loves, they find that the awful truth is….well, I don’t want to spoil it.
I’ll have more classic cuties and beauties in the future. Thanks for reading this far. If you liked this feel free to leave a comment so I know I’m not talking to myself. ;0)
A week or so ago, I went to my third Women of Faith Conference – this time I was in East Rutherford NJ.
Undoubtedly, the speaker who had the most influence over me this time was Sheila Walsh – and I have to say that the other times I heard her speak, the words she shared reached deep within my soul in a way that nobody’s words had ever done before.
Sheila had shared some more of the story of her father with us at this conference. Her father died when she was only 5 years old…he drowned in a river after escaping from a mental hospital at the age of 34 (he had a brain anurism
But I’m still left with pieces of the puzzle that is me – my journey thus far has been rather fractured (whose hasn’t, though?)
I will be using this blog to work some of it out, and perhaps the Lord will see fit to put these pieces of the puzzle together in a beautiful mosaic that will not only draw me closer to Him but hopefully draw others to Him as well.
