Church Lady -- for all my HOMIES in Santa Cruz, CA

There is this woman that sings in church.  She has a nice voice, and she usually sings at a particular mass.  She and her husband even help with the liturgies.  My older kids think she is annoying, and sometimes, her unnatural perkiness seems to be a little forced, and I will admit, at times she even annoys me, but I'm sure she is a good person and means well, and enjoys doing what she does.  God bless her even, but I'm sorry, each time I have the opportunity to actually speak with her, I always get a real negative feeling.

Years ago, I went with my older son to a catechism class, and I was sitting at her table.  We had just moved from our hometown and we were still new to the area, and the church.  My son was still in fact going to school in our old town, and I would drop him off before I went to work.  So, coming to this class was another "new" thing for my son to adjust to, and no, he wasn't a particularly happy 16 year old.  So here we were sitting at the table with the "annoying lady", and there she was with her happy, perfect toothed smile looking at us.

"Hi, I'm Dina, what's your name?"

We politely introduced ourselves to her and her son.  She quickly asked what school my son Andrew attended, and so I went to explain that he was still going to school in Santa Cruz.  Dina (not her real name) immediately looked at us with what looked very much like a grin of distaste, like she just bit into a lemon, and explained,

"Oh, that weird town with the hippies.."

I smiled back, and nodded my head.  I wanted to secretly kick her.  Sorry God, for I have sinned.  I was thinking evil thoughts about the lady that sings at your church.  My son Andrew looked at me immediately with eyes that said, "I want to leave now!"  Luckily our introductions were over, and we weren't forced to make any more chit chat for the rest of the evening.  At future classes, we purposely  sat away from the church lady.

Well, Dina and her darling husband naturally have a lot of kids, and of course her youngest child is in my son's class at school.  And, unfortunately for me, she attends all of the class field trips--naturally.  Well, I was able to avoid her from the first field trip, but "lucky" me had to sit with her on the school bus for a few minutes.

Now, I did try and be positive.  After she sat down next to me, I was hoping for a positive experience.  Of course she didn't recognize me.

"Hi I'm Dina!  What's your name?"

I politely introduced myself to her.  She asked who my son was, and I pointed to Nicholas who was sitting directly behind us on the bus.  She looked at him, and said that she remembered him from preschool and kindergarten classes, which was complete nonsense because I had him start in school in San Jose in the 2nd grade.  I explained to her that he was in Santa Cruz during that time... and before I could fully explain, there it was!   That look of utter disdain!

"Oooh... Santa Cruz?!"

Damn I wanted to kick her in the teeth.  Forgive me God!  What in the hell is wrong about being from Santa Cruz for God's sake?!

Well, luckily for me, Dina had to move out of my seat to make room for the other class, and I sat with my son.  Thank you God.

Sorry, Dina.  You've insulted my hometown twice in a span of 5 years.  You may sing like an angel, but I still don't like you very much.

Saying Goodbye To A Friend

A week ago I remember waking up from a bad dream. I don't remember the content of this dream, I just remember waking up with a terrible sense of foreboding death. It was so intense that immediately crossed myself like a good Catholic girl, and recited an Our Father and the Hail Mary until I fell back to sleep. The thought came back later in the day, and for the next few days afterwards. I tried to ignore it, and eventually it went away. I convinced myself and reasoned that the bad dream came from the recent crime and senseless deaths of two police officers in my home town, and nothing else. The atmosphere at work was also tense, and I just reasoned that it was that anxiety I was feeling and nothing more.

Yesterday I had awoke in a fog. I wasn't able to get a good night's sleep the night before, but I forced got myself out of bed, got my son to school, and ventured into another fog-the morning fog. I blamed it all on Daylight Savings. I thought I was running late, but miraculously, I got onto the highway at a good time.

As I got onto the highway towards my way to work, the fog slowly lifted, like a blanket, to a beautiful blue sky. I remember thinking to myself, "What a beautiful Spring day." The sky, the green trees against the sky, the air--so fresh and clean. It looked like as if it was the beginning to be a perfect day. Even the air smelled sweet. I could smell a different fragrance in my car. It wasn't that "new car smell", and I just couldn't pin it what it was. Was it my new moisturizer? I don't know, it must be. Boy, did it smell good. I turned on the radio, and wouldn't you know, it was playing my favorite songs, all in a row. I smiled and sang along. As I reached my destination to Santa Cruz, and the little white church of Holy Cross, a sense unexplainable happiness and peacefulness engulfed me.

