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© Catherine Haslag

Unanswered

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I thought about you during yoga class tonight. Smiled as I remembered how we would leave work and head to have tea/coffee before yoga class. First classes with Beth and Tammy. Then eventually with Abbe at the old firehouse on Commercial. It was one of our rituals. You turned me onto this practice of dogs that face upward and downward.

Our lunches at Tea Bar and Bites was another ritual. We practically ran from the building on those days. Our little retreat from that toxic office. Our table was in the backroom, where we could talk privately. Then there was that period we ate lunches and played backgammon on a fellow yogi’s porch in Roundtree. I can’t remember her name. You taught me backgammon. I loved our games. I can’t bring myself to play now.

Our table at Tea Bar and Bites – a respite from a miserable job.

You showed me the little things in life that made it wonderful. Walks in beautiful neighborhoods, the joys of living simply. Good food. Soft sheets and towels. You said the things you touch should feel good. I still only buy things that feel good to the touch.

We met when I was a young wife, a new homeowner, and fresh to the full-time workforce. You were my friend who had “been there, done that.” Marriages, kids, jobs, life. You had seen a lot of life. You helped me see I deserved more from life. Gave me space to figure out what to do as my marriage disintegrated. Provided the wine, sympathetic ear, and friendship on many nights, I miss those conversations at your Stickley kitchen table where we talked about life and solved the world’s problems.

You encouraged me to find a new job. Move away. Gave me a kick in the pants when I needed it. Allowed me to cry when I moved to a scary new place and was overwhelmed by it all. We talked for hours on the phone nearly every night for months. Five hundred miles disappeared with a single phone call.

I know we had been drifting apart for a while. I know our friendship wasn’t what it once was the last time we spoke. I don’t know why you just stopped talking to me. Never returned my calls or texts. Our friendship ended in an argument in late 2017. Ten years of friendship ended in a heartbeat without an explanation.

The smell of cedar bows at Christmas in your home. The warmth of your hug. The joy of drinking wine and talking with you.

Your company was gone in an instant.

© Catherine Haslag

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© Catherine Haslag

Jumper Cables

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During my senior year of high school, I got my first car – a 1973 Oldsmobile Delta Royale in toad green. We called it The Toad. It was a hand-me-down from my Uncle Jerry. It was a boat, but it got me where I needed to go. This car offered several amenities to 18-year-old Catherine:

  • bench seats in the front and back,
  • a heater that could bake a turkey on defrost,
  • a trunk that could carry numerous bodies (if necessary), and
  • one of those old radios with the big silver buttons you had to jam in to make the station change.

Much to the horror of my stepfather, I could lay head-to-toe in the back seat, and neither my head nor feet would touch the doors. I was forbidden to take it on dates.

These jumper cables got me a parking spot and to class on time.

My Uncle Dick gave me some equipment for Christmas that year that every car owner needs: jumper cables. These weren’t any run-of-the-mill set of jumper cables; they were 20-foot, heavy-duty jumper cables. At the time, they seemed like overkill. Wouldn’t 6 or 9-footers work just as well? Over time, I came to appreciate the wisdom of this gift.

I never lived more than a few blocks off campus when I was in college, but sometimes I still needed to take my care to campus. If you arrived after 9 am, it was hard to find a spot. It was common to see people driving through the lots, stalking a student who was headed back to their car. If you followed them and patiently waited, you would be rewarded with a parking space.

I often used this tactic to find a parking spot. One day, I saw a woman headed back to her car. I rolled down my window and asked where she was parked. She motioned towards her car. I followed her and waited patiently for her to pull out of her space. I waited and waited. Finally, she got out of her car and walked over to my window. She had left her lights on, and her battery was dead. I couldn’t pull in close to her car because the spaces all around her were occupied. All she had was a set of short jumper cables. However, I had my trusty 20-foot jumper cables. I pulled up behind her, took out my cables, and we had her car started in no time. When she left, I took her parking space. My 20-foot jumper cables got me a parking space, and I made it to class on time.

Those jumper cables have had a home in every car I’ve owned. Over the years, they jumped the vehicles of friends, strangers, and my own during a polar vortex in January 2019. There were piles of snow everywhere, the coldest wind I have ever felt beating on me, and I was parked nose-first into the space, but the cables still did their job. I never worry about reaching the battery because the cables are always long enough.

There are times when we need to be thrifty and times when it’s worth it to invest in a better quality item. So my advice is to always spend the extra money on a pair of heavy-duty, 20ft (or longer) jumper cables. You will not be disappointed.

