I don't think that Fathers day is especially hard, but I can't help having Father's day without thinking of my own Father.
My father was born Michael Lee Hulett October 18, 1946. I suppose he was just like any infant. (His mother would probably say that he was "perfect"). I am sure he did his share of whining, fussing and pooping. Didn't we all? I just know he was a regular human being by birth right. My father had to "become" who he was. His life made him who I remember.
My grandmother, finding herself a young single mother of three, went on about her life working and schooling as hard as a single woman could in the early 1950's. I can't even begin to know what the stigma, prejudice and looks must have been like as she dutifully performed this task unselfishly. Sometime around the time dad was 10 or so, Grandma met a man by the name of Alvin Knight Kestner. They fell in love, married and shortly after, he legally and lovingly adopted my father, Kate and Holly. The good attributes my father had he most certainly learned from my loving, patient, grandfather. Thank God for Alvin Kestner!
In the mid to late 1960s, dad attended The Ohio State University and started diligently studying in the field of Pre-Med. This next part of the story is a little fuzzy, but somehow, dad ended up joining the Navy. He went to boot camp and then to "Corps School" to learn life saving medical techniques used in the theatre of War.
What isn't fuzzy is the fact that dad was stationed at the Navy Hospital in Bremerton, WA in the Spring / Summer of 1969. It was there that he met a young hotty - One Sandra K Weber (an officer) and Navy Nurse. They, (despite protocol) dated and fell in love. They married August 1st, 1969 and started their family quickly...... August 3rd, dad was deployed to Viet Nam.
I was born while he was at war, but I didn't know any better. My first memory of him was wearing a black (maybe dark navy blue) uniform and white hat. I remember seeing a good sized window behind him and it was overcast outside. Many memories would follow. I remember him "liking" the outdoors and he, my mother and my younger brother going on day hikes with home made picnic stuff. Dad made the best fried chicken! Mom, the best potato salad. We went camping at Oxbow park a few times when we lived in Portland Oregon.
In 1976/77, my father spent about 3 months in Seattle at the Police academy becoming a Clark County Deputy Sheriff. As a young boy, I was the coolest kid because of what my dad did for a living. As I got to be High School age, though, some of my rougher "acquaintances" didn't think it was so cool any more.
As I got involved with Boy Scouts, dad was there as often as career would allow as a dad or leader. I found out later in life that dad wasn't particularly fond of "camping", but I never would have known it as I do have many memories of camping with him in the scouts. The 2 years I went to scout camp, 1983 and 1984, dad made a showing for each week. At Camp Meriwether, I still can picture in my mind coming around the trail about 100 yards from my campsite on my way to dinner and running into dad walking (panting) up "cardiac hill" with a "Glad" trash bag with his stuff in it. I was very excited to have him there. I walked him to the campsite, and then we showed up late for dinner.
Dad was the life of the party at both camps - he could tell a good story, and I think he "got" young men. We all enjoyed his company. I enjoyed having "my dad" at camp with me.
Dad was often swift to be "Judge, Jury and Executioner" when it came to our discipline, but he always made sure that afterwards, we had a good long talk and we kids all knew that he loved us. I never doubted it...
While I was out of country, dad went to school part time to obtain his Master's degree in psychology. It took him several years, but his perseverance did pay off. His last years as a Police Officer, he spent as a D.A.R.E. officer working with 5th and 6th graders teaching them about drugs and alcohol. He retired from being a Police Officer in early 2000.
In July 2000, Dad suffered a debilitating stroke. He would never be the same again in this life. We were all very blessed that dad didn't ever truly lose his intellect due to the stroke. We were all blessed to have him in our lives for three more years. I lost my Father July 23, 2003, when he followed the light back to Heavenly Father.
I am truly blessed to have been able to have had him in my life for 33 years. That is a blessing of being an older child.
My wife was blessed to know what it feels like to having a loving father because she knew my father.
All of my children can remember him - Alex truly misses him.... I miss him too.
Dad, if you are in a place where you can see, hear or perceive my feelings, know that I Love You. Thank you for all that you have done for me in my life. Thank you for being the Husband, Father, Brother, Grandfather and Son that you were! Happy Father's day pops!
Showing posts with label in the past. Show all posts
Showing posts with label in the past. Show all posts
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Saturday, May 15, 2010
... and then, Marcy got me....
The next two years were interesting. I was in the MTC for about 10 days when I received my first care package from Marcy. As I recall, there was a red skinny tie, some books about missionary work, and a quick note. That started the "Campaign". Over the next 2 years, we would correspond by mail about 22 times back and forth. Marcy staying aloof and being generic and supportive, me writing about my adventures in England.
In my first area, I had learned that Marcy had moved to Orem, UT. I had a flat mate who was going home. I asked him to hand deliver a cassette tape that I had made for her. I asked him to "return and report" and let me know if she was "waiting" for me. I will let Marcy tell you that story, but to say that it had a dramatic impact would be understating the fact.
After I had been out a little over a year, I decided to write an emotional letter asking for Marcy to share her feelings for me. The next letter I received let me know that she was not interested in sharing her feelings with me. I sent back a letter telling her that I just wanted to know. In that letter I wrote something to the effect of "That I could always find other prospects willing to share their feelings". That was the last letter sent between us for about 4 months..... Whoops!
In September of 1991, the letters started trickling in again, and we re-established a healthy regimen of platonic letters and correspondence. As the time got closer for me to be done with my mission, the letter frequency increased on both of our parts. Then, at my last zone conference, I received a "care package" from her and in it, "The holy grail" of a missionary. I opened it up in the chapel and wrapped in bubble wrap was a "HOT" posed photo of Marcy. (It was her best senior pose.) An Elder came up behind me and said "Whoah - who is that?" I sat there with the wind knocked out of me and said... "I believe, my future wife". I can't remember what else was sent, in my mind it didn't really matter. I had the beautiful smile of my future spouse to look at when ever I needed a fix!
January 28, 1992, I finally made my way home from Manchester, England - Chicago-O'hare - Denver - Salt Lake City - Reno - Portland. (The flight was free - so I shouldn't complain.) I was the last one off the plane - for effect. My family was there and a few friends from my YSA ward. No Marcy. "She must be working" I told myself. I found out that my Stake President wasn't available to release me until the next evening, so I had 24 hours to "hang" at home and re-acclimate myself to having a family. That evening, my family and I met with President Shriner and I was officially released. On the way home, we stopped at Safeway to grab some ice cream to celebrate.
