memories | Change Is Hard

May 21, 2015
by dawnkinster 27 Comments

Freedom in five

I’ve been counting for a long time, even before there was a definite date. I’ve been counting down to a date I hoped would come some day, a date I’ve dreamed about for a long time. In fact I’ve dreamed about this date for so long I can no longer tell when I’m dreaming or living the truth.

But here’s the truth: A week from tomorrow will be my last day at work. At any work. The truth is that I’ve put my time in, met lots of great people, learned a ton of stuff and now it’s time to do something else.

Because life is short.

Hopefully retirement is long; I’d like this next week to move quickly, as time seems to be doing more and more lately. And then I want the warm summer days to stretch out slowly, the way they used to when I was a kid playing kick the can into the evening. I want to enjoy fireflies and stars, bike rides and camping trips, ice cream, and fresh strawberries. I might even enjoy weeding if I don’t have to get it all done during precious weekends.

We’ll see.

So a new adventure is out there just waiting for me. So close. Five work days. Katie says my first priority should be entertaining her. I told her that she’s going to miss her afternoon naps and she should be careful what she asks for. On the other hand, I guess we could both indulge in an afternoon nap from time to time. I’m nothing if not flexible.

People ask me what I’ll do with all the time. I have a list in my head, and I remember my dad talking about how busy he was after he retired. He had business cards printed with his name and phone # on one side and the word ‘Retired’ on the other. I think I’m going to grow up to be just like him.

Can’t stop smiling. Change is not always hard.

May 19, 2015
by dawnkinster 8 Comments

Five photos, five days #5

Katie here.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

Mama says she can’t go five days and five photos without including me! She says I get to tell the story this time too.

So here goes.

A long long time ago mama and dad had another sheltie-girl. Her name was Bonnie and she was a very good girl. She didn’t get to go to doggie school, and she didn’t compete in trials. She didn’t get to go to the park or for rides or to visit people. She pretty much stayed at home and loved my mama and dad.

For a lot of years she couldn’t hear at all, but she was so good at reading body language it took my folks a long time to figure it out. She didn’t bark at thunder or the UPS truck, and she didn’t chase cars. Hard to believe that she was even a sheltie!

Anyway, she lived a long time and went through a lot. She lost a toe and her tail and had arthritis pretty bad. She was on lots of meds, but she was a happy girl. One day she had a really big seizure and she died. Mama and dad were with her, so she didn’t have to go to the bridge alone.

Mama and dad were very very sad. But they didn’t know that I had already been born and was waiting impatiently for them! You know the rest of the story, right? I came along and cheered them up. I did silly bonehead puppy stuff and barked at everything including thunder and the UPS truck. In fact I still do. Cause they wouldn’t know enough to take care of stuff like that without me.

I know that someday I will break their hearts and go find my sister at the Rainbow Bridge. But until then I’ll pose for mom and her silly camera. I’ll sit right here between the breaking hearts and the forget-me-not flowers.

Cause I know for sure they’re never going to forget me. Just like they haven’t ever forgotten my sister Bonnie.

This is the last installment of Carol’s challenge Five photos, five days. The rules were to post a photo and a story, fiction or non, or even poetry. And then we were to nominate someone each day to play along. Well, we like what Carol did for her photo #5, anyone out there that I’ve missed that wants to show us 5 photos is welcome to join in! Show us what you’ve got!

I’ll turn the blog back over to my mama now. She got a little teary when she got thinking about her Bon-Bon. But I think she’s going to be OK cause I kissed her a bunch when she got home tonight.

That usually works.

May 16, 2015
by dawnkinster 19 Comments

Five photos, five days #1

I’ve been nominated by Carol at Wanderings of an Elusive Mind to play along on the Five Photos, Five Stories challenge. Each day for five days I need to post a photo and a story, then nominate someone else to join in. So here goes.

Most of you know that Katie has a favorite park. Turns out that lots of people enjoy Katie’s park for all sorts of reasons, not the least is that there are parts of it that are very photogenic. One evening as Katie and I were packing up to go home after a walk we noticed this:

Senior photo shoot

I’m sure this young man is one of next year’s seniors. And that he plays in the school orchestra which must be a large part of his high school experience.

Watching them brought back memories. More than forty years ago I was having my senior photo taken outside. It was a new thing, back then, to take senior photos outside a studio.

Forty + years ago

I wonder now what caused my folks to choose this particular photographer, someone who was doing something so different. I don’t remember being part of the decision, but I remember the afternoon spent in a field getting my picture taken. I’m sure the young man Katie and I watched last week will remember his photo shoot too.

