Petals in the Wind

                                                            Like flowers in the wind
                                                       when petals blow away
                                                          The vigor, and vitality of youth
                                                         give way to aging days
                                                           Where once the light shined brighly
                                                         on the promise of what lay ahead
                                                         now it flickers dimly
                                                             and turns to  'remembering when'

Patty Duke - a Personal Remembrance

 I was saddened yesterday when I read  actress Patty Duke had died. She was 69 years old.  For me,  and many of my contemporaries Patty Duke was someone we grew up with, her name a part of our youthful lexicon.   We first came to know her in  The Miracle Worker, the definitive film about  the young  Helen Keller.   Duke's outstanding performance  as the mute, deaf  Keller won her an Academy Award for best supporting actress.   I was reminded of my sophomore year of high school  when the Drama department decided on  the play The Miracle Worker for the Fall production , and remembered  our Drama coach, Mr. Phillips telling Carol Morris, the  student cast in the role  of Helen Keller to watch Patty Duke and immolate her acting style. I think it's fair to say The Miracle Worker and Patty Duke's  role as Helen Keller was  to her  what Dorothy and The Wizard of Oz was to Judy Garland

I thought about her popular  television series, The Patty Duke Show in the early 1960's and how I tried never to miss an episode.   Patty played duo roles , identical cousins Patty and Cathy. She played each part so well, it was hard to believe Patty and Cathy really weren't two different people.
Once,  after visiting my cousin, Shauna for two weeks in Salt Lake City,  and hearing over and over how much I looked like my cousin, I would sometimes daydream , like young teenagers often do , that Shauna and I could star in our own television show - with Shauna as the well spoken, sophisticated  Cathy and me as the more care free Patty.

Fans read about Patty Duke in  magazines; her relationship with Desi Arnaz, Jr. , her marriage to John Astin , the birth of her son, Sean. Her challenges with being Bipolar,  and the positive light she brought to mental illness.    

After my family  and I moved to north Idaho in 1992, I thought it very cool   Patty Duke and her husband had also  moved to north Idaho where she became  active with charities and local theater in Coeur d Alene and Spokane.   I was lucky to see Patty  live on stage - once  where  she starred ,   along with my young cousin Mallory Cooney King  in the musical The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee at Coeur d  Alene Summer Theater .  Patty, as always was a delight to watch, her love for performing so evident. I remember that performance  well as it   helped lift  some my heart's   heavy sadness  after my brothers recent passing.

                                                         

Mostly, in thinking about Patty Duke  what came to mind was the night my husband, Gary and I went to see the musical Gypsy starring Patty  as Mama Rose at the Spokane Civic Theater.  I brought my copy of her autobiography ,  Call Me Anna  along just in case she might sign it.  And to my great delight she did!   Gary and I hung around  after the curtain went down to check with the attendant about having Patty Duke sign my book.  The attendant asked us to wait while he spoke  with Patty Duke about it.  Before long he returned, asking us to follow him as he ushered us backstage.  As I walked toward the chair  where Patty was sitting , she stood up, put her hand out to shake mine and introduced herself.   Like she would need introducing!  I was surprised to see how petite she was, and how approachable. Her smile so natural and real, so welcoming!   She had a twinkle in her eye as we conversed back and forth. If I had thoughts about being nervous asking her to sign my book, there was no need, she put me completely at ease.  After a few minutes she asked for the book   I had tucked under my left arm ,  grabbed a pen from the nearby table and signed it:

Love to you, Kathy
from Anna
Patty Duke
Nov. 1, '03

Meeting Patty Duke that night made a special night out even more special.

But that's not the end of the story.  A few years ago , I had somehow lost the book.  I searched everywhere for it, but could find it nowhere.  Unusual for me to misplace a favored book,  as I am  known to keep good care of books. For months I  ranted about losing the book to friends and family,  and  finally had to presume the book was wrongly placed in a  box for discard.  Reflecting on Patty Duke's  passing yesterday ,  I was  disappointed all over again for having lost  the book she had inscribed to  me. I went on about chores, took an afternoon walk, and thought to myself, if I ever find  that book now, it would be a miracle !  It wasn't to much later , after I was back in the house that a  jolting, bolting   thought pressed me  to go to the bookshelves in the Study. I had already looked there  several times for the Duke book,  I thought it would be a waste, but the thought was so compelling and insistent  I should look again, I did.  And lo and behold after pulling three books from the shelf, there it was !  Call Me Anna !  I quickly pulled it from where it was, turned  to the opening page where Patty Duke had written  her inscription,  and smiled !

                                                                   

A Day of Thanks

 

 

 

Turkey and dressing, mashed potatoes and sweet potatoes, cranberries and pumpkin pie - the traditional dinner menu of millions  celebrating Thanksgiving  Day, this uniquely American holiday set aside to give thanks to God for His providential guidance and bountiful love. For family and friends and  all we hold dear; for our Nation, with its many natural resources ; rivers and forests, mountains and prairies. Crops and grain, the fruited plain. And the generous spirit of its people, always willing to lend a helping hand, to persevere  when the challenge seems hard and  press ahead.

For freedom to choose a better way - righteous and good. To worship God; not to exclude our  faith from the market place, government buildings or schools, but to include it in our private and public life - to lift our gaze toward the Heavenly Creator and give thanks.

