Music Review by Chris Petry

The Nightmare Returns: A Review of Alice Cooper’s “Welcome 2 My Nightmare.”

By Chris Petry

            How do you follow up a classic album like Alice Cooper’s 1975 solo debut, Welcome to My Nightmare? Well, I would liken it to 1983’s Psycho II. (Strangely enough a couple of other online reviewers have also used that for comparison.) You have Alfred Hitchcock’s undisputed classic of 1960s horror cinema. It’s a film so well done and memorable that along with Powell’s Peeping Tom, it kicked off a whole new subgenre of horror films. Twenty-three years after Anthony Perkins played Norman Bates, he returned in “Psycho II.” I firmly believe, as do a lot of horror fans that “Psycho II” just might be one of if not the greatest sequel there ever was. It’s only flaw, it’s not the original. The original is better only because there was nothing else like it in the time it was released. It took the world by surprise, it broke taboos, it had us on the edge of our seats, and it will always have a special place in our hearts because of it.

            Welcome 2 My Nightmare is very much like Psycho II. Not in terms of plot or even medium. It’s similar in that had the original not done it first, it would have that place in our hearts the original holds.

            Welcome to My Nightmare featured the classic songs, “Only Women Bleed,” “Cold Ethyl,” The Black Widow,” “Devil’s Food,” “Some Folks,” “Steven,” “Escape,” “Department of Youth,” and the creepy spoken tracks by our protagonist Steven, “The Awakening,” and “Years Ago.” Oh, and don’t forget the title track! Each song worked together to tell us something about Steven. It was Steven’s story; a tale that touched on domestic abuse, childhood abandonment, arachnophobia, necrophilia, escapism, nightmares, and murder. (Pretty progressive for 1975.) From the lyrics of these songs, we learn that Steven is a tormented man child who may have killed his wife without even knowing it. Like Norman Bates, he is hinted to be a schizophrenic. Take for instance the lyrics, “I’m a little boy. No, I’m a great big man.” “I’m a little boy” is said from the perspective of a child, high prepubescent voice included. “No, I’m a great big man,” is bellowed in a deep masculine voice. Steven is haunted by scary dreams of spiders, death, and abuse which give us further evidence that our main character is psychologically damaged. “Escape” is his big sendoff; words that imply that Steven has temporarily awaken from his nightmare and realizes his only option is to run away and disappear. Though we know running isn’t going to solve his mental problems and that’s why, 36 years later, we have a sequel.

            The first track of the new album opens with the familiar eerie keyboard of “Steven” from the original. Then we launch into the new nightmare. One disappointing factor, right off the bat is the fact that they auto-tuned Alice’s vocals for the first verse of the first song, “I am Made of You.” It’s an effect overused in modern music and robs the impact of the first verse’s lyrics. Once you get past it, the song itself is great. It has some great reflective lyrics, a haunting chorus, and awesome instrumentation. Track 2, “Caffeine,” is an infectious hard rocking number with awesome vocal delivery on the chorus. Track 3, is almost like “Awakening.” It is a song with powerful guitar and keyboard work and it also lets us hear from Steven. He’s still having nightmares and in fact, he’s too scared to sleep now because of them, hence his dependence on caffeine.

            Track 4 is where the musical experimentation really kicks off. “A Runaway Train” is a southern rock infused track that features country star Vince Gil on lead guitar. Yeah, it’s strange but this album features a ton of collaborations and one more shocking than Mr. Gil. But for now, we’re on to track 5. “The Last Man on Earth” sounds like a Tom Waits song. Alice even adopts a rough and gruff vocal style for this one. 


Track 6, “The Congregation” makes it clear that we’re actually in hell at this point. Rob Zombie makes an appearance as our tour guide and one of the highlights from his spoken word is when he tells about the boiling pit of death where we can find defrocked priests, pimps, telemarketers, and the guys from Wall Street!


Track 7, already a live favorite, is called “I’ll Bit Your Face Off.” It’s about his romance with an unstable woman and musically it will remind you of a Rolling Stones tune. Track 8 is where things begin to really get weird and I mean that in the best way imaginable. “Disco Bloodbath Boogie Fever,” is a techno, industrial, dance club parody that features lyrics about mowing down the disco with a machine club and stacking their bodies on the dance floor. 


