Things About My Carol: Part 4: "She Said: Prove It!"

I spent most of my childhood years in New England. Being a military brat, we did move around a lot (11 schools from K-12) including to North and South Carolina... and then back to New Hampshire before ending up in Georgia. New England will always feel a bit like home. Every self-respecting New England kid learns at least 2 things: how to ice skate and how to snow ski. My first time skiing (other than on nearby Barrett's Hill) was in 1968 at the now defunct and abandoned Fitzwilliam Ski Area in Fitzwilliam, NH, about 20 min from where we lived. Massive vertical drop of 240 ft. You nearly had to push with your poles to go downhill. First time down though I crashed through the snow fence at the bottom. According to Newton, a body in motion will remain in motion... if you're not good at stopping.

Tyrolia cable binding

Ski equipment was pretty crude back then. The ski bindings we are familiar with today were not available in the 1960s. I recall the skis had a toe "release" binding that would turn left or right if enough lateral force was applied, releasing your boot (hopefully requiring less force than what would tear up your knee ligaments.) But, for the rear, your boot had a groove in the back of the heel that accommoded a cable that would pull your boot tightly forward when you latched the cable binding at the front. More like an old cross-country configuration than what we use today for downhill skiing. Lots of injuries back then.

Fitzwilliam had only 2 ways to get you up the slope: a rope tow and a poma lift (also known as a button lift.) Each of these "surface lifts" has its challenges. In both cases, you literally have to ski up the mountain while either being pulled by a rope or, if using the poma lift, putting the "button" between your legs and getting yanked up the hill (see video.) For my very first time on the poma lift I tried to sit on it (which you cannot do,) it and I went to the ground, and I landed on and put a huge bend in one of my ski poles (you cannot unbend them.) Fun skiing with 1 pole.

Fast forward to 1982. I start dating Carol. If you have read my previous blogs: "Things about my Carol" (link,) you already know that she was a bit fiesty and that she was also a bit adventurous (she was a certified scuba diver.) Well, she was also a snow skier. She had even skied in Austria before we met! After several weeks of dating, she informed me that she had already booked a trip out west to go skiing and, that I could either go with her (provided I knew how to ski) or I could wave goodbye from the airport because she was not going to cancel her trip just because she had started dating me. No boyfriend was going to cramp her style I guess. I told her I did, in fact, know how to ski since I was a New Hampshire native (but I hadn't skied in over 10 years.)

She said, "OK, prove it."

I said, "prove what?"

She said, "that you actually know how to ski."

I said, "you think I'm making that up just to impress you?"

She said, "well, if you know how to ski then you should have no problem proving it." 

Good grief! Fiesty gal.

So, one Saturday we made a day trip up to Maggie Valley, NC to spend the day skiing at Cataloochee Ski Area. 

Cataloochee trail map

Since I hadn't skied since Nixon was in the White House, I had to borrow ski apparel/ gloves/ goggles from one of Carol's friends. I had no insulated undergarments so, under the ski bibs, I actually wore panty hose with the feet cut off of them (it does keep your legs warm.)

T-bar

@ Cataloochee

Carol had her own skis and boots but I had to rent my gear. Once we were all set to start, we were heading to the lift (it was a T-bar... another surface "pull you up the mountain" type lift)
She stopped and said, "ok, show me what you've got." I said, "you're not going up with me?" She said, "no... I want to wait and see if you can actually get up and back down this bunny slope without falling... I don't want you to embarass me."

By now, relationship red flags were flying all over the place. But, I kinda admired her spunkiness. I felt up to the challenge.

@ Cataloochee

So, the T-bar pulled me up the slope while I prayed, "Lord don't let me get my skis crossed or catch an edge going up this little slope." The good news is that I made it up and proceeded to ski right down without embarassing myself at all. The kid still had it.

She said, "OK, we can ski now." We spent the rest of the day skiing and having a great time.

Oh, by the way, Carol canceled her ski trip to Jackson Hole, WY because she fell in love with this transplanted Yankee. (Also, I couldn't get off work to go nor could I really afford it at that time.)

And she didn't want to go without me. Awwwww.