I wish him a wonderful, happy, and musical future.

So the hard part is thinking about who to ask to participate. The rules are simple, post five pictures with stories, fiction or not, perhaps even poetry. Nominate someone each day to continue the challenge. Today I nominate Sara for purely selfish reasons; I want to see some more photos of her boys. I know she’s super busy with school this time of year, so I’ll understand if she can’t play, or can only post a couple of photos. But I hope to see Oreo and Chewy soon!

Just yesterday

April 8, 2015
by dawnkinster 17 Comments

A message to the Secretary

I woke up this morning thinking about my dad, probably because of an article I read yesterday. It’s so much like our own story, and the stories of thousands of other families.

Many of you know about my dad, but some of you are new readers. And as I haven’t had the opportunity to meet the new Secretary of Transportation, Anthony Fox, yet I thought I’d share my story in a letter to him.

Mr. Secretary:

My dad was driving to the Atlanta airport early in the morning of December 23rd, 2004. He was planning on spending the holiday with my sister in New Jersey because most of us couldn’t get home for Christmas that year. Mom had died unexpectedly in July and we didn’t want him to be alone.

On Interstate 85, just past the Georgia line, he came upon an accident. Police and other emergency vehicles were already there, lights flashing. Traffic slowed. There was a car behind Dad who saw, in their mirrors, the semi bearing down. They drove into the median to avoid the crash, but dad didn’t have a chance. He was driving 14 miles per hour when he was hit and pushed into the semi in front of him by a 80,000 pound vehicle that was on cruise control going 65 miles per hour.

Dad was partially ejected through the back passenger window even though he was wearing his seat belt. We saw the car, what was left of it, later that week when we went to the junk yard to retrieve his Christmas presents for my sister, still inside his luggage, in the crushed trunk. There was blood everywhere, but a particularly long wide stain running down the inside of the back seat door held my attention.

The image shocks you doesn’t it.

I don’t mince words any more Mr. Secretary, don’t shield people from the horror, especially not people who can do something constructive. It’s been ten years and I’ve had plenty of hand holding comfort. I don’t need more of that.

Four thousand people die in truck related crashes every year. Not all of them are the fault of the truck driver. But there are many tired and distracted semi drivers on the roads because the laws let them drive more hours than are safely possible and because many companies push their drivers to do even more. Most of these people die as individuals, in crashes that don’t gain press. They die one by one, two by two, across the country and no one pays attention.

Except the families. Sixty-three year old Walter Manz, who died this week in a crash that sounds just like my dad’s, won’t be remembered by the President or his Governor, or even his local Mayor. He won’t make the CNN news loop, his family won’t be interviewed by Anderson Cooper. He’s just one more person lost for no reason.

But his family will be forever changed.

So while we appreciate you meeting with us and listening to our stories here’s what we really need Mr. Secretary. We need more than warm support and kind words. We need more than hugs and tears.

We need you to stand up for safety.

Stand up and work with us to make the transportation industry safer for all of us. Not just the folks in the four wheel vehicles, but for the professional drivers as well. Because for every family that is devastated by the loss of loved ones there’s a driver that is emotionally devastated as well.

We can make a difference. We can make the roads safer. We just need everyone, and especially you Mr. Secretary, to work together toward a mutually satisfying compromise that will save lives. Make safety your legacy. Be remembered as the Secretary that put safety first.

Safety over profits. Has a sort of ring to it doesn’t it.

Thank you for listening.

Sincerely,

Dawn Badger King

Bill Badger’s daughter.

Forever.

Daddy and me

April 4, 2015
by dawnkinster 6 Comments

Ephemeral – the one I didn’t use

In the 1980’s I traveled with my folks through the Southwest. We visited a number of national parks and monuments but at Canyon De Chey my mom purchased a refrigerator magnet, reproduced Indian petroglyphs, painted on a bit of flat brown stone. It stayed on her fridge for years as a reminder of our trip together.

After she died unexpectedly in 2004 someone in their church gave my grief stricken dad a small prism which he placed on the windowsill above the kitchen sink. When the sun shines at a certain angle a rainbow plays across the kitchen.

Now, with both of them gone, we find comfort in that rainbow when it glows in mom’s kitchen. And sometimes dad’s rainbow falls for a few brief moments on mom’s magnet, reminding us that life itself is ephemeral at best.

