The Return of Karen Robinson

Penguin and Karen shopping for hats

I entered the room and set my bags in the back corner of the bedroom, hidden from view from the doorway. Mother kept a very clean home and every time I came to visit, I was always ever so conscious of the impact I was making on her cleanliness. One of my virtues is not wanting to put anyone out on account of me. One of the few ways I could do so was to make things look as neat as possible.

After hanging a few shirts and pants, I took a seat in the big, soft chair that sat in the corner of the bedroom. I had always loved this chair, it had been in the family for about as long as I could remember. I was tired. The altitude was ever present during my visits, but at least here, in their home in Florissant, Colorado, it wasn’t as bad as their last home in Blue River, which was closer to 10,000 feet than it was to nine.

As I rested, a sense of uneasiness had come over me. Here, in this pristine room with the queen bed, royal-looking dresser, glass-topped dressing table, and rustic mountain-scene artwork on the walls, I felt uneasy. This was the first time I had been back in this room since the illness, eight months previous. It had been such a horrid experience that just being back in this space and being reminded of the trauma simply made me feel ill at ease.

The  view from the guest room.

I stood up in what seemed like slow motion, gazing out the window at the mountains and trees and dimming daylight as the sun neared the horizon. The last time I gazed out this window, eight months ago, there was still snow on the ground. The wind seemed about the same- ever blowing from the northwest. On the shelves near the doorway were the same books, nick-knacks and stuffed animals. Mom liked to change things up from time to time, but these shelves had remained untouched for several years, save for the cleaning rags to remove the dust she’s always complaining about. There was the one thing, that for now, made me comfortable about this guest room in my parent’s log cabin house 9,000 feet above sea level. A smiling stuffed clown doll.

Taking it into my hands, I smiled as it smiled back, winking at me. He had a red nose and little hearts at each corner of his smiling mouth. A ring of pink yarn for hair circled his head, leaving a big bald spot. His outfit covered all of his arms and legs with small blue and pink flowers. Around his neck, a pink ruffle. He was all of ten inches in height and perhaps the femininity of him was the reason it was now in Mom’s possession and no longer in mine.

I turned the clown around to look for the name. I always looked for the name and I always seem to forget that next to the name was the copyright symbol- 1985- drawn by hand. Karen Robinson.

In high school, I was very active in various leadership roles. I served on the school’s senate and each year ran for successfully higher offices in the FHA-HERO youth program. The FHA stood for Future Homemakers of America. This was never my favorite part of being involved in FHA-HERO, as I never considered myself in the running for such a life and it sounded a bit girly. The HERO part was my interest: Home Economics Related Occupations.

Penguin's graduation

Back then, there were three things that I found of interest. Running a hotel, running a restaurant, or becoming a famed architect. My involvement and movement up the ladder to run for a national office in HERO seemed to indicate that I might be leaning more towards a career in hotel and restaurant management. To be safe, however, I chose to attend the University of Houston for the fact that they had among the best schools in the nation for both architecture and for hotel and restaurant management.

Meeting a delegate at one of my national youth conferences.

Being a leader in FHA-HERO meant planning and implementing local, regional, state and even national meetings, events, lectures and activities. From hosting a cable TV show with puppets touting the values of proper nourishment, to being a youth editor for a national teen magazine, there were a lot of fun responsibilities. With these, came the guidance of our advisers. My adviser was a woman who captured my attention from the first moment I saw her. This isn’t to say I had a schoolboy crush on her. Well, at least that I was aware of right away. She was an attractive woman, sure, and still quite young. She stood in the middle of the hallway intersection on the first day of class helping direct students to the proper room. Skyline High School, in the 80s, at over 3,000 students, was the third largest high school in the US, and getting around on your first day on the huge campus could be daunting.

As I approached, I could hear her shrill voice offering help and then sending students on their way. I was lucky enough to know where I was headed- I was always good with maps and had looked ahead of time at the maze of hallways that I needed to traverse in order to reach my home economics class. I have no idea how I ended up taking such a class in my very first semester of high school, but as a freshman I did as I was told. I passed the attractive hallway cop, declining her assistance and took my seat in the corner class room that overlooked the very front of the school.

The bell rang and in she walked. She looked over her class and right at me, seeming to recognize me from the hallway...one of the few not in need of her direction. She introduced herself as Mrs. DeLong and immediately began changing my life. She saw a young man with ambition and took me under her wing. Four years later she sent me off to college with several academic scholarships, and my whole life ahead of me. We had become close friends and allies. Living with a bachelor father, in many ways, she stood in for the role of my mother.

Along the way I encountered many other advisers to other students in FHA-HERO. Most were from other schools in the area, but a few were there within the halls of Skyline. Karen Robinson was one such person, heading up the fashion cluster. She had patented the clown dolls and made them by hand. I don’t remember when or where mine came to be in my possession from her, but I must have passed it along to Mother for safe keeping. A pink-haired clown was obviously not something a college man wanted to display in his dorm room!

Mom came up behind me, snapping me back to the present in the guest room, and asked if I had settled in. She looked at the clown in my hands and back up at me with a smile.

“You know, you can’t get rid of this,” I told her. “It’s very dear to me.”

“I remember,” she said, “It’ll always be safe here. Dinner is almost ready. Why don’t you come on upstairs and fix your drink.” She was such a sight for sore eyes...and a great cook. I started feeling happy I’d come back home for a long weekend visit, while still recovering from that virus.

I put Karen’s clown doll back where he lived- on the shelves in the guest room- and followed Mom upstairs, thinking about how much I loved Karen Robinson. She was not my adviser, but we had spent a lot of time and laughs together.

Karen's signature and copyright.

At the end of my freshman year in high school, I was in Washington, DC with Leta, Karen and a slew of other students from Dallas. I was attending the national youth convention for FHA-HERO and we had an afternoon free. The group of us from Skyline gathered in Leta’s room as she ironed an outfit and tried to decide just what to do with our time. There was so much to choose from, being in our nation’s capitol. We had already visited the White House and Capitol building, meeting with our state representatives. Karen had a map out on the bed and rattled off options to the peanut gallery, who would yea or nay them. Every now and then, Karen would take a pause and ask, “What’s this termable root?” “There’s another one...termable root.” “I wonder what this termable root is that I keep seeing.” The suspense was killing me, and again, being good with maps, I asked if I could take a look.