Over the years we made multiple trips skiing up in West Virginia and out in Colorado. Breckenridge was our favorite.

Prove it she says.

Hold my beer...

first trip to Breckenridge- 1987

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An Ode to Carol on our Anniversary

   

our first "together" home

The years have flown by, so how did we fare? 

forty-two years, and still quite the pair. 

Loving and laughing, and laughing some more, 

with faithful reminders of how much I snore.

Forty-two years, the questions ran deep,

like “what is that smell?” and... “is it your feet?”

We laughed at each other’s most obvious quirks,

but never forgot to cherish the perks.

I promised adventures from here to afar, 

that mostly just meant long rides in the car. 

We knew from the start where this thing was headed,

together for life with nothing regretted.

"I've been waiting for a girl like you to come into my life
 I've been waiting for a girl like you, a love that will survive

 I've been waiting for someone new to make me feel alive

 Yeah, waiting for a girl like you to come into my life"

1981 Lou Gramm and Mick Jones- Songwriters
1982 Mike Toomey- falling in love with Carol Williams

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How Are You Doing?

More than a pick-up line?

Many years ago, during my life in the corporate world, we had a guy named Joe who worked in our Purchasing Department (that's what it was called way back in the olden days.) I actually went to high school with his son. I can remember passing him in the hallway one day and, as is often the case when you are doing a drive-by greeting, I said, "hey, good morning, how are you doing?" When we ask that question we usually expect a response like, "good, how about you?" It's not meant to be a real interrogatory; it's mostly just a casual salutation. But, on that morning, Joe took it as an actual question. For about 3 or 4 minutes he shared several things that were not going so well in his world at that time. I really had no choice but to stand there in the hallway and hear him out because, after all, I did ask him the question. I was caught off-guard and it was bit awkward. I wasn't expecting him to share with me how he was actually doing. But, the subsequent times I asked Joe that question, I was prepared to listen to this very nice guy, old enough to be my father, who apparently needed someone he knew and trusted to listen. Sometimes it was personal, sometimes it was job related, sometimes it was simply, "good, and you?"

A few years back, I taught a series of Sunday School lessons when I was leading a group of young parents. I called the series "Lies We Hear and Say At Church." The very first lesson topic was how we give the answer, "I'm doing fine" when asked at church (or most anywhere, really) how we are doing.

This should be no shock to anyone: it is sometimes untrue.

But here's the thing. When it is untrue, we often don't really know what to say instead.

Sometimes we fib because we just don't want to burden people with the truth. Sometimes we assume it is being asked more as a greeting than a real inquiry. Sometimes we truly don't know how to describe how we are doing. Sometimes it is just easier to say, "I'm doing OK, I'm hanging in there, I'm great, I can't complain, I'm doing the best I can." We've all said and heard some version of that answer almost every day.

There is another question that can be equally hard to answer... or at least answer honestly.

"How can I help?"

I was reading a blog on this very topic that posed a suggestion, "What if I had a list of responses ready ahead of time so I woudn't stutter and stammer and ultimately let the opportunity go to waste?" She then listed 15 example responses.

I'm not too sure I would be comfortable with having a laundry list at the ready. It would almost be like casually suggesting to someone, "hey we need to get together for lunch soon" and the person says, "that sounds great... how about right now?" Whoa whoa whoa! That was too quick. I wasn't ready for that answer.

There are several things I am not very good at doing. One is navigating the food spread at a reception, banquet, etc. where the food is self-serve with multiple tables, carving stations, etc. I always spend way too much time talking to people and miss out on getting much to eat. The buffet professionals, however, know exactly how to maximize the gastro experience. Some are adept at balancing multiple plates with one hand and loading them to the maximum. Others are the no-plate-needed buffet table grazers that feed for a while at one station and then move on to the next until they have gotten their fill of everything available. I don't think I even ate at our daughter's wedding reception. And I paid for all that food! I'm just no good at it.

The other thing I'm not good at is answering the question in any meaningful way when asked, "how can I (or we) help?" (especially these days) Sometimes people even suggest answers that I usually politely dismiss. Why do I do that?