I wrote the above thinking I’d use it for the ephemeral photo challenge. Then I realized the photo was very much like to original challenge photo and I always like to do something different. I’m not even sure I took this photo, I think perhaps husband did on one of his trips to Alabama.

So I didn’t use it. But I like the photograph and the thoughts behind it, so I’m sharing it with you anyway.

Life is ephemeral. Now go hug someone you love.

March 1, 2015
by dawnkinster 12 Comments

Lip synching

You’re all waiting to hear about Saturday’s concert aren’t you? I imagine you couldn’t sleep for wanting to know.

Our band was the first one performing Saturday morning, and we had to be there by 8. Since I live more than an hour away I booked myself into a hotel down the street from the venue so I could have a relaxing morning. And so I could sleep in without having to deal with a particular sheltie girl who shall remain nameless. But I didn’t sleep well. The room was hot and eventually I just turned the heater off completely. I was worried about sleeping through the two alarms I had set. I had a long and detailed dream about not being able to find the high school room where we leave our cases and coats, and being late, and running through school hallways. I worried that the car wouldn’t start in the morning, having sat outside in below zero temperatures all night. Maybe I’d spill something on my black dress clothes at breakfast. Maybe I’d fall down the hotel stairs or slip on the ice in the parking lot. Maybe I’d forget my instrument or lose the keys to the car.

None of that happened.

Everything went smoothly according to my detailed plan. Up at 6:30, downstairs for breakfast at 7:00 (wearing my jeans and a sweatshirt just in case), load the car up at 7:45, drive to venue, arrive at 7:48. Meet the rest of the band members in appointed room, get escorted to our warmup room. Things were good. The director was relaxed. So were we. Even the thought of being critiqued by the composer of our most difficult piece didn’t bother us any more. We had prepared. We were the best that we could be. She ran us through the first piece of music, reminding us to watch her at a certain spot, not to slow down at another. Things were normal.

And then it happened.

My clarinet ceased to make any noise. No matter how I blew nothing happened. As the band continued to play I switched reeds. Nothing. I went to the third reed. Nothing. I went back to the first, checked pads, springs, nothing seemed out of order. They were playing the difficult UFO Concerto now, and they never sounded better. I was frantically trying to blow any note. Eventually I got a few notes out, but only those that were the most open, meaning the fewest fingers closing the fewest keys. And by then it was time to move to the stage.

I basically lip synched the entire concert. I could play at best 7 notes. I fingered along, breathed in all the right places and when one of those 7 notes came along I played enthusiastically. Thank goodness there was nothing in the program that required a third clarinet solo! And even though I wasn’t really playing, as I counted out the rests and played what I could, fingering the rest, I have to say I really enjoyed myself. The band was focused, as we always are at this event. Things we had worked on came together. The music soared just the way it was meant to.

And our world renown judge? Johan de Meij was a gentleman and obviously a talented artist with a vision. We played two of his pieces at the concert, and he went through a good portion of each with us, adjusting nuances of single notes, phrasing, instrumentation. We played. He directed, head tilted as he concentrated. He waved us to a stop and explained the meaning behind the sound, why a chord was structured the way it was, what it must convey. We played again, he nodded. At one point he flung out his hands and, grinning like a little boy, said “This is just so much fun!”

I agree Mr. de Meij. It was so much fun. Thank you for making our day. On the drive home I popped last year’s festival CD into the radio and turned it up. Loud. He told us that wherever he goes, as he teaches students he begs them not to stop playing when they get out of school. Join a community band, he says, they are everywhere. Keep playing. Don’t put that instrument away in the attic. He’s right. I am so blessed to still have music in my life.

The drive home took my by the town I grew up and I considered driving through it just for nostalgia. I thought of my folks and all the band concerts they’d been to, all the support they gave us all to follow whatever moved us. I wished they had been in the audience to see this one.

And then I thought… odds are good that they were.

At home, tired and happy I went out to get the mail. And there, among the bills and statements was a handwritten envelope with a return address and name I recognized as old friends of my parents. I worried that they were giving me news that one or the other was gone; I hadn’t heard from this couple since my parents died in 2004. I hurried inside and opened the letter. Out fell two photographs of my parents, taken in 1954, one year after they were married. They are sitting together, holding hands and smiling big happy grins.

There they were. On a day that I wished for them to be near, they fell out of an envelope sent to me by people I had forgotten all about. Just because she ran across the photos, she said, and thought I’d like to have them. So she sent them to me on a day I was missing them.

Love works in mysterious ways doesn’t it.

Yes. Yes it does. This morning my clarinet plays perfectly. Guess Mom worked on it over night.

