Author: Karen J Rieley, M.A.

I am passionate about making a difference in life while I can. My passion plays out in my career as a seasoned, results-oriented PR, writing and fund-raising professional with extensive experience and proven success in the nonprofit sector, specifically in strategic planning, brand development and PR campaigns. I have used my skills to help an array of sectors including corporate, arts, social services, faith-based and education. I am also a fanatical reader and passionate about writing and editing. I am a proven writer and editor of many genres including magazines, newsletters, news releases, websites, advertisements, direct mail solicitations, grants, speeches, presentations, research, crisis communications and academic papers. I have turned a lifelong passion for baking, especially cookies into a business – KR Homemade Cookies and more - to help me in my latest endeavor – baking cookies to be given to families who come to St. Mary’s Episcopal Church in the Springfield neighborhood of Jacksonville, Fla., for help with food. Baking soothes my soul, and I hope that my cookies soothe the souls of those who need so much. I think of the children eating my cookies as I bake them and hope they are smiling.

Day Tripping in Palatka – The Gem of the St. Johns

~ Karen J Rieley, M.A. ~ 2 Comments

Back in our early days living in Florida, my husband and I took a few big trips but, more often, enjoyed spontaneously leaving town for the weekend – even just a two-day weekend. We tried out a number of bed-and-breakfast inns in St. Augustine, Cedar Key and Micanopy, Florida, and Americus and Brunswick, Georgia, for example. We enjoyed exploring these towns specifically because they held true to their origins, the real land and people, rather than the illusions of opulence, sensory experiences and never ending excitement that developers have created – the elite, exclusive coastal resorts; the sights, sounds and libations of nightclubs; and the illusions of the many entertainment parks. Admittedly, we have partaken of all those experiences, too, but my best memories of Florida are the authentic ones.

We let this Fourth of July sneak up on us. I turned my focus from crazy-busy work stuff long enough to ask for July 3 off, but never got around to planning anything for us to do. This past Wednesday, I looked up from my computer and realized that I needed to come up with something or else we would just sit around wasting four perfectly good days better spent enjoying being with each other and experiencing something other than the stress of work obligations.

It was probably too late to try to make overnight plans, plus I wasn’t sure that I wanted to go to the trouble of packing, driving many miles and then adjusting to a hotel room (all activities that become less and less appealing the older I get, I confess). So, I recalled our fun, spontaneous weekend trips and googled “places to visit in northeast Florida.” The Northeast Florida Backroads Travel Guide website came up near the top of the list and sounded intriguing, so I decided to check it for day trips. Of the nine northeast Florida towns listed, Crescent City and Palatka were the two of which I was the least familiar. I don’t think I’ve ever visited Crescent City, so that’s a trip for another day perhaps.

Palatka is one of those small Florida cities that I’ve driven through many times without stopping and barely even noticed except for the speed limit signs which are notoriously important to observe, as small-town cops use ticketing to acquire much-needed town revenue. It is nestled in a bend on the St. Johns  River and was a major port for many years because initially it was the southernmost port for transporting trade items and eventually people, as well, until Henry Flagler expanded railroad tracks further south. Once known as “The Gem of the St. Johns River” with hotel accommodations for 6,000, a devastating fire and hard freeze caused a major decline in the area’s visitation and industry.

According to the Putnam Historical Society website, “Palatka” is a contraction of an Indian word meaning “cow crossing” or “cow ford.” The original was some variation of “Pilaklikaha” or “Pilotaikita.” Originally spelled “PIlatka,” the City Charter, approved on January 8, 1853, had the name spelled “PAlatka,” sparking a debate as to the “correct” spelling which would last another twenty-two years until the U.S. Post Office officially changed the spelling to “Palatka” on May 24, 1875, to avoid confusing its name with the town of “Picolata.”

Turns out that the first Sunday each month is a special day in Palatka. Every historical place is open to the public. Among the top 10 places to visit, the Bronson-Mulholland House caught my eye because I love history stories and restoration. I checked out the house’s official website and learned that, while you can drive up to the house and explore the grounds, you can only tour the house on Saturdays, 10 a.m. – 4 p.m., and Sundays, 1-4 p.m. Tours need to be scheduled 72 hours in advance, so that a tour guide can be arranged to take you through the house. I came in just under the wire in making a reservation for 1 p.m., today, Sunday.

We had time to eat brunch before the tour, so I researched good places to eat in Palatka and discovered several. Most feature seafood and fish, which makes perfect sense given Palatka’s location along the St. Johns River – Corky Bell’s Seafood and Musselwhite’s Seafood & Grill received good reviews when I goggled “best places to eat in Palatka, Florida.” Angel’s Diner got good reviews for its hamburgers. But, Magnolia Cafe intrigued me the most, because it seemed to feature a creative brunch menu and had great review comments.

We arrived shortly after the cafe opened at 11 a.m. Located in the middle of downtown Palatka at 705 St. Johns Avenue, the cafe is modestly decorated and has the aura of a comfortable, small-town eatery that everyone knows about, frequents and loves. It is brightly lit mostly by sunlight from the large front windows and the waiters are friendly and attentive. I decided to order the Steak and Egg Benedict with a side salad and my husband ordered the Eggs Florentine Benedict and Cheese Grits. Our eggs benedict were delightful – perfectly puffy poached eggs with beautiful yellow yolks that ran, but didn’t gush, when cut. My husband said his cheese grits were well seasoned and I enjoyed my steak.

I started with a hot cup of coffee and, while my meal was very good, the coffee might have been the star of the meal. Magnolia Cafe is committed to serving organic food, including organic coffee. It serves and sells Sweetwater organic coffee, ground and whole beans, and it is delicious. I was served a tall, narrow mug of steaming coffee with real cream and enjoyed not one, but two, cups. And, I bought one bag each of Dark French Roast from Honduras, Sumatra and Ethiopia and Full City Roast from Peru and Colombia. The coffe is artisan roasted and fairly traded, as a member of the Fair Trade Federation.

After brunch, we had about 45 minutes before our tour started at the Bronson-Mulholland House, so we drove around Palatka checking out the sights. Palatka bills itself as the City of Murals, so the drive was an artistic experience. The Conlee-Snyder Mural Committee is in charge of the larger-than-life murals painted onto the walls of buildings downtown to accurately depict the historical, cultural, and natural riches of Palatka and Putnam County. You can learn about the murals and get a map of their locations on the Conley-Snyder Mural Committee website.

The tour of the Bronson-Mulholland House was free (although donations are much appreciated). Our tour guide was very knowledgeable, interesting, thorough and obviously passionate about sharing history. He took us through the house giving us a history tour of the home’s six eras: Bronson Era, 1854-60; Civil War Era, 1861-65; White Era, 1865-1904; Mulholland Era, 1904-45; Post War Era, 1945-1977; and Restoration Era, 1977-Present. In its early years, the home was the largest in northeast Florida, perhaps even north Florida. It was continuously owned until 1977, when the town government took it over to prevent its further decline and restore it. A government restoration grant helped make the restoration possible. The home has not been restored further since then, and Palatka is seeking another grant to do necessary repairs.