Track 9 is a surf rock, rockabilly, Beach Boys go metal type of song that is musically and lyrically foot-tapping. Track 10, “Something to Remember me By,” was reportedly written by Alice and Dick Wagner in the Alice Cooper Goes to Hell days and it does sound like “I Never Cry” from that album. “When Hell Comes Home” is the first song to feature the original Alice Cooper group since 1974’s Muscle of Love. It is a dark violent song about an abusive father and the little boy “putting one between his eyes.”

            Remember when I said Vince Gill wasn’t the strangest addition to this album? Track 12, “What Baby Wants” is a duet with pop star Ke$ha. Surprisingly, it rocks! Ke$ha’s a sex-starved demon trying to seduce Steven to no avail. “You like my pretty mouth,” she sings. “Yeah but you got razor blades instead of teeth!” Track 13, “I Gotta Get Out of Here,” is Steven recounting the adventures from previous songs and begging to wake up from the nightmare he doesn’t want to finish. A hell choir tells him it’s not a nightmare anymore and that he’s really dead and he’s in hell. The song ends with “yeah, yeah, yeah.” Steven is eternally in denial of his fate. Track 14 wraps up the album with an instrumental amalgam of sounds from every song on both Nightmare  albums.

            Overall, Welcome 2My Nightmare is a great end to Steven. It’s a crazy carnival from hell and I would not expect anything less from the king of shock and horror theatre. If you’re the slightest bit tempted to buy this record, do it! Indulge. The Coop never went away so I can’t say he’s returned. He has, however, made a very good album. Its part rock, pop, metal, southern rock, techno, classical, surf rock, garage rock, glam, rockabilly, and blues. And it’s all Alice. 


Chris Petry offers professional music reviews. His contact information is included if you would like him to complete a review for you or just send him feedback. 

Chris Petry
petry.chris@yahoo.com

Family, Hope, and Memories

Family, Hope, and Memories



This was the first year in many years that I did not plan an elaborate Memorial Day cookout here. I missed the huge gathering but I didn't think my mother could handle all of the confusion and I am preparing to rejoin the work force with a totally unexpected career move so I just didn't have the time to put together a well-organized gathering. My adult children were here for the weekend and we celebrated on a much smaller scale which was very refreshing. As usual, we didn't spend Memorial Day grieving for those who have gone before us; instead we celebrated the good times we had with them and we honor the men and women who made it all possible. Since there were fewer people here this year we had more time to reconnect on a more personal level.

The whole weekend was a mixed bag of celebration and hope. My daughter marked her thirty-first birthday on Memorial Day. Just three weeks ago she went through an In Vitro Fertilization procedure. We sat around my dining room table and talked about how her life would change if she is able to carry a baby and bring new life into our family. We won't know for a few more days whether or not she is pregnant but my thoughts drifted to holding a newborn infant in my arms as I inhaled the scent of baby lotion and baby powders. I remembered my daughter's colic, the car rides at all hours of the day and night to help her sleep, and how many hours I spent rocking her in my arms until my arms felt like lead and my eyes would barely stay open but knowing if I stopped she would awaken again and the tears would be rolling down both of our cheeks. That was over quickly and she soon took her first steps. I needed roller skates to keep up with her but that too ended quickly and she was soon running outdoors to play with her friends. Now she is a business woman with a burning desire to become a mother and share her life with a child of her own. What a blessed child that little baby would be to have my daughter for a mother.

I looked at the spots on the dining table that have been cleaned and polished until there are faded patches that stand out for anyone to see. I thought about heavily laden pans of steaming hot turkey and dressing, plates of cookies, birthday cakes, and baskets of fresh picked summer vegetables that have strained the legs of the table through the years. My children have sat around this table and laughed, cried, done their homework, dreamed of the future, and wished away their youth in eager anticipation of becoming adults capable of driving, setting their own rules, and finding fame and fortune. Now the possibility that another child will share many of the same memories around my dining room table fills me with eager anticipation, joy, and a deeper understanding of my own roots.

It seems like only last year that my son cut out PlayDoh dinosaurs on this table, created works of art with colorful markers, and started to weave together a future filled with creative endeavors. He will be graduating from college in just a few days and I know his visits home will most likely become fewer as his career becomes more challenging and fulfilling. I miss those days of having toddlers hugging me around the knees and hanging on to me as if I was a prized possession. I miss having to make young children stop playing long enough to sit down and have a bite of lunch. I even miss having to remind them that civilized people eat with forks and spoons instead of their fingers when they were in such a hurry they even wanted to eat pasta out of their hand on the way to the back door. I miss it and I would relive every moment of it again if I could.