I got to work, parked my car, and prepared myself at work with my usual routine. Files awaited for me at my desk, along with some pink and blue documents; cases waiting to be entered and assigned. Back to reality of work, but it was good. I had my coffee, I was ready for anything I guessed.

Then that call came. The call I've been dreading; the call I hoped never to receive. It was Betty. Her voice was cracking. She really didn't have to explain anything more, I knew it was about Maria. My friend Maria, my "coffee buddy" from years back that I had missed for so long. The letters, the cards, the flowers could not bring her voice back to me. The suffering that she chose not to foreclose to me had ended the day before. Betty went on to tell me more of what happened, but all I could think of was Maria's dark eyes that sparkled when she spoke. I would never see those dark eyes again, nor her laugh or her smile. She was gone and there was nothing I could do about that.

Now I'm left to wonder, why, or if I had been more persistent in seeing her if could have changed anything. My letters, my cards--did they ever reach her? Did they really tell her that I had been thinking of her; wishing her well?  Did it make a difference? Did my silly letters that attempted to make her smile just a little, help? All I needed was a note, a phone call--but now that just seems so self-serving.  Why did I need any sort of verification? It doesn't make sense to me now--it never really did. Things had changed since I've seen her last; a distance that I can't really understand, but even that doesn't matter anymore either.

No Maria, it doesn't matter. What's done is done. Thank you for the sunshine the other morning, the sense of peace, the scent of your perfume, your happy laughter harmonizing over the radio. It all makes sense to me now. Thank you for your visit yesterday morning-it's all I ever needed. I will remember you the way you wanted me to. Your smile, and your laugh is forever in my heart. I'll see you in my dreams. Thank you, Maria, until we meet again, adeus amiga, adeus.

You know how I like my coffee.

Our Valentines

We celebrated our Valentines early this year—my husband and I. We left the house in the early afternoon, off to a day and evening “sans les enfants!” We were free! What do two grown adults do when they are “free”?

First, we headed out to a car dealership. My husband’s current mode of transportation (Mustang) has been declining in “health” lately. Rich wanted to test drive a few cars he had been doing research on, so there we were sitting in cars, and taking test drives. It was like watching a little kid in a candy store; the new car smell can be intoxicating, and all those new gadgets! They actually make cars that can "touch" you. Yes, the car will “nudge” you on the butt cheek if you change lanes without first using your car signal. Yes, it’s true. If you change lanes to the left, you will get “nudged” on your left butt cheek. Change to the right lane without using your blinker—hey, guess what? You’ll get nudged on your right butt cheek! Unbelievable genius! Rich had a lot of fun changing lanes WITHOUT using the turn signal; almost too much fun.

Then it was to the movie theatre! Yes, the theatre parking lot is pretty much empty on an early Saturday afternoon. We were kind of surprised to find a parking spot right in front of the theatre. Even more surprised to find a perfect seat without annoying people around us. We saw Identify Theft. It was funny, not hilarious, but funny enough to be called “entertaining.”

After the movie, it was time to check into our hotel. This hotel was a nice hotel…and as we entered the lobby, we were immediately alerted to a streamline of men in tuxedos and women in ballgowns. I did of course feel just a tad under-dressed. There were apparently two very formal events happening at the hotel. We would later "crash" one later during the wee hours of the next morning.

We got to our very nice room, and got changed for dinner. Of course it was cold out, and I forgot my coat in the car, so we waited for one of the valet guys to fetch my coat. Of course, they “couldn’t find our car” and it was parked way in the back, so we waited a good 20 minutes. Meanwhile, we continued to watch the stream of handsome men in tuxedos, and lovely ladies in gowns coming into the hotel. Rich noticed a group of guys in front of the main bar. I guess he didn’t want me to get too excited and cause a scene—like really? Did he think I was going to go crazy and take pictures of something? After they left, he then told me they were a group of comedians-one of them was “Larry” the guy from According To Jim, the guy who played the the brother-inlaw on the show. Apparently "Larry" could tell Rich knew who he was, and have him a big smile as he walked by. Apparently I didn't make the connection.