Note:  The First National Thanksgiving Proclamation 1777
           Continental Congress  http://www.crisismagazine.com/2015/first-national-thanksgiving-proclamation-1777

Forever In My Heart

Dates and places
and faces of people we love
forge a memory in our heart
to remain forever
a part of us,  and help
shape who we are,
so strong not even
death can diminish
the remembrance
of that time
when the one we loved
stood near, sharing our
laughter and tears
I think of my brother, Walt
who would have celebrated
his 61st birthday today;
his  smile, his words, the
sound of his voice; his warm
hug hello, and his last hug
good-bye. I cherish the boy he
was, the man he became;
my little brother, my forever friend

 

Moments of Grace & My Brother, Walt

Sometimes little moments of grace, or an unexpected  surprise pleasantly  touches our life  and we can't help but smile, and be thankful.

This past April I was blessed with two such moments.  The first happened  while I was making the two hour drive from my house in Worley to my mother's home in Clarkston, WA. The drive isn't difficult, but some stretches of the highway can seem long and lonely, especially in bad weather. On this day, a  heavy rain and dark gloomy clouds cast a heavy shadow all about me,  and I considered calling mom to tell  her I would come down another day. But I kept driving,  and as I always do when travelling I prayed a simple, but sweet prayer I learned in childhood

                              Angel of God
                              my guardian dear
                              to whom God's love
                              commits me here
                              ever this day
                              be at my side, to
                              light and guard
                              to  rule and guide. Amen

It seemed no quicker than I  finished with amen I heard the familiar voice of my brother  say, Hi, Kathy, how are you ? Although Walt died nearly 5 years ago,  his voice  seemed so real I couldn't help  myself from looking toward the passenger seat. As I felt his presence, and recognized his smile,   I joyfully exclaimed,  Walt ! It's you! I've missed you so much, how are you ? Good, he said, Don't worry. Keep going, you're gonna be okay.  I had so much I wanted to ask him, to talk with him about, to share. But the moment soon passed, and Walt was gone. But the feeling of peace and joy I experienced  lasted throughout the day, and I thanked my guardian angel for inviting my brother to ride with me, to  be my angel that morning.

Two weeks later, when  Gary and I agreed it was time to replace a broken window in our back door, the one leading from the laundry room onto the deck, another moment of grace touched my life, one that also involved my brother.

 The window had been broken since mid winter, the opening covered with a heavy piece of plywood to keep the snow and cold out. But now spring was on the way, and we  were ready for the sun to shine through.  I called several places to see about replacing the window and was quoted prices  ranging from $225. to $125.  All more than fit our budget, or what we wanted to spend.

 Finally,  Gary decided to load  the door in the back of  our rig , and we took it into town to see if one of the glass companies  there could replace the window. Not much luck, until we talked to fellow who   suggested we stop at Coeur d Alene Building Supply. When Gary and I walked in, we were directed to an office in the back of the store.  The salesman greeted us and motioned us to sit down. Yep! They could get a window for us.  I noticed the  business cards on corner of his desk, and asked if his name was Walt (the name on the card), he said yes, it was. I told him my brother's name is Walt, that he passed away a few years ago. Then the salesman Walt said, guess that means we'll have to give you the Walt discount !

I had two twenty dollar bills and laid them on his desk. Walt the salesman said, "We can make that work".  I told Walt the salesman, my brother Walt is smiling, knowing he was part of this transaction, getting us the Walt discount ! 

So that's my story. Some might say, a fanciful one,  just coincidence. And  that's okay. But not, me. I say there are no coincidence's, only Godincidence's  as my  grace moment with Walt while driving to my mothers , and the way Gary and I  got our replacement window shows.  It still makes me smile when I think of both these happenings, knowing  grace moments touch our life  more often than we know, if only we look for them, and my brothers  presence will always be with me.

*** In memory of Walt Cooney
September 4 , 1954 - May 30, 2010






 

Memorial Day 2015 - Veteran's & Family History

Memorial Day is more than just the unofficial start to summer, camping trips and Memorial Day sales at local retailers to draw shoppers into their stores,  it is the day Americans  set aside to remember our fallen soldiers killed in war and  all the  deceased who served in the military,  in a special way.  Throughout our nation are parades, political speeches and picnics. Family members , patriotic organizations, church groups visit cemeteries to place flags and flowers at the gravesites of Veteran's to honor their sacrifice; to keep them in memory.  We are reminded there is a cost to freedom.

This year my celebration of Memorial Day coincides with my applying to become a member of Daughters of the American Revolution.  A timely  intersection it seems to me,  as DAR does such a wonderful job in honoring Veterans, both living and dead throughout the year , and in fostering  patriotism  and love of liberty by preserving the American spirit. My patriot is John Hart, a signer of the Declaration of Independence. I am a descendent of John Hart via my paternal grandmother, Vera Williams Cooney and her father Gus Williams. Grandma never became a member of DAR, but her younger sister, Myrtle did,  and Grandma encouraged me to pursue membership, too.

While proving lineal decent from a patriot of  the American Revolution can be a lengthy process, it is well worth the time and effort to discover both a familial and historical connection through the  generations, and share a bond with women, as stated in the DAR brochure, that continues the tradition of promoting patriotism, education, and historic preservation.