I miss my father, I miss Kyle, and I miss my grandparents and the uncles and aunts that filled my life. I thought of them all on this Memorial Day weekend. But, I confess, I spent a lot of time thinking of my children and how I felt when they were cuddled in lap, skinning knees, and losing baby teeth. Their problems are much larger now and their smiles don't come as easily but they appear anytime I give them a hug or just tell them how much I love them. I am proud of the adults they have become. They have learned to succeed, learned to cope with obstacles, and learned how to deal with their own heartaches. They have overcome illness, frustrations, and injuries to walk tall and make changes that matter.

I'm not sure how many memories my children are carrying with them but I know I did my best to be supportive, loving, kind, considerate, and teach them how important family is in this world. It was a wonderful weekend and I have only high hopes for the days ahead.

© Dianna Doles Petry



Mother's Day 2011



Mother's Day 2011

A special poem for my children!

On this special day each year,

Cards, flowers, and chocolate appear,

But I want you,my children, to know,

I may not say it enough but I love you so.

Tried to live by the golden rule,

Taught you to never play the fool,

You in turn, taught me to live,

Together we learned how to forgive.

I know there were times you cried,

When you felt scared and confused inside,

Wanted to chase those feelings away,

Wanted to hear your laughter every day.

Sometimes I didn't know what to do,

I held you close and prayed for you,

Tried to show you understanding,

At times I was probally too demanding.

Called your names from our back door,

Swept broken dreams from the floor,

Watched summer sunlight kiss your skin,

How I'd love to do it all again.

I couldn't keep you young forever,

I encouraged your ambitious endeavor,

Now full grown and on your own,

You are the seeds of love I've sown.

I love you!

Mom

© Dianna Doles-Petry

5/7/2011

Country at Heart

Country at Heart

I always love to visit the city,

Where I can find most anything,

But I was born in the mountains,

Where each breeze seems to sing.

Some call it Mountain Fever,

Some say it's just insane,

I love to drink the mountain air,

Love to taste the summer rain.

I believe John Denver had it right,

"Almost Heaven" is what I see,

I can act sophisticated,

But country roots run deep in me.

I head to the city to dance a while,

Maybe walk on a marble floor,

Kick off my shoes when I head home,

I'll be country until I breathe no more.

© Dianna Doles-Petry

3/20/2011



When Friends Divorce

When “happily ever after” ceases to exist and two people realize it is time to end a marriage it involves far more than just the couple making the decision. Family members are often expected to take sides and sometimes friends back away from both parties because they don’t want to be forced to choose a side. True friends realize what a devastating time of change this is for the couple and try to be there for both the soon to be ex-husband and the soon to be ex-wife.

Just the word “divorce” can cause a panic attack in most people. Women tend to visualize a future life of loneliness for them and a life of frolicking like a stud in a field of mares for the man. A man often equates a divorce to losing his home, his family, his bank account, and his place in the community while the woman moves on to a life of jet-setting and choosing her next conquest. One friend who recently went through a divorce told me, “I started out with nothing and I still got most of it.”

In reality, a person facing divorce is facing being alone for the first time in quite a while, many years in some cases. No matter what the reasons are for deciding to end the marriage, it is not easy to do things on your own that you normally did with another person. People going through the divorce process need someone to talk to, someone to cry with, and someone to help them vent when they feel anger building to the boiling point.

My late aunt used to tell me, “If you can’t see the bright side of life then maybe you ought to polish the dull side.” With that in mind I am trying to help a good friend through a divorce by helping her navigate through this period of change in her life. She is very sensitive right now and indecisive about a lot of things. She still thinks in terms of “we.” I was so proud of her this weekend when she finally placed the term “ex” in front of husband because that means she is finally accepting the hand life has dealt her to play. Until a few days ago she was telling me this situation was really just nothing more than a storm in a teacup. She was sure it would blow over and life as she had known it would resume.

My role as a friend is to be supportive during this very emotionally charged transition. When my friend just wants to be alone I try to honor her wish. I try not to push her too hard about doing things but at the same time, I cannot allow her to sit alone too long or let her own life become stagnate. I know she needs time to sort out her feelings, her affairs, and her plans for the future. I have made myself available to help out around her house as she needs me, to listen to her when she needs to talk, and most of all to comfort her when she is feeling like a failure.