Love you guys.

February 26, 2015
by dawnkinster 10 Comments

Amy, I wish I’d met you

Amy. Twenty-seven, pretty, interesting, artistic, and by the looks of pictures on her Facebook page and blog, always smiling. I hear she was getting married in May. I never met her, never read her blog or asked her to friend me on Facebook. She was the friend and fellow blogger of a blogger friend of mine. Social media certainly makes the world smaller, and yesterday evening when my friend posted a short piece about Amy leaving a hole in her heart, about how she would be missing her friend, I wondered, so I clicked the link to Amy’s blog. There was a recent post and nothing seemed amiss. That made me wonder more so I started searching for information on Amy and her city. I found a short, one paragraph article about a six vehicle pileup with one fatality. A female.

And I knew.

Today, almost exactly 24 hours after that crash I read an article that included parts of the initial police report. All six vehicles were being merged into the left lane by State Police because of an accident up ahead. Amy was driving third in line behind two SUVs. There was a pickup behind her and behind that vehicle were two semi trucks. Amy and the two vehicles ahead of her had moved over to the left lane and slowed. The pickup behind her was in the process of moving over and had slowed. The semi behind the pickup tried to move over but couldn’t slow down fast enough, and hit the pickup, spinning it into the median. The semi behind the semi involved in the first crash hit that first semi, then slammed into Amy’s car, spinning it, then rammed into it again, on the driver’s side door, bounced off of her car, and hit each of the two vehicles ahead of Amy, then ran up an embankment and hit the bridge.

How fast do you think that second semi had to have been going to hit the first semi, Amy’s car twice, two other cars and still make it up the embankment to strike the cement bridge? It was snowing yesterday afternoon, terrible weather they say. I’m sure the truck drivers will use the weather card while explaining the reason they couldn’t control their vehicles. But these are professional drivers. We expect more from them. They, of all drivers, should know that bad weather requires everyone, especially big heavy trucks, to slow down. If that second truck had been going slower he might have run into the back of the first semi, but would he have hit Amy twice?

Amy, just like my father who was killed in a crash almost identical, absent the snow, did nothing wrong. She successfully slowed and merged. She had nowhere to go. She was killed because someone else made a mistake. And it’s a mistake that is happening across this country every single day. Four thousand people die in crashes with commercial trucks every year. Yesterday Amy was one of them.

I thought about Amy all day today. And as I drove home into a sky going purple with evening I thought about her family, her boyfriend, the wedding that won’t be, the future that ended so abruptly, the art she won’t make, the children she won’t have. I didn’t realize I was crying for her until I tasted my tears.

I became involved with the Truck Safety Coalition when my dad was killed. We offer comfort and information to families who have suffered the unthinkable. I know right now Amy’s family is reeling with grief. Her friends are in shock. Her fiance is in a black hole. I know this is not the time they want to think about what they should be doing to preserve evidence, what they will need to fight for justice for Amy. But they need to know. I wish I could hold them all in a big hug and gently help them through these first horrible days, weeks, months. Years.

I might never get to do that. But I do want them to know that when I’m working on these issues, when I’m in DC talking to elected officials and agencies and reporters I’ll be holding Amy in my heart right next to my dad. Amy has given me one more reason not to give up.

Amy. I wish I had met you. But you can be sure that I’m not going to forget you. The work we do to advance safety on our roads is done to honor Amy and my dad, and all the others killed and injured in crashes with commercial trucks. We are their voices and we are not going away.

Rest in peace Amy. The world is a little less special without you.

I can see that. Even though I never met you.

February 8, 2015
by dawnkinster 19 Comments

Exercising with Aunt Vi

I went to visit Aunt Vi this afternoon. She’s 99 and able to live in her own apartment with a little help doing the cleaning and laundry and grocery shopping. She hasn’t been outside for anything other than doctor appointments for a good long while and she’s getting a bit of cabin fever. She has her bird Buddy as company; we tried to get him to come out and play so that I could get a picture of him on her shoulder but he wasn’t having anything to do with me. I guess he’s camera shy.

Come out and play!

We talked a lot about the old days, the early years of her marriage and stories of when she worked at the local hospital. She remembered getting off work late at night after a snow storm and not being able to find her car in the parking lot. I guess in those days there was no such thing as a remote start. We laughed about her having to dig through the snow with her hands to open the truck and retrieve the shovel so she could dig herself out of the parking lot. She shook her head in wonder at the things she used to do when she was younger.

