Forever Young

An elderly couple walked into the lobby of the Mayo Clinic for check ups and spotted a piano. They have been making music together for 62 years. The man will be 90 this year. Watch and listen to this impromptu performance . . . it's brilliant and made my day.

Enjoying life is most certainly all about attitude.

First Date

It was 1961 and I was in the seventh grade at Olympus Junior High. I felt very grown-up when I was asked on my first date to our school's dressy night dance. (Yes, unbelievably in those days the school board allowed date-dances in Junior High.) It didn't matter that I hardly knew the boy who asked me, a skinny, geeky guy with thick horned-rimmed glasses. I'll call him Freddy.

I was going on my first date at the age of twelve.

My mother worked at ZCMI, a department store at the first Mall in Salt Lake City. She bought me a drindl-style jumper with a frilly white blouse and a new pair of black, patent-leather Mary-Jane shoes. I bristled at the idea of nylon stockings (I don't think I even wore a bra at the point), but knew it was part of growing up. Gratefully, she didn't allow me to wear high heels at that age.

The night of the dance arrived and Freddy's father drove. They picked me up at 7:00 PM sharp. As I slid into the large front seat between the dad and my date, the radio began to blare "On the Street Where You Live" from My Fair Lady. I was so embarrassed I wanted to cry and hoped that neither one noticed the irony except me.

The song droned on throughout our ride to the Junior High as Freddy Eynsford-Hill serenaded the lovely Eliza Doolittle. It was a song with which I was very familiar since we had an LP of the Broadway soundtrack. I thought we'd never arrive at the dance.

And oh! The towering feeling
Just to know somehow you are near.
The overpowering feeling
That any second you may suddenly appear!

The gymnasium was decorated with crepe-paper and the lights were low, but the dance was totally uneventful as we waltzed two-feet apart in a large circle. We didn't talk much. Neither of us knew what to say. The ninth graders were dancing much to close for comfort. ICK!

After the dance, Freddy's dad picked us up. (Had Mr. Eynsford-Hill been waiting in the parking lot the whole time?) Freddy's best friend plus date (J and B) got into the back seat of the car for a ride home.

Freddy asked his dad to take us to Paul's Ice Cream Parlor for an after dance treat. We went inside the parlor and sat at a table. Of course, Mr. E-H remained in the car.

None of us had any money except Freddy, but he proudly announced he was paying and we could order anything on the menu---as long as it was under 25 cents! J, B and I each ordered a single-scoop ice cream cone while Freddy ordered a giant banana-split!

We finished our cones quickly, then sat for twenty-minutes watching Freddy gorge, gobble, slurp and devour his gooey, yummy, decadent treat.

As I arrived home, I remember thinking, "I hope I don't have to go on a date for a long, long time!" Looking back on it now, it's a funny story. Then it was a painful event, something to endure like the dentist's chair.

What was your first date like? How old were you? Was it fun or agonizing?

Mellow Yellow and Dental Floss

I love the color yellow. Yellow makes me happy. It reminds me of springtime. It reminds me of being young and carefree. It reminds me of high school when I was hip and mellow for yellow!

When I was fifteen, I painted my bedroom sunshine yellow and added an orange throw rug and pillows.

The song "Mellow Yellow" was released by Donovan in October 1966, my senior year in high school. It was a friend's favorite song, thus the words were etched in my brain, even though I had no idea at the time what Saffron was.

But here is what's really funny. I always thought the lyrics said:

I'm just mad about Faultine

Faultine's mad about me

I'm-a just mad about Faultine

She's-a just mad about me. . .

I thought Saffron and Faultine were girls' names, so I just belted out the lyrics as I thought them to be. In looking up the lyrics, one web site has the following:

I'm just mad about Frontine.

A-Frontine's mad about me.

I'm-a just mad about-a Frontine.

A-She's just mad about me.

I'm not the only one who's confused, because another web site lists the lyrics as:

I'm just mad about Fourteen

Fourteen's mad about me
I'm just mad about Fourteen

She's just mad about me

So who's right? What do you think the correct lyrics are?

It doesn't really matter since the song doesn't really make much sense anyway. I mean, what's an electrical banana? We just liked the song.

Take a "trip" back to the Sixties and tell me what you think the lyrics are:

Donovan - Mellow Yellow
Video sent by danieldp

By the way, in the middle of the song the lyrics are mumbled and they supposed say:

Born-a high forever to fly.

Wind-a velocity nil.

Born-a high forever to fly.

If you want your cup, I will fill.

Whatever that means!

--------------------------------------------

What does any of this have to do with dental floss?

Today I spent two and a half hours in the dentist's chair. (Nice segue, huh? Yellow=My teeth.)