When we got home, there was a red Toyota Corolla in the driveway. I didn't recognise the car. My dad said "wait here", I'll go check it out. Then he called from the door - "All clear!" So we all walked in nonchalant like. When I walked in the door, my jaw dropped, and my heart leaped. There standing before me in a form fitting black dress with gold buttons, was.....Marcy!
My world, from that day forward was changed forever. To say that I wasn't ready for the meeting yet would be putting it mildly. Marcy was nervous, I was scared to death! I had to excuse myself to the back bathroom and wash my face with water and do a lot of self talk in the mirror. I was a wreck! Out in the family room, my little sisters were all just staring and smiling at Marcy. My dad said later, he was afraid that she was going to "bolt". After about half an hour, I was composed enough to do more than just stand there. We sat and made nice. Finally, we decided to get away - to the convenience store at the freeway, which had some tables and booths. Nice, huh? We talked for a bit and I told her I was not ready for her yet and that I had some "exploration" left to do. She took me back to my house and we talked some more. At about midnight, she made me close my eyes and receive a gift from her. She presented me with a cross stitch of my mission complete with all of my areas in it. It was a beautiful labor of love.
Then.....We kissed. Sweet, wet and long! At that point, I was hers. Hook, line and sinker!
I never partook of my celebratory ice cream. I didn't care.
It was 6 days later that I asked Marcy to marry me. After a whirlwind engagement of 3 1/2 months, on May 15th, 1992, we started our eternity together.
Happy 18th anniversary Marcy. I love you more today than I did yesterday, but not as much as I will tomorrow!
In my first area, I had learned that Marcy had moved to Orem, UT. I had a flat mate who was going home. I asked him to hand deliver a cassette tape that I had made for her. I asked him to "return and report" and let me know if she was "waiting" for me. I will let Marcy tell you that story, but to say that it had a dramatic impact would be understating the fact.
After I had been out a little over a year, I decided to write an emotional letter asking for Marcy to share her feelings for me. The next letter I received let me know that she was not interested in sharing her feelings with me. I sent back a letter telling her that I just wanted to know. In that letter I wrote something to the effect of "That I could always find other prospects willing to share their feelings". That was the last letter sent between us for about 4 months..... Whoops!
In September of 1991, the letters started trickling in again, and we re-established a healthy regimen of platonic letters and correspondence. As the time got closer for me to be done with my mission, the letter frequency increased on both of our parts. Then, at my last zone conference, I received a "care package" from her and in it, "The holy grail" of a missionary. I opened it up in the chapel and wrapped in bubble wrap was a "HOT" posed photo of Marcy. (It was her best senior pose.) An Elder came up behind me and said "Whoah - who is that?" I sat there with the wind knocked out of me and said... "I believe, my future wife". I can't remember what else was sent, in my mind it didn't really matter. I had the beautiful smile of my future spouse to look at when ever I needed a fix!
January 28, 1992, I finally made my way home from Manchester, England - Chicago-O'hare - Denver - Salt Lake City - Reno - Portland. (The flight was free - so I shouldn't complain.) I was the last one off the plane - for effect. My family was there and a few friends from my YSA ward. No Marcy. "She must be working" I told myself. I found out that my Stake President wasn't available to release me until the next evening, so I had 24 hours to "hang" at home and re-acclimate myself to having a family. That evening, my family and I met with President Shriner and I was officially released. On the way home, we stopped at Safeway to grab some ice cream to celebrate.
When we got home, there was a red Toyota Corolla in the driveway. I didn't recognise the car. My dad said "wait here", I'll go check it out. Then he called from the door - "All clear!" So we all walked in nonchalant like. When I walked in the door, my jaw dropped, and my heart leaped. There standing before me in a form fitting black dress with gold buttons, was.....Marcy!
My world, from that day forward was changed forever. To say that I wasn't ready for the meeting yet would be putting it mildly. Marcy was nervous, I was scared to death! I had to excuse myself to the back bathroom and wash my face with water and do a lot of self talk in the mirror. I was a wreck! Out in the family room, my little sisters were all just staring and smiling at Marcy. My dad said later, he was afraid that she was going to "bolt". After about half an hour, I was composed enough to do more than just stand there. We sat and made nice. Finally, we decided to get away - to the convenience store at the freeway, which had some tables and booths. Nice, huh? We talked for a bit and I told her I was not ready for her yet and that I had some "exploration" left to do. She took me back to my house and we talked some more. At about midnight, she made me close my eyes and receive a gift from her. She presented me with a cross stitch of my mission complete with all of my areas in it. It was a beautiful labor of love.
Then.....We kissed. Sweet, wet and long! At that point, I was hers. Hook, line and sinker!
I never partook of my celebratory ice cream. I didn't care.
It was 6 days later that I asked Marcy to marry me. After a whirlwind engagement of 3 1/2 months, on May 15th, 1992, we started our eternity together.
Happy 18th anniversary Marcy. I love you more today than I did yesterday, but not as much as I will tomorrow!
Thursday, May 13, 2010
.....got her in my sights....
OK, so I left off with Marcy and I not on such great terms. And for the record, I was a selfish ass at the ski mountain, and I know it.
There was official phone silence as well as social silence between Marcy and I for the next few weeks..... then it happened. Out of the blue, Marcy called me and asked me if I would consider coming to her home and having dinner. She was going to make one of her mother's famous lasagne's and needed someone to share it with. (I am paraphrasing here, but she really did say something like that.)
The day came, and I found myself running late from my second job, and showed up about 45 minutes late for the dinner and not having a 15 pound "brick" phone to call her on, she waited patiently - not knowing if I was actually going to show up. (Her mother also.) Upon arrival, she met me at the door and invited me in with a sweet smile and pleasant attitude despite my tardiness. We sat down to a well balanced meal of Lasagne (very good), salad and bread. I don't remember dessert, but I believe we had something - maybe jello with cool-whip? Anyways, her mother visited with us for a while, and then excused herself to her bedroom leaving Marcy and I alone to talk. And talk, we did!