I’ve also been trying very hard not to take sides. I’ve been friends with both of these people for a long period of time and I’ve watched them drift away from each other with one financial crisis after the other and the loss of beloved family members. I hold my thoughts and opinions to myself as much as possible because it is up to both parties in this marriage to decide what choices they want to make for their lives. It is difficult though, because the husband in this case has already moved on and started to rebuild his life before his wife has had time to really absorb the idea of not being married anymore.

My biggest fear in trying to be a good friend to all of the parties involved is that I will make mistakes along the way. I don’t want to say anything that offends the people dealing with this situation and I always try to remember how scary this time is for my friends.

Divorce is a bit like being trapped indoors during a snowstorm. You can view the snow from your window and feel cut off from the world. You can’t see roads, you don’t see birds, and you have no idea when the snow will stop falling. You’re cut off from the world. It’s just you and storm. You can succumb to the storm or take refuge in the snowy blanketed earth to find a place of serenity.

Life is all about choices: to marry, whether or not to have children, what type of career to follow, how to divide the chores, whether to have a pet, and even whether to rent an apartment to buy a home. Every choice we make has a direct impact on how our lives will play out. Sometimes just allowing your friend to reflect on choices made in the past and listening to the history of the marriage can help to clarify the confusion and anguish left by the breakdown of the marriage.

So, I’ll be a good friend and listen when my friend wants to talk about her husband. “He came in here to get some of his things and he ran around like his feet was on fire and his backside was catching up!” We’ll giggle sometimes, share sad moments at times, and I will always encourage her to find her wings again because I know she can soar once she gets some wind beneath those wings.

Dianna Doles-Petry

© March 14, 2011

House Sitting

The night was just settling in when I pulled into the gravel driveway of my friend’s house. She was going to be out of town a few days and I had volunteered to make sure her beloved pets, Hershey and Mr. Jiggles, were cared for until she returned home. It was a task that should have been as easy as sliding off a greasy log.

I pushed the front door open and was greeted by the two little yapping dogs as they barked and jumped in circles at my feet as if they were performing a rain dance. I took turns petting each of the dogs before filling their food bowl with dry dog food. Hershey took a few bites of the food and then headed toward the water bowl. I followed closely behind him to add fresh water to the bowl.

The water bowl had been moved to a small bathroom before my friend had left town. If the dogs knocked the bowl over in there it wouldn’t hurt anything. I made sure to add fresh water to the bowl every day so I had seen this bathroom several times.

As I reached down to pick up the stainless steel bowl to fill it with fresh water, Hershey moved around in the bathroom. I didn’t pay much attention to him since there wasn’t anything there he could damage. When I bent over to place the full bowl of water on the floor, I caught a glimpse of movement from the corner of my eye.

Now normally when a woman says she wants to be equal to a man she is just being nice but tonight I will confess to having a few fleeting seconds of wishing I was a half-drunken man feeling like I was ten feet tall and bullet proof when I thought I saw a huge flying spider heading in my general direction! It doesn’t take a genius to spot a goat in a flock of sheep but I surely should have seen a spider that big hanging around in a bathroom the size of an ordinary outhouse!

I felt the screams coming from my throat before I heard them. Poor Hershey tried to run past me and I started to fall backwards out of the bathroom and into a small hallway. I remember closing my eyes and cupping my hands over them. I swallowed hard, my mouth and throat felt dry. I gathered my courage and peeked into the bathroom through trembling fingers so I could at least see where the spider was so I could try to fend off his attack.

As I looked into the bathroom, I felt like I was out in the middle of a tornado with an umbrella. My face had to be as red as an overdrawn bank account. What I had thought was a woman eating spider the size of Texas turned out to be a purple octopus body massager. Apparently the dog had picked it up and tossed it while I was filling up his water bowl.

I swear, sometimes I think my antenna just doesn’t pick up all the channels. From now on when I agree to do any house sitting, I’m going to check the place over for insects, pets, possible intruders, and all personal massaging devices! A girl can never be too careful you know!

© Dianna Doles-Petry

3/3/2011

End of the Year Reflections

(I owned a 1974 Spirit of America Chevrolet Nova as my first car. My late friend, Rita Gray Allen, and I spent a lot of evenings driving around talking and listening to music played from eight track tapes. We were young, strong, and had the whole world ahead of us to explore. Those really were the best days of our lives. This one is for you, Rita, you'll never be forgotten!)