I shook my head in wonder too.

She was having a good day, so she showed me the exercises she does every day to stay loose. Standing up and hanging onto her walker she did knee lifts. Twenty on each side. I told her I wanted to take her picture doing those and she laughed and sat down. Then she made me do them. I was not as graceful and luckily there are no pictures of that either. I did manage to get a couple of her using her stretchy bands. She works her legs….

Keeping the legs in shape.

…and her arms every day.

Strong arms!

I realized she’s doing more exercise than I am, even though I’m the one carrying the Fitbit in my pocket. I feel guilty.

I’ve often wondered what a 99 year old thinks about as she sits in her apartment watching the world go by day after day. Turns out she thinks a lot about the old days, her son, her sisters and brothers, her parents. The same things we think about when we take the time to sit down and reflect. She says she doesn’t plan anything out in the future, she just enjoys today. I said that was a lesson for all of us to learn – to just enjoy today.

She says she’s tired and frustrated that her body doesn’t work the way it used to. She’s not used to accepting help and it still bugs her that she has to. But she’s grateful to be living on her own in her apartment, and she’s happy that she has friends and family that visit. Still, she knows there’s not much to look forward to and sometimes she gets pensive. She’s had a hard but good life filled with family and love and laughter, but there are only two of her original siblings left now. She’s said so many goodbyes.

Telling stories of the past.

I wonder what I will remember most when I’m 99 and looking back. I wonder what will be the most important accomplishments, the favorite memories, the things I will laugh about, what stories I will tell. I wonder if I will be able to carry 99 as well as she does. I don’t know, she’s set the bar pretty high. I had a good visit with her this afternoon. We’re lucky she’s still around to tell the family stories. And if she keeps on exercising she just might be around to tell us about the good old days for years to come.

I certainly hope so.

Meet Buddy

January 21, 2015
by dawnkinster 18 Comments

Wistful Wordless Wednesday

December 27, 2014
by dawnkinster 18 Comments

Holiday musings

Warm holiday wishes to you!

It seems as though I should be writing a holiday post. I feel this odd responsibility to comment on what for most is the biggest holiday of the year. To talk about the shopping and the cooking and the traveling and the family and, maybe most of all, the memories.

Yet I feel very still inside. Quiet.

And though during this past holiday week bits of blogs have floated through my head, equivalent to sugar plums of old I suppose, nothing has demanded to be committed to digital paper. Nothing has caused me to stop what I was doing and rush to the computer to get it down, to edit, find the right words, rethink the meaning, tell the story. Oh I’ve done plenty of reading; lots of other blogs and articles about the meaning of Christmas. I’ve gone down plenty of other people’s holiday lanes and connected with their memories which are so much like my own.

Christmas Eve I watched Andy Williams and his three brothers in a compilation of his Christmas shows on PBS and smiled a lot. OK. I’m old, but watching the 4 brothers sing in their outlandishly awful color coordinated outfits just made my evening. And cooking dinner with my Aunt on Christmas Day was pretty special too. But it was an uncharacteristically quiet holiday.

Which is not a bad thing.

I’ll leave you with one memory that might get you thinking. I saw this idea on a Christmas special that one of the local networks did. They were interviewing their cast and each was asked if they could go back to one specific Christmas – – which one would it be? Think about that. Can you pick just one?

Mine would be the Christmas of 1964. I was eight, my brothers and sister younger and we were all upstairs that Christmas Eve having our baths before bed. Of course we were anxiously waiting for Santa to arrive with presents, but some of us weren’t quite sure we believed. We had hung little metal bells all along the lower branches of the Christmas tree so that we’d hear him putting packages under the tree. If he was real. I’m quite sure Mom and Dad were upstairs with us as well when we heard the faint tinkle of a bell downstairs. Our eyes got big. We wanted to run down the stairs in our footed pajamas to catch Santa in the act. Then again, we knew if we did that he’d never visit us again. So we didn’t. We stayed upstairs and climbed into our warm beds and smiled from ear to ear. Because that year we knew that Santa was very real.

That’s my special Christmas memory. Special because we were all young and innocent, even Mom and Dad; we were warm and happy and excited and most importantly, we were all together. What’s your special Christmas memory? I’d like to hear about it. Sharing makes the memories permanent, and all good memories deserve to be shared.

I hope all of you had the perfect holiday, whatever that means to you and your family. And I wish for you an extraordinary 2015.

Happy New Year!

The only snow we have is fake!

Change Is Hard

…but change is certain.

Tag Archives: memories