As we prepared to leave Palatka in mid-afternoon, we decided to find Ravine State Gardens and see what was there with the idea that we might want to bookmark it for a return trip in cooler weather. We both grew up in the cool, high mountains of Virginia and the hot, humid Florida summers don’t entice us to take the long walks and hikes that we generally love.

We paid the $5/car admission fee and discovered that a 1.8 mile scenic driveway borders the 70-120 feet deep ravine for which the park is named. In 1933, the ravine was transformed into a dramatic garden by the federal Works Progress Administration. Some of the original landscaping still exists as formal gardens and a unique system of trails. A 64 foot tall obelisk, dedicated to Franklin D Roosevelt, is located near the park entrance. We noted fieldstone terraces, rock gardens, picnic tables including grills, an amphitheater and a suspension bridge, all worthwhile reasons to return again sometime between January and April, peak time for all of the blooming plants and temperate weather, for a picnic and some hiking. Visit http://www.floridastatepark.org for more information.

All in all, it was a perfect Florida day. As we drove back home to Jacksonville, I found myself recalling three of my favorite female Florida authors whose works have captured the real Florida that I love – Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings, Zora Neale Hurston and Connie May Fowler. Another good way to tamp down work stress – read or re-read more by these authors!

Later this evening, my husband and I reflected on how nice the day had been, and he announced that he’d like our next day trip to be a return visit to Micanopy and Cross Creek. We had stayed in the Herlong Mansion many years ago and explored Micanopy but didn’t spend much time in Cross Creek, where Kinnan Rawlings had a homestead in which she lived and wrote. His comment was a perfect ending to the day, as it reminded us that rediscovering places, people and memories can be as exciting as new adventures.

Enjoying Your Work is YOUR Responsibility, Not Your Employers’

~ Karen J Rieley, M.A. ~ Leave a comment

My current employer, Keystone Behavioral Pediatrics, is one of the best organizations for which I’ve worked. While no job is perfect, my job marketing Keystone is made so much easier and satisfying because the parents who bring their children to us are pleased with how we have helped their children and eager to tell other parents about us. Pediatricians, guidance counselors and daycare directors, in particular, feel comfortable referring their children to us. We have so many parents who want us to work with their children that we are hiring more therapists to work with them – a great success that I love hearing, given my role as marketing and communications director!

Sharing wisdom that comes from experience is often not appreciated, I know, but I feel compelled to share what I have learned in my 40 years of professional work for a variety of employers – public and private, nonprofit and for-profit. A company like Keystone that is rapidly growing inevitably feels some stress. Employees need to be flexible, enjoy teamwork and be willing to stretch to provide consistently great service to growing numbers of clients. I personally thrive in such an entrepreneurial environment, because I like feeling that I’m integral to the company’s success.

I well know that not all of my contemporaries agree with my philosophy, but I have to say that I cannot accept the idea that an employer needs to change the workplace to accommodate its youngest, least experienced employees at the expense of those who are leading the company and bear the financial responsibility for keeping the business alive. I well remember what it was like in my first job. I was hired to work in the corporate headquarters of a large international company. There were very few women in leadership period, much less young people who were emerging from the 1970s and its make love not war, feminism, antiwar and Watergate themes.

The corporate environment then was straight out of “The Man in the Grey Flannel Suit” movie, which means not a lot had changed since the mid-50s. Older, white men, in very conservative suits and ties sat behind big wooden desks, while the rest of us toiled away in our little offices with gray metal office furniture. In my case, as a young woman, it was hard to get anyone to take me seriously – even the all-female administrative staff (called secretaries then) resented me. I guess they thought I thought I was better than they were, because I was a supervisor and invited to sit at business meetings rather than having to serve coffee and take minutes at meetings like they did.

No one asked me what would make me feel happier about my work. They expected me to learn how to work within their environment. They assumed I would learn my job quickly, show up at work on time, work longer hours if necessary to make a deadline, dress like a businessperson (which meant skirts and jackets, hose and high heels most of the time) and treat my bosses with deference and respect.

It was overwhelming – my first time living away from home in a northern city – but I’m proud to say that I prevailed and was regularly promoted. The president of the company even sent a letter home to my parents telling them how impressed he was with my performance and could only wish that his children would do as well.

Today’s youngest employees, however, seem to particularly struggle in such workplaces, probably because they have been reared with different expectations than my generation. We were reared with a “root little pig or die” work ethic. We thought we had to over-perform to keep our job. We felt lucky to even have a job and worried nearly constantly about whether we would keep our job. We would never admit we couldn’t do something an employer asked us to do and had a “fake it ’til you make it” mindset.

Millennials, on the other hand, have been coached their entire lives and tend to assume that employers will coach them, too. But, employers don’t want to be parents and most don’t have the time or money to hold employees’ hands or allow employees to learn on the job.

Millennials tend to work only the minimum time expected and push for flexibility and a reduced work schedule to create more time for other pursuits. Employers find their attitudes disrespectful and irresponsible.

Millennials are vocal about wanting work to be a “fun” place to go with lots of cool perks and benefits. Employers come to resent that what they are able and willing to do for employees quickly becomes an expectation and unappreciated.

The reality is that Millennials (like all workers) must learn to find intrinsic motivation (internal drive for work), so they can find real satisfaction and success in their careers. Since Millennials haven’t learned this yet, they’re experiencing sadness and confusion in the workplace. Unfortunately, their unhappiness is transparent to employers who have no desire to pay for what they perceive as a bad attitude at work.

Millennials need to learn how a business works. For example, Keystone Behavioral Pediatrics wants to help all children be successful. To be able to hire and pay staff and provide staff with an appropriate workplace to work with children, Keystone has to receive revenue. That revenue comes from parents/caregivers and is based on the billable hours our therapists spend helping their children. Parents and their insurance companies won’t pay for time that doesn’t directly benefit their children. Why would they? And, if they don’t pay Keystone, Keystone can’t pay its employees.

Millenials also need to learn what motivates their employers to hire them, keep them employed and promote them. I’ve shared some of my generation’s experiences and expectations. This graphic shares more:

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I know some very special Millennials who won’t like being described as this graphic does. This isn’t meant to offend anyone. It is meant as advice, in that if you know that you are being cast in a group in ways you don’t want, then you know what you have to do to set yourself apart.