So this Memorial Day as I honor and remember deceased family members

                                        Andrew G. Norton (WWI)
                                        Cecil E. Cooney (WWI)
                                        Lloyd E. Cooney (WWII)
                                       Robert Breedlove (WWII)
                                       Leo J. Thorson (WWII)
                                       Austin Twiford (WWII)

and  their service to our country, I also think of my ancestor John Hart and the important role he played in helping to establish liberty and freedom for all in the  United States of America.

God Bless our Veteran's,  and God Bless America !

Sunday, May 3rd

     Yesterday, May 2 my husband and I celebrated our 35th wedding anniversary. We went to a favorite restaurant for an  early evening dinner and was pleased to have our son, Gavin join us for dessert. With happy hearts, Gary and I reminisced about our wedding day and the vows we made to love and always cherish one another.

     Today, May 3 is a different type of anniversary. One that brings a somber, sad remembrance. This year May 3 falls on a Sunday, just as it did in 1970 when I, along with four of my friends crashed down a 75ft embankment off the 101 Freeway  in the red Volkswagen van we were travelling in.  Three of us survived, two died. No one knows for sure what happened. A Marine caravan from nearby Camp Pendleton had been following us for some distance, the soldiers  said it looked as though a gust of wind picked up the van and threw it  over the edge of the highway. One thing I know for certain, neither drugs nor drink were involved, and we weren't speeding.

     When my mother got the call from the doctor that fateful afternoon, he asked her for permission to operate. Mother said she'd like to talk with me first. According to mom, the doctor then  very kindly, but urgently explained to her my life was in danger. Mom asked if I might die, the doctor said, "Yes, Mrs. Cooney". We need you to get here as soon as possible, and if her father doesn't live there, he needed to be contacted and told if he hoped to see his daughter, he needed to hurry. 

    I was unconscious , and would remain so for the next few days. The right side of my body was smashed; my femur crushed, my back broken, as was  my arm and clavicle. My right lung collapsed and I had internal bleeding. When mom arrived at the hospital they told her she wouldn't recognize me as my head was three times its normal size, and  instructed her not to make any gasps or sobs when she saw me, that it may alarm my subconscious . They couldn't be sure I didn't suffer brain damage, and wouldn't know for a few days. Mom was also told I may never walk again.  The priest was called to give me a Sacramental Anointing. Then  the doctors  told Mom  I had a very rare blood type, one they didn't have on location,  and asked if I had Mediterranean blood. Mother said, "No, my daughter is of Irish, Norwegian and English heritage. My  Uncle Pep contacted a  Blood Bank in San Francisco, but it was finally in San Diego my rare Lewis AB negative (with a series of numbers) blood type was located.

   None of this was I aware of  then, of course.  It was only later I came to understand the anguish and heartache my dear  mother and father, my brother experienced in not knowing if I would live or die, or how the extent of my injuries might effect the rest of my life.  It took me awhile to focus, to come to,  and after  those first few days when  I began to respond,  I couldn't grasp where I was or what happened.  My brother, Walt would later tell me, I asked him "What happened to me, did I  fall down ?"  I didn't know to ask about Manya or Karen, I couldn't remember we had been together.  But slowly I did, and  was overcome with joy  to learn they had survived.   It was two and a half weeks after the accident I was told Bob and Tom had died.

   I remained in the hospital for three months, laying in traction, then  for another two months I was in a full body cast , sleeping in a rented  hospital bed in our dining room. Although my mother came to the hospital each day and every evening, and dear friends often stopped by to visit - and even decorate my bed,  at 19  five  months of not being mobile, and away from normal every day life  can seem a long time. I was comforted to know  many were praying for my healing, both physically and emotionally, and thankfully, I liked to read and had a variety of books close at hand, mostly memoirs  (Dr. Thomas Dooley), inspirational (Christy by Catherine Marshall), and spiritual (St. Ignatius, St. Teresa of Avila). I began to experience in a deeper way God's goodness and presence in my life, and the life of others, even through great sadness and pain.

      When I came across St. Teresa's Bookmark, her words became a favorite of mine :

         Let nothing disturb you,
         Let nothing frighten you,
         All things are passing;
         God never changes
         Patience obtains all things.
         Who has God wants for nothing,
         God alone suffices
            
     After the cast came off, and I took my first steps, I was both grateful, and humbled to realize how many family members  and friends  of different faith  traditions and religious practices were praying for me, and that my healing and recovery was an answer to their prayers.

    - Lenny Goldsmith at  Synagogue, my Methodist Grandmother, Lutheran friends, Molokon Russians,  Catholic aunts and uncles lighting candles  in their parish church, Mr. Given placing my name in Prayer Circle at his Ward in Salt Lake City;  and some who didn't attend any church, but prayed with trust in a loving God that I would be well.

    I wanted to thank God, but whose God?  The Jewish God, the Mormon God, the Lutheran, Methodist, Molokon Russian, the Evangelical God,  Catholic God?  For me,  the answer was , and is very clear -  the  one true  God and Father of us all.  The One who said,

      "Let us make man in our image, after our likeness. Let them have dominion over the fish of the sea, birds of the air, and the cattle, and over the wild animals and all the creatures that crawl on the ground." God created man in his image, in the divine image he created him; male and female he created them (Genesis 1 26-27)

      I'm a practicing Catholic and will remain so. I love Jesus, my church, my faith. But I know from experience 'Catholic' prayer isn't the only prayer God hears, He hears the prayer of all people who trust in His word, throughout history and from every corner of the world, from every denomination.