The valet finally came down with my coat, looking rather ridiculous hanging from my hood on that fancy gold luggage wagon all alone. After tipping the valet, we walked outside next door, and had a nice dinner at a restaurant that served the best filet mignon I’ve ever tasted, and made the best margaritas..yum. It was quite chilly out, but I think the drinks made us warmer as we walked a few blocks toward the comedy club. We got there 10 minutes before the show, but as luck would have it, we got seated right in front at the stage---near the stairs..



About 10 minutes later, here comes Jim Belushi in front of us walking up the stairs—I almost tripped him. Larry and the others were soon on stage, and they were all hilarious. Belushi’s son, Robert (who looks nothing like him) was performing as well. The show was quite entertaining. We were so close, I could see up Belushi’s nostrils-which were clean, I must add. After the show, they all walked down the stage, where they were greeted by Rich who gave them all a handshake. (Yes, he had a few drinks during the show—very happy guy..)

After the show, we made our way back to the hotel, and as we made our way near the main lobby live music was heard , and people were starting to dance. We stayed there at a table near the dance floor the rest of the evening, drinking a few more drinks and enjoying the atmosphere. I think those few hours near the dance floor was the highlight of our evening. We talked about how we first met, and how life was back then, and how far we both have come, and Rich got very sentimental with me. The cognac may have helped him express his feelings...ha ha. We people watched, did a lot of laughing, and danced. The singing and music was very good. There was one older gentleman in particular that really was something else. He danced for hours with a mutltiple of younger dancers; really out there cutting the rug, non-stop. Rich was quite impressed. He finished the evening with one younger woman in particular, and continued to chat with the youngster well after the band was packing up for the evening. This older gentleman was only one of the few enteresting characters on the dance floor. Who knew you could buy body socks in leather-quite peculiar looking.

"This is better than the 10 o'clock news!" Rich exclaimed.

After the band put away their instruments, we decided to crash one of those fancy loud parties, because we are thrill seekers, but no one cared or noticed we were there, or about 20 years older than everyone else. So we took a walk around the hotel. We took pictures in the elevators, and checked out the empty lobbies. Yes, we acting like children again, but, once in awhile, it's good to do. My feet were starting to hurt and when I informed Rich it was already past 2:30 am, he could not believe it. Wow, we are way past our bedtime! We went to our room and had a very pleasant end to a very perfect evening.

Happy Valentines!!

Mr. Flores Makes It Happen

Used car salesmen: You just don’t hear too many positive things about them, however, there is one in particular that I will never forget.

Let’s go back to the year, 1998. I was driving a green Ford station wagon that seemed to start to fall apart around the same time as my first marriage. I clearly remember signing papers with our realtor to start the proceedings to sell our house with the ex-husband. From one of the large windows of the building, I noticed clouds of smoke coming out of the hood of the station wagon, with my two kids still inside. I left the building as soon as I could, to see what was the problem. The realtor, followed quickly behind me, and kindly put water in my engine, and advised me to see a mechanic. The ex, who apparently wanted nothing to do with the problem, left quickly in his truck.
From that moment on, for the next two years, I was taking that station wagon to various mechanics, until finally, one of them told me that it was leaking oil, and it would continue to leak oil, and it would never be permanently fixed, and that I should just go to a dealership and “get rid of it.”
So, with my two kids in tow, that is what I did. I drove over in my leaking station wagon to a dealership. I wasn’t expecting any favors, and I knew I would probably not get much as a trade in, but it was what I had to do. That is when we met Frank Flores. Yes, I still remember our salesmen’s name. I don’t think I’ll ever forget him. He was true angel in disguise.
Sure he came up to us almost immediately after we got out of the station wagon. I could see the many other salesmen spying at us as we made our way around the lot. But he approached us first, a stocky , middle aged man in a brown suit, and smirky grin, he offered his hand in a handshake and offered his services.

“Hello! I’m Frank Flores, how can I help you today?”

I was a little nervous, and apprehensive about it all. I knew my credit at the time was not what you would call “stellar”. I explained my situation. I was a single mom, with a fixed budget and I needed a reliable car. I was honest. I told him that station wagon was leaking oil, but I needed to trade it in, because I didn’t have any other money for a down payment. He looked at me, and smiled while saying:

“We’ll make it happen Julie!”