“Karen,” I asked, “I don’t see this termable root. Where is it?”

She pointed to one, then another, and a third. “See- termable root.”

The Tourmobile

“Um, Karen? That’s a ‘tourmobile route’. Apparently, there is a tourmobile that we can ride around in the city.” There wasn’t a person in the room who five minutes later didn’t have a sore stomach from laughing so hard at her pronunciation.

Karen and Leta always got along and would follow me around the country giving talks and lectures at various national and regional meetings. I lost touch with Karen when I graduated, and after a few more years, I would eventually lose touch with Leta. The amount of time between phone calls would get longer. The letters came less frequent. Soon, it was only cards at Christmas. Then, before I knew it, so much time had passed that I no longer even knew Leta’s address. I’d moved to Maryland, and Leta had remarried. We just grew apart.

I’d long forgotten the clown. Completely forgotten about it. Until years later, in the late 90s, visiting my parents in Breckenridge, Colorado and seeing him sitting on the shelf. I took hold of it out of curiosity. I seemed to remember it, but not too clearly. I looked at his neck and found the name. Karen Robinson? I’d nearly forgotten her! I realized it had been so long since I heard from Leta. But before we lost touch, I remember Leta telling me about the passing of a teacher, an adviser, someone I had held dear. It was starting to come back to me. Karen Robinson had died. Isn’t that what she said? That must be why I felt such an unusual attraction to this strange clown. It made me smile, though, thinking about that trip to DC and her ‘termable roots’. Mom was in the next room and I showed her the clown doll. “Mom, you cannot get rid of this clown. Karen made it for me and she died just after I graduated. It’s very special.” So the clown has lived on those shelves ever since, even after the move from Breckenridge to Florissant.

Then, for Thanksgiving 2009, I joined the majority of my family for a gathering at my parent’s ranch in Florissant. Dad was engrossed in learning how to deep fry a turkey. The women camped out in the kitchen pouring over recipes and cooking up a storm. I was feeling the affects of the high altitude more than I normally did. The family had plans for the weekly pot luck dinner and music jam at the nearby Grange, on Wednesday night. It was an activity we all loved, but I was feeling a bit puny and asked to stay behind. I had an array of symptoms I don’t normally feel when visiting home, so I looked up altitude sickness, and nearly every symptom matched; shortness of breath, headache, pain in my chest. But by the time the family returned from the Grange, I was developing spots on my arms and legs and had a terrible sore throat, that seemed to be sore all the way down my esophagus.

My spots in the hospital

When the sun came up on Thanksgiving Day, I was even worse. The red spots were larger and had spread and were sore. I could barely walk. My headache was so large, it was like a hat that extended several inches around my head. I could barely swallow. It was time for the emergency room. From there, I wound up being taken to the hospital in nearby Colorado Springs and remained there for five horrifying days.

They never figured out what I had. They knew it was a virus, but had no idea what kind, or where I got it. After ruling so many things out, it was obvious that as a flight attendant, I had picked up something from work- something from one of my flights. I asked the doctor why no one else in my family got what I had. I was told that viruses can affect one person very differently from another. I endured five days of that huge headache, five days of misery and pain, spots all over my body and at the apex of the experience, a fever of 106.5 degrees. I felt like I was going to die. I begged to be put into a coma. I welcomed death.

After I recovered, I returned to my parent’s home in the mountains. The family had all gone home. There was no more turkey. I had missed out on the deep fried bird and turkey sandwiches. But in all honesty, that was the least of my concerns. Still not feeling well, I longed to be back home with my sweet cats, Adelie and Phoebe. But I still had a lot of recovering to do and spent all day in bed. With the family now gone, I was moved into the guest room.

All day, in the living room next to the guest room, Dad watched his westerns. Guns, explosions, stampedes, moos, yee-haws and wagon trains- I wanted to die all over again. Those were the last things I wanted to hear as I recovered, and I barely had the energy to launch a complaint. I was not well enough to fly home on my own, so I called my best friend, flew him out and he helped me fly home three days later. I wanted out of that room so badly, and with that visit eight months later, I still had that uneasy feeling of being there. Things were still so fresh in my mind.

As I slowly recuperated from the virus...much too slowly for my tastes...I discovered that I had melanoma. I half cried and half laughed. After surviving the Thanksgiving virus, was I now going to be taken by cancer? But like the virus, in the end I wound up beating the disease. It would take a surgery and a month of recovery, but I was still out of work from the virus, which left me dazed, dizzy and fatigued. I was unable to work for eleven months, and returned too soon, at that.

In a period of four months, I had looked death in the face twice and come out the winner. This awoke in me a strange and profound need to get in touch with my past. I began to search for things, histories, people I’d lost touch with, places I’d gone. I found my best friend from third grade... and the strangest thing in the world was that he was now living two towns from my parents in Colorado and had even jammed at the weekly Grange pot lucks. I also got back in touch with Leta, who had since earned her doctorate and was still involved with things at Skyline, but was about to begin a professorship at a Dallas area college.

A very young Penguin with his grandfather and mother.

It had been over ten years since I last went to Dallas to visit family and friends. It was after talking to Leta, and her urging me to come visit, that had me plan on doing just that. It would be a whirl wind tour of my old home town, with so many friends and family to see. But in my brushes with death, it was important for me to do so.

Leta and I were close in high school. My father traveled often and it was not uncommon that I would stay in Leta’s guest room. I had met her entire family and even gone hunting on her family’s farm in East Texas. So when I made plans to visit after my illness, she made a big deal of it. Her husband was out of town, but she assured me that I’d get to see her mom and sister- her father had sadly passed. But then she told me of another guest who would be coming over for dinner. I was stunned. I was stupefied. Who was invited to come over and catch up? None other than Karen Robinson!

I felt like such a fool. It wasn’t Karen who had died after graduation. I guess I’d not completely paid attention when she had told me. Who was it, then? I was too embarrassed to ask her, so I just acted cool about it. “Karen? I’d ‘love’ to see her again!” I told Leta. I was almost more excited to see Karen, risen from the dead, than anyone else in Dallas!