Maybe I think I should be capable of keeping all the plates in my life spinning without letting any fall. Maybe it is pride. Maybe it is fear. I wish I knew.

"How are you doing?"

"How can I help?"

I need to be more like Joe.

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Things About My Carol: Part 3: "The Barber and the Bald Guy"

Have you ever had difficulty correctly using the terms irony or ironic? Sometimes we describe something as ironic when it should be more accurately described as a coincidence or maybe a paradox. I've been known to get it wrong.

A party band in which I was once a member played at an outdoor family-type event where there were some goats (and a llama) nearby in an encircled fenced area. (I have no real explanation as to why any band was asked to play nor why there were animals present.) They had put several paper signs all around the fence that said "Do Not Feed the Goats" which I only noticed as I watched a goat eat one of the signs. I think that falls under the category of irony. Maybe not.

Did you know that in order to be a barber (among other professions) you must be licensed? In the State of Georgia, you must either graduate from a legit barber school or you must apprentice under the supervision of a Master Barber. If you choose the apprentice route, you're required to complete 3000 hours of apprenticeship. That's the way my wife Carol did it. (Both tracks require passing the state exam to get your license.) She apprenticed under Bill Devore, who was a well-known barber in Augusta, GA. Sadly, he passed several years ago. Under Bill's supervision, Carol completed her required hours of training and passed the exam. 

Yes, my Carol was a Master Barber.

She set up shop in a booth at the Bushwacker Men's Hairstyling, which is now long gone. Carol had a great clientele and a successful business. No surprise.

After my divorce, two of my friends, Skip and Fred, started talking to me independently about a year into my new, unintended bachelorhood about this gal in whom they thought I might be interested. She happened to be both guys' barber (or stylist as it was called back then.) I thought it a bit strange that two non-colluding friends were telling me, more than once, what a good fit Carol and I might be. When I asked Skip, who happened to be married to my ex-wife's sister, why she would be someone I'd be interested in he said, "she'd be perfect for you... you're both short and you both scuba dive." Really? I guess I should go propose right now.

About a year later I did meet Carol and we did start dating and we did, soon thereafter, get married. Skip was apparently correct. But it didn't have anything to do with stature or scuba.

In those days, most guys were wearing their hair a bit longer and styled. A typical haircut first involved getting your hair shampooed, then cut with scissors rather than clippers, then blown dry and styled, and even having a bit of hairspray applied to keep your full hairstyle looking good. I think this relatively new type of men's hair cutting/ styling was called the Sebring method, named after the famous LA hair stylist, Jay Sebring, who was tragically murdered by the Manson family in 1969. Men had longer and bigger hair back in the 70s/ 80s.

Early on in our dating, Carol asked me who did my hair. I told her and she said, "well, don't feel like you have to stop going to Harold... I don't really want to cut your hair." Hmmm. I wasn't expecting the unsolicited rejection. I was actually looking forward to maybe getting free haircuts! After a couple months she told me out of the blue in an annoyed tone, "I don't like the way Harold cuts your hair.... he leaves it too short on the sides." I told her that she should cut it then. So she did. But, as she was blowing it dry I could feel her pulling my hair with the brush as if she was trying to stretch my hair. Finally I asked her what she was doing. She said, "you've got weird hair on the sides... I swear I didn't cut it this short... I think it shrunk!"  I guess Harold wasn't so inept after all. I guess I just had weird hair.

Dec 1982 I think...shortly before marriage

(This was about when "we" decided that I should no longer wear my hair over my ears.)

How good was it though that I married my own personal barber/ hair stylist? Just think of the convenience and all the money I would be saving!

I married a barber and too soon went from weird hair to no hair. The barber and the bald guy.

I think that's irony right there.

