Fun, Fun, Fun

She was as black as black could be.
 So very, very black. 

Sleek and contoured. 
A real head turner. 
The classic Mad Men era beauty.
She had accessories no one else had and she wore them well.

 I admired her from afar. 
My sister actually knew her first.

And then good fortune came my way and we became inseparable. 
We cruised the local highways and byways. 
She was always ready for a good time and ever reliable.
Even the Beach Boys captured her in melody and lyrics.


My Dad was as cool as was she. 
No, actually, he was way cooler.
When he first handed me HER KEYS it was a moment beyond compare.
How I treasured each and every time I got to be with her.
To think that he actually let me take her out when I was newly licensed is amazing to me still.
No one but my father understood what it meant to me.
He understood me better than anyone; then and now.
So, today I am missing them both.
I miss my T Bird and everything she brought to me in  my youth.
  I miss my Dad.
I miss him each and every day.
Days like this one . . .  Father's Day. . .  always sharpen the pain. 
He alone knew how important the right wheels were for a newbie driver.
Especially one who had an opportunity to be behind the wheel of a Thunderbird.
Thanks, Daddy. You were always the best and still are.
It was 
Fun . . . Fun . . . Fun

Day Is Done
Memorial Day 2012


My Brother, My Hero


I never spent much time with my brother, Larry. We had different mothers and he was a generation older than me. We shared a father and a last name; little more for many years.

When I was a young adult and newly married, my father reconciled with Larry and it was the beginning of a new chapter in our lives. Unfortunately, it was to be short lived. But as they say ," 'tis better to have loved and lost than . . . "

My brother was a sergeant major in the US Army. He served several tours in Viet Nam, was married to Emma, his Italian bride whom he met while serving in Europe and together they raised three wonderful children. He was nearing his retirement while stationed in Turkey. That's when the dormant and ugly head of Agent Orange began to suck on and snuff out the life of my dear brother. The months that followed the first tell tale signs of what was to come were gruesome and heartbreaking. His was a death beyond measure. My father, newly connected to his son, closed up his home in Florida, and together with my mother, drove to Fort Hood Army Base in Texas where my brother was hospitalized. He spent the next several months at my brother's dying bedside. Day in, day out with no exception.

God works in mysterious ways. Though my father and brother lost many years between them, those final months at Larry's bedside allowed a reconciliation to behold. I can still see my Dad feeding Larry, wiping his mouth  after every spoonful and kissing him hello and good-bye as if they had always had this rapport.

The end was painful for Larry as was the entire journey of his greatest battle fought; that being the fight-to-the-end with Agent Orange.

Military funerals are exceptional. We watch them on television, but observe from afar. Participating in one is an honor, though heartbreaking. They reach into your soul and leave an imprint  that you carry forever.

The day of Larry's funeral was rainy. Gray Texan sky, broad and wide, with raindrops softly falling. Tears from heaven, I thought. I held myself together until that unparalleled moment when that solitary soldier appears upon the knoll, bugle in hand. My heart was heavy with sorrow, but little did I imagine the overwhelming throbbing pain I would feel when the bugler raised his trumpet and began his solitary song. A moment in time that lives with me now as do my memories of my brother, Larry.

May all those who served and gave themselves for us look down upon us this Memorial Day and bestow upon us the strength and bravery that they showed in their final hours.

"Day is Done . . . God is Nigh."

FRANKLIN ARMS TEA ROOM - BLOOMFIELD, NJ

TEA TIME WITH MOM

Mother's Day has the power to resurface buried memories of years past, of times spent with Mom and warm reflections of special days shared just between the two of you.

I can't imagined what prompted my memory of lunching with my mother at the Franklin Arms Tea Room so many, many moons ago. Nevertheless, it was a pleasant recapture of a more innocent time when mothers took their daughters to such 'ladies only'  venues for a special luncheon.

The proprietress  was always there to welcome you at the door of this colonial era former travelers lodge. She was impeccably dressed,  her makeup was expertly applied, coif was without a flaw and her perfume signaled both her entrance and exit from each and every room.