    I contemplate how wonderful it would be, and  pleasing to God,  perhaps today especially - May 3, 2015 when the world is so full of strife and turmoil,  if people of faith spent  less time bickering and fussing  among themselves about  'religious ' differences and spent  more time on what binds us together, belief in the Creator of heaven and earth, and for Christians,  in  Jesus Christ.  Let us  lift up our voices in one accord  and cry out to the Lord for mercy, and pray for  unity and peace in our world.

    *Postscript - at Mass this morning prayers were offered for the happy  repose of Tom Grimshaw and Bob Wrighton as they rejoice in Heaven and see our Lord face to face. And for beloved friends Manya  and Karen that God continues to bless their lives with His light  and abiding grace.

     

   


   

   

     



   

March 17 (St. Patrick's Day)

St.Patrick
Shamrocks
Wearin' of the green
Ronan Tyan sweetly
singing, I'll Take You Home Again, Kathleen
Leprechaun's
Potato famine
and The Blarney Stone,
Celtic prayer, the Trinity
The rebellion of '16
 and Independence;
A pint of Guinness
and soda bread
 happily shared
with both stranger and kin

Oh! To celebrate Ireland
from where my family
roots began, (thanks
to me dear mother and dad)
and our ancestors before them
Cooney, Gavin, Norton
(with a little Thorson
from Norway thrown  in)
hailing from the
likes of  County Kerry,
Tipperarie , County Cork
and Galway;
Irish laughter, Irish song, Irish faith
to help carry us on
                                               

And for all of ye  now reading this blog
an old Irish blessing to rest upon you and those you love

May God grant you always
a sunbeam to warm you,
a moonbeam to charm you,
a sheltering Angel , so
nothing can harm you

Seahawks & The Super Bowl

     Last week at this time I was looking forward  to  Super Bowl  XLIX , anticipating my team, the Seattle Seahawks would win the  grand trophy for the second year in  a  row, but it wasn't meant to be.  The Hawks lost to the Patriots 28 -  24 .

    In the last minutes of the game  when it seemed certain  the Hawks would have victory, and  every 12th Man was loudly cheering,  the tide quickly turned when the Pats intercepted a Russell Wilson pass. Hope  for  a back to back Super Bowl win was shattered. Fans were stunned, shocked. It took a moment to register what just happend. So close to the goal, why a pass? Why not feed the beast,  and give the ball to Lynch to run across ?
                                                     

    Coach Pete Carroll took responsiblity for the call , but I can't help but wonder if the call had been different , if it was for Lynch to carry the ball across the goal line , the Hawks might have won. We'll never know  for sure how it would have played out. We can only imagine.  My guess is,  if  Coach Carroll would have called  the hand off to Lynch , the Seahawks would be Super Bowl Champs!

    Just before kick off my husband admonished me to control my emotions, saying  I should keep things in stride, and not get too excited one way or the other, "After all, it's just a game", he told me.    Well, I surely tried,  but without much success. But it wasn't just me, for all Gary's talk about staying calm, he got pretty excited himself shouting out to the players as though they could hear him through the TV screen. He  even woke me up in the middle of the night to relive the game, and  question Carroll's  final call. Hmm. Just a game ? Yeah, right. Okay, honey. Now go back to sleep.

      The next day I reflected on how Americans  like a team to cheer , someone to root for, a  worthy champion we can look up to and carry us to a different place, if even for a brief moment.  We wear their  colors.  When lofty and true, it is  a good thing. It brings identification, connection and camaraderie.  I read  Super Bowl XLIX was the most watched in television history.  While  we cheered different   teams,  it was  good so many of us were united around one single national  American event..  we shared common ground. I was also inspired , uplifted in what Seahawks quarterback Russell Wilson  tweeted after the loss:


      "Thank you God for the opportunity . I will never waiver who He calls me to be,"

      "At  26 years old I  won't allow  one play or one moment define my career. I will keep evolving"

      " Every set back has a major comeback"


    While Russell Wilson didn't hand his fans another Super Bowl victory, he did give us something to cheer, perhaps even more valuable - an example of  perseverance, positive attitude and faith. Keep on keeping on, even when things don't go your way.

    
                                                         
 

 



 





 

   

 

    

New Year's Eve & Resolutions

     New Years Eve brings the end of one year, the beginning of another  as folks celebrate, reflect, anticipate; some are melancholy and sad remembering the loss of a loved one, others overjoyed with the birth of new life. Some are glad the old year has passed , others sad to see it go. Many make New Years resolutions to rid themselves of negative traits, and make promises to improve their way of eating , exercise, playing , praying and living life; They resolve to become , what they deem better in the new year than how they were in the old year.

           
        I'm one of those people.  I want to grow in my personal life - to improve my manners, my temperment , my charity toward others . Ah, yes! To exercise more and lose those dreaded pounds gained over the holidays;  To be  more organized , more bold and less fearful , and most importantly to judge less and love more. To practice the Prayer of St.Francis :
       
Where there is injury , pardon; where there is doubt , faith; where there is despair , hope ; where there is darkness , light ; where there  is sadness, joy

       A lofty ideal indeed,  but still my goal - year after year  after year. Resolutions made,  most often unfulfilled - year after year. Yet, I persevere. Perhaps in that alone I succeed , my perseverance  in striving for that higher ground , no matter how many times I fall short . Or maybe it's not my perseverance at all, but God's grace renewing, restoring , resurrecting my heart to try again as one year ends and another begins to strive to forgive and love better.

