THANKFUL

Lunch with Pam

/ Deb Capstone / 2 Comments

Some may call it a lapse of reason when I volunteered to plan a high school reunion. After the world went dark and we lost so many in the rage of a pandemic the birth of reuniting with others in a common goal of remembering our youth and celebrating who we are now outnumbered the reasons to run away. It was all worth it the first evening of the event looking at the smiles of the Shorecrest High School class of 1982. There was no ego. We put it aside after masks and zoom meetings. We also are of the age where many trivial idiosyncrasies don’t matter anymore, at least for one weekend.

For those who see me, shy would not likely be first word to come to mind. For those that know, turtle is my middle name. Raising kids pulled me out of my shell for years. But now they have grown up and I find myself more in an independent solidarity of my youth. I love people but need the recharge of privacy. So, when a woman I went to high school with approached me several times throughout the weekend and said, “We have to do lunch…” I happily agreed. Her name is Pam. She was always smiling. I remember her from high school, but we didn’t see each other outside of class. I didn’t know her but wanted to due to her extremely cool vibe. It was effervescent. We exchanged numbers and I looked forward to at least one lunch with Pam if not more.

That was the fall of 2022. The holidays arrived, life happened, and 2023 brought me many health issues that delayed my lunch with Pam. I thought about her a lot. I could have reached out, texted, or called. But this turtle was sick and into the shell I went. I did the necessary, but the extra was put on hold and that included lunch with Pam. I did look forward to it and it was on a list I made for when I was feeling better and back to being a stronger me. To those who know me, I was battling health. For others I fell off the earth. I missed the wedding of newly connected old friends and other events I did not have the energy to attend which I deeply regret.

Looking forward to this past Christmas I was excited to have all the kids home. One more surgery at the top of 2024 and the hope of getting back to living. It is in this season of looking to the future when I heard the news.

Pam was gone.

It was a shock. I had taken for granted that she would be always around. I did not get the chance to have our lunch. She loved to laugh and so do I. She loved to travel, meet people, and hear stories. Some of my favorite things. It would have been a good lunch and perhaps the start of a good friendship. Bummer seems trite. Thoughts and prayers of course but a bit overused. Truth be told losing Pam was not about me. It was about her smile leaving this earth too soon. Lord, take the mean people only. The part involving me was missing out on knowing the person whom everyone said was amazing, i.e., cool vibe. My only memories of Pam will be high school and our short, very short, cool chats throughout a weekend in 2022.

In the hallowed shroud of overcast skies of the PNW this time of year could be an excellent excused moment of sullen reflective depression. Another reason to go deeper into the shell. Another lost experience. Perhaps play a song with minor chords and reflect on my day-to-day trek to joining Pam. This is one course of action in the potential friendship not cultivated. Life gives you chances, and the direction is proportionate to the effort. Shyness in turtle form can leave the phone untouched as the next day happens with its own joy and misdemeanors.  Yes, a good sad song would be the turtle thing to do. It’s easy, its familiar.

I choose option two.

I choose to honor Pam with the choices I make moving forward and being self-forgiving when life brings distraction. In between I choose to extend my neck into the world and reach out. Just like I did when I raised my hand to plan a class reunion. It is a grandiose small gesture. Seemingly effortless for this member of the technically developed generation. I choose it virtually and choose it in reality. For example, as I stood in line to return an Amazon package at a UPS store yesterday a lady turned to meet my eyes and I smiled at her. She smiled back. Isn’t that the purpose of a smile, to bring warmth to a person. Perhaps that is all they needed for that day. High five for humanity. I choose, like Pam, to smile.

I never got that lunch with Pam. But as I reach out and participate in life, I honor her smile. She had one for the books. Every time we smile as big as Pam did, we connect to another. We do not need to travel across the world to learn about the power of a smile. But if you happen to be across the world, think of Pam and how excited she would be to take the journey with you. Do it for her but more importantly do it for you as she celebrates you on along the way. That famous smile will be with you. Text a friend, make a connection. Take a risk. Participate in your own way. I will do my best to rise to the occasion. As I do, in my own way, I will ultimately have lunch with Pam. She is present as I don’t take a moment for granted.