End of the Year Reflections

Another year is coming to an end,

Tonight I lost another good friend,

Started thinking about the days gone by,

Remembered her laugh and started to cry.

Life was simple without a job or a man,

Our biggest worry was getting a good tan,

Loved wearing high heels and nylon hose,

Looked silly with skin peeling from a burnt nose.

Cruising down Main Street in an old used car,

Soaring high though we didn't drive far,

Not in a million years would I have guessed,

All the treasures and riches we possessed.

Youth has fled and I'm growing old,

The winter winds are blowing cold,

Forever woven in my memories,

Are brighter, happier days than these.

Another year is coming to an end,

Another birthday is coming around again,

I'll search for friendship, flowers, and trees,

Build the rest of my life around all of these!

Dianna Doles Petry

December 30, 2010



Christmas is Coming - Bah! Humbug!

Christmas is Coming, Bah Humbug!



Christmas is just over a week away and like many others; I've been so distracted with the expectations of the holiday that it's taken away from the spirit of the season. As hard as I try to emulate June Cleaver I still often feel as if I'm lacking in ways or not doing enough for the people I love. Bah-Humbug!

I know that Christmas is going to come on December 25 of every year so why do I find myself trying to cram so many things into a short span of time? Why are even enjoyable activities so physically and mentally draining? I guess for me it's because my daily routine is already so full I can barely pencil in bathroom breaks and the Christmas season means adding even more things to do into my chaotic schedule. There is extra shopping with no extra infusion of spendable cash. There are social events and obligations and last but not least, there is baking and cooking until even the mice in the neighborhood is avoiding the kitchen. I'm telling you, I saw a field mouse today that normally lives beneath the outdoor storage shed. He was sitting there waiting for his mate to butter his sides so he might be able to squeeze through the little gap between cinder blocks that he has always used as his front entrance. I'm not kidding!

I mentioned the lack of additional spendable cash already but many people are faced with not being able to pay utilities and eat at the same time much less buy gifts or materials to create gifts. I have a dear friend who has become so depressed at the lack of finances in her home she has withdrawn from the world. Her mate doesn't understand her moodiness and she doesn't understand his mood swings either. It's stressful to watch so many people planning for gift exchanges, dinners out, and parties at home, when you can barely afford to survive.

Of course, what we sometimes forget is that the people who manage to create a perfect Christmas appearance to the world often do it by overdrawing bank accounts, deepening credit card debt, or letting bills remain unpaid to be caught up after the holidays. I like to think that a lot of the people who will be attending one party after the other and dining out in expensive restaurants to celebrate the season will pay for it by gaining weight, enduring headaches, and maybe even feeling Jack Frost nipping at their toes.

What really gives me a feeling of sadness during this season is remembering all of the people I've been forced to say good-bye to through the years; grandparents, my father, aunts and uncles, and children who were never able to find out what their full potential would have been. I will admit to pangs of regret for not seeing them more often, not telling them I loved them enough, not giving them some outlandish gift they wanted, etc. Those regrets don't last long, however, and I smile as I look back at years past and remember all the joy I shared with these people.

I find it heartbreaking to see families divided over holiday spending, visiting, and even decorations. I feel blessed that my family seldom has heated arguments or disagreements during our gatherings but as a child, I always knew that on Christmas Day there would be fireworks that did not take place in the sky. Some uncle or aunt, or maybe even my own father, would have a little too much to drink and someone would end up with hurt feelings at the minimum. Looking back, those incidents are some of my most vivid memories of less than perfect holidays but they bring me smiles and sometimes fits of uncontrollable laughter.

Christmas is not about the gifts. We all need to accept each other for what and who we are instead of what we feel we (or they) should be. There are many lonely people in this world that would love to sit down to a good hot meal with other people to talk to and enjoy. Many of our elderly have lost all of their friends and family or they are so ill they are confined to their homes or in nursing facilities. If we're lucky enough to have people to share the holiday with and we're able to worry about what we do or don't have then we're alive and that in itself is a gift beyond compare.

I don't live my life like people on sitcoms live and I'm thankful for that. (I have yet to see any of those people take a blood pressure pill and then have to find a restroom every fifteen minutes for the next couple of hours so apparently they don't live like I do either.) Life is not perfect, in fact, it's totally unpredictable. I don't know about you but I plan to focus on what makes me happy and think positive thoughts about the future.