    Happy New Year ! Praying your  resolutions be fulfilled , and  the blessings of the Almighty flood your gate each and every day of 2015

     



     

   


      

Social Media - Privacy, Friends, Family & Bing Crosby

     There's been a lot  written  about Facebook regarding  privacy ,  and  addiction to  social media.  Two subjects I take very seriously. I, like most folks,   cherish privacy,  and don't relish the idea of  being addicted to something , anything out of my  control.  Because of this , I have  seriously considered closing my Facebook account.

      But  then  something interesting happened. Bing Crosby ! Yes, that popular crooner from long ago . Bing has always been a favorite of mine  - his songs, classic  movies, and Tv specials  I watched in days of my youth. And now, PBS is airing  an episode of American Masters ,  about Bing! I posted on Facebook about the show.  To my great delight, I  found  cherished friends from  high school days , and newer friends made comments and were going to watch the show, too.  For me , it was  a  welcome connection past to present,   with friendships  I value , and love ; friendships I hold dear .  

    I began to ponder if interaction like this  could have happened  without Facebook, the sharing back and forth in real time , and if this might be the positive of Social Media where long distance families  and  long ago friends , and new friends are able to connect so easily .     Where folks share the happenings of their  everyday  life-  those  fun , silly , happy times; and yes,  broken moments, when life seems in total  despair.  Or are we only  being self centered, yelling out to the world ,  'Look at me, here I am'

   I don't have an answer yet, but  will continue to seek a resolution ,  if social media is a good or bad thing.   I do know I enjoy hearing from long ago friends, seeing pictures of  a beloved aunt , Joy Thorson Mann running in an Omaha marathon,  Cooney cousins and other family members,  and on this night watching Bing Crosby Rediscovered on PBS , and being able to share commentary  about  my favorite song man ,  with dear pals Jeannette, Roberta, Cheryl,  and Kari B Allen.  On this night,  social media seems a good thing, and the camaraderie it brings.

 
   

 

   

     

   

Now I'm 64

   For the past several days , in anticipation of my 64th birthday I've been going around the house singing in a  slightly off key, but  spirited voice to my husband, Gary

         Doing the garden
         digging the weeds
         who could ask for more
         Will you still need me
         Will you still feed me
         When I'm sixty-four
 
  When this popular Beatle song from their album Sgt. Pepper's  Lonely Hearts Club Band was released in June 1967,  my friends and I were 16 years old  and 64 seemed an eternity from where we were at.   Our point of reference was  more immediate: Summer fun at the beach, date night , toilet papering the Smith household,  hanging out at Taco Bell, and   anticipating our  senior year at good ol' Bell High.

   But  I soon learned what seems an eternity  is only a series of  tomorrow's , soon to become long ago yesterday's .  Which brings me to this special day, October 25, 2014. My 64th birthday.

     I like birthdays, mine and everybody else's . I think of  them as the day The Lord has made , we shall rejoice and be glad in it (Ps.118:24). To celebrate the gift of life.  I like my birthday is in the Fall of the year, the end of October when the seasonal change in color moves to  autumn orange, gold's and reds, and  the change of weather takes place -  from hot summer  sun to cooler days.  I like Scorpio is my astrological sign, and opal my gem.  I like I'm  a baby boomer and remember hula hoops, silly putty, roller skates with a key, chasing through the sprinkler with my little brother, Walt and neighborhood kids on hot summer days,  and riding my bike  to Bell Park with  best friend, Linda.

  On T.V.  there was   Leave it to Beaver, Father Knows Best, The (original) Mickey Mouse Club starring  Annette Funicello, Cubby and Karen;  My Three Sons,  and The Rifleman. Today, what  I'd call sweet shows.

    At 64 I  look back and  cherish all the times of my life: My early years  in Council Bluffs, Iowa  where I was doted on by loving  grandparents, aunt and uncles, where my roots began as my parents did,  in a small mid western town. I was baptized in the same church my mother was, Holy Family Catholic Church,  and played at my Grandpa Cooney's upholstery shop. I equally relish my growing up years in Bell/Maywood, California where I attended  St. Rose of Lima grade school first through eighth grade, and Bell High starting my Freshman year, and learned lessons of faith and friendship.

     And my working years at the Herald American/Call-Enterprise newspaper and The Los Angeles Times. Editing copy, writing the story, retail sales, meeting a deadline. A job that helped me gain confidence, and gratified me with a sense of personal achievement.

   Then , the most rewarding years - marriage  and motherhood;  my Gary, and sons, Gavin and Garrett. Husband and wife making a home, raising a family, creating new memories for future years. The joy of experiencing my son's first word, first step, first day of school; family trips to Disneyland and Disney World, New York City and Yellowstone. Play days, sick days, Sunday go to church day.  Halloween costumes and Thanksgiving dinner, Christmas Eve at Grandma Nor's, coloring eggs for Easter and  4th of July fireworks, and yes, birthday celebrations filled with smiles and laughter.

   For sure, not every moment in my 64 years has been carefree and happy, but all has been good. I'm grateful for my mother and dad, where I came from and who I am. I'm blessed in family and friends, and knowing God's presence.