At about midnight, I called my folks to let them know I was OK. About 2:30, I decided I needed to head for home. The time flew as Marcy and I had our very first real heart to heart discussion. We covered everything from favorite foods to favorite movie actors. I also took the time to apologize for my behavior on the ski trip. The methods of our communication improved by 90% that evening, and I finally left feeling fulfilled and understood. I believe we both felt that way.
It finally came time for me to start saying goodbye to friends and family as I was getting close to my Feb. 7, 1990 departure date for my mission. Those last few weeks went by so fast with either work or preparations, I didn't have a social life at all. On the last Sunday before I left, my family had an "open house" at the Woodland, WA building for all who wanted to come. About 15 of my YSA ward friends came and Marcy came with her mother. That was a whirlwind day and I recall my mother being very perplexed by all of the "girls" in attendance. "All friends", I made it plain to her. It's because of all of the new faces that my mother doesn't remember meeting Marcy that day.
There was a fireside that night that I attended, and I was able to say goodbye to everybody else I hadn't already seen that day. Marcy had come to the FS with some friends who conveniently abandoned her so that I would "have" to take her home. Which was good because she had another "gift" she had left at home that she needed to give me.
At her house, I opened a gift of a white shirt (very popular gift that Christmas as well), and for the first time saw this fine young lady shed a tear. She told me she was proud of me. She told me that she would miss me. She told me that she would write when she could, but that she expected to keep herself busy with school and work. She also told me that 2 years was a long time, and that she didn't know where her mind would be by the time I returned home, but that she would always be supportive of my mission responsibility.
And then,..... We kissed for the first time. Passionate, yet innocent. Guarded, yet passionate. We found ourselves talking (off and on) for the next few hours about future plans and goals. I didn't know mascara could run so far down a cheek and then onto a satin, sapphire blue dress. This young woman had my attention as well as my heart.
Then, we kissed for the last time. Sweetly, innocently.
I came away that evening knowing that Marcy was going to fit into a future of mine in some way. I came away knowing that she had a very sharp intellect. This woman intellectually challenged me, and inspired me to be a better person. All of the things that I wasn't, she was.
She never, however, told me she loved me. I had a hard time with that.
I left on my mission two days later. I was free to serve and do what was expected of me. I really had no expectations. I was able to focus on my mission. That was her plan. That was my plan. And it worked, mostly.........
There was official phone silence as well as social silence between Marcy and I for the next few weeks..... then it happened. Out of the blue, Marcy called me and asked me if I would consider coming to her home and having dinner. She was going to make one of her mother's famous lasagne's and needed someone to share it with. (I am paraphrasing here, but she really did say something like that.)
The day came, and I found myself running late from my second job, and showed up about 45 minutes late for the dinner and not having a 15 pound "brick" phone to call her on, she waited patiently - not knowing if I was actually going to show up. (Her mother also.) Upon arrival, she met me at the door and invited me in with a sweet smile and pleasant attitude despite my tardiness. We sat down to a well balanced meal of Lasagne (very good), salad and bread. I don't remember dessert, but I believe we had something - maybe jello with cool-whip? Anyways, her mother visited with us for a while, and then excused herself to her bedroom leaving Marcy and I alone to talk. And talk, we did!
At about midnight, I called my folks to let them know I was OK. About 2:30, I decided I needed to head for home. The time flew as Marcy and I had our very first real heart to heart discussion. We covered everything from favorite foods to favorite movie actors. I also took the time to apologize for my behavior on the ski trip. The methods of our communication improved by 90% that evening, and I finally left feeling fulfilled and understood. I believe we both felt that way.
It finally came time for me to start saying goodbye to friends and family as I was getting close to my Feb. 7, 1990 departure date for my mission. Those last few weeks went by so fast with either work or preparations, I didn't have a social life at all. On the last Sunday before I left, my family had an "open house" at the Woodland, WA building for all who wanted to come. About 15 of my YSA ward friends came and Marcy came with her mother. That was a whirlwind day and I recall my mother being very perplexed by all of the "girls" in attendance. "All friends", I made it plain to her. It's because of all of the new faces that my mother doesn't remember meeting Marcy that day.
There was a fireside that night that I attended, and I was able to say goodbye to everybody else I hadn't already seen that day. Marcy had come to the FS with some friends who conveniently abandoned her so that I would "have" to take her home. Which was good because she had another "gift" she had left at home that she needed to give me.
At her house, I opened a gift of a white shirt (very popular gift that Christmas as well), and for the first time saw this fine young lady shed a tear. She told me she was proud of me. She told me that she would miss me. She told me that she would write when she could, but that she expected to keep herself busy with school and work. She also told me that 2 years was a long time, and that she didn't know where her mind would be by the time I returned home, but that she would always be supportive of my mission responsibility.
And then,..... We kissed for the first time. Passionate, yet innocent. Guarded, yet passionate. We found ourselves talking (off and on) for the next few hours about future plans and goals. I didn't know mascara could run so far down a cheek and then onto a satin, sapphire blue dress. This young woman had my attention as well as my heart.
Then, we kissed for the last time. Sweetly, innocently.
I came away that evening knowing that Marcy was going to fit into a future of mine in some way. I came away knowing that she had a very sharp intellect. This woman intellectually challenged me, and inspired me to be a better person. All of the things that I wasn't, she was.
She never, however, told me she loved me. I had a hard time with that.
I left on my mission two days later. I was free to serve and do what was expected of me. I really had no expectations. I was able to focus on my mission. That was her plan. That was my plan. And it worked, mostly.........
.... the chase.....
It was some time in November that I received my mission call. My first call was to Bishop Weaver. Then extended family. I wanted to tell my YSA friends in person, so at FHE, I made the announcement like so many before me had. Then, at a dance in Lake Oswego was able to announce to Marcy my call in person. It was the first time we had "touched" each other in any form other than dancing. I took her by both hands and said "I have been called to the England Coventry Mission". I believe she said "That's wonderful - wanna dance?" Our hands dropped, and we did dance.