I’m not quite sure if he appreciated my honesty, or he took pity in me, or if it was the cute angelic faces of my children that really “made it happen”. He took us around the lot, and showed us a few cars, but then showed one in particular that he thought was the best. It was an used Nissan Altima. It was a few years old, but it was nice, and according to Mr. Flores:
“I’ve driven the same car for years, and it’s the most reliable car I’ve even owned.”
I test drove it around town with the kids, and they were quite impressed.

“Mom, let’s get it!” the kids said excitedly.

I wasn’t quite sure if Mr. Flores could actually “make it happen”, but I was willing to try.
Once we got back to the lot, Frank took us inside, and we waited patiently for the manager to give the okay, and check out my pitiful wagon. Mr. Flores reassured me that I would get a good down payment with my trade in.

“But, Mr. Flores, I’m afraid there is already a puddle of oil underneath the engine of the station wagon.”

Mr. Flores shrugged and reassured me that “he wouldn’t see it.”
So we sat there for about a hour. I could see the manager coming back from the lot, and to me he didn’t seem very impressed. They ran the credit check, and checked for current insurance. I was sensing negative vibes everywhere. After a number of visits to the ice cooler, and a bag of chips from the vending machine, the kids were getting restless. I was almost at the point of considering to give up and leave the premises in shame. The only positive thing in the building was Mr. Frank Flores’ smile as he came out with the papers.

I don’t know how this guy did it, but he made it happen. As he handed over the keys to our “new” car, I was finally free from my oil guzzler station wagon, along with it’s unhappy memories that were attached to it—now I thought, perhaps, it would give all three of us, the kids and I a new little beginning.

On the way home, the kids went on and on, and made up a song about Mr. Flores. He was the hero of the day for sure, and he will always be remembered, for he “made it happen.” Although that car is no longer with us, it saw a new marriage,a new combined family and home, and many other happy beginnings and memories. Mr. Flores was right. That car was the most reliable car I had ever owned. Thank you again Mr. Flores for making it happen!

New Year.....new entry...

Well lookie! It's 2013, and we are alive. The ancient Mayans were wrong; the world did not end! (Not like I was really worried or anything, although some people I know seemed to be way too concerned about the prediction.) The way I see it, any day can be the last day of the world! More reason to be thankful for each day, and do something positive.

I've decided to do something different with my journal. I've decided my subject for each entry will be devoted to good things that happen, so when I look back on 12/31/13, I can read all my entries to remind myself of the year. It's like the note in the jar concept--only I have to do more writing about it. I cannot just write an occurrence with only one phrase--I don't work that way.

So, you won't be reading anything negative on this blog. I hope this does not disappoint you. There is an abundance of negativity already in the world, and I don't think I need point them out, express my frustrations about them or voice out my own problems or short comings here either.

I will start from the beginning--because that is the best place to start:

1/1/13

It's New Years Day, and I'm happy to report that ALL our children are home this morning from a night of celebrating with their friends. This does not happen very often. Nicholas is with my mom enjoying the title of #1 angel--he is being pampered like a little king, and I'm sure he is enjoying breakfast in bed.

I'm getting really hungry myself. It's about a quarter to 11 when Rich exclaims:

"Hey, let's go out to breakfast, just the two of us."

Wow, that hasn't happened for awhile. Now that the children are older, they come and go whenever they please pretty much, and it's very unlike ourselves to treat ourselves on our own. I must admit, I did feel a little guilty for eating without them, but I reminded myself of all the times they would leave and eat with their friends--free of guilt, without bothering to mention their plans, as I slaved away over the stove.

We left the house, almost like we were sneaking away like two teenagers, hoping not to wake our parents. It was fun--really fun. We got to the restaurant and waited a hour to be seated (New Years Day is a busy day...duh...should have known.) but it was worth it all.

As we sat there looking at our menus, Rich made an announcement.

"I'm going to order something crazy!"

"What are you going to order?" I was getting curious. Usually he is very predictable with his breakfast selections. It's usually a Denver omelete with an english muffin.

"I'm ordering a side of chocolate crepes! It's a new year, so it's time to try something new!"

Wow, now that is surprising! Rich never orders anything close to foreign. I laughed out loud, and told him that was a great idea.

The new year started most excellently---alone time with my dear, sweet husband, sharing a chocolate crepe.

Happy New Year!! :) May your new year be sweet, and joyful, full of happy moments!

