Reinke Faces Life

“My love, were it in my power, I would sadly grant thee this boon. But, we have to continue to follow His Plan for us. Let’s go forth and speak no more of this. Who ever is last will be last. It will be His choice; not ours. We’re but humble custodians of His temple on earth. It’s not our place to trump His plan. Whatever that plan be, know that I will be with you to my last breath.”

— character “John” in CHURCH 10●19●62 Volume 2 Page 399

# – # – # – # – #

A year ago, I sent out the “Chapter Ninety Eight” message.

So, I’ll sadly  pick up my burden and begin the race to the Finish Line to rejoin her.

When it comes my time, who will send out the “Chapter Ninety Nine” message for me?

# – # – # – # – #

(Inspired by a child’s FACEBOOK post.)

Dear God,

Will you please take care of my wife?

She died year ago today. And I expect is either with you in heaven or patiently waiting her turn for admission. Little confused about that Purgatory thing, and since she suffered a lot during her life, I figure she paid for any venial sins a long time ago. Based on what I know of her life, I don’t think she had any mortal ones on her permanent record. Don’t forget from her twenties on she never had a good day with her diabetes. Childness was another heavy cross she bore without complaint. And, in the last years, the strange blood disorder that she allow the “medicine men” to experiment on her was the final one. Never heard her complain. Although at the end she was impatient to be released from this vale of tears.

I miss her very much.

I am happy that you let me have her as my wife even though she got sick. She was the best thing that ever happened to me. And, she made me a better person.

I hope you will play with her. She likes to play with balls — especially catch with little boys, bowling before her legs gave out, and her beloved basketball. Of course, if you have a few slot machines, that would keep her entertained for hours. She can show you her “Irish luck”.

I am sending a picture of her so when you see her you will know that she is my wife. By the way, thanks for giving her that fantastic day January 21, 2011. She felt great; not perfect but pretty near the old Ev of her youth.

I really miss her.

Dona Nobis Pacem

With apologies to a young girl named Meredith who gave me this idea.

Fjohn

# – # – #

I’ve always believed that after a year, one has to grant oneself “amnesty” and move on. I’ve tried to do that after seeing my relatives literally drive themselves nuts with regrets. Today marks a year. I hope that tomorrow the healing begins. Although I doubt it.

Love ya, toots!

(To which she’d always reply “Don’t call me toots!”. Wish I could hear that one more time.)

# # # # #

http://www.lulu.com/product/paperback/sharp-elbow-warm-heart/18894209

Sharp elbow; warm heart

The journey of a girl born into poverty,
From a tenement walk up
… to … a
quiet passing into heaven
… with frequent stops:
to help people, and
love all the children along the way.

The Evlynn Marie Mahoney Reinke story (Version 1.1)

# – # – #

(An EPUB version as well as a future update is planed.)

Updates and addition stories welcome.

# – # – # – # – #

Forty One years ago today …

… on December 19, 1970, …

… in Saint Henry’s Church in Bayonne at about 11:30 in the morning, our lives changed.

“I, John, take thee Evlynn, to my wedded Wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God’s holy law; and thereto I plight thee my troth.”

(I stuck the “troth” part in. My maternal Grandmother was an English Protestant. Father Chuamark deigned not to notice.)

(Explanation of “plight” and “troth”: “Plight” here used means to pledge. “Troth” means a promise of truthfulness, and is derived from the same word as “truth”. “Plight thee my troth” – The groom pledges his truthfulness, faithfulness and loyalty to his promise. “Give thee my troth” -The bride likewise gives her word. Also note “betrothed” is “be” – “trothed” from the word “troth”, meaning promised or contracted to marry.)

(Grandma explained that to me when was very young and I asked why my Mom and Dad weren’t together. I knew then that this ‘marriage stuff was serious business.)

“I, Evlynn, take thee John to my wedded Husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and to obey, till death us do part, according to God’s holy law.”

(I’m surprised that whole Congregation didn’t have a collective gasp! Our Girl said: “obey”. I teased her about that later.)

It was a great party.

Great honeymoon.

But, she’d finally given in and married me. And, my life was forever hers.