We had a magical time at Leta’s house near White Rock Lake. Karen came by and we drank wine and ate King Ranch casserole. We laughed about the termable root and enjoyed the evening catching up. Karen now lived a few blocks from the condo where I spent my years in high school. And now that Facebook was alive, she and I connected there often.

Karen and Leta

I never told Leta this story, and certainly never told Karen. But then I got a call from Leta in August of 2016. “Karen has cancer. She’s undergoing chemo, and it doesn’t look too promising for her.” I was crushed. I’d lost her once. I knew what life was like thinking she was not in it, but she was back now, and this was just beyond cruel. Damn you cancer!

Just in the previous year, Mom had found a lump in her breast. It turned out to be a rare kind of cancer. She underwent chemo and had the lump removed. I had never been more scared of mortality than seeing its face in that of my own beloved mother! She lost hair and wore wigs and hats. She put up a very brave and strong front. She was more positive about life and events in it than I’ve ever known her to be. That strength and positivity is what helped her win the battle with cancer.

Leta and I at the State Fair

I had already wanted to visit Dallas in October. I’d not been to the state fair in fourteen years and it had been five since I last saw Leta and Karen. Now that Karen was ill, I just had to see her. Leta initially made things sound bleak, she wasn’t feeling well and seemed reluctant to receive visitors. I wasn’t sure that with my track record of visiting Dallas if I’d ever get to see her again. It was paramount that I do so on this trip!

Fortunately, Karen was having a good day when I was in town and agreed to be taken to lunch and then hoped to do some shopping for cosmetics and hats. Shopping with women is not something I enjoy, but spending a day with Leta and Karen, much like the old times- just replace the school with a shopping mall- was magical.

We dined at Keller’s Drive-in, a Dallas institution, sitting in Leta’s Texas-sized pickup, munching on burgers and drinking beer. Then the secrets started to come out!

While in Washington and Salt Lake City and Chicago for our summer meetings, when the students went to their rooms for the night, the advisers were hanging out drinking a bottle of vodka that Leta had brought! Knowing some of the students, I’m sure it was quite necessary! Karen claimed that when she first found out about the vodka being in Leta’s bag, she was shocked, but it certainly didn’t stop her from assisting in emptying it!

It was my turn, so I told of the time when we were all supposed to be in our rooms asleep, but the noise forced one of the advisers to come knocking on the hotel room door. It was the girls room; we shared four students per room. I would be in big trouble were I discovered to be in this room at this time of night. I hid behind the curtains and listened as the adviser swore she had heard my voice in that room. They all denied it, saying it must have been the TV, which was still playing. She eventually bought it and closed the door, telling the girls to get to bed! Giggles ensued and I eventually snuck back to my own room.

Penguin in the girl's hotel room

Leta, Karen and I laughed at the secrets we could now divulge; that, and how nice it was that we could openly consume alcohol together. Wasn’t it fun- all of us being adults now? It was hard to believe that it was thirty years ago when I graduated. So much time having fun together had been lost. But now, here we were, trying to make up time while one of us potentially had so little. Damned cancer!

In a moment of silence, between swigs of beer in the giant pickup under the old tin roof of Keller’s Drive In, I pulled from a bag I had brought with me that silly clown. Karen gasped, then squealed, asking, “Is that one of my clowns babies?” She turned it over, “Yep, there’s my copyright. You’ve kept this all these years?”

I told her how it had been at Mom’s since I graduated, but I had just been there a week prior and knowing that I was coming to Dallas, I decided that it was time for the clown to live with me, and I wanted to show her that I still cherished it. She nearly cried, as she fussed with his hair and ribbons. Leta noticed that a few ribbons were missing and asked if he hadn’t at one time had a hat. It had, so stated Karen. Leta exclaimed that new ribbons could easily be reattached. They were the least of my concern. Seeing Karen’s happiness was the most precious thing.

Karen receiving her penguin at Keller's Drive In

 Then, from my bag, I pulled out a stuffed penguin. “Karen, as you know, I have thousands of penguins at home, and I’d like to start giving some out to friends, so I brought this one for you.” I handed it to her as tears formed in her eyes. She tugged on the little scarf and looked at me and we hugged as best we could between the front and back seat of that huge truck. She named him and for the rest of the afternoon held him and gently brushed his head with her thumb.

Just before Christmas, 2016,I found out that Karen’s chemo was not working. The doctors felt six weeks was about all she had left. Again, I felt completelydevastated. To think someone dead for so many years and then to find out that they are still alive, and then to find out that they are dying, only then to rebuild a strong connection. It was messed up.

Because I had her back I thought that there was time. So much time. I was wrong. There is no more time. Karen died on Monday, January 23^rd. As much as I had hoped to see her again, the last time I got to be with her was that cold, damp day in October, going from store to store in Dallas looking at and trying on hats to hide the chemo-hair loss. This one for the cold. This one to go with dark outfits. That one for dressy occasions. She bought way more than I thought she’d ever need- enough for many years of chemo!

She was in such a good mood that day. She smiled often and hardly complained. She was positive and upbeat. There was much life left in her, but she tired easily. I’ll never forget all the laughs and the way she held that little penguin and how anxious she was to take photos together.

Leta, Penguin and Karen October 2016

Watching Mom gather such strength and positive thoughts, and then seeing Karen doing pretty much the same thing, knowing she has many friends and family to care for her and help bring her spirits up, I had such hope that she could be around for many more years of me driving to Dallas, eating Keller’s burgers and drinking wine all while laughing about termable roots. Gather close your loved ones, we’re never promised tomorrow.

My clown baby

I’ve never told Karen this story, and I hadn’t planned to. I hoped she could have read this to know how much she means, not just to me, but to so many. I hoped she understood that everything in life is temporary. I thought I had lost her many years ago and held close a cute little clown she had made. While I will continue to do so and will always cherish being able to tell inquisitors the story behind the cute little clown doll sitting high on my shelves in my living room. I realize that life is so much more than the trinkets we collect.

Life is about the moments we share, the growth we attribute to others, the respect and admiration we have that gives rise to someone who, to the world is but a stranger, but to me and those who know her, is a gem. A giant. A source of laughter and great pride.

As a teacher and adviser, she has touched so many young lives as they find their path to a bright future. As a mother, she has nurtured life into the world itself. As a grandmother, she held dear the future she helps create. As a friend, she is a bright light in a sometimes dim place. That light will not extinguish now that she has left us. Her light only shines brighter. Her struggles are not in vain. They inspire others and carve deep into us a love and appreciation that will always endure.

