I will never forget the day of my mad walk. It happened one Saturday when my husband, Denny, and our oldest son, Dave, “surprised” me with a gift. They disappeared for hours and returned with boxes. I said, “Hey, you two…what’s going on here?”

Denny said, “Don’t ask. It’s a surprise.”

So, I pulled weeds in the garden while waiting for my gift. They finally called me inside, told me where to sit, watch, and listen. After a few seconds the TV screen exploded in bright light and a helicopter zoomed toward me. I ducked when it flew over my head and disappeared behind the sofa. .

Dave, said, “Mom, isn’t it great?”

“I don’t know. What just happened?”

Denny said, “We installed a surround system for the television. D’ya like it?”

I didn’t like it. Our family room was now a movie theater. I said, “It’s not cozy. How can I enjoy knitting while watching TV?

“Betty, you’ll get used to it.”

“How much did this cost?”

“Don’t ask.”

Resentment crawled over me like a swarm of ants. The guys knew I was mad but I had no words, so I got up and left in a huff to walk off my pissy mood. The farther away I got the madder I felt. I stomped up the hill on Daffodil Drive and just kept going. It was a new neighborhood and so quiet that it was eerie. I wasn’t sure which street to take next, so I took a left on Hyacinth Drive to see where it might lead. It led to Panorama Loop. I had never heard of these streets and it was beginning to look woodsy and not like the suburbs. But I had to keep walking. I didn’t want to get home too soon because they would think I wasn’t mad anymore. Denny buying something expensive without my input brought out the worst in me.

But my anger was turning to nervousness because Panorama Loop never seemed to end. I felt lost and worried and it was turning dark. I heard traffic in the distance and eventually saw car lights. It was Rose Boulevard. Then I realized how far I had gone and it was a long way from home. I followed the familiar street to Blossom Hill Road and then to Wood Road and finally to the street where I lived. I was relieved to get home but the guys must NOT know that. So I cranked up my pouty face again and walked in the front door.

“WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN? WE WERE WORRIED SICK.” My husband and son did look kind of scared. That’s when my anger softened and my manner got calm.

I said, “Okay, Denny; I’m not happy with you. A few days ago I wanted to buy a garden mulcher and you said it wasn’t cost effective.”

Denny listened like a puppy being scolded, knowing that he was in the dog house, so I pushed on.

“You said we could buy mulch for my garden cheaper than making our own.”

Still, silence from the guys, so I used an even quieter voice because “quiet” is scary.

I got up real close and said, “This thing you installed –we can go to the movies a lot cheaper than buying our own fancy sound system. Is it cost effective?

Denny sighed. He knew I was right and said, “Dave, do you want to go with me and buy a mulcher for your mother?”

“Yeah, Dad; I think we should.”

I like that long walk I discovered by accident, and I take it now for exercise; not for blowing off steam.

My sister, Patty, was five years younger than I. I say “was” because Patty died in March 2010. She never got to see the stories in The Home for the Friendless published along with the family photographs and the glossary called Betty’s History Lessons. I had printed all the pieces that included her and had them bound so she could read them while she was still well enough to do so. Without the help of my brother, Bob, and my sister, Patty, there would be no book.

I had placed a long distance call to my sister in June, 2007, so we could discuss the details of her favorite story. It was about a trick that Bobby and I had played on her, but not to be mean;  to make her feel better. I’m not sure she ever believed that, but it was the truth. On the day of the phone conversation, Patty was trying to give me the real details of this event that had made her cry her eyes out when she was only ten. While telling the story from her point of view, she coughed so frequently that she couldn’t finish a sentence. I urged to her to stop and we’d continue another time, but she wouldn’t give up. Finally, I insisted that she get her husband on the phone and she did. He said that they had an appointment with the doctor to see why she couldn’t get over that stubborn cough.

The stubborn cough turned out to be throat cancer and her larynx had to be removed.

For the next three years Patty wrote notes as fast as she used to talk. Her husband bought 9×6 lined yellow tablets by the package. When she was really excited, she tried to mouth the words as she gestured wildly, fingers pointing and hands flailing the air. It was truly funny and it made us all laugh hard including Patty though we couldn’t hear her. We were a close family and one of our own was in bad shape, so we got used to dark humor. 

When Patty was in the hospital she had to learn to communicate with note-writing. She once wrote this note to me: “I should learn sign language because no matter WHAT I need help with, I have to write it down.” I wrote back that everyone else would need to learn it, too, but she was laughing silently again, and I didn’t get the joke. So she wrote me this note: “Stop writing. YOU CAN TALK.” So I created a card just for her. She loved it and so did the nurses. Thank goodness I made a copy because the nurses liked it so much that she gave them the original. The card is here.

You might notice that I drew the cartoon of my sister then cut it out and pasted it on top of a picture from a catalogue for down comforters. I also added a few lines on top of parts of the magazine image to tie the whole thing together. You can’t read the note on her tablet, but she could. Since my sis couldn’t talk after turning on her call light for a nurse, she got used to writing, “I have to pee.”  

_________________________________________________________

In memory of Patricia Ann Reffel 1935 – 2010