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In My Little Town

I spent most of my growing-up years in the Bay Area of California, in a suburb of San Jose I won’t name for reasons you’ll note shortly. During the time I lived there, it was an eclectic little tourist town. It was also a place where respect was taught — in my high school — and practiced.

When I was a sophomore in high school, the girl who sat next me and the boy who sat behind her in my geometry class worked at a local Mexican restaurant, well-renowned in the area. One night, this 16-year-old girl found herself waiting on a man who looked vaguely familiar. Not vaguely. He looked like — he was — Robert Redford.

This was 1976, and this was what Bob looked like around that time, in case you’re too young to remember.

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Robert Redford in “The Great Gatsby” (1974)

Damn. Both of my classmates got his autograph, she as his waitress and he as the bus boy, and they were smart enough to let their manager know, too. They were also gracious enough not to say anything to anyone else. Mr. Redford was eating with his family, and they respected his privacy.

Today, I doubt it would happen that way. That quaint little town has turned into a new money hell hole, and people are very status-driven. Someone sees a celebrity, they likely scream it out.

lake-vasonaMy freshman English teacher had noted that unlike most of the towns and cities in the area, generations of families grew up and stayed in my little town. He’d taught the children and now grandchildren of his early students, in significant numbers. It was a pretty place, with a town square and tranquil parks. The high school had the only nighttime football field in our league, which made home games very popular.

I’m speaking in very nostalgic terms here. It wasn’t all glory growing up there. Numerous girls in my high school class, including some I was very close to, were sexually assaulted on or near the school grounds. More than one notorious serial killer had lived in the area during the time my family was there.

But if we can’t have sweet memories of our growing up years, and for me it has sometimes been hard to find them, it is harder to find the good in our world today. So I am thankful for the town I grew up in, as it was then, as it remains in my heart and mind.

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Pale is the New Black

One of my blogging buddies, loisajay (I know many of you are already acquainted with her blog, …on pets and prisoners…) has been fighting skin cancer since the beginning of the year. Or longer. She’s had multiple surgeries, tons of chemo, and a few other treatments I don’t know enough about to describe. It’s been icky.

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If you’ve spent any time in the sun, you need to know about skin cancer. Here’s why: skin cancer can grow inside you without developing too much evidence on your skin. If you’ve had any sort of procedure for skin cancer, even if you didn’t require additional treatment, such as chemotherapy, you are at risk for that cancer spreading anywhere in your body.

I am not a medical expert, so I went to a few well-established medical sites to get some solid information, such as the Mayo Clinic site and the American Cancer Society site. I encourage you to take a look (for both sites I looked up and linked to the information on melanoma, the most serious form of skin cancer.)

Here’s a direct quote from the Mayo Clinic site:

The first melanoma signs and symptoms often are:

  • A change in an existing mole
  • The development of a new pigmented or unusual-looking growth on your skin

Melanoma doesn’t always begin as a mole. It can also occur on otherwise normal-appearing skin.

Why is this important? Because women and men my age grew up in an era where worshipping the sun, and getting as tan as possible, ruled. Today, many are paying the price.  It’s high, especially if it’s melanoma. According to the American Cancer Society, melanoma is a less common, but more serious cancer than most skin cancers.

Apparently, the risk is increasing in people under 40 as well, especially women. Tanning isn’t the only culprit, but that does greatly increase your chances of getting skin cancer.

I don’t want to scare you unnecessarily, but I do want you to be aware of this risk. If you spent hours cultivating a tan as a teenager (or any other time in your life), check with your doctor about your risk factor and what you should be doing now to stay ahead of this disease.

I’m thrilled to say Lois had made remarkable progress in her battle against melanoma. I just wish she’d never had to face it in the first place.

Thanks to Lois for her help with this post and for suggesting the title!
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Arsenic and Old Lace

Looking for a Halloween film that’s not too macabre or likely to scare the candy corn out of you? Check out “Arsenic and Old Lace,” a classic of dark humor, satirical references to horror films of the day, and slapstick Cary Grant.

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Hold Me Closer, Tiny Sleeper

 

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Montero and my mom, August 2000

Mighty Montero came home with me when he was only six weeks old, intended to be a buddy for Paco. Some people thought I picked the name “Montero” to “match” the name Paco, but the Latin nature of both names is sheer coincidence. I’d just finished a scarf with one of my then-favorite yarns, Montera by Classic Elite. ‘Tero was a boy, so I changed the name to suit.

I found him at the local Cat Clinic, and knew immediately he was meant to be mine. They warned me he was a “little whippersnapper,” and he was all of that, but it was an endearing quality. Well, usually it was. When he got older, if he was angry at you, he’d slap you. Hard. It would leave a little red mark.

As a kitten he always strutted with his tail held high, like a flag. Always, that is, when humans were around. If he thought we couldn’t see him, he let down his guard — and his tail — to play or roll on the carpet.

Montero ended up being my mom’s cat (well, judging from the above picture, he started out that way) because as adults, he and Paco didn’t get along so well. Still, he would let me know he loved me too, in his own special way.

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Montero was a big fan of “Law & Order.”

He died a few years ago at the age of twelve due to multiple health problems. We still miss him, but thankfully, have pictures like this to remind us of the special time we had with him.

Tiny

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Sweet Peas in a Pod

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At tbe end of the day, it’s good to have a best friend.

It took me a while to write this post. Sitting on the sofa, I was weighted down by my two furry friends, Walter and Mimi. Walter is the pretty boy on the bottom, Mimi the sweet little bean he’s resting his head on. Once they’re done sitting on my lap, they find each other.

I get lonely sometimes. When I look up and see their sweet faces, whether they are asleep, wide awake or peacefully purring with eyes half-open, I’m comforted. They find solace in my presence, too. As I head downstairs, they leap from their chairs and run down before me, putting themselves in position in the rooms below. They want my company, want to be near me. I have to twist and turn to accomodate them at night (Mimi in particular is a dead weight).

Forgive me the numerous posts about my cats lately. Rather, indulge me. It’s been a good month to ponder the uncomplicated, unconditional love of kitties.