And if you choose option two like me, she will be there with you too. Smiling.

The Women Who Shaped Me

/ Deb Capstone / Leave a comment
Deb and The Duchess

The Ones Who Shaped Me

Butterflies, ice cream, cards, fitted sheets and the smell of hand soap and clams.  These are the instances of firsts when reflecting on the ones that brought character and pain into my life. The women who decided, or by some sort of divine intervention, they were going to tell me who I should be.

For the sweet birth of ice cream my mother. The one who loves me unconditionally and imperfectly. Her love of creamy sensations has led to many discussions of life. It has been hope as well as been a been a band-aid for pain. No life happenstance has ever not been solved without peanut butter chocolate or peppermint twist. As we ebbed and flowed in our development to my adulthood, she taught me work ethic. She typed out my first attempt at publishing at age 7 as I watched her correct the Sunday times with red ink. Her career came first by necessity. While others were baking bread, she was leading a board meeting. She taught me all things are possible with hard work and determination for any woman who is brave enough.

Ice cream means love and so does playing cards. Especially ones from casinos with the corners cut off. This is grandma Bill. Yes, Bill to her friends and Helen on her birth certificate. A woman of weak lungs not meant to last past 6 years old but gifted with incredible insight. She taught me how to think outside of the box while having a wicked shuffle. As her body was kept alive by oxygen, she invigorated me to pursue my dreams over solitaire at a modest kitchen table. Though only in my life for 16 years she bestowed enough wisdom to last a lifetime. She taught me strength is not in the physical but in attitude.

No one likes to fold a fitted sheet, and those that do are suspect. Like the one who taught me to hate, to doubt and to cry. The one who went from neighbor to stepmother. Who hid food when I came to visit and who brought tears to my eyes when she negatively screamed how much I looked like my mother? Her insecurities fostered mine and caused me to doubt. She did not disappoint when my father passed and made life a living hell. She taught me patience through grief and forgiveness. She taught me that not everyone is happy, but I can choose who is in my life and how to treat people better through her negative example.

Through the eclecticism of personalities was the love and direction of my grandma Peg. Strained relationships were her mantra, but with me it was teaching and caring. As a child I learned to wash my hands and organize anything. She was the poster child for OCD before it was defined. Throughout years we spent many hours combing the various beaches of the Pacific Northwest searching for clams in the early tides while looking for stones to paint faces on. Her fastidious nature taught me the finer things in life and self-control through creativity.

Blue butterflies equal Duchess. The name was an inside joke and as I remember I hear her unique infectious laugh. She chose to be my foster mother in a time of life at 16 when I was lost. She taught me to laugh, to see family as something else that had been modeled and what being a nurturing mother was. She built me back up and filled in the gaps the others somehow missed. She taught me that not all mothers in your life have the same blood flowing as you. That being a mom is about being present and being accepting. She taught me how to be a better mother to my children by accepting them for who they are, not molding them into what I want.

I could not and would not be who I am without these complicated women. The word appreciative was not always the descriptor. But seasons have defined it. The depression of what ifs have in the past overwhelmed me, but the energy is pointless. It is unimaginable to picture life without them. I think of them when I am at my best. And through my worst I gain strength, as they combined self-fortitude with humanism. I smile when I see a child giggle over ice cream and ponder the other side of an opinion when I hear the shuffling of cards.  I’ve taught others to fold a fitted sheet and they are thankful, while remembering that no matter what you can learn something from every experience.  While I am complimented for my organizational skills, the smell of hand soap lingers, and I hear distant waves crashing on the shore as seagulls squawk and feel a sense of peace. And when I see a blue butterfly, I hear an infectious laugh that lifts my spirits no matter what life has thrown in front of me. I am shaped by the women who came before me and their spirit lives on as I shape those who come after. In the twist of time I ponder the descriptors to be assigned to me and hope the lessons of imperfect love live on.