Seriously, sitting that long in a chair with two latexed hands and a squirting-sucking hose in your mouth gives you plenty of time to reminisce. At least when you're not gagging and choking on phlegm from your hay fever induced post-nasal drip or saliva and blood from the dental procedure.

My dentist has a very gentle, painless touch, especially compared to dentists I've known in my past. My current DDS is my neighbor and former Bishop. Even though my teeth are in terrible shape due to a life-long addiction to Diet Coke, dry-mouth syndrome due to R.A. and the drugs for R.A., my dentist is always complimentary and encouraging.

He must want me to come back, unlike one dentist who continually belittled me. "I could open a Portland Cement Company with all the plaque I chiseled off your teeth." (Not said jokingly. A direct quote.)

I grew up with constant auto-immune mouth sores which made flossing and brushing my least favorite duty. My mother would cancel my dentist appointments when my sores were too severe. Even as a child, I was told by dentists, I was lazy and irresponsible for not taking better care of my teeth. Little did I know that the floride treatments I was given also caused many of my mouth sores, as did the foaming agent in tooth paste.

Today as my dentist basically rebuilt three of my teeth, I went to far away places in my head and found myself singing "Mellow Yellow". Time travel is a good thing, but now it is time for my pain medicine---and get Mellow.

Lost in Paradise - Hawaii 1969 (Chapter Three)

As our flight approached Oahu, the United 747 circled over Pearl Harbor just as a huge explosion billowed above a ship in the bay. Out our windows, we saw fighter planes with the Japanese flags shooting at other ships in the harbor . . .then came more explosions.

No, it wasn't December 7, 1941 and we weren't in a time warp. The Captain of our flight announced to the passengers that the movie Tora! Tora! Tora! was being filmed and it was supposed to be the most authentic World War II film to date. It was a strange introduction to paradise. It was 1969 and the U.S. was in the middle of another war and here we were landing during the bombing of Pearl Harbor.

We spent two weeks looking for an apartment we could afford, one without cockroaches the size of a shoe. Both goals were tricky. We couldn't agree on location or cost, but that got squared away. We eventually decided to sub-let an apartment from two nuclear submarine sailors who were shipping out (for the South China Sea) for three months. We originally planned on staying in Hawaii for six months, so we thought we'd have to move when the sailors returned. However, three of us decided to leave the island after only three months (family problems) and our other two roommates talked the sailors out of their lease. Things worked out housing-wise.

Woodrose Apartments

on Amana St., Ala Moana
We lived on the 11th floor

View from our Lanai

My first job was as a waitress at a Chinese diner which lasted about five days. The owners yelled at me in Mandarin, I dropped too many dishes, ran my legs off and the tips were lousy. J. found a job as a cocktail waitress and her tips were excellent, but she had to learn the names of all the alcoholic beverages and how they were made. Plus she had to work in a dark, smokey place at night. She was legal age (20) and I wasn't, so a cocktail-waitress job was not an option for me. N. obtained a job as a secretary at the Hawaiian Tuna Packing Co. and we were guaranteed all the free fish we could eat! Our other J. worked at Dole and brought home tons of pineapple. We seldom bought food.

Finally I found a job at the Bank of Hawaii as a teller, which included teller training school for two weeks at the uptown Honolulu branch. During the training I made some posters which the Vice President in charge of advertising saw and he wanted to hire me for his department. The head of Tellers would not release me from my contract. Thus ended my career in advertising before it ever got off the ground.


When I graduated from training, I was placed in the Waikiki branch--obviously the choice spot--but also one of the busiest branches.


During our off hours, we hung-out at the beach or at the International Market Place in Waikiki--

Makapuu Beach

International Market Place

(Great shops and Macadamia Nut Ice Cream!)

Since we obviously didn't have cars, we walked a lot or took the bus--

One night when bored, we decided to take a bus round-trip just to see more of the island. We were giggling at the back of the bus, annoying the other passengers and the driver. We had no idea where the bus was going and we didn't care. We were in HAWAII. After most of the passengers were gone, the bus turned onto a steep mountain lane. It was very dark (no city lights) and there was only one real passenger left. The old Chinese man pulled the stop cord near a tiny convenience store and stepped out into the night. The bus kept going up the hill on an increasingly narrow, bumpy road. It turned onto a cul de sac, stopped and the driver got out, turning off the lights and locking the doors.
At first, we sat quietly wondering if the ogre driver was going to return. Finally, we started screaming. The door slammed opened and the driver yelled, "I'm just out here smoking, for heaven's sake!" Only he didn't say "For heaven's sake." He then went into a tirade, saying he wasn't going to take us back to town. He was off-duty and we were idiots! By this time, the tears were flowing and they were real. "Please," we pleaded. We added up our loose change. It came to about eleven dollars and some odd cents which we handed to him. "That won't even pay for the gasoline, let alone my time." He could see we were terrified, truly repentent and he was enjoying it immensely. He snorted a hideous, sinister laugh. "Just joking, girls. Hope you learned a lesson!" Back in the driver seat, he turned the bus around and headed back to Honolulu. We arrived at the bus terminal at midnight. Chastened, we crept down the steps and vowed we'd never again take a bus JUST FOR FUN.