From that point on, I would only describe our relationship as perplexing. Marcy made sure to always have friends around her when she went to dances. It also seemed that she started working more hours and didn't make it out socially much anymore. No rides to dances and firesides. Not feeling well. She will probably say that I am being over dramatic here, but this is what I recall. I started to take excuses away and made the trip to Longview several times to pick her up for activities and returned her home afterwards. (Her mother was kind of possessive of her car.) I started to believe that she didn't like me. Then, around Christmas time (before), she surprised me at a fireside locally and showed up. She pulled me aside and took me into a vacant room. She reached into her bag and sweetly said "Santa dropped this off at my house a little early. You believe in Santa, right?" I said "Uh, yeah." I opened up the box and there it was. A Turquoise colored, skinny 1980's tie. Cool. I needed more ties. The thought was very well received. I was starting to get it. She also invited me up to her house for Christmas evening. I was excited to go. It was then that I met my future sister in law and her Husband Dave. (It is noteworthy that Tracey was about 7 months pregnant with my first nephew, Enoch.) It was kind of awkward as we didn't really have alot to talk about as a group, but a nice evening all the same.
The next time I saw Marcy was at the New Years Eve dance at the Memorial Coliseum. A local band played current top 40 and there were a ton of people there. I know I danced alot with girls from the singles ward, as they knew I would be leaving soon. I also remember dancing with Marcy a few times as well. And, one of her "good" friends. (Sent from Satan)! That's another story. My last dance of the evening was with Marcy!
After the last dance, an announcement was made about a "YSA ski trip" at Timberline. Marcy announced that she didn't know how to ski, but wanted to go if I went. We made arrangements, and I was to drive her up to the mountain. The YSA leader had some connections to a cabin on the mountain, and there were some "old chaperone's" there to keep all of our raging hormones under wraps.
We went up the Friday evening before and were there to get a fresh start the next day.
What do a bunch of 18 - 30 year olds do for fun when you remove alcohol? Play games. There were several board games set up throughout, but I wanted to play a game called Murder. I can't remember the game exactly, but it was a game in a circle on the floor where at several times, there was a mad rush for a bunch of spoons in the center. Like musical chairs I think. At any rate, Marcy tried for a spoon and got creamed by the pile. She got the wind knocked out of her for sure, and really didn't have much gusto for staying up too late after that one.
The next day, early, we all got up and went skiing. I can definitely confirm - Marcy in fact "Could not Ski" While she took her lesson, I went skiing with the grown ups. When I came back down after the lessons were over, I found her sitting on her butt about half way down the bunny hill scooching her bottom along to just try to make it to the chair lift back up to the top of the bunny hill. I swooshed on down and tried to help her to her feet. She didn't want to. She wanted to go home. She was deflated and depressed. And I did the thing that came naturally. I tried to teach her how to ski..... for about 5 minutes. Then I did the other thing that came naturally. I was an Ass! I told her to make her way to the lift by carrying her skis, and that I would come back and find her at the lodge. After about 3 or 4 more runs, I checked at the lodge and found her sitting there on a bench outside with another failed skier from our group. I asked her what she wanted to do and she said "I probably have a cracked rib from last night, I can't ski, and I want to go home!" So, I replied "OK - I will ski a few more runs, come and get you and we can go." Off I went and an hour or so later, I returned..... and we left.
To say the trip home to Longview was not good would be an understatement. It was mostly silent. I felt bad for not taking her injury seriously, but also felt that my last ski trip before my mission was important too. Boy, did I have alot to learn. I dropped her off at her door, got her gear in, had the most pathetic "hug" of a lifetime, and drove off furious! All reading this know that this is not how the story ends, but it would be safe to say that at this point, the Chase was over.....
From that point on, I would only describe our relationship as perplexing. Marcy made sure to always have friends around her when she went to dances. It also seemed that she started working more hours and didn't make it out socially much anymore. No rides to dances and firesides. Not feeling well. She will probably say that I am being over dramatic here, but this is what I recall. I started to take excuses away and made the trip to Longview several times to pick her up for activities and returned her home afterwards. (Her mother was kind of possessive of her car.) I started to believe that she didn't like me. Then, around Christmas time (before), she surprised me at a fireside locally and showed up. She pulled me aside and took me into a vacant room. She reached into her bag and sweetly said "Santa dropped this off at my house a little early. You believe in Santa, right?" I said "Uh, yeah." I opened up the box and there it was. A Turquoise colored, skinny 1980's tie. Cool. I needed more ties. The thought was very well received. I was starting to get it. She also invited me up to her house for Christmas evening. I was excited to go. It was then that I met my future sister in law and her Husband Dave. (It is noteworthy that Tracey was about 7 months pregnant with my first nephew, Enoch.) It was kind of awkward as we didn't really have alot to talk about as a group, but a nice evening all the same.
The next time I saw Marcy was at the New Years Eve dance at the Memorial Coliseum. A local band played current top 40 and there were a ton of people there. I know I danced alot with girls from the singles ward, as they knew I would be leaving soon. I also remember dancing with Marcy a few times as well. And, one of her "good" friends. (Sent from Satan)! That's another story. My last dance of the evening was with Marcy!
After the last dance, an announcement was made about a "YSA ski trip" at Timberline. Marcy announced that she didn't know how to ski, but wanted to go if I went. We made arrangements, and I was to drive her up to the mountain. The YSA leader had some connections to a cabin on the mountain, and there were some "old chaperone's" there to keep all of our raging hormones under wraps.
We went up the Friday evening before and were there to get a fresh start the next day.
What do a bunch of 18 - 30 year olds do for fun when you remove alcohol? Play games. There were several board games set up throughout, but I wanted to play a game called Murder. I can't remember the game exactly, but it was a game in a circle on the floor where at several times, there was a mad rush for a bunch of spoons in the center. Like musical chairs I think. At any rate, Marcy tried for a spoon and got creamed by the pile. She got the wind knocked out of her for sure, and really didn't have much gusto for staying up too late after that one.
The next day, early, we all got up and went skiing. I can definitely confirm - Marcy in fact "Could not Ski" While she took her lesson, I went skiing with the grown ups. When I came back down after the lessons were over, I found her sitting on her butt about half way down the bunny hill scooching her bottom along to just try to make it to the chair lift back up to the top of the bunny hill. I swooshed on down and tried to help her to her feet. She didn't want to. She wanted to go home. She was deflated and depressed. And I did the thing that came naturally. I tried to teach her how to ski..... for about 5 minutes. Then I did the other thing that came naturally. I was an Ass! I told her to make her way to the lift by carrying her skis, and that I would come back and find her at the lodge. After about 3 or 4 more runs, I checked at the lodge and found her sitting there on a bench outside with another failed skier from our group. I asked her what she wanted to do and she said "I probably have a cracked rib from last night, I can't ski, and I want to go home!" So, I replied "OK - I will ski a few more runs, come and get you and we can go." Off I went and an hour or so later, I returned..... and we left.