    I  started this birthday reflection with lyrics from one Beatles song, and    think closing with another (with slight word change) sums up my feelings pretty well

            All these places had their moments
            with  family and friends
             I  still can recall
            Some are dead and some are living
             In my life I've loved them all

            
       
  

     

     

   


   
  

  

   

   

 
     

The Sky

The  poets prose can't
accurately describe the
awesome beauty , unfiltered
and pristine of todays
north Idaho sky
Nor a painters brush
its brilliant hue;
A blue so blue
with clouds so white
bringing to mind
something pure and serene
I wonder,  is  this  what
the  first sky looked like
when the world was created ?
And God  saw what he had done
and proclaimed, This is good

His 60th Birthday (my brother Walt Cooney)

September 4 , 2014 - note to Mother

Congratulations, Mom! 60 years ago today you gave birth to your beautiful blue eyed baby son! Walter Rod Cooney - 9 1/2lbs. 21" long. Named for your beloved Walt Thorson, Walt was welcomed into the world with great joy  by you and dad,  grandparents, aunt and uncles , and  me - his big sister. But most  especially in your tender and unconditional love, a love that nurtured and guided Walt throughout his life , and helped him become the caring , good man he was.
                                              

We celebrated his first birthday, and each year after wished Walt a happy birthday with party, cake and presents; and while all memorable in some way, his 21st birthday stands out as one his most special birthday's.  Not only because turning 21 is considered a landmark birthday, moving from youthful idyllic days into adulthood,  but because of all the friends and family there, including Patsy and Lawrence Mattix; Linda Mattix Funk and Jim Funk, Austin and Mark, Jim Moore , and Walt's best friend, Jimmy Taylor. Phyllis and Don .  You , me,  Gary, and of course, Patty.  Not only was Patty my brothers long time girlfriend, she was, and is like a little sister to me.

And let's not forget Harris the Parrot! Your gift to Walt, the number one gift on his wish list!  Although, I do remember it was a cockatoo, like the crazy bird on the popular T.V.  show, Baretta Walt had  originally asked for , but when learning the  high cost, he said, " you know, Mom, I think I could like a parrot just as well".   Harris fit right in with all  of us laughing, dancing, singing folk - at first a little shy, he quickly began with his squawking, talking parrot sounds. Not exactly, "Polly want a cracker",  but more a deep throated , "Caw, Caw, Caw" .

With Walt's birthday so early in September, the sounds of summer still played in our heads and we listened to some of the great pop  hits of 1975 - Elton John's Someone Saved My Life Tonight, James Taylor How Sweet it Is To Be Loved By You, Bee Gees Jive Talkin , and a favorite of Patty and Walt's,  One Of These Nights by the Eagles .

Mom prepared a lovely buffet of meats and cheeses and homemade dips . My childhood playmate and life long pal,  Linda  (she had known my brother since he was 6 months old) fixed herself and Walt a Rum and Coke  (now that he was a legal age ) , then offered a Happy Birthday toast . When she finished we all clapped our hands and shouted cheers,  and took turns giving Walt a birthday hug.

It is sweet memory of a happy time , when life was good with loved ones near.  But the years pass quickly, and today would be my brothers 60th birthday, though he is no longer here for us to give him a party or buy him a parrot. Yet,  we love him still - the baby , the little boy, teenager ,  and man he was.  Happy Birthday,  dear Walt! Love,  your  Sis.

The Fabric of Friendship

    I'm home from a weeks visit with  a very dear friend of mine since high school . Diana and I spent leisurely hours reading, watching movies , going for a morning walk .  Along with her husband Bill, also a friend since high school we played Scrabble each night ,  enjoyed a glass of wine (for Bill n' me a mug of beer ) and ate ice cream . It was a most pleasant time.

    Diana and I also went to Cheesecake Factory and Mimi's Cafe - two totally different  restaurants , but both with an ambiance suited to the ladies lunch set.  At Cheese Factory  we met a long time friend of mine to help celebrate her 70th birthday - a special day, indeed. Phyllis and I became friends when we worked together at The Herald American/Call Enterprise newspaper; she was 27, I was 21 and have remained close friends over these many years.  The  next day , Diana and I met our mutual friend,  Manya   at Mimi's Café.  Manya is  another cherished  pal from high school days.
                                       

    It was during that lunch I began to think about the thread of friendship, and the fabric it weaves. Diana, Manya and I are three of a larger group of high school friends that try to get together at least once a year to reminisce
our youthful antics,  and renew our vow of friendship. To celebrate our past , while at the same time build new memories. Just this past April we met at Susan's home in Eatonton, Georgia; we laughed and played, and carried on like we were the same carefree teenage  girls from long ago.

 

    The truth is we're now women in our 60's - 2018 will mark 50 years since we graduated high school. Underneath the L'Oreal or similar  product, our hair is some shade of gray, our skin wrinkled and crinkled,  and dotted with age spots, and our once slender bodies a bit fuller than they once were. Each of us in some way have endured heartbreak in one form or another, and have persevered. Faith, family and yes, abiding friendship.