From high school bangs to bald went by quickly

Epilogue:

A few months before Jessica was born, Carol retired from barbering. Standing on her feet all day, the other stylists' cigarette smoke (yeah, people smoked everywhere back then,) getting occasional cuts to her fingers, and finding little daggers of snipped hair imbedded in her skin was a toll that she no longer wanted to pay. Plus, she wanted to stay at home with our firstborn. The cries of lament from so many of her customers caught her off-guard. Some begged her to reconsider. A few offered to come to our house for haircuts. Some said they would pay double the normal fee. So many guys loved Carol as their barber. People still comment to me after all these years (39 years ago) how much they loved sitting in Carol's chair. I'm not even sure the main reason was the quality of the haircuts they got. I think they just enjoyed the time they got to spend with her, if only for a half-hour or so.

I get it.

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Things About My Carol: Part 2: "And though she be but little, she is fierce"

Some of you reading this have never actually met my wife, at least not in person. For those that have not, allow me to confidently boast... you have truly missed out.

Rudy and Fortune

In the classic sports movie, "Rudy," the title character has dreamed his whole life of playing football for his beloved Notre Dame. He has, by pure dogged determination, made it onto the practice squad for two years. However, he quits the team prior to the final game practice because he learns that he will not be able to "dress out" for at least one game, as he was promised by his former head coach. Feeling sorry for himself, he seeks a sympathetic ear from the head groundskeeper, Fortune, who had befriended and mentored him. Fortune speaks some reality to the undersized Rudy. He tells him, "...you're five foot nothin', a hundred and nothin'..." and goes on to tell him that he should be thankful to have even gotten on the practice squad, not to mention the quality education he has earned from the elite school.

I've always liked that line... five foot nothin', a hundred and nothin'. Why? Because it literally describes Carol. She tops out at five feet, 1 inch. Her average weight throughout most of the non-pregnant times of our marriage was right at 100. Five foot nothin', a hundred and nothin'.

However...

"And though she be but little, she is fierce!" (Emphasis mine.)

For you non- Shakespeareans, this is a well-known line from the play, "A Midsummer Night's Dream" (Helena is speaking about diminutive Hermia.)

The quote is often used today as a reminder that a person can be strong and brave even if they are small in stature. I have many adjectives that come to my mind when I think of Carol. Strong and brave are certainly on that list. As is fierce.

During the earlier years of our marriage, let's just say that some of my behaviors created disagreements and arguments. Far more times than not, whatever it was that Carol was upset about, her concerns weren't without merit. I, however, would sometimes get defensive and I could usually out-argue her. She would eventually withdraw (both verbally and emotionally.) Even now I regret the way my less mature self handled some of our disagreements. But, when she was determined to make me see that I needed to see her point, she didn't back down. Like I said, she is fierce.

She employed an effective tactic. She would occasionally write me a letter. You can't argue with a letter. There was one, multi-page letter in particular that I have kept to this day. I'm hesitant to disclose it, even 27 years later, because of the nature of it.  When I got home and found this letter on the dresser, I took it outside, sat on the picnic table, and read it. Through tear-filled, convicted eyes I read that I hadn't been spending enough time with our kids, and specifically with our son, then a third-grader. She said that I was allowing my job and my commitments at church to consume too much of my time and attention and that, if I didn't do something about it, I would look back one day and regret the time lost with our young kids. It takes a certain tenacity and ferocity to not give up on saying what needs saying when you know something is important and worth fighting for. That letter was a 2x4 to my forehead. It was also a letter full of love. She knew I needed both.

I saw that strength and courage so many times over the course of the 42 years we have been together. From her daddy's prostate cancer diagnosis two years before I even met her to his subsequent diagnosis over 10 years later when the cancer had metastasized and returned, I saw her strength and courage. I saw the strength as we helped her mama deal with her husband's death and eventually helped her sell her house and move into ours. And I saw that courage and strength when her mother's pancreatic cancer diagnosis came about 4 years later. Carol was determined that we would care for her at home while, at the same time, she continued home schooling our daughter. Carol never complained. She worked to keep our home life as normal as possible while caring for her mama right up until the end.

Carol did a lot of things fiercely. She loved her children... fiercely. She loved their spouses... fiercely. She loved the grandchildren... fiercely.

There was nothing nonchalant about Carol's love. If she loved you, she loved you fiercely.

And she loves her Savior with even greater intensity.

And all through her courageous, never complaining battle with this insidious disease that she fights, she keeps reminding me:

Though she be but little, she is fierce. Little Carol. One tough woman.