Her loss leaves many of us sad. This story began with a part of my past that was painful. I was able to overcome the obstacles and reconnect with a very special lady as I helped her endure her pain. I was lucky enough to have had her in my life twice. I cherish our final embrace and saying “I love you, Karen. I’ll see you real soon,” half knowing I probably wouldn’t, but praying that wouldn’t be the case. I was hoping for a miracle and for her to beat cancer as Mom and I did. She was strong and loved, but they say the good die young.

Penguin and Karen on what Leta said was her last good day.

Karen was a very special lady. I’m richer for her being in my life, and I can look upon her clown baby with his missing hat and smile at one of the mementos she left in my life. My cherished little Karen clown. And I can surely look up at her riding that great termable root in the sky.

I love you, Karen Robinson

If Anyone Falls: My 24 Karat Night with Stevie Nicks

What can I say when I’m speechless? I suppose that’s why they call it speechless and why it’s taken so long after the show for me to begin to comprehend what I was going through for the 90 minute-plus Stevie Nicks show at Houston’s Toyota Center on October 29, 2016. As the show began to wrap up and I knew the Goddess of Rock and Roll was about to leave my presence, words did come to mind, but they were not the kind of words I’d want my grandmother to read. If you are sensitive to salty language or are my grandmother, skip the next sentence. “Fuck, shit, dammit, oh my gods!” I’m not sure why these words came to mind, other than the fact that I was simply speechless and overcome by emotion as I once again witnessed the twirly, lace-ridden, husky-voiced poet sing her heart out to the crowd. And I didn’t want it to end. 

 

At least I had matured. I still recall the times she would take to the stage and I would weep like a girl; and finally understand the reaction of so many youth to the Beatles. Stevie is my Beatles, and so much more. Her songs have inspired me. Her poetry and lyrics are crafted in ways that have really made me think about how songs are written. The way she has managed her desires to be a singer, to be on stage, to be a rock star, and her careful crafting of her image are things many artists and fans look up to.

My fascination for her began in the 80s Mirage era Fleetwood Mac; music videos of her sitting in the desert on a settee in a red dress; her gypsy visage twirling through glitter and in the rain. She had me with her vision, her words and that voice.

Circumstances kept me from seeing her previous two tours, but having seen her live so many times...and honestly, I can’t count them all, having seen her usually more than once for each tour...I’m sure it’s more than twenty times...it was disappointing but not something I couldn’t live through.

It was with this in mind, the fact that I’d not spent money on seeing her in five years, that had me splurge on this tour, buying VIP tickets, seated fifth row center, and receiving some nice gifts in the mail. I splurged on my finery, as well, taking advantage of the show being just days before Halloween. I felt if there was a time to really deck myself out for a show in the conservative city of Houston, this was my chance. I wore my double-breasted waistcoat with tails, bedecked with crowns, ribbons and a photo button of Miss Nicks. And the pièce de résistance...an imperial crown covered in jewels.

There were several reasons behind the imperial look. I felt like it. I’d spent a lot of money on this show, and wanted to look like I had. I worked very hard to clear my schedule to attend, and I wanted to make an impact. I liked the idea of thinking that after the show, Stevie and her band would be discussing the performance and the crowd, and surely, Miss Nicks would posture, “Did anyone see the guy wearing the crown?” Yup. A lot of people did. I was hard to miss, even from up on stage.

Penguin in heaven in his front and center seat

As I neared the arena, I started hearing comments and feeling stares. I was expecting a lot of questions, “Who are you supposed to be? Where are you from? Why are you wearing that?” But instead of negativity, what I got was more along the lines of, “Wow, I love your crown. You look great! Your highness! Hey, King!” I also got a lot of photo requests and was more than happy to oblige, especially for the two young women from Puerto Rico. There were a lot of high fives and when complimented, I was sure to do so in return. If they’re going to lift me up, I’ll bring them along with me.

My favorite comment, heard more than once, was the question of where my queen was. The simple, obvious answer being, “Back stage, getting ready for the show.” It was fun standing out in the crowd and seeing people out of the corner of my eye taking photos of me.

Chrissie Hynde

One of the first things to really hit me about the night, as the lights dimmed for the opening act, was how, in my anticipation to see Stevie in concert, I’d neglected to remember that the opening act was also one of my all-time favorites- The Pretenders. Chissie Hynde’s voice, after all these years, is still phenomenal! She hit the highs as if this were still 1986 and she seemed vibrant and lively. One could tell she was enjoying being on stage with James Wallbourne and the rest of the great band. She played a few songs I was not familiar with, then a bunch of the ones I knew well, so I stood and sang along and danced.

James Walbourne

I could have listened to The Pretenders for much longer than their allowed time on stage, but the real reason for the night was, after all, Stevie Nicks. During the transition on stage, I was able to visit a close friend to pass the time.

The Pretenders

Waddy Wachtel

The hall darkened. The crowd rose and cheered. Old, familiar faces came on stage; her lead guitarist, Waddy, her musical director, Carlos, her singers, Sharon and Marilyn. Then, from the darkness and into the spotlight...Miss Nicks, all smiles, clad in flowing black gowns and glowing blond hair.

She commanded the stage, singing like an angel, chatting the audience up a bit, commenting on the history of the songs she was singing. The band was great and while I went into this thinking I would not bother with any photos, I couldn’t resist taking a few.

 Chrissie joins Stevie for Stop Draggin' My Heart Around

As for being noticed, I could tell that I was. While singing “If Anyone Falls”, the second song in the set, she gave me the ‘I see you’ sign, moving her two fingers from her eyes to mine. I thought I’d drop to my seat, but I just smiled, gave her a wink, and kept singing along. My wild heart beating heavily.

Rhiannon was performed, and when singing, “Rulers make bad lovers, you better put your kingdom up for sale…” she looked right at me and placed her hand above her head to mimic a crown! I nearly died.