Oscar

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His name was Oscar.

He lived at Westphalia Hills for some period of time that covered at least the end of November 2019 to the very beginning of December 2019. I don’t know exactly how long he was there, just that his stay overlapped with my uncle’s time there in hospice.

Photo obtained from Shutterstock.

I encountered Oscar every time I entered the complex. Oscar wanted someone to help him back into bed and he wasn’t shy asking for help to reach this goal.

His ONLY goal.

And he pursued it with single-minded dedication.

This was my only interaction with Oscar. He would politely ask me to help him back to his room. Then he wanted help getting into bed.

This wasn’t a dirty request. He wasn’t being inappropriate. He just wanted to be in his bed…and stay there.

The first time I went to find a nursing assistant to help him, I found out this was Oscar’s game. He roamed the building all day looking for someone to take him to his room and help him into bed. But the staff didn’t want him in bed. They wanted him out and active, even if his only activity was finding a way to get back into his bed.

You always knew where Oscar was. You either heard him asking for help (Oscar wasn’t a quiet guy) or someone yelling at him to get out of their room. Oscar often rolled into the rooms of other residents. I still remember the day he ended up in the room of a pair of ladies. You would think a fox had just gotten into the hen house based on the commotion that erupted.

I tell this story not to make fun of Oscar but rather to share the comic relief he provided to me and my family at this time. As we were watching my uncle take his final steps from this world, we had Oscar’s antics as a distraction. We shared stories about what he was up to each day and what trouble he caused. He provided levity during a very heavy time. Oscar will never know how he broke the tension of a very difficult time for us.

I don’t know who Oscar was before or after those three weeks, but I am grateful for the encounters we had.

I think of him often, smile, and hope he achieved his goal.

© Catherine Haslag

Pre-Flight

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I flew for the first time when I was 10.  I went with my grandma and uncle to California to visit my other uncle.  We flew TWA out of St. Louis.

I recently took my first plane trip in 2 years.  I flew to Las Cruces to visit some friends.  As I sat in Chicago for three hours waiting for my connecting flight, I started thinking about how air travel has changed since I took my first flight in 1990.

We used to stand in line at the airport to check in and get our boarding passes.  It was common to check a bag and you were allowed to check one for free.  Now, I check in from my cell phone.  It costs $30-$50 to check a bag, so I pack everyone I need in my carry-on.  If it’s not necessary for the trip, I don’t take it.  I have gotten really good at packing light.

Boarding passes were printed.  You had to be careful notto lose it.  I spent a lot of time checking my pockets to make sure I still had it.  They also doubled as a great bookmark for the trip.  Now, I pull my boarding pass up on my cell phone or watch.  No more checking pockets and no more handy bookmarks.

I don’t remember having any layovers when I was a kid.  It was a lot more common to get a direct flight from St. Louis to California or D.C.  Now, I always expect a layover.  I can’t tell you the last time I flew and didn’t have a layover in Chicago (ORD), Dallas (DFW), or Denver (DEN).  Oddly enough, I have never had a layover in Atlanta (ATL).

I remember my grandparents, uncles, cousin, and I all going to the airport together when I was a kid.  When my Uncle Dick flew in or out for a visit, we went and sat with him at the gate until he boarded his flight, or we met him right at the gate, searching the faces of the people walking up the gangway for his.  Now, those human moments of hugs and delight at seeing your loved one again happen at baggage claim or in the “kiss and fly” zone.  Unless you are a ticketed passenger, you aren’t getting past security.

There were meals and a snack on the planes.  Every flight.  I would get off a plane with a full belly.  As a kid, I was very concerned with what our flight would be serving.  Now, you are lucky to get a drink and a cookie.  Airlines don’t give nuts out on flights anymore because of allergies. The only meals I see served on planes are for international flights…and they aren’t as good as they used to be.

There used to be in-flight movies, usually a family-friendly film that was recently released but may or may not be in theaters at the time of the flight.  It was projected on a few screens scattered throughout the plane. Now, large planes offer each passenger their own mini entertainment center with movies and TV shows they can scroll through and choose from.  If your flight doesn’t offer you this option, most travelers have a phone or tablet they can watch downloaded movies and TV shows on to view in flight.

There have been changes in luggage styles, services offered in the airport, the way passengers dress and entertain themselves on flights.  Walkmans have been replaced by ear pods and iPhones.  Books and trashy magazines are still a standard. Hudson News is still a standard shop in many airports.