Going Down Alamo Avenue

I was having one of those restless nights again. I was tossing and turning, and I just couldn't get comfortable. I finally just gave up and found myself just lying there, thinking about the day's events, hoping it would induce some much needed sleep, and for some reason, I pictured my self back in my old neighborhood on Alamo Avenue.

When I was younger, and couldn't fall asleep, I would lie there in my twin bed, and try and listen to the noises outside my window. The noises lulled me to sleep, like a lullabye. If I was really quiet, I could hear an owl from a distance, perched on the light pole near the canyon; a cow softly mooing in the pasture beyond the canyon, and if I remained very, very quiet, I could even hear a seal crying out from seal rock, out in the ocean.

I started to think about those sounds, and suddenly I started to remember all the childhood friends from that same neighborhood. It had been years since I've even thought of most of them, and as I remembered each and every one of them, my memory had lost the faces. I remember who they were, and where they lived, but for the most part, their faces were mostly a blur to me. If I saw one of them today, it would be highly unlikely I would recognize their faces, and sadly a few of them have already died. This left me to thinking and asking myself. Is this what I have to look forward to as I get older?

There was Joey who threw Disco Duck dance parties, Kelly who made fun of my Winnie the Pooh outfits, that nameless girl on the side of the block who had dolls whose hair would grow when you twisted their necks, who had that canopy bed must suitable for jumping, there was Ricky who lived at the corner who I traded a dollar for a quarter, and that other girl who had the mean mom; and the noisy family with all their daughters, but still there are a few friends that I will always remember.

I remember my "first boyfriend". His name was Sean, and he lived down the street. He had a little sister, and they lived in a two story house with a big stairway to the front door. One memorable day, while playing in his backyard, he gave me a kiss on the cheek under a small cherry blossom tree. Later he held my hand and walked me home. I was five years old, and I really didn't think it was a big deal, but before he left me by my front door, he warned me in a very serious voice, "Remember not tell your mom I kissed you!" I was confused. Was his kiss on the cheek a bad thing? Nevertheless, I kept my promise and to his day, I never told my mother about the "forbidden kiss". Sadly, as soon as we started kindergarten, we were forced to part ways. Having a girlfriend in the same class, and hearing the constant tauntings of "Sean has a girlfriend!" proved to be too stressful for the both of us. I never got a second kiss, and he moved away a few years later. I saw him years later in junior high school. He went to a rival junior high, and his high school jazz band was performing at our assembly. I just watched him play the saxophone and said nothing to him.

Kim lived a few houses down the street across from the canyon. Kim was from Texas, and her parents pickeled pickles in large barrels in their garage. She had an extensive doll collection in her room, with multiple outfits which we played for hours with. She was a few years older than me, but still liked playing with dolls, so we enjoyed eachother's company. I remember her stories about growing up in Texas the most. She once told me that she actually went to school there barefoot because it was so hot. I often wondered how she didn't burn her feet while going to school barefoot, but I didn't ask. Kim was really good friends with the young couple that lived in between us, and for some reason we used to go there quite often. I never went by myself, but Kim would go there constantly. I don't remember why, but they were very nice to us and always gave us fruit or ice cream. This couple must have been in their 20's and they drove an antique style van, and I don't really remember their names, just that the woman was pretty and had long hair, and her husband also had long hair. He reminded me of "Meathead" character from that show "All In The Family". Kim moved away, and the cool couple moved soon after in their antique van.

Then there was Freddy. Freddy lived down the street from me and he is someone I will definitely never forget. Freddy had bright red hair, wore glasses, and freckles covered his little chubby white body from head to toe. Freddy was my age, but had a learning disability. I don't remember exactly how we first met, but I remember playing "school" in his room almost every other day. I was the teacher and he was my student, and he had the most addicting giggle you ever heard, and he was a very sweet friend. He would come to my door, and say to my mother, "Hello Anne. Can I play with Julie today?" Years would pass and I would see him around town almost on a daily basis, as I drove by. He never really changed much through the years. I would say, "There's Freddy!" and wave, and he would wave back, although I was never sure if he knew who I was. One day, I stood in line behind him at the grocery store. He was holding a gallon of neopolitan ice cream with a girl who I assume was his lady friend. I said hello, but I saw no sign of recollection on his face when he looked at me. I smiled and told him to have a nice day.