IT HAPPENED IN HAWAII:

• While waiting for a bus to take us to a movie, the wind was blowing so hard it blew a contact lens from my eye. I only owned one pair. Therefore, all four of us spent a half hour on our hands and knees on a gritty sidewalk searching for my lens. Unbelievably we found it!
• A nuclear submarine sailor proposed to me via ham operator from aboard the sub when it docked briefly in Guam. Everyone aboard the sub heard the proposal and the refusal, as well as the ham operator in Guam, the ham operator in Honolulu, the telephone operator who called me and half the apartment building because I had to shout so loud to be heard. He'd only known me for two weeks! I was so embarassed.
• We attended a Tom Jones concert at the Ilikai Hotel. It's true what they say. Women did throw their underware and hotel keys on stage!
• I tried to buy a pair of shoes, but none of the stores carried my size. (Japanese, Chinese, Polynesian women must have tiny feet.)
• I got on an elevator at the Bank of Hawaii and I was a head taller than the twelve other passenagers. I was also the only blond and only Caucasian.
• When I told people I was from Utah, most had never heard of the place. Two Japanese boys thought I said "Yukon" and said, "Oh, Canada!"

On our first night in Hawaii, we witnessed a truly awesome sunset!

PLACES I DIDN'T SEE WHILE IN HAWAII:

• 
  
  Punchbowl National Memorial Cemetery
  
  
  
• 
  
  Diamond Head National Park
  
  
  
• 
  
  USS Arizona memorial
  
  
  
• 
  
  Polynesian Cultural Center
  
  
  
• 
  
  BYU Hawaii
  
  
  
• 
  
  Any of the other islands
  
  
  
• 
  
  A hula dance, a luau, a roasted pig, poi or anyone playing a ukelele
  
  
  

Surfer Girl (Hawaii 1969 - Chapter Two)

Hanauma Bay (where Elvis filmed Blue Hawaii)

Holy Smokes!!

This was ME!>>

Yes, we was once young, carefree, idealistic and cute. I was nineteen, on a working-break from college. (As opposed to a Girls Gone Wild spring break.) It was thirty-nine years and seventy pounds ago. I was very tan because I didn't know the danger of UV rays. (No one did.) I was still a natural blond (even my roots), wore contacts and had a flat belly. My smile was white and jovial. I didn't appreciate what I had. Youth was wasted on the young.

We were also very naïve, having grown-up in the Salt Lake Valley. We got ourselves into some silly situations which in retrospect were dangerous or just plain stupid.

On our first week in Hawaii, N. and I went to the beach in front of the Royal Hawaiian Hotel. It's a private beach, just for the hotel visitors, but for some reason we weren't stopped. We found a surf board just sitting there and decided to borrow it for a while. We didn't notice or wonder why no one was surfing. We pushed the board into the waves. Nan got on one end, I got on the other, facing N. Sitting upright, legs in the water, we paddled out to sea with our hands, laughing and singing surf tunes, pretending to be Gidget.

Little did we know the tide was going out, not coming in. (No wonder no one was surfing!) It didn't take long before the shore and the pink hotel were barely in visible! We turned the board around to head back to the beach when suddenly N. screamed and grabbed her hand. I was sure we were surrounded by sharks. The good news was she was only stung by a jelly fish. The bad news was her hand was swollen, red and she was in agonizing pain after she pulled the tentacles off.

We pushed the board and swam ten strokes forward while the tide pushed us eight strokes back. Swimming without the board would have been much easier, but we were honest and wanted to get the board back to the hotel. A couple of times I went under and didn't think I could manage to swim to the surface. (One time my life literally flashed before my eyes.) It must have taken more than an hour to reach the shore where we were met by a handsome but angry life-guard who watched us through binoculars the entire time! "That's what you get for stealing our surf board," he barked at us. However, he reluctantly gave N. a remedy for her jelly fish sting, involving white vinegar, meat tenderizer and baking soda. N.'s hand got better and the next venture into the Pacific was done with more caution.

N. an I hooked up with a native photographer our first week in Hawaii. By native, I mean, he was born and raised in Hawaii. He was not Hawaiian by race, but was of Philippine/Portuguese heritage. To us, J. seemed middle-aged, but I suppose he was only about thirty. He told us he could get us modeling jobs or work as extras on Hawaii 5-0. So, he took portfolio photographs of us at no cost.