Security has changed too.  You still run your bags through a scanner, but now you have to take off all jackets, shoes, and items that aren’t the layer above your bra and panties.  Body scans are standard practice, often followed with a pat-down that in other situations would qualify as sexual assault.  I have literally had a woman with TSA put her hands in my pants.  When I went through security for my first flight, my 10-year-old self didn’t have to strip first and no one touched me inappropriately.

Another sign of the times and how much things have changed.  Something common and mostly insignificant that reveals so much more about what our world was and is becoming.

© Catherine Haslag

Mayberry Halloween

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I grew up in a little town in a valley along the Osage River. Looking back on it, it was a bit of an idyllic place for a kid to grow up. Everyone knew everyone and looked out for each other. Don’t get me wrong, there were downsides too. Gossip and nosiness were present in no shortage. There is a line from Doc Hollywood where Vialula says regarding the gossip in Grady, “Can’t poop in this town without everybody knowin’ what color it is.” This was true of my home town as well.

Halloween 1994:  the last year I went trick or treating. I am dressed in jammies on the right. I will not identify the other two pictured in the photo to protect their anonymity and perhaps shield them from embarrassment.

Growing up, one of my favorite times of year was Halloween. There were many kids in my hometown and they all dressed up and walked around town trick-or-treating. A few of the parents dressed up too. It was like a social night full of ghouls, superheroes, princesses, and candy. One parent (or the oldest child) would take the kids out. The other parent would stay home and hand out candy.

The costume was of utmost importance. I usually thought about it for months in advance of the big night. It was a way for me to try on a new identity for a while. Dress in a way I didn’t normally dress. Over the years I was a witch, a skeleton, a clown, a princess, and when I was 8, Helen Keller. I was REALLY into Helen Keller that year. That is a story for a later blog.

I quickly figured out which houses gave out good candy and which didn’t. The worst house on my list was two doors down from my home. They had a VERY tall, poorly-lit set of stairs to climb to their deck, where the front door was located. Once you climbed to their front door, all they ever offered was that horrible taffy wrapped in orange and black paper. I HATED going to that house for candy. I thought it was a waste of time since I didn’t like the candy, but mom made me go every year because grandma liked the taffy. So I went, like a good little granddaughter, every year so I could give those 3-5 pieces of candy to grandma.

The two BEST houses on the route were Edgar and Marlene Kliethermes and Alvina and Leslie Jaegers. We always went to their homes last. The Kliethermes’ handed out homemade popcorn balls. This wasn’t my favorite, but my mom loved them and the Kliethermes were so nice. We always sat and visited with them for a while. Plus, their three youngest sons liked to hide and scare trick-or-treaters. It was fun to see what they did each year. One year, they didn’t hear us coming up their long driveway and we startled them. Always a bonus when you are a little kid.

The Jaegers house was the last house we stopped on our quest. They didn’t just give you candy at the door and send you on your way. No, kids and parents were invited inside. They had cold punch if it was hot and hot chocolate if it was cold. Alvina also worked at Scholastic Books and would give out books AND candy. I figured out that if I was the last trick or treater, she would give me all the candy and books she had left. That’s pure childhood, Halloween gold!

After the candy collection was complete, it was time to sort my loot. I would dump the contents of my pumpkin on the floor in the living room, the candy would scatter across the rug and onto the hardwood floors. My favorites (Twix, Reeces, Butterfinger…) went in one pile, the middle-of-the-road (Snickers, Hershey, Starburst…) went in a second pile, and “trash candy” (Smarties, Sweet Tarts, and other flavorless forms of sugar) went in a third pile. The favorites never made it 24 hours and I usually went to bed with a case of sugar belly.

Those Halloween nights have long since ended in my hometown. Most of the people I spoke of above have shuffled off their mortal coils. Rather than house-to-house trick or treating, now a trunk-or-treat type activity is held downtown. No more huffing and puffing to walk to the top of the church hill. No more popcorn balls. No more Halloween gold. Just my memories of this magical night through the eyes as a child.

 

Blog from the past…

I wrote about one of the books I was given by Alvina in a previous blog.  It was titled “What the Wind Told.”  Click the link to go straight to this blog.

 

Katieville

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© Catherine Haslag

Dear Ms. L’Engle

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Dear Ms. L’Engle,

My copy of A Wrinkle in Time, which I read in 5th grade.

It started as a school assignment

in 5th grade. Eighteen copies of A Wrinkle in Time lined up on the shelf like identical little soldiers as Mrs. Hitz talked about the first novel we were reading for the year. We were going to read 4 such novels between August and May. Yours has been with me ever since.