     I listened and watched Manya and Diana as they spoke - Manya telling us about her husband Bill who just left for Tennessee  on a work related job; Diana, about her grand-daughter starting her first year of college. I saw them as they are now , but also saw them through the eyes of time, remembering who they were then, and recognized at once  their same familiar smiles, the lift of Manya's eyebrow, the gentle sound of Diana's voice. A warm feeling washed over me knowing we have been friends the greater part of our lives, sharing  much happiness and deep sorrow. I am joyous that the fabric of our friendship is made of cloth strong and enduring, that our friendship doesn't reside only in the past, but is present in the here and now, and no doubt, long into the future.

                   (a favorite photo of a favorite time with friends Diana,
                     Manya and others. Our first Mammoth ski trip 1969)

 

Cecil E. Cooney, My Grandpa.

    He wasn’t a tall man by today's standards, under 6 ft., slight of build, but to me he was a giant of man; good and grand. Loving, faithful and fun. 

     After mother and dad, my  Grandpa Cooney was one of the first to welcome me to the world  October 25, 1950 - the day I was born.  From the  beginning  we shared a sweet camaraderie and  were very simpatico . I was his Little Brown Eyed Sweetheart, he was my hero. I adored Grandpa and cherished my time with him. 

  
    Grandma used to tell the story about when I was still a toddler and  came to visit  I'd run right past her to give Grandpa my first hug, and how he'd be sitting in the old Morris chair  in the back bedroom after work waiting for me to bring his slippers; I'd climb up on his lap and we'd talk about our day.

  Grandpa was an upholster, the best in the Midwest!  His shop was Cooney's Upholstery on Pearl St. in  Council Bluffs. When my dad was in high school he helped Grandpa at the shop,  and  according to my mother,  Dad learned a lot about the trade, stretching material over sofa's and chairs in just the right way,  pulling thread and tacking nails,  and became a good  upholsterer himself. When I was a little girl I often    visited the shop, too. I can still picture the  large spools of thread and rolls of fabric all about , and how tickled I was  to be near Grandpa. I remember how he  would stop his work, no matter how busy he was , pick me up and  carry me in his arms the whole time I was there,  like I was royalty.

     When Grandpa came home from work he washed his hands with Borax and soothed his aching muscles with BenGay .  When I had trouble with warts on my thumb he cured the problem  by  rubbing  a  ball of  hot  bee's wax on the warts making them disappear.  Grandpa smoked a pipe, and enjoyed drinking  a  Schlitz   beer   every evening.  To this day I still associate the sweet smell of  pipe tobacco with  Grandpa - it gives   me  a pleasant, nostalgic feeling of him being near.  

     Both Grandpa and I liked  raspberries. During summer months we'd  pick a basket full from his patch in the backyard . When I was a little older and the berries weren't so plentiful on that  backyard bush, Grandma bought frozen raspberries at Piggley Wiggley.  Grandma  taught an Adult Education Cake Decorating class at Thomas Jefferson High School on Tuesday nights. Before  she left  for class Grandma always had  dinner prepared, and card table set in the front room  for Grandpa and I to eat together. We always looked forward to a bowl of raspberries for dessert ! 

    Grandpa's early life wasn't an easy life, I'm sure. He left school after 6th grade to go to work.  Grandma once told me  Grandpa was an industrious young man, and would  buy  her  lovely gifts when he was courting her. In Grandma's  high school memory book  she   listed one of those gifts as a  diamond lavaliere to  'Vera from Cecil' . Grandpa’s  graduation gift to her. 

Many years later , it was  grandma's gift  to me to wear on my wedding day. 

   Like many young men of his generation, Grandpa was a soldier during World War I and  shipped overseas; He and  Grandma married after his return home. While I'm sure there were troubles and challenges for Grandma and Grandpa during the course of their marriage,  I know Grandpa was a faithful and loving husband, a father who did his best to   instill high morals and responsibility in his children.  Grandpa loved baseball , even played on a team in his younger days, and   was an  avid  fisherman; At one time  he was  president of the local Fish and  Game, and was   also   Boy  Scout Scoutmaster, encouraging each of his three  sons -   Lloyd, Skip (my dad) and Pep to become  Eagle Scouts, which they did.

    Grandpa was very ill at the end of his life. Today he most likely would be  diagnosed with Alzheimer's .   Not long ago I came across a youthful essay I wrote about visiting Grandpa at Veteran's Hospital in Omaha - an essay I included with other little stories  and poems I wrote and sent to Grandma   for Christmas 1962. It was about visiting  Grandpa in the  hospital and the nurse allowing  me  to feed my Grandfather, and how overjoyed I was to be near   him.   Dad and Mother  had already told me Grandpa probably   wouldn't  know me,  but  to everyone's great surprise when I entered his hospital room Grandpa lifted up, reached out his hand toward me, and  smiled. I  rushed over to  him, happily crying out, "Grandpa, it's me, your little Brown eyed Sweetheart ", and told him how much I loved him. That was the last time I saw Grandpa. He passed away that April . My heart was broken and I cried for days. Grandpa is one of the great loves of my life.

 

 Today, August 3 would be his 118th birthday.  Looking back  through memories eye, I see us as we were then, a loving grandfather and his devoted young  grand-daughter laughing and playing, and enjoying each others company.