There was another red headed boy that lived down the street who was a little bit older. I don't remember all of the circumstances of the day, but I do remember throwing a rock down the canyon at "some boys" who were calling my friend names. I didn't even see the rock hit anyone, but I did hear a loud yelp coming from the canyon. With that, us girls ran as fast as we could away from the scene. I had the longest run up the hill to my house. When I got there, I quickly hid in the back bathroom and waited. Sure enough a doorbell rang, and my mother, who had no idea what had happened was talking to the red head's mom at the door. All I heard was mumbling, the door closing, and my mother shouting out my name, "Ah Juliana!" A few days later, I saw the kid at school with a big ole' bandage on his forehead. For some reason his class was visiting under classmen and he volunteered to play a board game with me. It was then I learned that he wasn't a bully afterall, but to this day, I swear his mother gives me the evil eye each time I go visit my mom on Alamo Avenue. I don't think she is ever going to forget me.

Soon after all this, I heard a train whistle, and fell fast asleep.

The old man, and Bob the Gnome.

When I was a child, and when I wouldn't go to sleep at night, my siblings and I were told of an old man, "o velho" who walked down the streets at night with a large sack over his shoulder searching for noisy children who misbehaved and would not sleep at night. If he came to a house where there was a noisy child, he would knock on the door. If the child persisted to not sleep after the knock, he would go through an open window, search for the child, and put him or her in his large sack. At the end of the night he would throw the sack in a river.

I cannot tell you the countless times "o velho" visited our home throughout my childhood. The sound of the knock would send me to a frightened state, and all fell silent.

"O velho!" my mother would exclaim in her most distressed voice.

At the announcement of "o velho" at the door, I quickly closed my eyes tightly and try to sleep. I would listen intently as my mother would continue to recite her nightly prayers whispered in Portuguese. That and a song of Ave Maria would usually do the trick, sending the old man back to his walk down Alamo Avenue.

Eventually, after years of his visits, we all knew that there was no "old man" walking the streets at night, and that the knock on the door was really my mother or father knocking on our bedroom wall, or any wall nearest at the time. Yes, we all eventually found out it was all an evil hoax, but the threat of the old man was enough to still make us silent. Even through our giggles, we would make a serious effort to fall asleep. We would even knock on the walls ourselves to mock our parents, but eventually we would go to sleep.

The old man story was a scare tactic brought down from generation to generation--it was used on my mom, and her parents before her. Who knows how long "O velho" had visited this family throughout the years. It may sound like a cruel and frightening way for any child to be coaxed to sleep, but I will say it did work, and I do confess I have tried it with my own children, but with little success; especially with my youngest child.

No, Nicholas did not buy the idea of an old man walking the streets with a sack over his shoulder. I had to think of something different. It would be years later, that Nicholas would confess to me his constant nightmares of a little garden gnome that sat on a swing in our backyard.

Yes, instead of "o velho" we had Bob the Gnome.

Bob the Gnome was bought at the drug store one spring day. He wore a little red hat, and sat on a swing. I immediately fell in love with this little garden gnome, and I happily brought him home. My husband hung the little man and his swing on the little cherry blossom tree that was growing in the corner of our backyard. The children named the gnome "Bob" and everyone seemed to enjoy his silent presence in the backyard, everyone except Nicholas.

I hate to admit this, but when Nicholas misbehaved, I told him that Bob was not happy. Nicholas would look outside the sliding door window to see if it was really true. Bob was sitting on his swing, but I warned my son that he could easily jump off that swing and pay Nicholas a visit if he didn't behave. The thought of this garden gnome coming to life must have shocked Nicholas, and soon only the mention of the name "Bob" would set the boy into sweet silence. It worked, and there was temporary peace, and that is all I cared about for that particular moment, but of course the older children in the household had a field day with this. They enjoyed telling their younger brother how upset Bob was going to be with him if he didn't stop crying--stories that I probably don't even know about.

One day, the cherry blossom tree, Bob's home for a number of years was chopped down to make way of a swimming pool, and Nicholas could not have been happier. It was then that Nicholas confessed to me his many dreams of Bob the Gnome. Apparently, Bob would visit him at night in his dreams. His face would peer at him through the window, and sometimes Bob would at time be chasing him throughout the house with a branch from the cherry blossom tree. Needless to say, Nicholas was not going to miss Bob. All of this naturally made me feel horrible, but Bob had filled his purpose; he did his duty, it was time for this little old man to retire.

Bob and his swing now sits in a box in the attic; waiting for a new generation and a new tree.