# – # – # – # – #   

Humorous story: At the back of the church, Ev’s father asked her what was wrong with me. She didn’t know but said that I was the color of my shirt. When her hand was passed to me, she asked. I said “scared <synonym for excrement> less”. She said: “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of us.” And she did that.

# – # – # – # – #   

http://www.youthspecialties.com/articles/you-matter-to-your-spouse/

You Matter To Your Spouse

“And for this reason a man shall leave his father and mother and shall be united firmly (joined inseparably) to his wife, and the two shall become one flesh. So they are no longer two, but one flesh. What therefore God has joined together let not man put asunder (separate).” Matthew 19:5-6, Amplified

*** begin quote ***

Just as you chose your spouse, you were also chosen. Out of the millions of other people in the world, two souls were linked together in holy matrimony because you couldn’t bear to be without each other for the rest of your lives. Your vulnerability in the marriage bed, your giving of yourself to passion and pleasure, and your desire matter to your beloved, too. Such things can only and should only be shared in the intimate bonds of marriage, and for that you have chosen one another. You share not only this mystery, but also your joys and sorrows, hearts and dreams, and vulnerabilities and transparencies. He or she is there for you when you need a shoulder to cry on and to laugh with you over nothing at all. You share a history, a love story, and a life that you travel together. Know that your companion is yours forever and that you matter deeply, profoundly, and intricately to your spouse.

*** end quote ***

Somehow this doesn’t help as the one who was left behind.

“Double Star” is a science fiction novel by Robert A. Heinlein, my favorite author, and there’s a line in there that goes something like “death is the only acceptable excuse for missing an appointment”.

So today, when Frau Reinke misses our forty first anniversary, she has an “acceptable excuse”.

But it doesn’t help much!

# # # # #

Each day, I wake up looking for you …
… never to see again.

Each night, I sleep thinking of you …
… never to see again.

Each activity I do I wish for you …
… never to see again.

Ringing in my ears, your last words …
… “when will it be over”.

My response is still ever true …
… “soon my love, soon”.

All to true …
… I’ll see you “soon”.

# # # # #     

http://www.jamesaltucher.com/2011/10/7-things-i-learned-from-my-8-greatest-teachers/

7 Things I Learned from My 8 Greatest Teachers
Posted by James Altucher on October 16th, 2011

*** begin quote ***

Yesterday was my 25th high school reunion. I wanted to go. I had a car key and I could’ve driven there. I was close to feeling like I was going to do it. But I was feeling somewhat shy. I didn’t like high school much.

When you are rejected so much you build a tough skin. My 8 greatest teachers in life were perhaps the many girls in high school who said “no” to me when I was so desperate to go out with them. Who knows what would’ve happened to me if everything was easy then. Maybe I would not have been able to handle when things became really hard later.

*** and ***

What’s your worst rejection in high school?

*** end quote ***

Rejection?

That’s easy. I grew up in a NYC apartment and had huge crush on the girl who lived on my floor — Gabrielle. I’d time my exits for school to meet her to chat her up in the elevator. Ice in the winter. I’m sure I was even dorkier then. She shunned all my attempts to be polite with no explanation. Many times it was just an icy stare. Like I was <Expletive Deleted> Hannibal Lecher Lecter.

Fast forward to senior year in high school.

I had a car, a series of good paying part time jobs, a drinking problem, and a fairly lively social calendar. Hey, I had money and had no clue how to use it. The worm turned.

She needed a date for her senior prom after a bad break up with a cheating steady; who’d been her steady for all four HS years. Her Mom talked to my Mom. I was scheduled to be busy that night; prior plans. And I stuck to it.

Upon reflection, I was an ass.

I admit now (five decades later) that I could have done it for her. But payback’s a bitch. Looking back, I should have rearranged a mere “attendance at some drinking party” to save that gal’s self-image. She didn’t go to her prom and wasted all the money for it. I never looked back.

That first rejection maimed my self-confidence. And, I turned into the ISTJ I am today.

I found a beautiful young gal who’s arm I twisted to marry me. (She said “no” the first time I asked. Seriously!) And we spent 40 wonderful years before she passed. She made me a much better person than I was before I met her.

So now, I’m left with those shouldas, couldas, and wouldas! Those will kill you.