Lastly, I want to share some tips that my peers and I have learned as employees and employers about how to say goodbye gracefully when leaving a job. I hope it will help former employees avoid getting bad reputations as problem employees so that they can be successful in future jobs:

  • Don’t curse, yell or insult people or damage company property.
  • Don’t bad-mouth your boss or company in later job interviews or in social media; future employers should know that if you’ll say negative things about a former employer, you will no doubt say negative things about them in the future.
  • Remain respectful and professional; don’t burn bridges. The community you live and work in is smaller and tighter than you think, and you may need/want a former employer’s help some day.
  • After biting your tongue at work and in social media, find a friend or family member who will let you blow off steam.
  • Take the high road and always remember that “what goes around, comes around.”

Work should be fulfilling and something that you are proud of doing. Achieving that is within your power, as an employee, wherever you work.

Miracle Workers: Patrons of the Hearts Giving the Gift of Life

~ Karen J Rieley, M.A. ~ Leave a comment

ettedgui-familyMy fifth story appeared in the “High Tide Features” section of First Coast Magazine and was the longest one I’ve been asked to write for the magazine to date. It was very special to write, because the Ettedjuis are such a wonderful couple – they have had the means, influence, talent and passion to help so many children with heart defects from around the world. I hope you take the time to read about this special couple and their wonderful organization, Patrons of the Hearts.

The baby was born earlier this year in Dominica, one of the poorest countries in the Eastern Caribbean. He had transposition of the great arteries, a congenital heart defect that meant the child only had months to live. He was flown to Martinique for a minimally invasive procedure to stabilize him and then was flown to Barbados, the location of the nearest U.S. consulate, to obtain a medical visa. From there he jetted to his final destination, Jacksonville, for a procedure to permanently correct the problem. Six weeks later, he returned home, now able to live a normal life.

Patrons of the Hearts prepares to celebrate its 11th anniversary. The organization has helped a total of 104 children from 24 countries. Founded in 2005, Patrons of the Hearts makes possible the best medical care available for the treatment of heart disease to children born in remote or underdeveloped parts of the world. It is a partnership between the University of Florida Pediatric Cardiovascular Center at Jacksonville, Wolfs Children’s Hospital, which is part of the Baptist Health system and the Jacksonville community. The center and hospital donate the cost of inpatient hospitalization and physician services for the children’s heart repair, and Patrons of the Hearts covers the supplies, housing and incidentals for each child, an average of $5,000 per child. The physicians and nurses and other medical staff donate their services as well.

“It has been an extraordinary 10 years,” Jose says. “From the first year, 2006, when our hope was to bring in one or two children and we actually brought six, to now, when we’re averaging 10 to 12 a year, it has been a beautiful experience.”

The Ettedguis moved to Jacksonville in 2002. The next year Jose went on a mission trip to Kenya. The medical team hoped to put their expertise to good use in treating children with heart problems.

“The outcome was not as good as we wanted,” he says. “We found that trying to deliver very complex, sophisticated care in an environment that had little to no infrastructure to support our work meant that the children didn’t fare well after surgery. We knew that the children would have done better here, so we changed model.

Jose remembers the first baby they brought as the most challenging case. Aya was six months old and from Morocco. She had an initial operation for chronic heart failure, from which she recovered well. As planned, Aya had a second operation two-and-a-half years later. Afterwards, she became very sick and nearly died. She slowly recovered, however, and a few years after that, she had a third and final procedure. Jose reports that she is 11 now and doing very well.

The Ettedguis are quick to give credit to the whole community. “This is a Jacksonville success story. Volunteers, financial contribution, in-kind donations and moral encouragement – this community is so generous,” he says.

Hilda Ettedgui is the creator of Artscapade, an annual event that raises the funds needed to bring the children to Jacksonville and treat them. “We focus on the children we’ve been able to help and on raising awareness of how many more need our help. We call it a celebration, where art, music, fun and the love for children meet,’ she says.

The local arts community is a major participant in the event, donating art that is exhibited ahead of the event and then auctioned off to attendees. “We always have children’s art as part of the event as well,” Jose says. A variety of art, such as a choir or professional dancers, have also been part of this special event.”

This year’s Artscapade’s theme is “The Heart and Soul of Patrons” and highlights the lives of some of the children with whom Patrons of the Hearts has stayed in touch in the past decade. The Ettedguis have stayed in very close contact with one special baby, in particular. Rute is the 18th baby that Patrons of the Hearts brought to Jacksonville and the first one to travel here without a parent. She was 13 months old but weighed only 11 pounds. She had ventricular septal defect (VSD), a hole between the pumping chambers of her heart. In critical heart failure, she couldn’t roll over or suck from a bottle, because she was so weak.

Her parents in Ethiopia were desperate to get her help and turned to Project Mercy, an international nonprofit relief and development agency that operated a compound close to Rute’s village. Project Mercy contacted Patrons of the Hearts for help.

Rute’s parents had no birth certificates, which meant they couldn’t acquire passports, but it was critical for Rute to travel to Jacksonville for surgery as quickly as possible. Project Mercy brought Rute to Jacksonville without her worried parents, and the Ettedguis agreed to be her legal guardians during her stay.

Rute had two surgeries separated by several months. By the time she had recovered enough to be sent home, six months has passed. The Ettedguis took her back to her parents, but Rute refused to eat or sleep and couldn’t be consoled. She had bonded with the Ettedguis, as they had with her.

Rute’s parents asked the Ettedguis if they would raise her. “They didn’t think Rute would survive living with them in Ethiopia,” Hilda says. “They made the biggest sacrifice parents can make.” It was an easy decision for the Ettedguis to make, because she was already part of their family, Hilda says.

Now 9 years old, Rute is healthy. She is bilingual in Spanish and English, as are the Ettedguis’ other two daughters, who are 28 and 29 years old. Even though they were in college when Rute joined their family, Hilda says that all three girls have an incredible connection with each other.

Hilda says, “Rute keeps us young,” Jose says Rute is Patron of the Hearts’ “ambassador extraordinaire,”

“She loves the attention,” he says and then laughs.

It takes a lot of generous hearts to help so many damaged ones, and Patrons of the Hearts and Ettedguis and the members of the Patrons of the Hearts team have the hearts and souls to meet the challenge.

Tradition is in Full Bloom at Kuhn Flowers

~ Karen J Rieley, M.A. ~ Leave a comment

kuhnMy article #4 for First Coast Magazine appeared in its February 2016 issue. I was asked to write about a Jacksonville institution – Kuhn Flowers. The floral shop was long-established before I moved to Jacksonville in 1978, and its history is one of a true love story, most fitting for the month of roses, sweet nothings and romance. Read more here.

Valentine’s Day is Kuhn’s largest volume day, with more than 2,000 deliveries out of the Beach store alone. That requires 150 delivery people and 150 delivery vehicles. The store’s large volume allows it to buy flowers directly from growers, not via wholesalers, from around the world.