I still have the copy we read. Since our parents provided the money to buy the copies for the classes to share, we got to take them home at the end of the year. It has had an honored spot on my bookcase ever since. My steady companion for 30 years. It was my introduction to the sci-fi/fantasy genre of books. I loved the whimsy of Ms. Who, Ms. What, and Ms. Which. The tesseract boggled my young mind.

I related strongly to the heroine Meg, an awkward girl who doesn’t yet know or trust her abilities. Who doesn’t yet know where she fits in the world. My 11-year-old self hadn’t yet begun to really test what she was capable of let alone trust her abilities. Meg gave me a role model to learn from.

I eventually discovered there were four books about the adventures of Meg and her brothers. I devoured A Wind in the Door and A Swiftly Tilting Planet. I couldn’t get into the adventures of Sandy and Dennys in Many Waters. I am sorry to say they were my least favorite characters in the world you created. The only book of the Time Quartet I didn’t read.

In college, I discovered Meg had a daughter, Polly, when I read An Acceptable Time. I was at another turning point as I was stepping into the adult world. I could relate to Polly just as I had Meg when I was 11.

I recently listened to A Wrinkle in Time on audiobook through my library. It reads just as well at 40 as it did at 11. This time, I was reminded that I still have that unsure girl in me, my own internal Meg, but I also have experience that reminds me I have been tested and that I am strong. I know what I can do and I can trust my skills. I now know my place in this world. Your books helped me make this journey because I could relate to your characters and their challenges. Thank you for bridging that gap so I could grow into who I am today.

Sincerely,

Catherine

Turning Points

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Image purchased from iStock by Getty Images.
Designed by nazlisart.

I woke up to the conversation on the radio. In my bleary state, I heard the voices say two planes had crashed into the Twin Towers in New York City. I was instantly awake and across the apartment to turn on the TV. The scenes were horrific. Straight out a disaster flick starring Bruce Willis. Moments later, the South Tower collapsed. I quickly showered and dressed for my day. Before I left my apartment for the Southwest Missouri State University campus, the North Tower Collapsed.

I canceled everything for the day and was glued to the TVs on campus and in apartments with friends. Silence and disbelief filled every space.

I sat with friends at their apartment in the afternoon and watched as Dan Rather aired a video for the first time showing people jumping from the buildings prior to their collapse.

I witnessed the wreckage of Flight 93, which passengers forced down in a field in Pennsylvania. Later, It was determined the plane’s likely final target was in Washington DC.

I observed the crumbled side of the Pentagon, where Flight 77 crashed into the building.

I heard the phone calls made by loved ones on the four planes the crashed that day. All sending one last message of love.

For the following year, there were cars everywhere sporting the American flag, Toby Keith and Alan Jackson played on repeat on country stations, and the U.S. collectively mourned the 2,996 people who died on that day in the towers and crashed flights. We were united in our grief and patriotism.

In a matter of minutes, we all lived in a different world. One that grew to include Homeland Security, full-body scans, no-fly lists, and a whole new meaning to the numbers 9 and 11.

In March of 2020, another major event struck the world – the Coronavirus.

All of the college classes I taught went online. Employees and students were sent home to help stop the spread.

Social distancing. Lessons on handwashing. Teams of sewers making masks out of every scrap of fabric they could find.

Zoom became the place to meet for class, meetings, and happy hour. Some of the world made a shift to baking bread at home, wearing PJs or yoga pants for everything, and drive-thru grocery pick-up. Alcohol sales skyrocketed.

Again, the world changed quickly and will be forever different. Finding the “new normal” was a common topic of conversation. Some accepted this reality, others chose to deny it.

Rather than coming together as we did nearly 20 years earlier when the towers fell, we split into groups. Maskers and anti-maskers and eventually vaxxers and anti-vaxxers. People who listened to the experts and believed what science was learning and people who didn’t. Conspiracy theories and misinformation spread faster than the virus thanks to social media.

The turning point we are facing now is more than a virus. More than masking, vaccinations, and the changing way we move and work in the world. We no longer agree on reality. We live in different news bubbles, worlds driven by whatever we chose to take as fact even if it’s really a falsehood. Lives where we get to deny reality because it makes us feel better, even if that denial kills others.

The turning point we face now is the division in our society. It’s an internal threat that can’t be addressed by invading another country. It has to start within each of us. We are our own worst enemies now. We are the hijackers, the terrorists in our nation. We are also the healers, the uniters if we so choose to be.

The question then is “Which do you choose?”

Willie and me horsing around.© Catherine Haslag

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