Once in a Lifetime

Hello everyone. As this is being written, the wind is cold and the population is in a frenzy. I got tailgated inside the grocery store. That kind of day.

Once in a lifetime stories

On Nov. 7, 1963, our baby daughter Jayedominique Hodge (now Blair) was born at Ivinson Memorial Hospital in Laramie.

She was all bloody when I first saw her, that dark brown hair matted to her soft little head. She had a big bump on one side of her head and her forehead was mashed in by whatever went on during her birth.

Her eyes were open wide, but unseeing as yet. The nurses thought she was so beautiful that they couldn’t take time to clean her up before hustling her out to the waiting room to meet her dad.

I laughed. It wasn’t funny, it was simply delightful. The nurse handed me the pink-wrapped bundle; I walked over to a nearby mirror and looked at the two of us. I got kind of a smirk on my face, a rare expression of satisfaction. (What did I do? Not much, but I inordinately was satisfied with the deed.)

Last summer, because of a comedy of errors with her car, we had the privilege of visiting with Jaye at length, over a period of weeks.

I got to watch her care for her grandson Joe, and I looked at her the way I had looked at her the night we met. Those 45 years have had their difficult moments, too many of those moments.

However, once the nurses got her cleaned up, it was evident that she is a most beautiful young woman, those big brown eyes innocent and wondering, now as then.

Happy 45th birthday, Jaye-baby.

It was a once-in-a-lifetime experience.

A cruise for Mom’s birthday

Back in 2001, Laura and I joined a number of members of her family on a recreational ocean cruise.

We left Los Angeles and steamed south along the Mexican coast, visiting Cabo San Lucas, Mazatlan, and Puerto Vallarta.

Laura’s Mom, Doris Robinson, was 80 on Oct. 23rd, 2001. The focus of the cruise was to celebrate that auspicious event.

Of all the spoiled American brats on that cruise, I was the most spoiled. The friends and family on the cruise seemed to understand my aversion to “entertainment.” They graciously allowed me to be absent from performances of the opera and Broadway show tunes performed live.

The family has always been understanding, indulgent and generous to me, this time being no exception.

When it came time for dinner, however, I was always rested, dressed and prepared, right there at table, napkin, knife and fork at the ready. The food was excellent. Every meal. And there were many, many meals.

The days and nights were sort of time out of time. We had midnight conversations with one family member or another, night after night. We took advantage of day-long conversation opportunities with Mom.

And we rested. It had been only a few weeks since the Radical Muslims attacked New York City and Washington; when the cruise ship left the dock, we were all psychically and emotionally exhausted.

Laura and I are fond of the ocean. We lived in California for a short time in the mid-eighties; we like Colorado, but we miss the ocean to this day. So we enjoyed the salt air, and the steady rhythms of the cruise ship.

We have pictures which prove that Mom obviously had a happy birthday.

Given an opportunity, Laura and I used the stairs to move between decks. Get this: we ate our fill all day and all night, and we both lost weight.

It was a once-in-a-lifetime experience.

The giant rocking horse

Eventually, he came to be known as “Scout.” For the St. Peter Church Festival Auction in 2007, Laura and I and fellow parishioners Chuck and Patty Seier put him together.

This summer, Scout finally found a permanent home in the upstairs gallery at Thunderbird Art east of here.

Chuck, a skilled cabinet maker, designed and built the wooden horse. Patty braided Scout’s jute mane and tail.

Laura and I made Scout’s saddle, bridle, stirrups and reins. Once finished, he was beautiful, simply beautiful. Every piece of wood and jute and every hunk of leather was assembled with skill and love.

Sadly, Scout didn’t do well at the auction. The idea was to raise money for the parish. Scout had way more hours in him than showed in his dollar return.

The auction officials didn’t seem to know how to promote him, and when things began to look nasty, a friend of ours made a desperation bid and acquired him.

That original buyer then put him up for sale again at the auction this past summer. The Muellers, of Thunderbird Art, saw their chance and bought him as an addition to their kid-entertainment area in the gallery.

It was a once-in-a-lifetime experience.