Kuhn Flowers was built with love. Nancy was the floral designer, and Bob Kuhn marketed and managed the business. Bob had worked in greenhouses as a kid, so opening Kuhn Flowers was a natural next set for him. Nancy and Bob married, and Kuhn Flowers became their life. It was the only business they ever owned. Bob bought up a number of smaller floral shops and rolled them into Kuhn Flowers after he relocated to Beach Boulevard in 1958. The Ponte Vedra Beach store is Kuhn’s only branch. “They both worked every day until they were about 70,” Howard says. They retired in 1984.

While no Kuhn family member is still a part of the business, traditions started by Nancy and Bob Kuhn 68 years ago, in the store’s first location in downtown Jacksonville, are still kept alive today. The seasonal celebration in Kuhn Flowers’ two-story storefront window is a Jacksonville destination, not just for locals, but regionally as well. Christmas decorations are up by Nov. 1 and stay up for 60 days.

“It used to be a tradition for many families to have Thanksgiving dinner and then pile everyone in the car to come see our Christmas window,” Howard says. McCall has revived the Kuhn window tradition for holidays. Santa has visited the store for the past seven years for children to have photos taken. “We hope to have the Easter Bunny visit as well,” McCall says. And, at Halloween, the employees dress up in costumes. And of course, there is a rose in every arrangement that leaves the store on Valentine’s Day. Both McCall and Howard buy their daughters flowers every Valentine’s Day. They do this to set an example for them, illustrating how women should be celebrated by the men in their lives.

“My best advice to a guy is to start now developing a personal relationship with a floral shop that delivers,” McCall says. “Then, the week before Valentine’s Day, he can call the store to have flowers delivered to his girl on Wednesday or Thursday before Sunday’s Valentine’s Day. This gives her plenty of time to show off to her girlfriends how much she is loved.”

What really matters

~ Karen J Rieley, M.A. ~ Leave a comment

It is time to step back. Time to take a careful look at where I’m going in the next few years. Time to figure out how to cherish every minute. Time, while there’s still time.

Three years ago, everything changed. There was before my husband turned 60 and then it was the year he turned 60. How can crossing the threshold from one decade into the next make such a difference?

I think all of us thought I’d be the one with health problems. My family heritage is not one of long years of living. My mother died when she had just turned 51, which was the exact age when her own mother died, both from breast cancer. My father died four years after my mother, and the doctors never knew exactly why. I have to surmise it was from a broken heart.

My husband had never had health problems. He has always been doggedly optimistic. He always believes in the best in those he loves. He is loyal. He is generally happy. Or, at least he was. Then, his health deteriorated suddenly, unexpectedly and inexplicably. That has tested him almost to the point of breaking. And, watching him struggle has tested me almost to the point of breaking.

The hardest part has been that not only his health, but almost everything in our lives has changed in just three short years. Our jobs, the place we call home, our pattern of living, our plans for the future – all changed in the past three years. Not all of the changes have been bad, but the unexpectedness of the changes and the rate of change has been unsettling, to say the least.

And the fear factor is overwhelming at times. I wasn’t prepared to imagine life without my husband – not yet. Well, of course, I probably was never prepared to live without him, but I guess I thought there would be a logical transition from our early years together to raising children to empty nesting to getting old together. But, he has outpaced me. I’ve watched him age so quickly in the past three years.

I’m trying to hang on to the idea of us still being vibrant and making plans for the future, but I think it is an illusion. I hope not, but I don’t want to lie to myself either, because I’ll miss cherishing each moment we have, I fear, if I pretend that nothing is wrong. I try to be strong for him, and then I’m afraid that I’m negating his own justifiable fears.

I think it is time for me to try to figure out this new world we’re in and find out what matters most to me now. Time with my husband matters a lot. Time with my daughter matters to me. Books matter to me. Trying to write matters to me. Two times in my past are my fondest memories and brought me the most joy, so maybe I can recreate them.

My most favorite work project was the restoration of The Florida Theatre. I felt I was part of something very important, very worth doing, and I loved the outcome of the work. I take personal pride that the theater is still in operation today. Maybe I could volunteer as an usher there.

And, I loved the five or so years I spent singing in the Jacksonville Symphony chorus. I felt as if I were part of something so much larger than just me, and yet I was an instrumental part of the whole. It was a way I could exercise a natural talent that I had without feeling the stress of performing solo. Maybe I should audition and see if I can perform again.

I thought I wanted to teach, and I have for three semesters since earning my master’s degree in English in August 2014. I do enjoy it, but the local universities don’t seem to want to keep me regularly employed, so I am frustrated. I can’t determine yet if this is a viable career path for me.

I realize it is the beginning of a new year, and I so feel compelled to figure some things out. Maybe it is a passing compulsion, but I think not. Taking control of things I can, when there is so much that I can’t control, seems important to do.

The Classic Bar Cabinet offers exquisite entertaining

~ Karen J Rieley, M.A. ~ Leave a comment

My third First Coast Magazine story has hit the streets! You can read about the classic bar cabinet as an essential piece for entertaining made famous first by David C. Rockola in the “Front Door” section of the December issue.

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Lisa McVie would be glad to show you this original, black, 1930s Rock-Ola bar cabinet with a red interior that houses alcohol, glassware and barware alike. The Rock-Ola label is carved into the back. The furniture is displayed in her space at Avonlea Antiques & Design Gallery on Philips Highway.

Here is the my original article as submitted to the magazine. It was shortened by editors to meet space requirements.

Thirteen years after Jay Gatsby’s fateful summer of 1922 in The Great Gatsby, David C. Rockola, inventor of the RMC jukebox, filed a patent for a “new, original and ornamental design for a Bar Cabinet,” that would have knocked the stylish dress socks off Gatsby. Lisa McVie would be glad to show you this original, black, 1930s Rock-Ola bar cabinet with a red interior that houses alcohol, glassware and barware alike. The Rock-Ola label is carved into the back. The furniture is displayed in her space at Avonlea Antiques & Design Gallery on Philips Highway.

Rockola, who changed his name to Rock-Ola, because so many people mispronounced it without the hyphen, went on to make many styles of bar cabinets, scales, parking meters, pinball machines and furniture. He was best known, however, for his coin-operated jukeboxes.

Some blame the decline of cocktails and highballs on Prohibition. Despite the law that made alcoholic beverages illegal, cocktails were still consumed in speakeasies. However, the quality of liquor available during Prohibition was much worse, because focus shifted from quality aging to ease of producing liquor illicitly. Honey, fruit juices and other flavorings served to mask the foul taste of the inferior liquors. Sweet cocktails were easier to drink quickly and disguised the presence of liquor, an important consideration when the establishment might be raided at any moment. Cocktails that were popular in the 1960s, 70s and 80s lost their elegant status once they were prepared with sugary pre-made mixes that skimped on quality.

