Mystery photo(s) of the week

I thought, as I try to fulfill my promise to get back to regular blogging, that I would try something different and choose random photos from my travels.

Maybe I’ll tell a short tale associated with the photo. Maybe I’ll see if anyone recognizes the location. Maybe it’ll just be a pretty picture.

So we’ll begin here, the veranda of an historic hotel in a small town whose fortunes have risen and fallen and risen again along with the copper mine that birthed it. While finding me with a beer in hand is not that unusual, this one came with free wi-fi (courtesy of the hotel) so I could send this picture to my co-workers back home (who were slaving away in the “mines” back home that afternoon).

Me_at_Hotel

Even with the shining sun and the relaxing afternoon, listening to the locals express hope in the future and point to the new cars they’ve been able to buy, one can not help but notice the sight on the hilltop to the south: the prominent cemetery.SantaRosaliaCemetery Indeed, it is one of the first things you see when your boat is approaching the town’s docks. I never did get any tales of the cemetery’s inhabitants (miners meeting mishaps?), but the horror writer in me wondered what would happen if a torrential rain storm came along and washed all those bones down the hill and into the sea. (Morbid, I know.)

But I wanted to end on a lighter note and chose this sign, painted on a wall, on the town’s main road leading back to the dock. If you can read Spanish, it’s pretty dang funny. Leyendo

Where am I?  (Yes, it’s Mexico – but where in Mexico?) (Judith, Jay – you can’t answer)

 

 

Advertisements

Friendship, fear, death…and confessions

What do you say to a friend who is afraid to die? Even now, six months later, I still don’t know what to say.

VirgHer name was Virginia. She was 92. And she died this spring, a frail, withered shell of the woman she used to be. Her hearing was almost gone, and her memory was failing her. She could not walk without assistance and she had great difficulty swallowing (common in the elderly, I’m told). And even though her eyes were pale and rheumy, the fear was plain in them when she asked, “What’s going to happen to me?”

Other than some platitude about what good care the staff showed in their care of her (at her nursing home), I had nothing to offer. I don’t know the answer.

Her life was good, but not perfect. It was stereotypical in some ways in that her husband had passed away years before her, yet they had had a daughter who would continue their family line with her own son. But in other ways, Virginia took stereotypes and stomped them in the ground. Prior to World War II, she boarded a bus – alone – in her native Minnesota in order to join her older sister in California. She would live in various places, and she would serve as a Navy WAVE during the war and, later, as a Grey Lady at Letterman Hospital during the Korean War. She did not marry until the age of 31 – rare for women of her time and, not to mention, having a child at that age. Through it all, she worked at various jobs until I met her in the 1990s when we were both secretaries.

She taught me how to do cross-stitch. I took her to a Billy Joel concert for her…78th (I think) birthday. And…she entrusted me with her beloved tabby, Fluffy, when she felt she could no longer adequately care for the cat. To this day, I am undecided whether or not I betrayed that trust by lying to Virginia. For this is my confession: Fluffy died on December 17, 2004, not in December 2005. Some friends already know this and they tell me I did the right thing because, in December of 2004, Virginia was recovering from a hip replacement and subsequent pneumonia. She was in terrible shape, physically, emotionally, mentally. I could not tell her that Fluffy had cancer and was going to die soon. Fortunately, I had several pictures of the cat – so I could continue the lie – and gently worked my way up to Fluffy passing away the following December (I kept it the week before Christmas so I could keep the lie straight).

Fluffy

I took this picture of Fluffy with me to Virginia’s memorial service. I hope that Fluffy is with her now, and I hope Virginia forgives me. Most of all, I hope she is no longer afraid.

But instead of crying, I try to remember the laughter that Virginia could elicit with her sharp wit, even when it was aimed at me. She turned 80 just a few months after I turned 40. So when I called her to wish her happy birthday, I said “Hey, I’m half your age now!” Without missing a beat, she replied, “Well, thank God for that, I thought you’d never make it this far!”