The submarine ride

In 2000, my son Benjamin invited me to accompany him aboard the U.S.S. Michigan for a visitors’ cruise. It was everything a father could hope for – and more.

The nuclear-powered Michigan is huge, several blocks long. It carries twelve (yes 12) atomic missiles, each capable of massive destruction somewhere around the world.

The Navy was concerned about me – I had replied honestly to the pre-cruise questionnaire – thus it was known that I have a mobility disability.

But once aboard, I quickly put my cane away. Grab rails, handholds and overhead handles are everywhere on that craft. I didn’t need my cane anywhere.

Meals are served every six hours. If you’re not hungry after six hours, you eat anyway because it will be 12 hours before you eat again. The food was delicious. Every meal.

The boat submerged and took us out to sea, cruising silently overnight, who knows where. Ben had duty at times in the sonar room, so I got plenty of rest.

A highlight was when I was allowed to “drive” the boat. They actually let me sit in the pilot’s chair and grasp the little bitty low-rider stainless steel steering wheel. The regular pilot instructed me, “keep that needle on 160.”

I could feel the gigantic craft respond to every tiny correction at the wheel. Sadly, I didn’t get to use the adjacent steering wheel that controls up and down movement.

Biggest vehicle I’ve ever driven.

Each guest had an opportunity to visit one-on-one with Captain Bragg. I climbed the steel stairs up into the “sail” for my meeting with him.

“Your son is doing a fine job for the Navy,” the captain said. Wow. I don’t think the captain would shine me on. Didn’t seem like that kind of man.

It was a once-in-a-lifetime experience.

That first ride

I remember it like it was yesterday, even though it was 60 years ago.

Dad took me and my brand-new bicycle up the inclined gravel road to the Fulton Ditch in Fort Lupton.

I got aboard, and Dad balanced me, holding on to the back of the seat. Down the slight hill we went, Dad balancing me, gaining speed.

I could hear his deep breathing and smell the tobacco and sweat as he ran along with me. Then suddenly I realized he was no longer holding on to the seat.

I was free ! ! ! It took practice and patience, but in a few days I was able to ride off into the sunset without assistance.

I rode that bike several blocks each day to attend school. I locked it up with a padlock Dad got me for it, and installed a mud flap I had bought with my own money. The mud flap featured a red reflector. Cool.

Since it was difficult if not impossible for me to walk all the way to school in my crippled post-polio condition, the bicycle became my equalizer. Much to my relief, I had no need for Mom to drive me to school. Whew.

Dad’s wisdom and Dad’s patience in teaching me to ride eventually led to the motorcycling avocation – set me free.

It was a once-in-a-lifetime experience.

Our first day

We were both nervous, but we needn’t have been. Laura and I climbed the north entrance stairs at St. Peter Roman Catholic Church in Greeley on the very first Sunday of this century.

We immediately found seats beside Myron and Glenna Kallsen, and Glenna instantly took Laura under her wing.

We heard Cantor Dan Stoffler sing “Glory to God in the Highest,” and we listened to St. Peter lectors read from the Holy Bible. The celebrant and homilist that day was the late Fr. Bud Raney.

St. Peter enfolded us, and we are approaching ten years as members of the parish. We’ve never looked back.

It was a once-in-a-lifetime experience.

A blessing

It was November of 2001. Laura and I were being welcomed into full communion with the Roman Catholic Church.

As part of that, our marriage was blessed, right there in front of the sanctuary in beautiful old St. Peter Church.

Deacon Frederick Torrez performed the ritual, and his wife Juanita witnessed. Among others attending were Larry and Jean Mueller, our sponsors, and friends Lou and Maria Sanchez and Maryann Little. Even Darlene Garlutzo came around to glare at us for a few moments.

It was a once-in-a-lifetime experience.

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Word of the week: Peccadillo. It comes from the Latin (are you surprised?) peccatum, a sin. In English, it means a minor or petty sin, a slight fault.

You could serve me the best leg-of-lamb on the face of the earth and it just wouldn’t appeal to me. It’s a peccadillo of mine.

Next week’s word: Katzenjammer.

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Gripes? Complaints? Whines? or Comments? Adoration? Puppy love? Reciprocal rant? Feel free to express yourself in the comments below!