I’ve been on stages and I know the light can be blinding and the crowd difficult to see, and this is why it’s great to be so close to the stage when you want to be seen by the artist. She was only about 20 feet away from my seat. I am sure she didn’t, and it’s all in my head, but all evening, it was as if she was watching me as much as I was watching her. It seemed as if she was watching me sing along with her. I just hoped I wouldn’t mess her up, as she’s known for changing words or the cadence of live songs. For much of the show, I felt as if it was just she and I standing in a room singing along together. I focused on her, watching her eyes seemingly look straight back to me, caressing the ribbons on her mic stand and belting out classic after classic.

Between songs, I would cheer and shout things to her. She commented on her song Annabel Lee about taking great poems and putting them to music as a way to get around not being a good song poet. I shouted that she WAS a great poet. She looked back at me and gave me a smile before starting the next song. My heart be still!

As the show progressed, I kept thinking how the set list was one of the best I’ve ever heard her perform. She did so many of her greats and so many of the little gems she loves from her last album, 24 Karat Gold. When she twirled, the crowd went wild. When she sang, the crowd sang along. When the band rocked it, the crowd danced. And there was Penguin, in his crown and impressive jacket, cheering, singing and dancing all night long. It was over too soon!

My escape back home was quick, save for the fellow concert goers asking for photos and commenting on my regalia. I loved the attention. The night was all about Stevie, and my attire showed others the degree to which I had made my night about her. I got to my car quickly and encountered very little traffic, almost as if I had a ghost police escort and my pretend entourage was quickly on the freeway headed back to my home in north Houston. King Penguin’s audience with Stevie Nicks now just a memory pulsating in my head and veins.

“Did she make you cry? Make you break down? Shatter your illusions of love?
Is it over now? Do you know how to pick up the pieces and go home…” (From her song, Rhiannon.)

Yes. Nearly. Not exactly. It is. I am learning...but home is always changing and growing and I’m glad to have grown along with my favorite artist, Stevie Nicks. Please hurry back, Miss Nicks! The evening exceeded my expectations and I could use another dose of that kind of magic!

Stevie rocks it with Sharon and Marilyn

Set List:

Gold and Braid

If Anyone Falls

Stop Draggin’ My Heart Around (with Chrissie Hynde)

Belle Fleur

Outside the Rain

Dreams

Wild Heart

Bella Donna

Annabel Lee

Enchanted

New Orleans

Starshine

Moonlight (A Vampires’ Dream)

Stand Back

Crying in the Night

If You Were My Love

Gold Dust Woman

Edge of Seventeen

Encore:

Rhiannon

Leather and Lace

The Bell Rang

Well, that didn’t go quite as planned. It started out fantastic. I was 100% committed. I had planned...in fact, started doing so about 9 months ago, before I even purchased this home. But I could see it all quickly going downhill. My plans were not thorough enough. I'd miscalculated.

While not a complete failure, and how could it have been for all the planning, this was not how I wanted my first Halloween to go down in my new neighborhood. My reputation was on the line here. The house had been vacant for over a year before I moved and who knows what kind of people were living here before me? I had to do well!

Penguin on Halloween

The real work began about a month ago. I was the second house in the neighborhood to decorate for Halloween. I would have done so much sooner, but I didn’t want to be ‘that’ guy...the weird fellow who keeps to himself, hardly seen, yet puts out the jack-o’lanterns and orange lights just after the Forth of July. (I would have if I thought I could get away with it.) Once I saw that first house put their decorations out, it was on! Lights in the bushes, skulls, pumpkins, bats and a scary cat.

A week ago, after seeing some awesome party lights at a Halloween event I attended in Portland, OR, I added white dancing spiders and green floating witches that illuminated the front of my house. A few days ago I added a witch’s head, an arm reaching out from the bushes, and skulls on strings. I had a bat hanging from my porch light and 3 skulls on stakes, which lit up. And for the grand night, itself, I added a strobe light just behind the jack-o’lanterns that have kept watch over my yard from the living room windows the past month.

Just inside the hallway I set up a small table on which I put a creepy table cloth, 2 more jack-o’-lanterns, a candelabra covered in spiders and a few creepy grotesque faces with my bowl of treats. This year, I was giving out packages of Danish cookies! I had enough for 50 little ones; the little trick or treaters in their cute costumes, shyly (in only some cases, as it would turn out) pressing forth their plastic pumpkins, back packs or just plain old plastic grocery bags to gather their plunder of tootsie rolls, jolly rogers, dots, sour patch kids and fun-sized snickers to fill their lunch boxes until Christmas break, if they’re lucky! All that and the Danish cookie, I was giving out.

My table and treats

I’ve not done this in over 8 years. I’ve either lived in places inaccessible to kids (I lived in a back yard in-law apartment for six years in Pacifica, CA) or for 7 years I worked at a haunted house every October and was never home for Halloween. I’m out of practice. It’s a new neighborhood. I was not prepared for the amount of garbed little ones, and a few bigger ones in no costume at all. There were so many and they seemed to descend like starved locusts.

The first bell rang later than I was expecting; just after 7PM. It was a ninja and a little princess. Dressed in a black hooded robe, I answered the door, “You rang?” and acted like I had no idea that it was Halloween. Yeah, I always dress like this and I always have a dish of treats at the door! They loved it, though. And the next little dude, all of 7 years of age, dressed in regular clothes but wearing the mask of an old crotchety man (hello, mirror?) complimented my costume 5 times! He was my favorite!

A very young Penguin as Batman

Then came the Batmen and Supermen, an Incredible Hulk and an Elsa. There was a witch and several zombies. Each of the little ones wearing skeleton shirts I told, “You better eat your treats, you’re nothing but skin and bones!” The helicopter parents were there with many of them, keeping them safe, reminding them to say thank you, and in a few cases having to queue them, “Say trick or treat!” I must have been one of their first stops!

My cookies garnered many warm responses, but were dwindling fast. They came in groups. Each time the bell rang, there were 6, 9, or 12 kids. They traveled in packs. Or is it a murder? No, I’m pretty sure that’s only crows. It wasn’t 7:30 yet, and I was headed to the kitchen for the rest of the bag of cookies. Not enough. Soon, the bowl only had 3 cookies left! I began to panic.