Maybe I should have taken her to the prom. I might have gotten lucky.

But then, I might have missed my soul mate.

Who can figure the “right” choices?

But I’ve never thought of those gals until now — Friday night Jane, Saturday night Virginia, Sunday Mass with Kissing Mary’s sister, and Sunday night with old what’s her name. All lost in the vestiges of time. They were nice girls to put up with my antics.

They had to know; why did they go?

# – # – #

This reminds me of how my bad conduct almost messed up my relationship with the gal who eventually became Frau Reinke.

In my dogish days, I’d have several dates per week end. All with different girls.

(Yes, has hard as it is to believe, a young fat old white guy injineer at heart could have multiple gal pals. If you were polite, had money to spend, and demanded nothing other than a “wing girl” for these events, you too could lead the life. Reminds me of that “Sexless Innkeeper” episode of HIMYM!)

As a good Catholic boy, I well knew that the key to unplanned pregnancies is where you dipped you pen. No dipping; no ruined lives. (I had four aunts — three actual and one grand — who passed along that concept. And, somehow I missed the Free Love Sixties.)

So anyway, I brought my Saturday night date home and my car died outside her house. Her Dad, a Jasper, who knew I was “responsible” loaned me a spare car. So I could get home. The plan was to get my Gramps to come back on Sunday afternoon and get the bucket of bolts running.

But I had a date for Mass Sunday morning followed by breakfast with another girl.

Hmmm, at the time, I saw no “moral dilemma”.

Went on date. After date, Gramps followed my to Saturday Night’s house, he got the bucket of bolts running. All well and good.

P.S., Sold car on Monday to classmate. Bought new bucket of bolts, after Gramps’ approval, on Tuesday. So as to be ready for weekend whirlwind. Friday Red Garter with the eventual Frau Reinke, Saturday night with Daughter of Jasper. Sunday Mass with Kissing Mary. Sunday night with some other girl for some bar hopping.

When the eventually to be Frau Reinke asked about the car swap, I sort of retold the story. Now Our Girl had an exceptionally well defined “barbara streisand” — aka <synonym for male bovine excrement> — detector. Guess as a result of her bad break up. She pulled me outside the Red Garter and made me focus. (Amazing that late in the evening, I could focus.) She wanted the truth.

(This was before Jack Nicholson’s “You can’t handle the truth” soliloquy.)

Any way, she pointed out that if we were going to get serious — We are? I thought so. But I was playing it very kool — she wanted the truth. And, we could be steadies if I dumped all the other girls and stopped lying. — Who lied? I carefully told the literal truth and omitted any inconvenient “truths”. — Or, she was leaving to go home now. No, I couldn’t drive her home. And, no, I shouldn’t call any more. I was instantly sort of sober. So I caved and said “Steadies? That’s so Fifities High Schoolish!” She said: “Take it or leave it.”

I took it.

Next morning, I called all the other young ladies and cleared my calendar.

About 3PM, She called me and said “What time are you picking me up? Steadies go out on Saturday nights too. And, since your such a good Mass attender, you can now take me.” “Yes, toots. 6PM, OK?” “Fine. And, don’t call me toots.”

Funny now. But I almost blew it.

And, from time to time, I did call her “toots” just to annoy her.

Sigh!

# # # # #

Our Girl had a special place in her heart for the children who t ‘n’ t ed.

She’d spend several hundred on candy, cards, and little baggies.

She “hired” the ‘phews to fill the bags and, when they outgrew the easy money, she sit and carefully do it. I was “fired” from helping because I was not meticulous enough in carefully placing one of each type of candy in each bag.

She had a special bowl for the neighbor’s children that had dollar bills in the bags.

On All Saint’s Day, the day after, the ‘phews would be sure to come over and un-mine the bags. She’d give them the “leftover” dollars for the help. (Easy money, for sure!)

To avoid a very painful evening, I’m absconding overnight to AC for dinner and the comedy club. While it will remind me of her and what we did in AC, even that last glorious trip last January when she was like old, it’s not as hard as seeing all the children.

Back tomorrow.

That’s All Saints’ Day and I’ll go pray for my personal “saint”; Tuesday is All Souls’ Day, and I’ll go again to pray for my personal “soul”.

Sadly!