I wish a Merry Christmas to each and every one of you. I am sending you each a cyber hug that has no expiration date, requires no batteries, and has no conditions to meet in order to enjoy it. This hug is absolutely free and if you pass it forward to others it can only increase your joy. What better way to celebrate such a special birthday than to give a gift from the heart?






Dear Kyle

Dear Kyle,


It’s so hard to believe that you’ve been gone for three years now. I try very hard not to think about your death. I don’t want to dwell on the overwhelming sadness that filled our lives the day you left us. I hope you understand that I choose to relive the many memories you left here with us so I can make the most of every day and every hour I’m here without you.

Today I was thinking about a morning long ago when school had been cancelled due to snow. You loved those snow days! School cancellations meant full days of laughter and chaos with you, Chris, Courtney, and Nicole.

On this particular morning I had asked you to please get the carton of eggs from the refrigerator for me. I was at the stove cooking so I had no idea that you were playing surfboard with your skateboard in the dining room. You skated to the refrigerator, grabbed the eggs, and then started towards me.

One of the skateboard wheels got caught on a Spawn action figure that had been lying on the floor. The board stopped but you didn’t! You were careening face first in my direction. I turned just in time to see you fighting to keep your balance and managed to catch the carton of eggs in mid-air. You landed on the floor with a thud. Before I had time to set the eggs down the dog ran to your defense thinking I had made you fall. She jumped, using your stomach like a trampoline, to knock the carton of eggs from my hands.

Chris helped you up while giving you a lecture about not riding skateboards in the house and the cost of repairing action figures on a limited allowance budget. The girls were giggling and you were feeling less than manly with egg still dripping from your shirt. You must have decided to seek some revenge because you grabbed Nicole up by the seat of her pants and gave her a wedgie that would have made the Incredible Hulk blush. You put her down and kissed Courtney on the cheek. She ran off screaming about “cooties” while Nicole was still trying to dig her underpants out of her butt cheeks.

After breakfast I asked each of you to do a simple chore so we could have play time. I should have realized you insisted on doing the dusting for a reason but it never occurred to me that you wanted to polish the dining room floor to make it better for skateboarding. I figured it out when I started through the dining room with stocking clad feet and promptly landed on my ample assets.

Chris tried to help me up while muttering something about feeling like “some kind of superhero” because he was always rescuing people around here. He fell on the floor right beside of me. The girls, thinking I was simply wrestling around on the floor with Chris, were on top of us before I had time to blink. We looked like a group of football players after a tackle on the playing field.

By the end of that day we had worked on arts and crafts, read stories, wrecked havoc in every room of the house and drank enough hot chocolate to keep a battleship afloat. I wanted to call the Superintendent of Schools and offer him a bribe to make sure school would be open the next day.

Your mischievous nature and your infectious smile are a part of the memories that I hold onto when I’m feeling lonely without you. That day at the hospital when you were lying there comatose, I told you that I loved you. I looked around those sterile surroundings and thought about hanging up a poster or two and maybe a banner to tell you to “Get well.” I wondered if I should send someone out for a couple of balloons to hide the wires and monitors that were attached to you. I didn’t want to give up on you but as I stood there watching you I knew there was nothing I could do, nothing the doctors could do, there was nothing anyone could do.

The grief all of your family felt is just inexpressible. My last words to you were to tell you, “It’s okay to let go. We love you and we know you love us.” There was so much more I wanted to say but the words would not surface. I wanted to hold you in my arms and make everything better one more time the way I had done so many times before. When I looked at you one last time I saw that you looked peaceful and that comforted me a bit.

You were fiery with a wicked sense of humor. You were brave and you were honest. You loved to watch the sun rise and you felt serenity ease into your soul each time you watched a sunset. Tears and laughter, hope and promise, success and failure, were all a part of your short life. We were blessed to know the depth of your love and your spirit lives on within the heart of each one of us.

We have all dealt with your death in different ways. I have found many hours of solitude in a flower garden I planted in your memory. I’ve filled it with angels and special stones that remind me of you. In this garden, I work with nature and replenish my spirit. Each weed I pull is a bit of grief I am pulling from my soul. I know you would not want any of us to lose out on a second of living life to the fullest so I make it a point to experience everything I can in your honor.

