2012 © Danna Shirley
Cathy is a friend. I’ve known her since ninth grade.
She lived on one side of the freeway and I lived on the other; consequently,
she went to DeAnza High School and I went to Richmond Union High School and of
course our schools were rivals, but not us. We both cheered for our own schools
when we played someone else, but when DeAnza played Richmond, Cathy sat with
me. She knew more people at Richmond than I knew. I guess I could have been
jealous of her popularity at my school, but I was just happy
to be by her side as she introduced me to some of my own classmates. She never
met a stranger and never forgot a friend.
Now because Cathy was bubbly and vivacious she seemed a bit strange at first. People either liked her instantly because she made them feel comfortable or they reserved their judgment; but for Cathy, she held back nothing. She was always 100% Cathy. I felt privileged to call her a close friend for she had so many. When I say that Cathy was strange, it was in a good sense. She would do things that never occurred to me, like name her car Eleanor and her favorite chair Eunice.
Now because Cathy was bubbly and vivacious she seemed a bit strange at first. People either liked her instantly because she made them feel comfortable or they reserved their judgment; but for Cathy, she held back nothing. She was always 100% Cathy. I felt privileged to call her a close friend for she had so many. When I say that Cathy was strange, it was in a good sense. She would do things that never occurred to me, like name her car Eleanor and her favorite chair Eunice.
When Eleanor had seen better days,
Cathy decided it was time to pass her along to some deserving someone who would
care for her as she had done. She advertised in the local shopper but no one
was much interested in an old car; that is until Juan called. Although Cathy
was young, she lived in a somewhat affluent neighborhood of retirees in
Southern California. When Juan arrived to take Eleanor for a test drive, Cathy
perched herself in the front seat beside him and went along for the ride. The
neighbors thought she had been kidnapped. Calls went out to the police and to
her husband, Robert. When she and Juan returned home from quite a lengthy trip,
Cathy was grinning that she had made the sale. They were greeted with stares
and questions from all parties. Of course, the “nosey” neighbors were lined up
to hear of her ordeal at the hands of an innocent, bewildered Juan. He still
bought Eleanor and departed the premises looking like he had escaped with his
life.
Cathy wrote me of the whole incident on
the arm of Eunice. She had had Eunice for as long as I can remember. She was
well-worn but comfortable and her right arm was just perfect for a writing
tablet. Cathy wrote many a tale in that big arm chair, mostly of her life’s
adventures, and there were plenty of those.
Like the time she went bird watching on
government property and had just located a nest of baby birds when the military
police chased her down and expelled her from the premises. She was so upset she
joined the Audubon Society and became one of their official birdwatchers. She
was assigned to this particular area of land to count the birds and make her
report.
And then there were the cats—oh, the
cats! Cathy was a cat lover! I can’t begin to tell you how many she’s had over
the years or what their names were but I’m sure she has a cat to this day. She
would write about some particular event for each one of them; how they would
chase birds or catch mice, and she made each story sound as if I was right
there observing every little detail.
I loved getting Cathy’s letters. They
were entertaining but more importantly, they kept us connected, for after high
school we lived coasts apart. When our lives began to be taken up with family
and jobs, I didn’t notice that her letters began to fade. I finally called one
day to ask how she was doing and to tell her I missed hearing about the cats
and the neighbors. She told me she had had to get rid of Eunice. Her cushions
were flat and her springs had sprung. She just hadn’t been able to
write anymore; no place was as good as the right arm of Eunice.
We still keep in touch but the calls
and letters seem to get farther and farther apart. I miss Cathy, and Eleanor,
but especially Eunice!
When my father died, Cathy wrote the following
remembrance to my mother:
Dear Ma—
Quite truly
you and Pa were wonderful to me. Danna and I had wheels (thank you, Pa). We had
freedom—with guidance. We had moral training. We had safety. We were loved
daughters. Those years are like little photographs in my mind; Pa wandering up
from the garage with a mechanics rag in his hand to grab a glass of milk, Ma
working on the textbook she was writing, Paula painting on her amazing
eyebrows, and after Nan came home, her mothering practicality, as all of us
rushed to help with David.
Though Pa
has gone to meet his Maker, it’s long past time to tell how wonderful you both
were. I always felt the security of being 'just' another daughter in your
household. You and Pa, in the midst of the rabble of estrogen, always were a
couple and you were the best of role models for much of my life. I learned to
eat strawberries with Ritz crackers, popcorn with butter washed down with soda,
and that married adults could bathe together on a Saturday afternoon.
Pa always
stood tall. The picture of him from his service time in WWII was as much a part
of my memory as its counterpoint of my own father. Though never friends except
through their daughters, Pa, like my Daddy, was a member of the greatest
generation; those men who went off to defend their family and country and came
home with the values that allowed them and their families every opportunity
they could with their hard work and solid determination.
As a couple of influence, you represented to this then 12-year-old that the
world was a safe and happy place and that a good solid marriage was a fact of
life. The hours I spent sitting in your living room reading remain bright and
clear. Pa in his garage and you correcting my English are the best, most secure
of days.
Though you
were always Mr. and Mrs. Goines, in my mind you were more important. I always
thought of you as Ma and Pa as Danna Rae called you. Between you two and my own
parents, I grew into adulthood with the best of people to emulate. And now, as
those years have long passed, I carry with me the important things I learned .
. . Finish the book! Now, don't say that. How to prepare strawberries. How to
be married for a long time. How to have a best friend. How to make a child
welcome in my home.
With sorrow
for Howard's passing and with love for all you both represented.