# # # # #

She was never a big fan of the movies. She’d go, but it’d have to be something really good.

New movies out … … “Mighty Macs”.

She told me all about the real Mighty Macs about the same time she explained the beauties of the pick and roll.

:-)

Makes me miss her even more.

If such was possible.

# – # – # – # – # 2011-Oct-20 @ 20:19

http://www.wnd.com/index.php?fa=PAGE.view&pageId=358585

A nice review.

# – # – # – # – # 2011-Oct-23 @ 21:27

http://rivals.yahoo.com/ncaa/womens-basketball/news?slug=dw-dementia_diagnosis_wont_stop_summitt_082311

Dementia diagnosis won’t stop Pat Summitt
By Dan Wetzel, Yahoo! Sports

*** begin quote ***

They’ve called Pat Summitt a groundbreaker, a legend, an inspiration and the “Wizard of Knoxville,” a nod to UCLA’s John Wooden, who may be the only college basketball coach who can compare.

*** end quote ***

Frau Reinke loved Coach Summitt. She saw herself in her, the way she played, and the way she coached. Her, and Coach Grentz, were in Our Girl’s personal HoF.

She’d be saddened by this news.

I’m not surprised at the lack of a “pity party”. Like Frau Reinke, all these gals are cut from a very unique cloth.

My prayers and good thoughts go out to Coach Summitt, her boy, and her family.

# # # # #

I was enjoying an adult refreshment last night at a local establishment. (Shocking I know.)

Comcast’s Cable12 News will be doing a local segment on Friday at 5PM about Bayonne. Heartbroken for my “Bayonne Girl”. Good thing I don’t have cable, it’d make me sad. And, she would have gone to great lengths to see it.

I wonder how our lives would have been different was it not for Jimmy Carter’s gas crisis when I got out of the USAF. I was working in Piscataway and we were up in Bayonne. Even odd. We had even; her brother had odd. I’d go to work and she’d take the other car to wait on the gas line.

We had to move closer to my work.

Hence we left Bayonne and settled in North Brunswick. Soon after, she was diagnosed with diabetes by Doc Ron who was kool, Pragmatically, he reassured her to enjoy life.

She knew from her brother’s life experience what she was in store for. She took it like a trooper. Stoically.

I, on the other hand, was the typical Type A. I wanted confirmation. (Even though intellectually I knew that diagnosis was right.) I wanted her to go to Joslin. I wanted specialists. I wanted experts. I wanted action. I wanted a cure.

She mollified me by going to a Joslin program at Saint Barnabas. They were just a bundle of bad news (i.e., shortened lifespan to age 45 to 50, complications, blindness, infertility, other associated diseases, organ failures). Upon reflection, I can now understand why she just didn’t want to be bothered with it. She knew they were going to tell her bad stuff. But she went to humor me.

The gas crisis eventually ended. But we never moved back to Bayonne. Wonder how it would have been different if we had? Can I blame it all on Doctor Ron? And, maybe if we had done more it would have ended differently.

Yup, she’d have strangled me!

:-)

# # # # #

Our Girl took special delight in telling the tale of “the dolls”. When she was growing up, she shared a bedroom with her much (much, her words, not mine) older sister. During the winter, she liked the window open for fresh air. (I can vouch for that. There was only one time when the window had to be closed. You can guess when that was. Noise might travel.)

Her sister liked to arrange her doll on the windowsill. When Our Girl wanted the window open, she’d open it. Gravity might take over. And the dolls would be in the alley. Jack would retrieve them and Peg would administer ‘discipline’. When Our Girl was particularly POed, she’d just hide the dolls, open the window, and let the fun begin. Jack would search … unfruitfully. Peg would ‘discipline’ doubly. And, Our Girl enjoyed every minute of it.

I swear she got a bigger kick out of telling that story than doing the ‘evil deed’.

# # # # #

FROM FACEBOOK

*** begin quote ***

I wonder if the royal couple had to do pre-cana? Church of England is basically catholic just without the pope.