    

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

  

  

   


    
 

Old Photo's & Stories They Tell

    One day last week I posted a picture of my brother, Walt  and me on Facebook. It was one of those photo's popular in the early 1960's where companies solicited doting mother's to have a 'professional'   picture of their children taken for a   low cost,  while at the same time  cleverly advertising  their company brand. For this photo,  the company was  Foremost Dairy. It's a sweet picture, made more fun and memorable with the Foremost logo in upper left hand corner, and  1963 calendar below.
                                                 

   I recently came across it in one of my Mother's albums; Seeing the picture brought a sense of happy nostalgia and made me smile,  but not until a writer friend of mine commented  "there must be a story to tell behind this photo"  did I think of it from that perspective.  So I decided to look at the picture more closely to see what story there might be.

    I studied the  girl and boy in the picture and knew we were happy kids,   our lives still young and innocent, secure in our Mother's embrace. I thought about our parents  being divorced and Walt longing for our father's attention, how the world had been in the midst of the cold war and drop drills were the norm in classrooms throughout southern California.  How after my parents divorce we moved to an apartment next to the  railroad tracks.   I remember the  first  night after we moved  in  a train loudly  chugged by  with all  its bells and whistles,  and  my little brother ran from his bed to mother's room asking if the Russian's were coming. While it seems a funny story now, then it was tender and endearing , and completely understandable that a frightened  9 year old might ask that question, especially since the week before he and other classmates took cover under their desk in response to a drop drill in fear of the Soviet Union bombing the U.S.   Only mother's assurance  'all was well ' gave Walt  comfort and peace before he could fall back  to sleep.

    In 1963 I was at that awkward age, 13. Kind of twixt and in  between. No longer a little girl, but not yet  grown up. I still wanted to play outside games with the MacInnis kids, ( our good Catholic  neighbors and school mates),  but also wanted to be popular and pretty  enough to have a boyfriend.

    I suppose if there is  a story to be told, it's  my brother and I were always the best of  friends. We liked each other, had fun together.  Oh, that's not to say we didn't get mad at one another,  we  surely did, and  Walt would be the first to tell you, I was his bossy big sister. And  as we got older,  I was  sometimes  disappointed  in decisions he made, like one that took him far from his roots and home.  But no matter, whatever differences we may have encountered were overrode by the bonds of love we shared -  a bond  that our Mother instilled  in us from the day she brought Walter Rod Cooney  home from the hospital, and introduced me to my baby brother.

   

   

   

  

   

   

   

My Brother Walt ( May 30, 2014)

                                                  Walt & Mom    

       Many of you, like me, may remember Memorial Day was always  May 30, and  only in recent times  is  Memorial Day celebrated on the closest weekend to that date,  to allow for a  three day holiday.  No matter the date change ,  I  will always think of May 30 as the traditional and true  Memorial Day - not only because I recall the sweet stories  my mother told  me from the time I was a young girl of  how she and her family drove each Memorial Day  from Council Bluffs  to  the cemetery in Odebolt, Iowa  to place a fresh bouquet of Peonies on  grave sites of aunts and uncles and other beloved , but because May 30, 2010 is the day my brother, Walt Cooney passed away.

        I'm  not alone in knowing the pain of losing a sibling, there are many, including friends who  have lost a  beloved sister or brother . How  easily I can  sympathize and  understand their anguish and sadness of losing one so dear, one  they were so connected to, one   so cherished.

      My brother was very dear to me, I loved him unconditionally, and was always proud to be his  big sister - from the day our Mother brought Walt home from the hospital I was his champion, he was the most perfectly beautiful baby - from the beginning we were simpatico, and I instantly   felt  called to be his protector, a feeling that would remain with me throughout my brother's life.  I'm happy to say Walt and I  would always have a close bond - we shared and experienced so much together.

     On this day, the fourth anniversary of his death I especially think of our mother who lost her youngest child, her only son - the one she called her 'Golden Child', and the lifeline they had one to the other.   And Dad, too , who just last month showed me a view  near his   house in The Village's my brother liked very much when he visited there - a place Dad  now calls 'Walt's View'.
                                                                                              

 

     Mom and I often talk of Walt, about some fun thing  he said or did - how for so many years we were the "Three Musketeer's".  Today,  mother will share how Walt called her the morning of May 30 to tell her he would be there (at her house) in a month to help clear out her garage, and fix  bathroom plumping, and how she couldn't wait to see him.  I will silently relive  mom calling that evening to tell me my brother had died  -  how together,  our hearts were  broken and  our sorrow,  at that moment seemed unbearable.

      But for the grace of God, and the promise of His enduring love in the glory of Jesus Christ ,  we would not have been able to carry on. We know Walt is with the Lord - praying for us,  waiting in Heaven, like we are here on earth until one day when we'll  meet again.

     
                             Walter Cooney 1954 - 2010  RIP+

Precious Moment

O peaceful morning!
How lovely you are
the sun rising
over the mountain
streams light across the lake;
It glitters like gems found
in a treasure chest
The red fir , white fir and
pines are still shrouded
in a dewy mist,
the air is fresh and crisp
The busyness , the noise
of the day is yet to come
and I'm grateful for
this moment of solitude
to ponder, and give thanks
for God's creation and
nature's beauty

Bird Song

(for my Dad, who recently read aloud to me the verses of  Kate Greenaway)

I sit on an old
stump of a log
and watch as
early morning sun
shines like a spot light
on a forested  stage
and listen to 
a chorus of birds
perform their sweet
Spring song, making
me wish I could
sing along