To say the trip home to Longview was not good would be an understatement. It was mostly silent. I felt bad for not taking her injury seriously, but also felt that my last ski trip before my mission was important too. Boy, did I have alot to learn. I dropped her off at her door, got her gear in, had the most pathetic "hug" of a lifetime, and drove off furious! All reading this know that this is not how the story ends, but it would be safe to say that at this point, the Chase was over.....
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
when David met Marcy....
This Saturday, May 15, I will have been married to Marcy 18 years. Not a round number yet, or a milepost for that matter, but definitely noteworthy.
I'd like to take this time to put a few reflective thoughts on my life partner and spouse.
I remember the first time I saw her. It was at an undecorated gymnasium at a young adults dance in Hillsboro, Oregon. She was trying her best to keep up with a taller (larger) man doing gyrating 1980's dance moves. She looked a bit distressed, and I was looking for a way out of a dramatic love triangle. I couldn't help but want to come to her aid if at all possible. The song ended, but the dude didn't move on. I started towards her, but at that point she had made herself an excuse or something and got away on her own - also away from me. So, I waited. When she came back into the dance area, gyrating dude started towards her again as a slower song came on. I gracefully raced to her first and asked her to dance. Her first words ever to me were "Thank you - his eyes kept rolling back in his head". I know - romantic, huh? My first words were something like "Uh, my name is David... David Kestner - What's your name?" Smooth, right? Anyways, we danced a few more songs, and then we moved on. I can't recall if I asked her to dance again that night, but remember commenting that I went to most of the bi-regional dances as long as I wasn't working and would look for her again in the future. She said she would do the same.
Flash forward one week.....The next time I saw Marcy was at a well attended dance in Portland, Oregon. I kid you not when I say that I could have been 10 feet away from her and not seen her, there were so many people at this dance - but, it was easy to find her due to the "shaft of light" that shown upon her this evening. I saw her from across the room, and spent the next few songs making my way towards her. We met somewhere in the middle of the floor and danced a few songs. At that point, we made an agreement that we would always save a dance for one another if we attended the same dances in the future. That was fine by me. I was there with a friend who like me had to get up early in the morning the next day and we left before the dance was over.
Marcy and I kept this coy relationship up for a few more weeks until at one dance, I found Marcy alone in the hall looking at some artwork. I approached her and asked her what she was thinking. Her response "it's beautiful". If I had been a cheesy pick up artist, I may have said "Why yes I am". Instead, I asked her why she wasn't dancing. She replied "Justin, my ex boyfriend is here". I then said something like, "want me to beat him up? or Show him your new boyfriend" or maybe I was just thinking that. At any rate, that evening I got her home and work phone number and invited her to a fireside at the Vancouver West Stake Center the next evening. She said she thought she had to work, but would see if she could get off early.
The next day after church, I drove to Longview, WA to her work (JC Penny) to give my invitation in person to her again in front of her boss. (The one who could decide if she could get off a little early.) I don't know if that move worked, but, I was sitting next to Marcy at the fireside that evening.
Her smell was intoxicating. She wore Xia Xiang (I called it Zing Zing). Her hair, long, blond, loose and flowing. Her eyes, depending on her mood and colors she wore were a cross between green and blue. But - her smile. That smile could light up a room. That evening, I could see clearly for the first time. That evening, as I followed her to the gas station to help her put gas into her mother's Pontiac LaMans, I told myself that I definitely wanted to write to her while I was on my mission.
There was something about the sweet innocence of this beautiful young lady. There was an intrigue to her ability to stay very aloof and treat me as "just another guy". I was shocked when after meeting her many more times at dances, going to firesides and sitting next to each other, and doing this for 4 - 6 weeks, we weren't "dating". Could have fooled me. THE CHASE WAS ON!
I found out later that she didn't want to complicate things as I was leaving on a mission in the next few months, so wanted to keep the relationship "just friends". It would be several years before I found out what she really thought of me.......
I'd like to take this time to put a few reflective thoughts on my life partner and spouse.
I remember the first time I saw her. It was at an undecorated gymnasium at a young adults dance in Hillsboro, Oregon. She was trying her best to keep up with a taller (larger) man doing gyrating 1980's dance moves. She looked a bit distressed, and I was looking for a way out of a dramatic love triangle. I couldn't help but want to come to her aid if at all possible. The song ended, but the dude didn't move on. I started towards her, but at that point she had made herself an excuse or something and got away on her own - also away from me. So, I waited. When she came back into the dance area, gyrating dude started towards her again as a slower song came on. I gracefully raced to her first and asked her to dance. Her first words ever to me were "Thank you - his eyes kept rolling back in his head". I know - romantic, huh? My first words were something like "Uh, my name is David... David Kestner - What's your name?" Smooth, right? Anyways, we danced a few more songs, and then we moved on. I can't recall if I asked her to dance again that night, but remember commenting that I went to most of the bi-regional dances as long as I wasn't working and would look for her again in the future. She said she would do the same.
Flash forward one week.....The next time I saw Marcy was at a well attended dance in Portland, Oregon. I kid you not when I say that I could have been 10 feet away from her and not seen her, there were so many people at this dance - but, it was easy to find her due to the "shaft of light" that shown upon her this evening. I saw her from across the room, and spent the next few songs making my way towards her. We met somewhere in the middle of the floor and danced a few songs. At that point, we made an agreement that we would always save a dance for one another if we attended the same dances in the future. That was fine by me. I was there with a friend who like me had to get up early in the morning the next day and we left before the dance was over.
Marcy and I kept this coy relationship up for a few more weeks until at one dance, I found Marcy alone in the hall looking at some artwork. I approached her and asked her what she was thinking. Her response "it's beautiful". If I had been a cheesy pick up artist, I may have said "Why yes I am". Instead, I asked her why she wasn't dancing. She replied "Justin, my ex boyfriend is here". I then said something like, "want me to beat him up? or Show him your new boyfriend" or maybe I was just thinking that. At any rate, that evening I got her home and work phone number and invited her to a fireside at the Vancouver West Stake Center the next evening. She said she thought she had to work, but would see if she could get off early.