But today, craft cocktails focus on fresh juices and ingredients, and their status has been revived. With the craft cocktail revolution in the last decade, sophisticated bars as discreet as speakeasies are making a comeback as well. As with Gatsby in the 20s, the ad men of, well, “Mad Men” in the 60s and the women of “Sex in The City” in the 90s, it’s not just about drinking; it’s about the ritual, the exquisite lifestyle and the desire to treat guests special, especially during the holidays.

“Would you like something from the bar – a gin Martini, Mint Julep, Manhattan, Old-Fashioned, perhaps a Sidecar, Stinger or Rusty Nail? Why, certainly, I have all the makings right here.” <Clink> Here’s to your holidays being the most special ever.

Living centerpieces feature coastal plants

~ Karen J Rieley, M.A. ~ 2 Comments
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Philip takes advantage of a backyard filled with native landscaping and large pots filled with native plants to create his living centerpieces. I snapped a photo of some of the more interesting plants.

My second article for First Coast Magazine is in the Front Door section of its August issue! Read about “Living Centerpieces.”

I may try making my own for our next dinner party. Philip and Chris were fun to interview, and their work is creative and exciting. I enjoyed watching Philip spontaneously gather native plants from the backyard and experiment with shapes, colors, textures and sizes. He used jars and vases he had around the house and grouped them together with plants in them and around them. Chris is about to graduate from the University of North Florida, my most recent alma mater, with a degree in finance. He plans to continue working with Philip in Rockstar Gardens.

You can read my original version of the story here.

Create a succulent centerpiece for your dining room table. Sounds more interesting and natural than the usual vase of cut greenhouse flowers, but where to begin? Philip Standifer, owner of Rockstar Gardens, makes the whole experience a freeing process, and you feel better about your connection with the plant world, to boot.

There are only a couple of rules to remember. Placement, space and scale are important. Use natural, native and arid plants that don’t need or want water because they’ll last longer.

Beyond that, anything goes. Throw a handful or two of crushed, recycled glass pieces into some interesting glassware or vases, start placing a variety of native plants in the bottom paying attention to varying heights and complementary colors (Standifer prefers a palette of greens, gold, purples and reds), add some interesting plants – shoestring acacia with long, willowy leaves, bamboo cuffs and palm boots – around the glassware and voila! You have created a conversation-starting centerpiece.

Where do you find the materials? You may find them at some local garden shops, and Rockstar Gardens can recommend other shops. You can go roaming and try to find the native plants you want, what Standifer calls “wild harvesting” or “foraging.” Just make sure you aren’t doing so on protected land or private land without permission.

Preferably, you have thought ahead about your love of entertaining by incorporating native landscaping into your yard – good for the environment and always available, free of charge, once you’ve paid the initial cost of planting.

Supplies

Setting the stage:

  • Crushed, recycled glass pieces
  • Various sizes of glassware, pitchers and vases
  • A small tool (knife or tweezer, perhaps) to manipulate the plants in the glassware

The props:

  • Reindeer moss – not actually a moss, but instead a light-colored, fruticose lichen
  • Chartreuse moss – a type of reindeer moss with a beautiful golden green color
  • Echeveria – rosettes ranging in size with colors from white to orange to pink to red
  • Retro succulent – rosettes of pale green foliage stippled in creamy white, with coral-fringed leaf edges.
  • Purple coneflower – showy, easily grown garden plant
  • Shoestring acacia – evergreen with weepy branches
  • Agave
  • Lavender
  • Palm boots and bamboo cuffs – remnant wooden bases
  • Bamboo cuffs
  • Spanish moss
  • Pelican feather – Standifer promises that no bird was hurt in the design of this centerpiece!

centerpieces1

About Philip L. Standifer:

Philip L. Standifer exudes free spirit, creativity and passion for all things in nature. He is a freelance horticulturist and garden designer, combining “aesthetic manipulation,” as he calls it, with his knowledge of plant behavior, the result of a bachelor’s degree in ornamental landscape horticulture from Auburn University, Alabama. Rockstar Gardens is his growing business.

Standifer moved to Fernandina Beach 11 summers ago after working in landscape and garden shops in Atlanta and then Savannah. A network of friends helps him reach his horticulture goals. Chris Igou, a University of North Florida finance major, handles Rockstar Gardens’ finances and is a co-designer. Carolyn Carr, who was a marketer and is now a consultant for Coca-Cola helps Standifer with the marketing of his business. And Gogo Ferguson, with her unique nature jewelry inspired by Cumberland Island flora and fauna that she transforms into wearable art, is his muse.

“Cumberland Island is a true virgin study – no pollution, largely unspoiled and some of it private property in which I can forage,” Standifer said.

Standifer plans to open a shop that will include native plants and a clothing line, offer tours and launch a lecture series. For now, you can view some of his designs and ask questions by visiting http://www.rockstargardens.com.

 

Standing on the Shoulders

~ Karen J Rieley, M.A. ~ Leave a comment

I want to take the opportunity to thank the members of my Advancement Team, especially Tom Strother, who was the LSS communications director, and others who worked with us during the years of the food bank’s rapid growth, for their extraordinary and exemplary work. Their efforts paved the way to enable the LSS Second Harvest food bank to grow from 6 million pounds distributed and $400,000 raised in 2004-05 to nearly 23 million pounds and more than $2.5 million raised in 2012-13.

It was an once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to have been a part of herculean efforts to improve the quality of life for people who are struggling in our community. The momentum of our collective efforts from 2004 to 2013 will enable Feeding Northeast Florida to eventually surpass 23 million pounds of food distributed and head toward the 40 million pound goal established by LSS.

The team rose admirably to the challenge of educating the community about why people may be hungry and inspiring the community to take an active role in solving the issue. We were fortunate to work with fantastic community partners – private foundations; major corporations; city, county and state government leaders; and thousands of individual donors and volunteers – who put their money to work to help us achieve great goals from which Feeding Northeast Florida is now benefiting.

In the way of the circle of life, the mantle for distributing large amounts of recovered food has moved on from LSS, and, since then, LSS can take credit for identifying and helping Farm Share fill another gap in service in our community – gleaning and distributing fresh food straight from Florida’s fields, which had not been accomplished on a large scale in Jacksonville before. In addition, LSS, with the help of its Lutheran network, has turned its focus to food and nutrition programs that get services directly to people in need.

Those of us who served on the LSS Advancement Team during this tremendous growth have moved on as well, to take our hard-earned knowledge of how to engage people to other sectors of our city. In the end, LSS has fulfilled its primary objective to serve and care for people in need and continues in its quest to fill gaps in services needed to help these people. We are all better for LSS’s work. We all stand on the shoulders of those who have put their hearts, souls and talents to work for others.

Forever Blue

~ Karen J Rieley, M.A. ~ Leave a comment

My favorite color is blue; no, not “Forever Blue,” which was the name of an almost neon version of turquoise blue eye shadow that the girl in high school, who said she was my friend but tried to steal my boyfriend, wore. Thankfully, “Forever Blue” was retired after the 70s fashion craze passed.