Your presence is strong in my garden when everything is fresh and full of life. I can see your smile there and different memories seem to be wafting on the breeze each time I’m out there working. Each time a flower blooms it is as if it is shining with hope and reaching for the sunshine. As I stand and look at the garden and replay memories of your hugs, your smiles, your birthdays, holidays, our conversations, and each day of your childhood, I always wonder if my life could ever enrich this world as much as your life did.

We love you, Kyle, and we always will. You will never be forgotten as long as any of your family is breathing.

Love,

Your “Nana”

© Dianna Doles-Petry
 11/30/2010



In Memory of Thelma Clonch

Last Thursday, November 11, death claimed my neighbor and good friend. I first met Thelma in the early 1980’s but had known of her long before that time. Thelma, at that point in time, had a reputation for rescuing stray animals and for owning not one but two Lincoln Continentals. People thought of her as being a bit eccentric, I thought of her as being content to beat to the sound of her drum. I knew she had four sons and I also knew she had been widowed but for a long time that was the extent of my knowledge of Thelma and her life.


Thelma married “Slim” and moved into the house next door to my family. Slim had been my friend since my family moved into this neighborhood when I was just eleven years-old. His wife, Geraldine, had provided me with loving guidance when my mother first developed cancer in 1974. I visited Slim and Geraldine on a daily basis and they helped me to find the strength I needed to cope with my mother’s illness and all of the responsibilities that had fallen on my young shoulders. My brother and I filled a space in their lives they had never filled with children of their own. They made me laugh, they made me think things through, and they helped me find faith. When Geraldine died a few years later after a long battle with lung cancer I felt an emptiness I could not explain in words.

Thelma was an intensely private person by nature but gradually she started to toss snow balls at my young boys, talk with me across the fence, and visit with us on holidays and special occasions. Slowly, oh, so slowly, she allowed me into her private world. I eventually realized that Thelma feared having anyone discover her vulnerabilities, or at least what she considered to be vulnerabilities.

She and Slim were happy for a number of years before his health began to decline and he became more and more confined to the house. My boys had grown into young men and Thelma often called on them to help her pick her husband up after he fell or was just too ill to get on his feet. I made many trips with Slim and Thelma to the hospital, often in the wee hours of the morning. During our last trip to the hospital with Slim before he passed away he asked me, in a whispered voice, to please make sure Thelma was taken care of and not allowed to grieve for too long.

After a respectable period of mourning, Thelma remarried. Dan, a widower, was friendly and seemed to cherish his time with Thelma. Once again she seemed happy and that brought me a sense of peace. Her happiness, however, was to be short lived. When Thelma’s seventy-eighth birthday was approaching, I asked her what she would like to have to celebrate the occasion. Her response was, “As long as I don’t receive an oxygen tank I will be happy with anything.” It wasn’t long after her birthday that I noticed she sometimes seemed bewildered by decisions she had made herself and she became much more opinionated than I had ever known her to be. She was dealing with the impending death of an adult son at that time and I often wonder if she had any inkling then that her health was beginning to fail.

Over the last couple of years I have grown increasingly closer to Thelma and for the last six to eight months she has been a part of my household on a daily basis. She was a wonderful companion for my mother and she was eager to help me with simple chores such as setting the dinner table or sweeping the porch. She knew she was a part of my family and I am sure she felt useful, needed, and productive here.

She grew so cantankerous with her husband, however, that they could no longer live in the same house. He returned to the home he lived in before they married and she remained next door to be close to my family. Her husband was saddened that he was in one house and his wife was in another house but it was the only way they could get along and I agreed to make sure she was looked after for as long as possible.

Her stubborn refusal to visit a doctor or follow any helpful advice about diet or hygiene often reminded me of the teenagers I have dealt with over the years. She was rebellious and struggling to keep control of her life but it had to be a painful experience for her. It was painful for me to watch her struggle so fiercely. She feared losing her home, her independence, and what remaining family members she had left. She feared ending up alone without dreams or hopes for the future. These losses would be devastating for anyone at any age.

I guess we think of the elderly as more wrinkled and less independent but still the people they used to be. Sometimes we are just totally in the dark about what an elderly person is going through or what made them view the world the way they do. Over the long sometimes frustrating months I cared for Thelma on a daily basis I got to know more about her than I had in all the previous years before. It’s a bit sad that we sometimes wait until a person is trying to make peace with advanced age and infirmity before we really stop to listen to what they’re saying or see the years of experience that lives inside of them.