The next day after church, I drove to Longview, WA to her work (JC Penny) to give my invitation in person to her again in front of her boss. (The one who could decide if she could get off a little early.) I don't know if that move worked, but, I was sitting next to Marcy at the fireside that evening.
Her smell was intoxicating. She wore Xia Xiang (I called it Zing Zing). Her hair, long, blond, loose and flowing. Her eyes, depending on her mood and colors she wore were a cross between green and blue. But - her smile. That smile could light up a room. That evening, I could see clearly for the first time. That evening, as I followed her to the gas station to help her put gas into her mother's Pontiac LaMans, I told myself that I definitely wanted to write to her while I was on my mission.
There was something about the sweet innocence of this beautiful young lady. There was an intrigue to her ability to stay very aloof and treat me as "just another guy". I was shocked when after meeting her many more times at dances, going to firesides and sitting next to each other, and doing this for 4 - 6 weeks, we weren't "dating". Could have fooled me. THE CHASE WAS ON!
I found out later that she didn't want to complicate things as I was leaving on a mission in the next few months, so wanted to keep the relationship "just friends". It would be several years before I found out what she really thought of me.......
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Car geneology.... you asked for it!
OK - before I go into the details of my first car's transformation into legend, I have been asked repeatedly to give a genealogy of the cars of my life. (Willy comes to mind singing a version of "to all the car's I've loved before"....) OK- so my first car was a 1969 VW Beetle - enough said for now.
1969 Beetle begat:
1980 VW Sirocco. This car was purchased for the sole purpose of having a VW with heat! I was traveling back and forth to Oregon City from LaCenter in the winter of 1988/1989. The beetle did not have heat hooked up, Todd was driving it, and I needed a car with heat. (Oh - and I was hung up with having a VW.) This car was metallic green, but I did end up changing that to Metallic black eventually.
1980 VW Scirroco begat:
1967 Ford Bronco. This truck was great! 4 wheel drive, 289 V8 engine, 3 on the tree manual transmission. Ugly, ugly, ugly paint. Awful fuel economy. Oh, the windshield wipers were pneumatic - they operated on air pressure - which is to say that they stopped working while accelerating or climbing a long hill. I had this truck when I only lived 2.5 miles from work in Woodland.
1967 Ford Bronco begat:
1989 Toyota 2 door Tercel. This was the first car I had bought by way of "trade-in". I believe this car had a am/fm radio, a steering wheel, and rear view mirror. It was basic, basic transportation, but only 4 years old at the time I bought it. It was black. Good fuel economy, but BORING!!!
1989 Toyota Tercel begat:
1994 Ford Ranger XLT. My very first brand new vehicle. This truck sported a 5 speed manual transmission, 2 wheel drive and am/fm cassette. It was powered by a 2.2 litre 4 cylinder engine. Bright metallic green - a beautiful truck!! This truck was a 2 year lease.
1994 Ford Ranger XLT begat:
1988 Ford Taurus MT5. This car was loaded! Cruise, A/C, am/fm cassete, power everything - except transmission was a 5 speed. This car had problems out the gate, and after about 4 months, my whining got loud enough, the dealership decided to take it back in on trade.
1988 Ford Taurus MT5 begat:
1990 Ford Ranger XLT. This was one of my favorite vehicles. It was burgundy. At this point I had gone into business for myself and needed a truck - check! This truck had a long box, V6 engine, cruise, A/C, am/fm cassette. I drove this truck for about 4 years and put about 65K miles on it. My son Alex still remembers trips to pick up parts with me in this one. He sat in the front in his car seat and I bought him "ninims" (m&ms) and sprite. Necessity brought me to trade this beauty in.
1990 Ford Ranger XLT begat:
1997 Ford F150 XLT super cab long box. This was great! We could fit the whole family in it, power everything, a beautiful green truck with matching canopy. At the time I bought this one, it had 11K miles on it and was 2 years old. It was smooth, fun and most of all - looked like a contractor's vehicle. I wish it would have had a 4th door, but it worked pretty well for what it was. A great work truck. A job / life change would bring me to my next vehicle.
1997 Ford F150 XLT begat:
1988 Honda Accord LX. This was a pile o' crap! Nothing worked on it, but it did start and almost always engaged the clutch. I would own this gem for about 6 months driving to work and back. It was gold in color, and the front bumper was held on with a coat hanger or two.
1988 Honda Accord LX begat:
1996 Chevrolet S-10 pickup. This was actually a very nice truck. Low miles, immaculate condition, auto everything, and a very beautiful sky blue metallic paint. I drove this truck for about 6 weeks when the dealership called and said they screwed up the financing and were not able to do the deal. Thus.....
1996 Chevrolet S-10 pickup begat:
1998 Ford Ranger XLT. This was light blue, had a supercab, and a V6 engine mated to a 5 speed manual transmission. A/C, am/fm cassette, just saying that this was more loaded then the other Ranger's I had owned. I owned this truck when I went into the auto business.
1988 Ford Ranger XLT begat:
1990 Toyota Corolla. This car was a trade in. I bought it with the whole intention of selling it for a profit - which I did 4 days later.
1990 Toyota Corolla begat:
1997 VW Cabrio. Where do I start? I bought this as an investment car, but loved, LOVED driving with the top down. (I liked to feel the air blow through my long locks of hair.) This car was white with a white top. It had an eclypse sound system and a 10 inch thumper in the trunk. (The only thing you could get in the trunk.) I mentioned this was an investment car? Yep - sold her (Chrissy, the Cabrio).
1997 VW Cabrio begat:
1999 VW Passat GLS. Another investment car, this one was a steal! She was a gorgeous metallic black with buckskin colored interior. 6 cd changer, auto tiptronic transmission, moon roof, 1.8 turbo engine. She scooted pretty well. I left the auto business while driving Paula and another necessity.....trade.
1999 VW Passat GLS begat:
2006 Ford F150 XLT 4x4. I drive this truck still today. Wish it got better fuel economy, but I have had him for almost 4 years and have no plans to get rid of Phil.