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Things About My Carol: Part 1: "She Can Talk Your Ear Off"

I mean this in a very good way

Just today, a Facebook Memory (you know those daily prompts from Facebook about things you posted years ago?) popped up on my feed. It was a video I posted 15 years ago shortly after our daughter's wedding. It's just a short 23 second clip of Jessica, Carol, and bridesmaids in the bridal room. I'm a pretty sentimental slob. Never really was that way until after our daughter was born. After the kids were born I found myself wiping my eyes to Budweiser Clydesdale commercials and sappy movies. I did get teary-eyed when I saw that 15-year old clip this morning though. I'll tell you why in a minute.

When Carol and I started dating back in the 1900s, I was amazed at how much she loved to talk to people. While she was always a bit on the shy side, once she was comfortable with you she would talk... and talk and talk. And she didn't care what your station was in life, she loved to talk to anyone and everyone... the wait staff, the lady that cleaned our hotel room, kitchen staff at church, the janitors at school. In fact, she would go out of her way to have a conversation with folks that in some cases get completely overlooked in our society. I always admired that about her. It's just the way she is wired. We were always the last ones to leave church when we had a nighttime service because of the conversations afterwards (I'll take some responsibility for this one too... I can be a bit chatty.) I could see the janitorial staff waiting in the wings for us to get out so they could finish and go home. I remember one night after leaving a restaurant I discovered that, somewhere along the way, Carol had disappeared. I was getting the kids into the minivan muttering "where is your mother?" Well, I look inside the restaurant and there she is having a full blown conversation with who knows who at one of the tables. It's obviously someone she knows and she is talking away. They can't eat their meal and I can't go home. I almost left her there. I could fill volumes about my Carol. Bottom line? She could talk your ear off.

Primary Progressive Aphasia. PPA. Probably not one of the most well known diseases. More people may be familiar with the singular term aphasia. Aphasia can affect people for several reasons. Sometimes it is a temporary condition and sometimes it is permanent and gets progressively worse. Aphasia is basically a disorder in the brain that impairs a person's ability to communicate. People that have suffered a stroke, brain injury, or have neurogenerative disease can experience aphasia.

Many of you already know this. In 2016, when Carol was first diagnosed we were told she had primary progressive aphasia which is one of the forms/ variants of frontotemporal dementia. I could get deeper into the weeds on it but, you can always Google it yourself if you are curious. More detail doesn't really add to what I wanted to say here.

It started with difficulty word-finding. There would be longer than normal pauses or more ums and ahs than normal when she would speak or answer a question. She couldn't come up with the word. As time went on it became more pronounced. Later it seemed she was having difficulty understanding some things spoken to her. Eventually the words were fewer and farther in between. Most recently, nearly all speaking has essentially ceased.

I remember coming home from work many an evening after Jessica and Michael were born and Carol would meet me at the door and want to tell me all about what had happened that day (she was a stay at home mom and I knew how hard that could be.) She hadn't spoken to another adult all day. I had just spent my entire day talking to employees, bosses, and customers non-stop. I can remember putting my hand up while we would be sitting on the couch and asking her, "please... can you not talk for just a few minutes until I can unwind a bit?" She always took it in the spirit in which I asked it. Sometimes she just spoke more than I could absorb. Later we would talk about our day and all the other things couples talk about.

I say all that to tell you this.

Among so many other things, I miss her voice. And when I unmuted that video this morning I heard the voice I haven't really heard in a year or two. And it reminded me of how much I miss it. And it hit me pretty hard. I'm having a hard time typing right now while she is sitting in the recliner right next to me.

(Be sure to unmute)

Yes, we have boxes of videos somewhere from all the video she took throughout our kids' entire childhoods. And I know we have her talking and laughing in several of them. I have only two voicemails on my phone from 2017 that I had the foresight to not delete. I listen to them occasionally. I will never  delete them.

Oh, how I wish she would talk my ear off again.

I'll share some more things about my Carol in future blogs. Most of what I write is really just for me. You are more than welcome to eavesdrop though. Never stop talking to the people you love.

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