*** end quote ***

Funny pre-C story, Frau Reinke and I had to do it as you’d expect. Her’s was a twice weekly two hour meeting with the parish priest for eight weeks. Mine was one session with the USAF chaplain for two hours that I spent sorting, indexing, and filing his old Sunday Sermons. I was handed these three boxes of stapled multi-page documents and was told that when it was done he’d sign off. So it took about 15 minutes to get them in date order, about an hour to index them, and a few minutes to pack them up. I brought them back into him. As he signed off, he said: “Married life’s gonna be a lot like that. Figure it out.” ROFL, when I told Frau Reinke, needless to say, she was not amused. LOL! Guess both versions worked?

# # # # #

Barnstable airport

One time in the late fall, we had the little motorhome we were taking the last trip of the season before we winterized it for the year. We went to the Cape for the water. We pulled up to the campground where had a confirmed reservation to find “CLOSED FOR THE SEASON” and no one around.

So we got out the directory and from the pay phone on the side of the closed camp store, I started calling other campgrounds.

Nothing!

Every one had the same story “Closed For The Season”.

So we were both pooped so we went to the local KMART and parked over night. (She was scared that we get arrested. But she was tired too.) Next morning we wake up early. (She wanted to get out before the cops came.) And, we had “neighbors”. Three other rigs parked nearby.

So, we had bfast and as other came out she went around and “ran for office”. She had a knack for talking to everyone.

She comes back to report that “everyone” is heading home. It was cold during the night and everyone was afraid of a hard freeze. (Some of our water froze during the night.) So, since “everyone” was heading home, it was decided that we should too. (Temperatures in the following two weeks were in the mid 70’s. But it COULD have frozen.) Perhaps, she was keen on not being in a campground. Maybe if we’d parked in a Macy’s lot that would have been more upscale?

The plumbing was balky, so we rigged for travel.

Dumm de dump de dee, over hill and dale, tiny roads thru tiny hamlets, it was excruciatingly slow. Finally it’s coming to dinner time. I’ve had enough of this. I see a sign for the Barnstable airport. “Gotta be food by an airport”.

We pull in to a podunk airport. You knew it was an airport. More planes parked there than cars. Looks like a dive. But that was OK, we didn’t look much better.

I find the “airport restaurant”. It has a sign. “END OF SEASON. Last night tonight until the spring. Prix Fix $20 per person. Hours: 6-8”. It’s about 7:45. She’s says: “too expensive”. I say: “Feed me.” Discussion about hours to go. How much can we eat in 10 minutes. Where will we find something else. How far to the interstate. Yada yada. Feed me won out. So we go in.

Now remember we “camping” and we look it. No showers, not much water, Clean clothes, but we looked down on our luck.

We go in and right there is a maitre d’ in a tux. And, the joint is empty. Zero people. She pulls me to leave. The fellow says “Thanks for coming.”

She says: “Too late?” He says: “We were waiting for you.”

She agrees we go in and sit down. She chats the guy up and finds out his son is in the USAF and that his daughter is going to college on a basket ball scholarship. He apologizes and says “… all the have is stuffed lobster surprise …” I say I don’t like crab; he’s says not stuffed with crab. “You’ll be surprised.”

Few minutes later out he comes with two plates. Each with two of the biggest lobsters, I’d ever seen to that point in my life.

Our Girl tasted the “stuffing” and declared it was lobster chunks.

Amazing.

Got the check, it was $40 and marked USAF discount 100%. So we left a 40$ tip.

That made the trip.

She told everyone.

The next spring we went back. The restaurant was closed. We never found out what happened.

But every time we had to try a strange restaurant and we had mixed feelings about it, one of us would chime up “Barnstable Airport”. And, in we’d go.

Never found another place like that.

Guess we also never looked as scroungy either.

# # # # #

I remember one cute story … … …

… … … we had been going out for about six months and the relationship was “blossoming”. It had bloomed for me, and I think I was wearing her down. (Even tought she’d turned down my proposal.) We were going somewhere — I forget where — it was daytime — and we were zipping up the turnpike. She was holding the ticket and we’re coming to the toll booth. (This was long before EZPASS.) So, I handed her my wallet — always a bad idea as a man to give your wallet to a nosy woman — and politely asked her to take some money out for me. She opens the wallet, sees my drivers license, and yells “Who the hell is Ferdinand?” I explained that was my real first name. She asks “Why does everyone call you John?” That was easy. “Who you want to be called Ferdinand and how do your shorten it. Ferd; that becomes Fred. And, Ferd sounds like turd.” She starts to laugh really hard. I guess it just struck her funny bone. So when she calms down. She asks: “You better not be keeping any more secrets. What else are you hiding?” “My love for you. I don’t want to scare you away again.” She just made that gagging sound and sat quiet.