What now? I looked through the pantry. I eyed tea sachets and packets of hot sauce. (Well, this IS Texas!) I began to sweat. I could hear more children coming down the street, see the SUVs and large pickup trucks slowly creeping down with them to keep an eye on things. The dark side of me began to think, the character that for so many years pulled the kind of screams from men and women that you normally only hear in horror movies, but this was no movie, it was me, a scary clown, looking at them and screaming back, “What are we screaming for? CLOWNS? I HATE clowns! Hehehehehe!” Being Whispers the Clown, making people scream and in some cases, wet their pants, was so therapeutic. It still is, when I get the chance...

Whispers the Clown, my alter ego

I remembered the kid, Charlie Brown. Everyone loves him. Everyone remembers how he went trick or treating and kept getting rocks. I could make the children’s day, I could send them away to actually say, “I got a rock. That weird guy that no one ever sees, who put out all the creepy things in his yard the day after Valentine’s Day, he gave me a rock.” But the sane part of me took over. I don’t take returns and I know that chances are good that giving a rock would only mean I’d be getting them back...and with shards of glass to have to clean up, as well.

Back to the pantry, the children, getting louder. I couldn’t turn my lights off just yet, it wasn’t even 8. Eureka! There were 3 bags of brownie brittle and 5 single sized bags of kettle corn. The bell rang. The bell rang. Then a knock. Eager little things. A pirate, a police officer, a parrot girl, 2 zombies, a princess and 2 skeletons...they took all I had. I saw more a few houses down. Those packets of hot sauce were starting to sound doable!

Back to the pantry. I had a box of pumpkin-shaped cookies; individually wrapped. I also had a box of chocolate chip granola bars. These were my little treats I travel with for those early morning flights when there isn’t much time for breakfast. Into the treat bowl they went. The pumpkin cookies went first. Then I started handing out the granola bars. I didn’t mention what I was putting in their treat bags. I didn’t want to be known as the guy who ran out of candy too early and started giving away odd items from all over the house (I actually eyed a cat toy for about 1/100th of a second). 

My house lit up at night

The bell rang, a couple of middle school aged boys with really no costume at all were standing before me. I silently threw the granola bars into their bags, hoping they wouldn’t notice until they got home. Damn the luck, as I closed the door, I heard the older boy exclaim, “He gave me a 90 calorie granola bar!” I’d never noticed they were only 90 calories! But there, in the dark, in my front yard, he could determine what I’d thrown into his bag, grabbed it, and the first thing he noticed was 90 calories. That guy’s going far in life, let me tell you!

I went back to the living room and took a seat. My neighbor across the street was entertaining a group I’d seen earlier. She closed the door and the kids, parents in tow, walked down the street. The lights in the house went off. First the porch lights, then the upstairs lights with the dragon in the window, then the inflatable pumpkin that had been puffed up for the past 3 weeks deflated and was now flat on the ground like a cow patty. They were done. I looked at my bowl and saw my last 4 granola bars. The clock chimed. It was 8 o’clock.

I went outside and looked up and down the street. Nothing. I was done. I had made it. I turned off my light show of spiders and witches. I unplugged the orange lights in the bushes and the 3 glowing skulls. I extinguished the jack-o’lanterns and stopped the strobe. Finally, the front porch light went off. 

Witches and spiders on my house

From outside, I could hear a groan and a small symphony of “Aww”s. I looked through the peep hole and saw a couple with a cute little girl in a ballerina outfit and her brother in a SWAT officer costume. I turned the porch light back on, opened my door and heard them exclaim, “Yay, he’s our hero, the best decorated house in all the land. His costume is the most awesome costume. All hail the great one who reveres Halloween and gives out the best treats. Behold the fall gourds carefully carved and still glowing, not from fire within, but from the sheer joy of celebrating the fall seasonal holiday of Halloween. Yay, oh yay!” 

OK, maybe some of that was just in my head, and I apologized that all I had left were a few more granola bars. But, hey, they’re only 90 calories each. I’ll do better next year! I promise.

Pumpkins, bats and the light show

Adventures in Life: The Apartment

Apartment #1 on bottom left, this was the front door.

I love going back in time. It's not so hard to do when you live in your home town. Every few years I enjoy driving back through my old neighborhood and seeing how things have changed. The U-Totem convenience store is gone, along with the old washateria next to it. It's now a bright, shiny new home store. The old GM dealership on the corner is a beauty supply mega-store. The old House of Pies is still there, and then there is the apartment.

The old House of Pies on Kirby Dr., a Houston institution

The apartment I have the most memories of- some of the first and most impressionable memories of my childhood- is on the borders of the artsy Montrose and the affluent River Oaks section of Houston. This is the apartment were I went to kindergarten; I still remember Mom taking pictures of me and my friend, Dallas, on the day I started first grade. Wow, I had a friend named Dallas! In the alley behind the apartment is where I learned to ride a bike...my first bike, a Christmas gift, as was my first Lego set.

 

This is where I learned to ride a bike and I played in that very puddle of water!

This was the apartment where I lost my first pet dog in a battle with a car on nearby Kirby Dr. This is the apartment of my first pet cats, who had kittens in the living room. This is the apartment where I first noticed airplanes in the sky, where I played with Yvette in the bushes under my window, where I admired all the Halloween candy from the mansions a few blocks away, where I played in puddles after a rain and where, one day, I got in trouble for throwing rocks at passing cars. I was four...I had no idea that was bad. But I learned!

Mom was young and struggling after her divorce to a man who turned out to be a selfish, egotistical piece of work. When her struggle became too much, she would walk me onto an airplane and send me to my grandparents. This is the reason I'm so close to my family, and Mom's independence and ability to overcome her struggles was passed on to me.

For years I've driven by this apartment and watched as it got new paint jobs, new flowers in the yard, new curtains in the windows. Eventually, some of the neighboring apartments were torn down and up went shopping strips of furniture and children's toy stores. Then today, some 44 years after I lived there, as I drove back in time, my old apartment itself has been turned into a store! It's now an annex of the very store that overtook the neighboring buildings.

These door used to the our covered parking space.

I had planned to park and take some photos, afraid that one day soon, I'd drive by and it would be gone. But I guess that apartment had good bones, for there it was, just as I remembered it, except that the front yard was now paved for cars to park and people shopped for home goods in the place where all my oldest memories were formed. If they only knew! I went inside; something I'd longed to do for oh, so many years.