I am irresistibly attracted to cobalt blue – a deep, true, arresting color. It is peaceful and yet always in motion. Blue is the river that runs through my city, a river that is widest when it splits the downtown and the city in half flowing rapidly north to the ocean. The tops of its constantly bobbing waves catch in the sun and glisten like diamonds.

Blue is the wide skies above accentuated by fluffy white clouds always in motion and changing shape. The river and the sky seem full of hope and free my soul. I remember my awe when I first saw that sky and river. I had never seen so much water or a sky so big and uninterrupted by mountains.

Blue is the beautiful glass bowls in the museum art gallery, mixed in swirls of golden yellow and white and begging to become part of my growing collection of glass objets d’art.

The Bluest Eye by Toni Morrison is one of my favorite books that I read in my English graduate studies. I related so strongly to Pecola, because I, too, felt like I didn’t belong when I was growing up, though my story might have to be titled The Most Perfect Family.

I have blue eyes, inevitably, because both of my parents had blue eyes. My husband also has blue eyes; of course, my daughter does, too. What I didn’t have were idyllic, iconic June and Ward Cleaver parents, like the parents who it seemed that every other child who lived in the nearby town where I went to school had.

None of the children on the country road where I lived had the 50s definition of a perfect family either. All of the families were struggling financially with husbands working blue collar jobs or farming their own land. Most parents had done well to finish high school and almost none had gone to, much less completed college. They were the products of local farmers and small business owners, not college professors as almost all of my town schoolmates’ parents were.

Except for me, the neighborhood children mostly stayed with their “own kind,” not mingling socially with the town kids. It was my mother’s unrealistically high standards for her first child, her daughter, that placed me, at least during the school year, in that seemingly perfect university town world where I didn’t belong.

When summer came, I had no easy transportation or invitations, for that matter, to visit town classmates, so I rejoined by neighborhood friends. They always took me back, so readily and friendly that I was grown and attending a high school reunion before I realized that some of them resented the way I seemed to ignore them once school started. I didn’t mean to ignore them. I was just trying to keep pace and not embarrass myself.

Blue has saved and comforted me many times. Blue is a deceptive color, full of hidden meaning and secret yearnings. It doesn’t demand attention like red, yellow and lime green. It sits quietly, thinking deeply, dreaming broadly and yearning for the day when it can run alongside yellows and greens or immerse itself in red and become a royal purple that others admire.

I survived the lie of my perfectness as a child; but, it took me years to accept my imperfections. In truth, I’m still not there. I am proud of one accomplishment in my life. At least my daughter loves herself and knows the joy of appreciating life as it is, not constantly plagued by nagging worries of what life “should” be. I knew she would be OK, more adjusted than I am, when she chose “Starry, Starry Nights” as the theme for her wedding. Van Gogh’s blue sky was wild with swirls of stars, as was our beautiful, delightfully different daughter the night of her wedding. Her happiness is enough for me.

Try to Forget – a novel in progress

~ Karen J Rieley, M.A. ~ Leave a comment

Chapter 1 – Where is love?

“The desire to go home that is a desire to be whole, to know where you are, to be the point of intersection of all the lines drawn through all the stars, to be the constellation-maker and the center of the world, that center called love.” – Rebecca Solnit

 Janet was back again finally to the place where she grew up.  A run-down, paint-peeling wood house with a rusted metal roof on a forgotten street that started out as a dirt road between two towns.  A scrappy plot of land that had little attention paid to it with a backyard that was nothing more than a sewage field.  A place of dashed dreams where two adults existed, rather than lived, from day to day with little to no confidence that they would ever escape.

Janet hadn’t seen it in years, hadn’t wanted to after first her mother and then her father died. She used to do an annual drive-by when her husband and she would visit his family at the holidays, but the house and land looked worse each year until at last it looked completely abandoned. Seeing it in that state just made her depressed, so she stopped visiting it.

The house probably should have been sold as land to a developer or business after her parents died. But her brother and she couldn’t bring themselves to do it. Instead, they sold it to a couple who had grown up with them in the neighborhood and wanted to move out of the trailer in which they’d lived for too long. It was affordable, because the house needed a lot of work, and the husband was handy. Her hope that the couple would fix the house up and give it renewed life was short-lived, however. She supposed that the work was just too overwhelming and expensive. She found out that the couple moved out and into his parents’ home down the road after his mother died. They didn’t sell her home place, though, because they couldn’t afford to pay someone to tear it down, but they wanted the land for gardening, so it sat decaying, sagging and sinking into the earth as the vegetation tried to hide its hideousness by growing over it.

She stepped onto the concrete block sidewalk that her father had laid from the gravel and dirt driveway to the front door nearly 50 years ago. The day he laid the sidewalk was not one she would ever forget.

Her mother was mowing the front yard, while her dad was doggedly trying to lay the concrete blocks in straight rows. She was five years old and bored. She decided that she would go visit her friend who lived in the farmhouse next door. They had a long, graveled driveway that led back to the house and barns that were set far back from the road, but she had walked there before to play with him and visit the farm animals. She called out to her mom to tell her where she was going, and she was so excited about her great idea that she didn’t notice that her mother didn’t acknowledge her or give her permission.

She stayed a long time playing until it became dusk. Later, when she recalled the incident, she realized she didn’t really have a plan. Her mother hadn’t told her when she should return, so she just kept playing, until her friend’s grandparents, with whom he lived in the farmhouse, finally must have called her parents to see when and how she was supposed to go home. She had worn out her welcome.

When her father arrived at her friend’s front door, he grabbed her hand and quickly walked her down the long driveway, never saying a word but frowning all the way. As they neared the end of the driveway, she could see her mother and neighbors lining the street by the mailbox in front of her house. Her mother was crying and the neighbors were comforting her. What had happened?

The swat that her mother gave her as her father led her by the lineup was her first clue that she was the source of the concern. Her second clue was that her father led her straight to her bedroom and left her there as he firmly shut the door. The clincher was when her mother entered her room, wiping the tears from her eyes, but holding a fly swatter.

It turned out that, despite the fact that she had told her mother she was leaving, her mother hadn’t heard her and couldn’t find her once she finished mowing. They had looked for her for hours. The fly swatter was used to teach her the lesson that you should never worry your mother.

Her trip down memory lane left her at the front porch, which looked none too stable. Not willing to risk falling through, she turned to her right instead and walked over to the window that looked into her old bedroom. She peered in, hoping that there were no snakes in the grown up bushes and grass around the house. It was an unbelievably small room, not like she remembered it. Her dad built the two-bedroom addition to the house after her brother was born. Before that all three of them her mother, father and she – slept in the one bedroom that the house had – she in her crib and her parents in the one double bed. She was three and a half years old when her brother was born.