She did eventually give me my wallet back when we arrived. And, a bug hug and kiss.

I didn’t object, but did ask “What was that for?”

With that coy Irish grin, “Making me laugh and trusting me with your wallet”.

Maybe she saw how much money I had in my wallet? Maybe it was no condom? Maybe it was I never asked for it back. Never could figure her out.

# # # # #

Here I am sitting in Panera to convert one of my e-friends into a non-e, …

… and two guys sit down at the next table and hae a very LOUD conversation about Juvenile Diabetes and how terrible a disease it is.

… … and on and on. With a litany of symptoms and how terrible terrible it is.

I just bite my tongue. They have no way of knowing who’s sitting next to them.

And, I have to learn to just deal with it.

But they are loud!

Argh!

Maybe the Universe has sent them to teach me to deal with the “ouchies”. Rip that bandaid fast, please.

Drip, drip, drip … …

# – # – # – # – # 2011-May-03 @ 07:42

“From our Easter Service today….lilies given in memory of Evy, Marge’s sister, and our little Wessie. Blessed to have known them all.”

# – # – #

Appreciated. Sadly. She loved to give presents for any excuse. Easter was one such date. Thanks,

# – # – # – # – # 2011-Apr-24 @ 13:53

“NBC has only one soap opera left, “Days of Our Lives.”

Our Girl’s “soap”. She watched it with her Mother growing up. (I believe watching it transported her to a happier place and time. For her, it was a near religious experience.) She watched it every chance she got. When it was bumped by a current event, the Saint Patrick’s Day parade, or anything, she’s get up and watch it at 2 or 3 in the morning.

With the advent of the VCR, she watched it every night. And woe was me, the techie genius, if the VCR didn’t tape. (Luckily, much later in our lives, the SOAPNET channel rebroadcast it at 11PM and 4AM. And on weekends, all five episodes were on in a row, twice. DrOOL overload. A few times I caught her peeking.)

She took a lot of good natured ribbing about “DrOOL” from me, but she never wavered from her devotion to her “television family” The Hortons. Maybe it was the family she wanted to have in her childhood. In the TV realm, everyone is perfect. The men are hunks; the women not a hair out of place. No one is poor. No one is hungry. No one suffers. And, they all look good as they deal with all their “problems”.

When we were flush, I even took her on a “DrOOL” cruise. She was disappointed; she wanted the whole TV family to be there. And, Micky didn’t look to “Micky-ish” in the harsh glare of sunlight and no make up. After seeing him in person, she didn’t want to see anymore “real life” representation of her idealized family. I guess one has to protect the only emotional link she had to her long passed Mom.

DrOOL was that link. And, I hope that she’s with her Mom finally. Finally at peace. And, I’m sure they are watching DrOOL together once again as the did so many decades ago.

I wonder if Micky looks better now that he’s passed too? I wonder if Tom Horton is there as well. She mourned their passing as she would an old friend.

I’m glad NBC never cancelled DrOOL while Frau Reinke was with us. That would have been tragic for her.

I still watch it from time to time. And, I imagine her sitting in her recliner, eating her lunch, usually Campbell’s Chicken Noodle soup, Diet Pepsi, and a baloney sandwich. In a time warp, back with her Mom. Watching DrOOL together.

When NBC cancels DrOOL as it eventually will, that will be tragic for me, severing my connection to Our Girl.

Maybe I can buy a DVD of an episode and replay that over and over, when I need to feel her emotionally.

Donna Nobis Pacem.

# # # # #

Our second trip to Vegas, we were “flush”, but not “loaded”, by any stretch of the imagination. We were there for a week. Arrive Saturday’ depart Sunday. And, for some reason, we didn’t “do the envelopes”. (Dumb! Our first trip Our Girl had enevelopes for everything — bfast, lunch, dinner, snack, am gambling, afternoon gambling, evening gambling, show#1, show#2, hotel tips, … you name it there was an envelope for it. I think she was afraid of being broke. We were on a very limited budget.) Now that we were “experienced” Vegas visitors.