Of course, no jobs or even interviews resulted from the photos. We knew we were too white to act as extras and we weren't pretty enough to model. I'm more than certain J. never showed our photos to anyone anyway. He just wanted to meet young white chicks. He was lonely.

Sexy Sadies (S & N)

by Ala Wai Canal

Sheri in a Banyan

To be

Young and in Paradise

in the spring of '69

Was ever-so nice!

ALOHA! Honolulu 1969 . . . (Chapter One)

Surfing

USA

This isn't ME!

It was a grey soggy March day when I went for a drive with five new friends. The radio in the car was blaring surfing music and songs about SUNSHINE. We were experiencing severe Winter Quarter burn-out from our classes at the University of Utah. Finals were approaching and our thoughts were not of exams, but of sunny, white beaches in far away Hawaii.

We listened to Donovan's "Sunshine Superman"; the Beatles "Good Day Sunshine" and "Here Comes the Sun"; the Beach Boys "Warmth of the Sun"; the Sunrays "I Live for the Sun"; The Kinks "Sunny Afternoon" -- I know there were others. I think the radio DJ had a bad case of the winter doldrums, too.

It was on that drive my new friends enticed me to go with them to Hawaii, where some of their friends were already living, working and partying. We would find jobs before the summer flood of co-eds. We'd get an inexpensive apartment (off season prices) and share the rent. But most importantly, we'd be away from the grey skies and slushy snow of home. We'd play on the beach, get great tans, learn to surf and basically enjoy being young. We were soooo naïve.

It would be my first huge adventure away from home--if you don't count a week long trip to San Francisco with friends after high school graduation or the fact that I worked that same summer at Flaming Gorge Lodge (but that's another story altogether).

Most of our dreams came true in Hawaii. However, we'd been sort of unaware of the War. In Hawaii, it was impossible to ignore. Young men were coming and going constantly to a far off place called Viet Nam, for reasons that most of us couldn't fathom. They went away as young and innocent as we were --- but came back to Hawaii on R. & R. jaded, wounded spiritually, if not physically---hollow shells, damaged goods.

It was something I hadn't planned on--gaining a political conscience at the age of nineteen. I was seeing the world from a new set of eyes (no longer hidden or protected by the Wasatch Mountains). Don't get me wrong. I did my share of partying, but certain images and ideas began to haunt me in ways I'll never forget.

Instead of being a blissful time of escape, the spring and summer of 1969 became a rude wakening, a slap on my sunburned face. The time was a dichotomy. The contrast of being young and carefree . . . and feeling like a responsible adult who cared and felt guilty for enjoying myself. I learned to hate the war and what it was doing to My country and to a tiny Foreign country where we didn't belong.

It didn't seem fair. All I wanted was to swim in the ocean, get a tan and occasionally go on a date.

The guys I dated had all been in Viet Nam or were going there. Life, to them, was fragile and possibly short. They wanted serious relationships or just casual sex--I wanted neither.

1969 was a time of sex and drugs and rock 'n roll. To six girls from provincial Utah---it was all a culture shock. Besides being overrun with military personnel, Oahu was also being invaded with hippies (the counter-culture).

Our Utah group bought tickets to see the Jimi Hendrix Experience at the Waikiki Shell. We sat for hours on the grass, waiting and waiting, inhaling second-hand pot and watching the outrageous, drugged out audience. No one seemed to care that Jimi did not appear! A full moon rose over the mountains and a lanky Rasputin looking man in a black cape jumped up on the stage. He led the audience in a wild cheer for the Moon.

Finally, Jimi came unto the stage--played three cords, then left the stage. Someone came back to announce that there were technical difficulties and the show was cancelled. Most of the audience knew Jimi was too high to perform but they were too high to care. Rain checks were given as everyone filed out, but we did not return on Sunday evening for Jimi's performance. We talked to some Marines at the concert (who thought we were very weird, being Mormons and not partaking in the drug-fest). They offered us a ride to the North Shore where we were promised surfing lessons the next day. . . .driving over the mountain highway with drugged-out Marines. . . how crazy and reckless could six young women get?!

The next morning I sat alone on Waimea Beach waiting for sun rise (and my surf lesson that never came). Suddenly, a large black lab ran past me, followed by his wild-haired, wild-eyed master. "Sorry if Rowdy's in your way," the young man in cut-offs, no shirt or shoes said. Then he added a profound and prophetic statement that has stuck for nearly forty years. He said, "The orbits of our diverse universes have just crossed. For this brief moment, we co-exist on a parellel plain. We'll never meet again, but you'll never forget me or this moment in time!" Wow, a hippie philosopher.

Hawaii 1969, definitely was a brief moment in time . . . never to be relived. . .only remembered.

. . .to be continued.