The two bedrooms that her dad built were the largest rooms in the house, and she remembered her room as huge. Looking at it now, she couldn’t imagine how the room held a full-size bed with a headboard that had shelves and drawers in it, two built-in bookshelves on either side of the bed, a desk, dresser and double closet. Plus, she had her Barbie doll’s house, Barbie’s car and Barbie’s whole family and friends, along with a dozen trolls and moon goons of various sizes and a full stable of plastic horses, all with their own real estate on the floor.

Now, the room was empty, except, strangely, for a child’s rocking chair sitting in the very center of the room. It looked so forlorn that she nearly cried. Why would someone take everything out of the house except for this one chair? Did a child who lived in this house die? Maybe the house was waiting for another child to sit in the chair and live there. She felt as if part of her soul was still in this sad, little house that was getting more desolate and desperate by the minute.

As compromised as life in that house was, she did have some fond memories. Family picnics in the front yard with her dad grilling, cousins playing, uncles jawing about the old days and jobs, aunts bringing their signature dishes, the men taking turns cranking the wooden-barreled ice cream churn, everyone eating watermelon, corn-the-cob, potato salad and macaroni salad made with vegetables from their gardens. Playing house under the trees in the back yard that was so deep that she thought no one knew she was there. Picking cherries off their cherry tree, when she was lucky enough to get them before the birds did. Setting up a kid’s table, chair and a lamp in her closet so she could read and work in there hidden away from the rest of the family. Practicing on the piano that her grandfather had bought for her when she was ten. Christmas Eve when she would try to catch Santa delivering presents and Christmas Day when she found rows and rows of presents that only Santa could have brought, because certainly her parents did not have the money. Taking care of her little sister, born late in her parents’ lives and so much younger than she that she seemed more like a daughter than a sister.

The good memories were overshadowed, however, by the slow death of the house, a death that had begun long before her mother got sick and died. The house seemed to be giving in to the bad memories. Whatever love had been shared there seemed to have abandoned the premises. Now that the façade of her family was gone, maybe what was left was the truth. She knew that her parents had loved their children and each other and that her mom, at least, wanted to make sure she had what she needed to become successful in life, but she wasn’t sure that her parents had been happy. She knew there were many times when she had not been happy.

She wanted to have the house torn down now, even if she had to spend her own money. But, she did worry about her decision. Who would she be, once the physical center of her family’s world no longer existed? The step seemed more final somehow than even her parents’ death.

What a mood she was in, she thought angrily to herself. But then again, after the past few years of frustration and loss, probably the last thing she should have done was come back to her hometown.

Chapter 2 – Lost Love

Turns out that 60 isn’t the new 40, at least not from her perspective. The year Janet’s husband turned 60 everything changed for both of them. Dan had always been healthy and active and handy. He was doggedly positive and determined to stay young forever – a self-described beach bum on the weekends and a hardworking business leader during the week. Work hard and play hard was a motto he embraced.

Then, Janet began to notice that he tired easily. He became dizzy if he exerted himself. Eventually and alarmingly quickly, he got to the point where he couldn’t walk across the room without sitting down to catch his breath. That’s when she was finally able to convince him to visit his doctor.

“Your white blood cell count is unusually high, it seems,” his doc said. “I’m going to refer you to an oncologist.” Oncologist. The kind of doctor that evokes fear, dread and shock. This can’t be good, Janet thought. Dan reassured her and told her that it was probably nothing. But, while Dan was the optimist, Janet was the realist with a good sense of the mood in situations, and she didn’t believe Dan’s reassurances. She was scared.

And, turned out she had reason to be. It was cancer, a blood cancer that has no complete cure. Dan was diagnosed in the fall and started chemotherapy before the end of the year. He responded well to the chemotherapy and was declared in remission by six months later. His oncologist was thrilled. He thought Dan had at least 3-5 years before the cancer would come back and have to be treated. And, he felt positive that advancements in treating this type of cancer would mean a long-term way to keep the cancer under control. Janet and Dan almost felt normal again and began to dream of retirement soon with lots of time to be together, travel and relax.

Their optimism got shot down just a little over a year later. The cancerous cells started their insidious growth. Just like before, Dan tired quicker and quicker doing just normal tasks like trying to help with vacuuming the house. Then, he became dizzy if he stood up too quickly. When he almost passed out while trying to put up the Christmas tree, they knew the truth without even hearing the doctor’s report.

What they didn’t expect to hear was that the cancer had spread beyond just his blood system. The doctor reassured them that she would aggressively treat the cancer with chemotherapy and radiation, but she didn’t sugarcoat the chance of success. After an agonizing year of fighting and enduring harsh treatments, Dan died.

Janet was barely able to survive that year herself. She worried about him constantly, and six months before he died, she took leave from her work to be with him. She was so exhausted and drained that she didn’t even really mourn. Truthfully, she couldn’t feel anything much in that year after his death. There was so much to be settled financially and in terms of their physical assets – his vintage car, their vacation home, all of the stuff they had accumulated in their 40 years of marriage – which gave her the excuses she needed to avoid dealing with her feelings.

Yet, somehow in the course of that first year without Dan, the first year she had not had him in her life in 40 years, she began to define herself as a person who lives alone. She didn’t think of herself as single, but she did begin to come to grips with the fact that she had to figure out how to do everything on her own.

Dan and she had lived apart for work reasons before in their marriage, and they sometimes traveled separately for personal reasons, so being alone wasn’t new to her. But, in those cases, she always knew she’d be with Dan again soon. Now, she had to accept that he was never coming home again.

She wished so much that he was here to help her make the decision about whether to buy back the home where she grew up so that she could tear it down and then sell the land. This was either a smart financial idea or a totally romantic and stupid idea, and she didn’t think she was objective enough to decide which it really was. Janet had always trusted Dan’s decision-making ability over anyone else’s. Now she was on her own.

She wandered back to her car and gave the house another long look before turning the car around and heading back into town. She was staying with Dan’s mother for the time being, and she had promised to be back in time for dinner, which always was served promptly at five o’clock.

Chapter 3 – First Love

Emerging from a year of numbness, Janet realized that part of her healing process needed to include visiting Ann, who was Dan’s mother. Dan’s father had died five years before and, even though she was now 90, his mother still lived in the house Dan had grown up in. Janet had largely avoided Ann’s phone calls during the past year, because they only served to depress her further. But she knew she had to connect with Ann at least one more time. Otherwise, she would not feel good about trying to move on with her life.

She had known it wouldn’t be easy, because Ann seemed to like hanging onto the past and dwelling on memories. Every time Ann had called Janet in the past year, she started the conversation with, “How are you doing?” in her forlorn, little voice and then immediately started crying. All they seemed to be able to talk about was Dan – how could this happen, no one in their family had ever had this disease, why couldn’t the doctors do more, why did he die so young, maybe she hadn’t prayed hard enough for him to be healed or hadn’t been a good enough person, how lonely Janet must be, we must remember that we are married for life and so of course we can’t remarry, how hard it is to go places without a partner, and so on. Each call set her back emotionally and even drained her physically.