Thelma was only a few months old when her mother died from heart failure. She lost a brother at a young age and she had a teenage sister who was found dead in her bed one morning when she didn’t appear for breakfast before school. Her father loved her but Thelma was handed from one family member to another during the first seven years of her life because he liked to drink too much at times and he never remarried after her mother’s death. She finally settled in with her sister, Mamie, after Mamie married. When Mamie gave birth to a daughter, Thelma treated her like any big sister would treat a new sibling. They grew up as close as any two sisters could be.

She gave birth to four sons during her first marriage. She hung cloth diapers on a clothesline, sterilized glass baby bottles, carried babies on her hip while she worked in the garden and she read every book that was available to her. She never obtained a formal education but she wanted to be able to help her children with school work. She continued to learn throughout her lifetime.

A few weeks ago, Thelma was watching me prepare dinner and she told me, “I know that I’ve peeled more potatoes than any soldier that ever served on K.P. duty. My family thought they had to have potatoes with everything. I’m surprised they didn’t want mashed potato milkshakes.” I thought about that comment later and realized that she probably prepared thousands of meals during her lifetime. No wonder she loved to eat at restaurants in her later years!

One day she told me about an adventure she and her sister had with new hairstyles and make-up. “Well, Carol looked like she had a bee’s nest on the top of her head because the woman that did it kept teasing her hair and piling it up. It was so stiff with hair spray that she had to bend her head to the side to sit on the bus. Mine was not piled as high but was sprayed just as stiff with hairspray. We both had on so much make-up that we could barely open our eyes. We reeked about like an outhouse too because we had sampled every bottle of perfume we could find and it was making us sick from smelling ourselves all the way home. I fell over a coffee table and broke it when we got home. All our daddy could say was that we sure did look good.”

Thelma should have earned a medical degree for all the years she nursed measles, coughs, scrapped knees, mumps, colds, viruses, broken bones and even broken hearts. She became a caretaker to family members suffering from heart conditions, old age, Alzheimer’s disease, and cancer. “Why, I’ve taken care of twelve different people,” she would say, “and every one of them died!” I understood exactly what she meant but hearing her say it that way as her eyes widened and her face flushed with color added a touch of humor to the declaration. In reality, there is very little humor in a caregiver’s day.

My friend lived a full life. She knew the thrill of passionate love, the total unconditional love of a mother for her children, and the undying love we hold close to our hearts when loved ones leave this earth. She saw moments of success in her life as well as the heartbreak of mistakes. The warmth of friendship was a blessing she gave thanks for on a daily basis and the overwhelming sorrow of losing a child was always close when she knelt in prayer.

Thelma, like many elderly people, seemed to be obsessed with the past. I’ve seen the same thing with my own mother. It is more than just reliving good times or wanting to relive their youth. I think they need to feel that their life mattered to the family they know they will leave behind and to future generations yet to come. They want to understand what their life has meant in the grand scheme of things and they want to know that they are leaving memories that will linger on long after they’re gone. Thelma understood there is no battle between despair and euphoria. Life is both.

I don’t know how many meals she cooked or how many times she scrubbed the floors after someone got sick in the middle of the night. I don’t know how many cars she owned in her lifetime, or how many bedtime stories she read, or how many animals she rescued from the side of the road. I am positive however, that she had her share of laughter and tears, sunrises and sunsets, success and failure. She was compassionate and had a burning desire to make a difference to any wounded, neglected, or hungry animal that crossed her path. Her need to nurture spilled over to the people she held dear but she never wanted them to know how much she cared. She never wanted people to see her as weak or dependent. I have felt those same feelings many times over.

I am also positive that I learned from Thelma. I discovered a deeper potential within myself and an understanding that it is possible to be too independent. Sometimes instead of being so stern and self-reliant we need to let others see our vulnerabilities. Our past is a part of our present and what we are living today will be a part of the person we become in the future. It is unavoidable. It is life.

She is not dead,

She’s soaring up high,

The earth lies beneath her,

She’s a twinkle in the sky.

She is not lonely now,

She’s not worried or in fear,

Her sadness was left behind,

She’s crying not a single tear.

She's looking down now,

Hoping you won’t grieve,

She’s in a far better place,

She needs you to believe.

She is not dead,

She’s soaring up high,

The earth lies beneath her,

She’s a twinkle in the sky.

© Dianna Doles-Petry

11/18/2010