I walked into what used to be my living room. I could still see the Christmas tree and remember asking Mom how Santa was going to enter without our having a chimney. She told me he had magic keys and would walk in the front door, which was now blocked by a table showing off fancy plates and glassware. This was the room where I discovered Batman on TV, would first watch The Wizard of Oz and laugh at the antics of The Three Stooges before leaving for school (the Montessori school I attended is still there). This was the room my father got into an argument with a man my mother was dating. It made me cry, as it was the first time I realized that my father was flawed.

It was in this corner Mom had our Christmas tree.

As I walked to where my bedroom used to be, I could see where the window was, now blocked by a shelf full of stemware. The space between our apartment and the building next to it has been connected, so instead of the large bushes just outside are now candles and fancy candle holders. That window was home to the air conditioner, that beautiful machine. I loved the sound it made, lulling me to sleep and the cold breeze it provided on sultry Texas nights.

The window of my bedroom used to have a large bush.

Suddenly, I realized that I was standing in the place where, each night, I would lie my head and fall into dream land. The glasses on the shelves blurred through the tears forming in my eyes. I could still see the walls that were now gone, and the posters I had hanging over my bed; see the hole in the ceiling of the bathroom that fell in after the upstairs flooded. (I was able see the upstairs neighbor's tub when that happened!)

You can see where the walls were. Upper right was the corner of my bedroom; left was the kitchen.

To my right was where my Mom's room was. I could still see her teasing her hair in front of the mirror in the corner. Beyond her room was the small 1-car covered parking space. And behind me was where our kitchen used to be, the same kitchen Mom worked so hard on to paint...yellow and orange, if I remember correctly. She was such an artistic rebel!

Standing in Mom's bedroom, the kitchen was on the left and my room was behind that column.

From the living room looking to the back of the apartment.

Now, it was all a huge showroom for Kuhl-Linscomb, a top-end design and lifestyle store. The hardwood floors were now stained concrete, but one can still see where the walls used to be. So many memories from 44 years ago came flooding back as I looked around. This is where I learned to tie my shoes. This is where I watched Carol Burnett. This is where Mom cut her wrist on broken glass and I remembered how badly I felt for her while she cried as we drove to the hospital. This is where I lived when I first went to Astroworld (gone), first went ice skating at the Galleria, first ate wonderful greasy burgers at the Purple Cow down the street from Arthur Treacher's Fish and Chips (both gone). 

Where the bathroom used to be. You can see the hole in front of the column where the toilet was.

The thrill I had in riding my bike up the parking garage of the building around the block, the top from which I could see the Astrodome, was still with me. I loved that damned building with it's magical light-up scoreboard with fireworks displays, eventually removed for more seats; yet another sad change from my childhood. Some of the quirky apartment homes in the neighborhood that I loved remain, but many have been torn down and converted to townhomes. How times have changed...how many 4 and 5 year-olds ride their bikes without supervision in the busy streets of Houston today? 

Of the quirky apartment buildings still stands a block away.

So if you find yourself in building 3 of K-L looking at wine glasses, this is where a very young Penguin would attempt to make himself appear hot at night so Mom would turn on my air conditioner, allowing me to sleep better. (To this day, I still sleep with a fan at night.) Take care of my apartment Kuhl-Linscomb. I want to come back and visit again. The old apartment has changed. But so have I...and Mom, too. Just like that home to a single mother struggling to make ends meet and raise her son, now a quaint shop of high-end home décor, we've come a long way and are doing much better for ourselves. And don't worry about Santa, he's gotten in just fine before!

Where this pickup is parked used to be a large bush under which I would play with Yvette and Dallas.

My Favorite Things: As 'Scene' from the Flight Deck

Flying over Chicago: The Sears Tower

We were approaching Chicago one morning. I was working in the back of a 727 and the high-low chime sounded. I picked up the phone; it was the captain requesting that I come to the cockpit. Being fresh out of training, my heart skipped a beat. The captain calls crew to the cockpit to advise of trouble. When I arrived, I immediately noticed the field of white clouds below us. The captain welcomed me and pointed to his right. Below was the top of the Sears Tower sticking up through the area's low lying clouds. I rushed back to the cabin and grabbed my camera, happy it was no emergency, but the chance to see a view not privy to many.

I was in a 757 flying a red eye to Boston one winter. The passengers were sleeping and I was staying awake on the jumpseat in first class. The pilots called for a lav break and as I entered the cockpit, the first officer mentioned that the aurora was visible. I entered the flight deck and the captain turned down the lights. There, I got to see the Northern Lights dancing in the skies to the north. I nearly melted. I'd never seen them from 36,000 feet and they were truly breath-taking.

I took this shot from the flight deck.

Since I was a little child, I've always loved thunderstorms. The flash of light, the anticipation of the clash. The rolling thunder and the crash, that would shake the house. My grandmother would comment, “Donner!”, as she had heard from her mother, who immigrated from Germany.

I love to watch lightning and to see it from the air is fantastical. From the ground, you lose so much perspective of just how much lightning is flashing in the storm. From cruise altitude, you can see the whole storm, with flashes hither and yon. The whole storm can be many miles wide and very high into the sky and there are flashes of lightning every few seconds. Perhaps you've seen a good storm out the side of an aircraft at night. But in the cockpit, the view is so much more spectacular.

In the days before 9-11, I used to spend a lot of time in the cockpit. Flight attendant staffing was such that I was not missed if I spent half an hour or so visiting with the pilots. It was also easier to access the flight deck. Back then, all it took was a knock. Now, it requires a whole sequence of events to get up there; it takes numerous people, and Mother Airline staffs the planes with fewer of us, so being gone makes a big difference to the rest of the crew.

Creative shot of the instrument panel.

One of the things I love is having a cross wind affect the direction the nose is pointing. There are times the plane starts crabbing, which means the nose may be pointing at noon, but we are moving towards 10 o'clock. The first time I got to observe this was during my cockpit observational ride during training. We approached the DFW airport in Texas. As we were heading towards the end of the runway, the nose of the plane was pointed more towards Ft. Worth than it was Dallas.

Spotting a plane from the Captain's seat.

With the time I've spent in the cockpit over the years, I've learned a lot about the instruments and how to read things. I can spot planes on the radar and then search the huge sky to find them in the air. One of my favorite things is seeing other planes from the cockpit. The best is seeing one go directly over or under you, in the opposite direction. It's simply fascinating!