Everyone in attendance was dressed 'to the nines' and my mother exemplified the best of taste when it came to knowing what to wear and how to wear it.  My ensemble was always of a preppy nature; no frills for this daughter allowed. I dreamed of ruffles and crinolines at the time, but upon reflection I must give credit where credit is due and acknowledge my mother's wisdom with my wardrobe selections.

The highlight of my luncheon would be the Shirley Temple cocktail. It made me feel totally grown up and the extra cherry didn't hurt to affirm my conviction. My mother and I always split a sandwich when we went out to lunch, but the Franklin Arms was the one exception to that practice. I can't imagine why, but I do recall that I would order the liverwurst on rye, an odd selection for a young girl. Perhaps it was what I was accustomed to, but still an unique choice.

The tea room was frequented by blue-rinse tinted ladies. At the time I was convinced that all older women's hair turned blue as they aged. Silly me! I also thought that their cheeks became exceptionally rosy as the years passed. I was totally clueless.

I have never had a daughter of my own to bring to a tea room. My sons preferred sports-theme environs and that, too, has been an educational process for me. It doesn't really matter whether it be a tea room or a rugged sports pub to share those special moments as either a mother or a child. The memories are still made and for this Mother's Day I give tribute to my mother for the happy moments that she created for me.

HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY TO ALL!

Tempus Fugit

Tempus Fugit

Best Wishes

from

Chez Laurice

for a

Happy

Healthy 

and 

Prosperous 

New Year

Raking in the New Season

Denville, NJ circa 2007 

October has made her debut. It hearkens to me remembrances of years past 'Back East.' Funny, but when  I first moved to So Cal I smirked every time someone would refer to the East Coast in such a manner. It certainly didn't taken me long to understand the implication. 


Most of my memories of the changing of the seasons come from my life 'Back East.' That's easy to surmise as Southern California has a little-to-none seasonal change factor. I am certain that many Californians would challenge my conviction, but I have yet to see anyone pick up a rake and pile up the leaves, bag them, drag the bags to the curb and feel a complete sense of accomplishment that this yearly duty was once again completed. In our family this arduous chore was usually rewarded with piping hot chocolate and powdered cider doughnuts.


So, as I continue to reminisce of Octobers past, I will replace the hot chocolate with a  glass of Cali wine and give seasonal thanks that I no longer have to repeatedly place Band Aids on the blistered spot between my thumb and index finger as  a remnant of my October raking marathons.

A Room with a View




"Equitable" - dealing fairly and equally with all concerned.

That's the definition that Webster provides for the word.

It is also the word I see from my LA apartment window as it crowns a nearby office tower, framed by these majestic twin palms.

Right now I am feeling that our fractured Congress has not been very 'equitable' in D.C. as they finalized their down-to-the-wire passage of the US Debt ceiling legislation debacle.

There is little that is equitable, I fear, in the final deal; just a greater divide between the 'haves' and the 'have-nots.'

Something smells rotten in the District, methinks.

Forget Them Not

Vietnam War Memorial
Washington, DC

A picture is worth a thousand words.

How many words would you use to define this picture?  One? One hundred? One thousand?

I took this picture during Memorial Day weekend many years ago.  My husband and I had taken our young and impressionable sons to D.C. to visit the nation's capital and see the sites. I was eager to spend time at the Vietnam War Memorial . . .  known as the "Wall." When we arrived I anxiously scanned the seemingly endless list of names, looking for my brother's. He was a 'career' soldier and years after several 'Nam tours of duty he succumbed to the deadly effects of Agent Orange.

My generation has many great memories to behold. The Vietnam War is not one of them. We treated our soldiers badly upon their return from gruesome battles. Hopefully that horrific behavior will never be repeated.

And so it was on that beautiful D.C. day that as I turned from the somber Wall, my heart heavy with sadness and sorrow, I was taken aback by these two veterans sharing a moment of remembrance.

I have taken many photos over the years. Not one of them carries the weight, nor the message, nor the pain of this one.

As we celebrate the unofficial beginning of the summer season, let us remember the true purpose of this memorable weekend.

To all the past, present and future men and women who serve our country, I salute your bravery, your selflessness and your sense of duty to our country. Godspeed.