While not in the genealogy, it is noteworthy to mention that I owned a 1965 VW Karman Ghia from 1994 to 1995 and drove it sparingly. When Alex was born and we lost Marcy's income, and had some bills to pay, I sold "Strawberry shortcake" to make ends meet. She was beautiful and was in immaculate condition. ( I in fact bought her from a little old lady who had driven her for about 28 years.)
I also currently own a 1987 VW Cabriolet who we call Murray. He runs great and last year had a new white top put on him.
I own (but don't drive) a 1963 VW beetle ragtop that I took in leau of payment on a job I did by way of a mechanics lien. Who knows the actual condition of this car. I haven't even started it. Maybe some day, but at the moment, I do not have the money for a project car.
So this is M. David Kestner's Car geneology. Does it seam like I am missing some cars? I am - this is just cars begat from car's I have owned. Marcy's car geneology will follow shortly!!!
1969 Beetle begat:
1980 VW Sirocco. This car was purchased for the sole purpose of having a VW with heat! I was traveling back and forth to Oregon City from LaCenter in the winter of 1988/1989. The beetle did not have heat hooked up, Todd was driving it, and I needed a car with heat. (Oh - and I was hung up with having a VW.) This car was metallic green, but I did end up changing that to Metallic black eventually.
1980 VW Scirroco begat:
1967 Ford Bronco. This truck was great! 4 wheel drive, 289 V8 engine, 3 on the tree manual transmission. Ugly, ugly, ugly paint. Awful fuel economy. Oh, the windshield wipers were pneumatic - they operated on air pressure - which is to say that they stopped working while accelerating or climbing a long hill. I had this truck when I only lived 2.5 miles from work in Woodland.
1967 Ford Bronco begat:
1989 Toyota 2 door Tercel. This was the first car I had bought by way of "trade-in". I believe this car had a am/fm radio, a steering wheel, and rear view mirror. It was basic, basic transportation, but only 4 years old at the time I bought it. It was black. Good fuel economy, but BORING!!!
1989 Toyota Tercel begat:
1994 Ford Ranger XLT. My very first brand new vehicle. This truck sported a 5 speed manual transmission, 2 wheel drive and am/fm cassette. It was powered by a 2.2 litre 4 cylinder engine. Bright metallic green - a beautiful truck!! This truck was a 2 year lease.
1994 Ford Ranger XLT begat:
1988 Ford Taurus MT5. This car was loaded! Cruise, A/C, am/fm cassete, power everything - except transmission was a 5 speed. This car had problems out the gate, and after about 4 months, my whining got loud enough, the dealership decided to take it back in on trade.
1988 Ford Taurus MT5 begat:
1990 Ford Ranger XLT. This was one of my favorite vehicles. It was burgundy. At this point I had gone into business for myself and needed a truck - check! This truck had a long box, V6 engine, cruise, A/C, am/fm cassette. I drove this truck for about 4 years and put about 65K miles on it. My son Alex still remembers trips to pick up parts with me in this one. He sat in the front in his car seat and I bought him "ninims" (m&ms) and sprite. Necessity brought me to trade this beauty in.
1990 Ford Ranger XLT begat:
1997 Ford F150 XLT super cab long box. This was great! We could fit the whole family in it, power everything, a beautiful green truck with matching canopy. At the time I bought this one, it had 11K miles on it and was 2 years old. It was smooth, fun and most of all - looked like a contractor's vehicle. I wish it would have had a 4th door, but it worked pretty well for what it was. A great work truck. A job / life change would bring me to my next vehicle.
1997 Ford F150 XLT begat:
1988 Honda Accord LX. This was a pile o' crap! Nothing worked on it, but it did start and almost always engaged the clutch. I would own this gem for about 6 months driving to work and back. It was gold in color, and the front bumper was held on with a coat hanger or two.
1988 Honda Accord LX begat:
1996 Chevrolet S-10 pickup. This was actually a very nice truck. Low miles, immaculate condition, auto everything, and a very beautiful sky blue metallic paint. I drove this truck for about 6 weeks when the dealership called and said they screwed up the financing and were not able to do the deal. Thus.....
1996 Chevrolet S-10 pickup begat:
1998 Ford Ranger XLT. This was light blue, had a supercab, and a V6 engine mated to a 5 speed manual transmission. A/C, am/fm cassette, just saying that this was more loaded then the other Ranger's I had owned. I owned this truck when I went into the auto business.
1988 Ford Ranger XLT begat:
1990 Toyota Corolla. This car was a trade in. I bought it with the whole intention of selling it for a profit - which I did 4 days later.
1990 Toyota Corolla begat:
1997 VW Cabrio. Where do I start? I bought this as an investment car, but loved, LOVED driving with the top down. (I liked to feel the air blow through my long locks of hair.) This car was white with a white top. It had an eclypse sound system and a 10 inch thumper in the trunk. (The only thing you could get in the trunk.) I mentioned this was an investment car? Yep - sold her (Chrissy, the Cabrio).
1997 VW Cabrio begat:
1999 VW Passat GLS. Another investment car, this one was a steal! She was a gorgeous metallic black with buckskin colored interior. 6 cd changer, auto tiptronic transmission, moon roof, 1.8 turbo engine. She scooted pretty well. I left the auto business while driving Paula and another necessity.....trade.
1999 VW Passat GLS begat:
2006 Ford F150 XLT 4x4. I drive this truck still today. Wish it got better fuel economy, but I have had him for almost 4 years and have no plans to get rid of Phil.
While not in the genealogy, it is noteworthy to mention that I owned a 1965 VW Karman Ghia from 1994 to 1995 and drove it sparingly. When Alex was born and we lost Marcy's income, and had some bills to pay, I sold "Strawberry shortcake" to make ends meet. She was beautiful and was in immaculate condition. ( I in fact bought her from a little old lady who had driven her for about 28 years.)
I also currently own a 1987 VW Cabriolet who we call Murray. He runs great and last year had a new white top put on him.
I own (but don't drive) a 1963 VW beetle ragtop that I took in leau of payment on a job I did by way of a mechanics lien. Who knows the actual condition of this car. I haven't even started it. Maybe some day, but at the moment, I do not have the money for a project car.
So this is M. David Kestner's Car geneology. Does it seam like I am missing some cars? I am - this is just cars begat from car's I have owned. Marcy's car geneology will follow shortly!!!