Without doubt, the most thrilling part of the job for me is the chance to be in the cockpit during flight. Ever since I was a little boy, the buttons, knobs, switches and fuses have been a thing of wonder. There's nothing like standing between the two pilots and having the whole world stretched out below. Or the heavens above during a full moon at night. Yep, being in the cockpit in flight...it's my favorite.

A view after sunset while the first officer is out of the cockpit.

Black Friday comes to Thursday by PenguinScott

This year’s holiday internet battle cry apparently centers on Thanksgiving and workers not being able to spend it with family for having to do their job. Post after post from people I know deplores Americans to avoid shopping on Thanksgiving. “Think of the employees!,” they read, and, “They deserve to be with family like you do!” Is it only in America that we constantly have the need to project our desires onto everyone else? A few things came to mind around the 80^th time seeing one of these posts.

                Anyone who gets a job in retail certainly doesn’t do so with the expectation that they will have the holidays off. I’ve worked in retail and I knew this going into the interview. I’ve worked the holidays as everyone in retail has. Sure, the first time I spent the holiday away from family was a bit tough. But I had something else working for me- pay.

                A lot of people enjoy working holidays for the holiday pay. I’m sure these days, in these hard times, these people depend on working Thanksgiving for the holiday pay that I hope they are making. Even if they only earn their normal rates of pay, let us not assume that everyone wants to be home not earning money.

                Then, there are those who don’t have family to spend the holiday with. Maybe they are college students too far from home or too broke to afford an airline ticket. Maybe it’s the crazy cat lady who has no one of the human kind to be with. Perhaps it’s someone who just can’t stand to be with family so bad that they shiver at the suggestion of staying home so they can be with those who judge, condemn, argue, smother or push other’s down in a competitive nature. I know I can only handle being in close proximity to my family for about 5 days, max (not for the reasons I just mentioned, in case they’re reading this). Some people can’t stand to be around family for 5 minutes.

                I hear the cry- stay home. Don’t go shopping. Avoid the malls. But for me, it’s about bucking the system; I’m such a rebel. I don’t want to shop on Black Friday mainly because it’s become expected to do so. I don’t want to shop on Black Friday because I’m saving money and I don’t have a lot to spend. I don’t want to shop on Black Friday because there really is very little that I need. I finished my holiday shopping weeks ago. Big screen TV for $100? I’ve already got one. DVD player for $20? Got one of those, as well. I think I’ll avoid the crowds and make a turkey sandwich, thank you. And I certainly don’t want to go shopping on Black Friday and join the fray of morons clamoring with fellow white trash royalty and ne’er-do-wells as they literally bust down doors and claw their way over their fallen to reach the stack of made in (insert foreign sweat shop country here) electronics, which will probably explode in 13 months, right after the warranty expires.

              

Penguin, post feast

  This year, I spent Thanksgiving with friends in Santa Rosa. These are good friends, and they know they are after hearing how I spent over 2 hours driving up from my home in Pacifica. Normally, that drive should take just over an hour and it’s no secret that I hate driving, especially in heavy traffic. But it seems either the city was being evacuated, or everyone and their dog was going to Northern California for the day…and apparently left about half an hour before I did! “Aren’t you people supposed to be at home cooking things?” I yelled from within my car (the Peng-U-V). There were as many people, or more,  walking on the Bay Bridge as any weekend during the summer! I was absolutely blown away. Maybe people were taking heed of the cries on line to spend the holiday with family; they just didn’t see the words, “at home.”

A line forms for a shop opening at midnight.

                The interesting thing about this Thanksgiving was that the daughter of our host had to go to work that evening. She worked at the mall, which opened at 8PM on Thanksgiving night. I’d never in my life thought I would see Black Friday come to Thursday evening! The question went around the group as we loosened our belts after the feast, seeming to knowingly save me for last, “Are we going to go to the mall tonight?” “Do you want to go to the mall and watch the chaos?” “Who wants to go to the mall?” The questions shot around the group like if asked enough, someone would win a prize. The prize was that when finally asked, I said, “Sure, let’s go!” After all, I didn’t want to be the only ‘no’ and I’m all for watching a train wreck.

                I did have some ground rules; I’d already posted that I would not be seen in a shopping mall on Thanksgiving and hoped to keep my reputation up to par. “No checking in, post no photos of me and if anyone ever asks, I was never here.” They were in total agreement, so off we marched to join the throngs of humanity at the mall.

A line for a bra sale outside Victoria's Secret

                The mall was much like a mall would be on any Saturday afternoon…but it was nearing midnight! I couldn’t believe all the people shopping this time of night on Thanksgiving. It was as if we have been doing this for years. Sleeping children were pushed in their strollers or sleepily clung to their parent’s hands while wearing cute PJs. My parents would never have brought me shopping at this time of night when I was 5! Groups of high school kids hung out like something from a teen movie and roamed in small packs. There were a few lines and mostly very well behaved people (we did see one fight nearly break out, but fisticuffs and weapons were not involved, although, I had my camera’s video function ready, just in case).

             

This boy kept watch over the family plunder.

   We laughed that we would make great hecklers as we observed the insane. Seeing the signs for “Doorbuster” deals, I made a comment about how it was amazing that, upon seeing some of the deals, the doors were actually still on their hinges! We commented on how some dressed, observing which stores remained closed and looked in wonder at the people eating in the food court, while our bellies were still so full.

Then, like flies, we went down. M found thermals normally difficult find, let alone for half price. C found sweaters that would make a great gift for family. But I held out. At least until I found the 800 thread count 100% Egyptian cotton sheets half off, followed by the cutest little shirts for my nephews. An $80 pillow for $25? Yes, please. Underwear for 25% off? I could use new underwear- I’ll bite.

Oh, no. What have I done?

            Dammit, my friends lured me to the mall under the pretense that I could go and make fun of those who bought into the frenzy of Black Friday on Thursday evening, and there I became one of them. In fact, after going back to C’s house, we returned to the mall for more, shopping until 2AM so C could buy a jewelry stand. You’re welcome analysts and retail giants. I’m happy to help your numbers kick off the season. I will sleep very well at night doing so- on my soft bed sheets and sensor gel pillow – that I found fifty percent off!