She knew she needed to walk away from the negative, but she also felt obligated to at least try in person to move Ann past her son’s death. So, here she was in her hometown one more time. The visit had not been easy, but she had made some progress with his mom. She had even gotten her to laugh about some of their shared memories and made some tentative plans for Janet to drive up the next spring, pick up Ann and drive the full length of the Blue Ridge Parkway. They would create new memories that acknowledged and, at the same time, honored Dan’s absence, because Janet and Dan had loved the Parkway, hiking, photographing and picnicking along many miles of it through the years.

Janet at last felt at peace about leaving his mom the next day to return to her home in Florida. And yet, she woke up this morning with a nagging sense that she still needed to do one more thing before leaving, because, frankly, she didn’t see herself returning again to spend time in the sleepy little burg.

The feeling that she was forgetting something bugged her all through the breakfast Ann had fixed her. She was so distracted that she didn’t hear Ann ask her if she wanted more eggs and only Ann’s pointed, fake cough broke through Janet’s worrying to catch her attention.

“As I said, Janet, would you like some more scrambled eggs? You know I hate having food left over,” Ann said.

“Everything was delicious, as always, but I couldn’t eat another bite,” Janet replied, thinking to herself that Ann had prepared the meal as if she thought Dan and Dan’s father both were still alive and eating with them. Dan’s father had an insatiable appetite and was the self-appointed official finisher of every bowl or plate of food served during a meal, so Ann had not had to deal with leftovers until he died. Janet was not going to be able or willing to fill those size 12 shoes, though.

“You seem distracted this morning,” Ann pointed out. “Are you worrying about the drive home tomorrow?”

“No, I’ve made that drive many times before, so I’m sure I’ll be fine,” Janet said. “I’ll want to get an early start tomorrow, though, so don’t fix me a big breakfast, please. Just a bagel and a mug of coffee to go would be fine.

But, you’re right. I am distracted today, and I don’t really know why. I guess it is hitting me that I’m leaving tomorrow, and I feel like I need to do or see one more thing. I think maybe I’ll take a drive around town and visit some old haunts. Maybe that’s what I need,” Janet confessed.

“Well, I have to clean up the kitchen from breakfast, but after I finish that I could go with you,” Ann said. “There are a lot of new things to see in this little town – new buildings on the university campus, new housing developments – that I could show you.”

“I appreciate your offer, but I think I need to do this alone. Besides it is the old things, not new things, that are calling me, and my history with this town isn’t the same as yours,” Janet pointed out.

“Well, I guess I understand that,” Ann said. “You go on and visit your town, while I straighten up. When you get back, we’ll have time to visit this afternoon. Oh, by the way, didn’t you date a boy named George before Dan and you started dating in high school.”

Startled by the sudden change in conversation and the name she hadn’t heard in so long, Janet’s hand jumped involuntarily and nearly turned over her juice glass. Her reaction wasn’t lost on Ann.

“Yes, I dated him for about a year,” she admitted once she got herself under control again.

“I thought so. Well, I keep forgetting to tell you that he’s in ICU at the hospital here in town. He’s not expected to live this time.”

“What do you mean by this time,” Janet said. “He’s been in the hospital before? Why? What’s wrong with him?” She was shocked. She hadn’t heard anything about George for many years, since their 15th high school reunion more than 20 years ago, and then he was fine, much heavier than the beanpole he had been in high school, but happy and obviously glad to see her, as she was him.

“He has cirrhosis. Evidently they won’t put him on the list for a liver transplant, because he’s an alcoholic. Sad life he’s led – three wives have left him, his children won’t have anything to do with him. I’m just glad my boys turned out to be the fine men they did. His parents must be devastated to know that he’s going to die from his own careless actions. At least my son died from something he didn’t bring on himself.”

Janet bristled at the degrading tone in Ann’s voice. “Well, alcoholism is a disease, too. I should get going so that I can make sure to get back before dinner.”

As she carried her dishes back to the kitchen, she knew what one of the trips she needed to make today was.

Chapter 4 – Love Recalled

Janet had known George because he was in the same grade as she was, but she had never thought about dating him. He hadn’t yet dated girls, and she didn’t think he was interested in her. But he was a good friend with the boy that her best girlfriend, Tracey, at the time was dating, and they both ran track. Janet often went to meets with Tracey to cheer for her boyfriend.

Tracey got the bright idea that Janet should date George, so that they could double-date with Tracey and John, and, as usual, what Tracey wanted she got. Janet went on the double-date to make her happy, but she had little reason to believe a relationship between George and her was going to take. She was surprised to discover, however, that George was funny and more interesting than she had observed as he sat in the back homeroom, playing tricks on others and acting goofy with his friends.

Truth was that he wasn’t in any of her classes other than homeroom, because she was on an advanced track, and he was in regular classes only. By evening’s end, she wondered why, because he seemed smart and quick on his feet. Maybe he was just coasting by, rather than pushing himself to excel. At any rate, he was raised in her esteem greatly on that first date. And, he was much cuter once she got to know him, especially when he was telling jokes and laughing, and he had wonderful manners. He opened her car door and held the door to her run-down little house when he took her home.

She must have made an okay impression herself, because he began asking her out regularly.

George’s family was strange in its own way, too, His dad was well known in the town because he ran the local hardware store so everybody knew George senior. But, when Janet would go over to his house sometimes after school, she never met George’s mother even though she knew she was there. George always said that his mother didn’t feel well and that she had a headache, so she was upstairs resting.

Janet found out, however, that the rumor mill said his mother was an alcoholic. She didn’t have a headache. She was upstairs sleeping off a hangover.

Somehow that endeared George to her even more, maybe because his family was imperfect like hers, in its own way. George and Janet became a steady item. He even took her one night to the dinner theater in the nearby city, a big trip and a big expense for a kid his age, and gave her at a signet ring, as a sign that they were going steady.

She loved the ring and loved being able to say she had a steady boyfriend, but the relationship didn’t last. In retrospect, they were both too young, and she was too insecure. After a year they had a big argument, because Janet didn’t think he was paying enough attention to her. George didn’t like being hemmed in so that was that.

The breakup never officially happened. George just quit coming around. One Friday evening, she was waiting as usual for him to arrive, standing at the kitchen window where she could his car come down the road to her house. He was late as usual but he was even later than usual. She stood at that window for probably an hour and he never showed up, never called, never acknowledged her again at school. She was so hurt and embarrassed that she never asked why he stood her up. It was the first time that she realized that someone you love and who you think loves you can still hurt you very badly.