Thursday, April 8, 2010
That first car smell.....Here we go!
I will always remember my very first car. It was a 1969 VW Beetle. My father and I worked together to make it a reality. I remember driving the 1970 Bus with the entire family out to some location in Washougal to "pick up" a 1962 Beetle from a friend of his (I believe he traded him a gun for the car which was in terrible shape, just for the 1200 cc, "massive" engine.) About 2 weeks later, the engine was mated to the 1969 chassis and it was delivered to our driveway by Bob "the wizard" Taylor. It was a thing of beauty! It was mostly light blue with some dark blue panels. The interior was in fair condition, but the coolest thing was the gravel you could see through the floor boards as you sat in it. Oh, that first car smell. Imagine what some musky "Polo" cologne combined with gasoline and burnt oil would smell like - It was heaven!
The car had sat outside next to the Taylor barn for about 3 years with a blown engine, certain to never see the road again..... But, dad, wanting to add a 2nd car to the household, had seen it while home teaching or something and the dream was born. I must admit that at the time that the car showed up at the house, I had not spent one red dime on the car - dad did not require it. This trend, however, would soon change.
Having in our possession a legal, registered, car with turn signals, horn and reverse, (within a few weeks), we made our way to Longview, WA to take my driver's test. I must admit, (Todd), I passed the very first time! On the way home, dad and I stopped at the local pizza spot in LaCenter and ordered a Canadian bacon and pineapple and 2 sodas to celebrate. I remember wolfing down the teenage fare and having to wait for dad to finish his half. In retrospect, I now realize that this was dad's way of relishing his eldest son's last complete dependency. When we finally got on the road again, dad talked to me about "responsibility, prudence, and blah,blah,blah......" I deposited him at home, kissed my mother and ..... out the door I went! It was by far the best feeling I had experienced to that point in my life - the open road and my ability to point the car in any direction I wanted to go!
Over the next few months of my junior year, I drove to and from school, pausing only long enough to adjust valves, fix turn signals, work on that damnable horn, and change the oil. In short - keep the car on the road.
It should be noted that this car probably had less power than an electric car. It was packed with 40 horses and could only get about 10 to focus their pulling power! In short, speeding tickets were not a major concern. I would spend hours and some money trying to remove dents from the hood and panels learning the art of auto body work. It wasn't pretty. (Add primer grey to the color palette!) Oh the days of dreaming of a one colored car! (Those days, however, would never come)
About 4 months after getting the '69 on the road and most bugs worked out, it became time for me to have my first experience of "being shit upon" by my car. It was somewhere between exit 16 and 12 on southbound interstate 5 that I remember coming up a 2 degree grade just before the rest areas and feeling the shudder and then the very obvious loss of power and needing to pull over. What a sinking feeling! I don't remember much about the walk to the rest area to make a collect phone call to home. I don't remember much about the trip with dad to Rudy's (the new wizard's) shop with car in tow. I do remember the look on dad's face as we were informed in very good germanglish "that would be the end for that bullshit". (I would find over the next few years that this was one of Rudy's favorite phrases.)
To make a long story short, dad had purchased a 1972 bus (in excellent condition) that needed to have a new engine installed and she was good to go! Once the new bus was on the road, I was to get the engine out of the 1970 bus. ( a whopping 1600cc, 56 horse power engine!) I do remember driving the 1970 bus for a time waiting for Rudy to have the time to swap the engine, but it should be known that the change was made eventually (how long - felt like eternity - I can't remember.)
I would drive my beetle most of my senior year. The story of the transition into legend will continue shortly............
The car had sat outside next to the Taylor barn for about 3 years with a blown engine, certain to never see the road again..... But, dad, wanting to add a 2nd car to the household, had seen it while home teaching or something and the dream was born. I must admit that at the time that the car showed up at the house, I had not spent one red dime on the car - dad did not require it. This trend, however, would soon change.
Having in our possession a legal, registered, car with turn signals, horn and reverse, (within a few weeks), we made our way to Longview, WA to take my driver's test. I must admit, (Todd), I passed the very first time! On the way home, dad and I stopped at the local pizza spot in LaCenter and ordered a Canadian bacon and pineapple and 2 sodas to celebrate. I remember wolfing down the teenage fare and having to wait for dad to finish his half. In retrospect, I now realize that this was dad's way of relishing his eldest son's last complete dependency. When we finally got on the road again, dad talked to me about "responsibility, prudence, and blah,blah,blah......" I deposited him at home, kissed my mother and ..... out the door I went! It was by far the best feeling I had experienced to that point in my life - the open road and my ability to point the car in any direction I wanted to go!
Over the next few months of my junior year, I drove to and from school, pausing only long enough to adjust valves, fix turn signals, work on that damnable horn, and change the oil. In short - keep the car on the road.
It should be noted that this car probably had less power than an electric car. It was packed with 40 horses and could only get about 10 to focus their pulling power! In short, speeding tickets were not a major concern. I would spend hours and some money trying to remove dents from the hood and panels learning the art of auto body work. It wasn't pretty. (Add primer grey to the color palette!) Oh the days of dreaming of a one colored car! (Those days, however, would never come)
About 4 months after getting the '69 on the road and most bugs worked out, it became time for me to have my first experience of "being shit upon" by my car. It was somewhere between exit 16 and 12 on southbound interstate 5 that I remember coming up a 2 degree grade just before the rest areas and feeling the shudder and then the very obvious loss of power and needing to pull over. What a sinking feeling! I don't remember much about the walk to the rest area to make a collect phone call to home. I don't remember much about the trip with dad to Rudy's (the new wizard's) shop with car in tow. I do remember the look on dad's face as we were informed in very good germanglish "that would be the end for that bullshit". (I would find over the next few years that this was one of Rudy's favorite phrases.)
To make a long story short, dad had purchased a 1972 bus (in excellent condition) that needed to have a new engine installed and she was good to go! Once the new bus was on the road, I was to get the engine out of the 1970 bus. ( a whopping 1600cc, 56 horse power engine!) I do remember driving the 1970 bus for a time waiting for Rudy to have the time to swap the engine, but it should be known that the change was made eventually (how long - felt like eternity - I can't remember.)
I would drive my beetle most of my senior year. The story of the transition into legend will continue shortly............
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)