Arrived on Saturday. “Broke” on Tuesday. She was crazed. Wanted to go home then.

(I wasn’t THAT upset. I had my emergency stash and I had opened a Las Vegas bank account during our first trip. I had visions of moving to Nevada. Obviously delusional as anyone who knew Our Girl would know.)

I convinced her to “reload”. We found and visited the local Merrill lynch office and got a cashiers’ check. Took it to “our” bank and cashed it.

The vacation continued. We had a great time.

The Saturday before we left, Our Girl tallied up where we stood dollar wise. We had won quite a bit. Enough to replace the “reload”. So she was relaxed and conffessed that she was scared when we did that. “I thought we’d lose everything.” I told her I wouldn’t let that happen.

Sunday morning we checked out and went to the Continental Hotel to have bfast and play a little. It’s literally right down the street from Avis. At bfast, I was playing keno. She took sheet marked some numbers and says “Can I play this?” I said: “Sure, give me a dollar.” She casually replies: “I have three singles left to gamble. Can I play three?” “Sure, you want different numbers for each dollar?” “No, just put it all on that ticket.” “That’s dumb, but it’s your money.”

(Anyone who knows Our Girl is laughing, they know where this is going!)

She watches the board. “To root in her numbers”. Out of the first 6 numbers, she gets 5! I’m going nuts. (I could have “conditioned the ticket” played it in “ways” to ensure she got a decent payday.) Were watching. 5/6 would be nice. 19 numbers other than her “51”.

(Yeah, you know!)

They draw the twentieth number.

It’s “51”.

She has an $8k winner. All total, since some of her numbers she picked, overlapped with mine, and I play “way tickets”, we have 11k$ in winners.

Do you know how long it takes for them to verify winners like that?

I leave her to cash; I go drop off the luggage and check us in. Return to the Continental Hotel, she’s just getting her cash.

Big Smile!

We drop the car at Avis. Run thru the old airport. Make the plane with about 20 minutes to spare. She gets a 20$ roll of dollars and plays the airport slot. Loses.

She’s upset all the way home. She lost that $20. She tells people that “she left Vegas a loser”.

She hated to lose.

… and, yes, her first priority was to repay the “reload”. Then she bought stuff for the kids. She was anything but a “loser” imho.

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>so I’m thinking how many miles to the gallon did that monster get?

18 highway under 60mph. (Assuming of course you were were not in 4 wheel drive and had the “locking hubs” splines out. 4 wheel drive was for macho men in those days — you had to “lock in” the four hubs by hand and then shift the transfer case into 4 wheel high or 4 wheel low.) Ev used to have a hoot driving it. She was no ordinary woman — she understood the splines and had a nice touch with them. The Scout had springs but no shocks in the traditional sense to smooth the ride. Shocks as God intended them to be were only from the frame to the wheel to push the wheel to the pavement. Passengers were just a minor annoyance to International Harvester. Think John Deere on steroids. Good thing she knew how to drive a stick. You could also “lock out” all the wheels and tow it or run “power tools” off the take off — like an auger, a drill, or a power lift. :-) It was really a farm vehicle; I was planning to buy in Nevada, Vermont, or Maine. Life had other plans. :-(

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Our Girl fought terror. She’d seen diabetes cripple her brother and the side effects rip her family apart. Then, she fell victim to the disease. It ravaged her body, destroyed her plans for children, weighed her down later in life, and eventually killed her kidneys. She contributed to diabetes research when she was alive and had them in her will. It was easy to suggest JDRF in the obit.

The following people generously contributed (in alpha order):

Mr. Vincent Alline

Mr. & Mrs. William Fife

Mrs. Rita Gavin

Ms. Ritanne Greenberger

Ms. Mary E. McGready

Parriott Family Charitable Fund

Ms. Holly Rettig

While it’s too late for Our Girl, maybe we can make a difference in someone else’s “Our Girl”.

I am deeply grateful for these people honoring Our Girl.

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Added:

Decker, Ms. Kellen Anne

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