A Posthumous Happy Mother’s Day

Ada Patricia Bladh

Ada Patricia Bladh

Ada Patricia Bladh

Ada Patricia Bladh

Patty, me in stroller, and my mom

Patty, me in stroller, and my mom

I started to write about my Mother’s life with the title Mother’s Day, and then found that it was really freakin’ depressing.  So I’ve backed up and I’m going to write about my time with my mother.  It may look like it’s going to be sad and depressing too, but hang in there…

I really loved my mother.  I lost her when I was fifteen years old, so my viewpoint back then was much different than it is today.  Teenagers tend to be dramatic, but when I lost her, I thought I really lost my whole world, and I went through many different phases of dealing with her death, a suicide, for the next fifteen or so years.

That being said, today I reflect on my childhood with my mother.  She was the bomb!  The love and comfort she always gave to me was such that I felt truly taken care of and that I was Okay.  You know what I mean?  I never second guessed my worth around her.

My mother loved to laugh.  I always looked forward to her coming home with a certain sparkle in her eye as she would tell me a story about what had happened that day at work.  And I would always asked, “What did you do?” And she would always say, “I just laughed.”  which always made me laugh.

I remember when she worked at Henshaw’s Department store in Whittier that she would bring home a new Barbie outfit almost every single week.  My Barbies were amongst the best dressed in town.  While working there, she worked in gift wrapping (she would bestow her knowledge of these skills to me) and then later in the Hickory Farms department.  We’d get one of those big ol’ giant beef sticks from time to time and she’d bring home a box of these nasty little squares of what I can only describe as congealed fruit with no sugar, and they appeared to be rolled in flour or something.  To a kid, that’s yuck.  As an adult, it’s a treat.  Regardless, it was always fun to run around the department store pretending I lived there.

My mother loved the sun.  She was Swedish, so she was extremely white, but if she put the effort in, she tanned fairly well.  We spent many hours at the beach and poolside as I ran amok while she sunbathed.  Her tanning efforts were usually short-lived however as her tan would dry up and she would soon be peeling.  I use to spend what seemed like hours sitting on her butt while peeling these long strands of dead skin off her back.  It was awesome!!

I remember I was the one who gave my mother the Mumps, just in time for Christmas one year.  I always felt bad about that.

My mother’s cooking skills were superb to someone who does not know any better.   Ninety percent of my vegetables came from a can.  She tended to overcook things, but to this day, I love the end-cut of roasts, the drier the better.  I’m sorry to say the day she attempted to make Chili Rellano, I may have thrown them up, which is probably why I can not stand any sort of crustiness when it comes to my eggs today.  She did however make amazing lemon meringue pies, and cheese enchiladas.

It was shortly after she passed away and my father came to live with me that I realized my mother never taught me how to cook.  She had not bestowed her knowledge of these skills to me which may or may not have been a good thing, but it created a bit of a problem.  That first Christmas without her was already incredibly hard, but we had to eat, right?  But without “said skills” our dinner options were limited.  After a short discussion, it was decided that I would attempt to recreate what I hope I remembered seeing when I would watch her make those cheese enchiladas.  Nailed it!!!  That’s one thing I took from her for sure and it made it a tad bit comforting as we ate enchiladas for Christmas dinner that year.

My mother LOVED to play cards.  We would literally spend hours playing Gin, Rummy, Crazy Eights or War.  She never tired of it!

My mother refused to drive the freeway.  Do you have any idea how long it takes to get home from Los Angeles via ALL side streets?  She was a bit nuts, but she let me take control of the radio.

My mother riding a bicycle was funny shit.

Every now and then my mother would roll up the sleeves and would dive into my room only to resurface when it was nice and clean.  She did this at least three times.  That was awesome!

My mother loved Credence Clearwater Revival.  I still don’t get it.   She also use to sing Benny and the Jets to her dog Benny which always got the dog hollering with her.  Drove me crazy!!

It took me almost five years to not look at the clock at 4 o’clock waiting for her call to check in with me before she got off work at 5 o’clock.  It took me almost ten years to stop looking for her face in a crowd. And to this day I still ache for her touch.

Happy Mother’s Day Mom.

Christine’s Dinner Served by…yes, Firemen

Christine Law

             Christine Law

I’ve known Christine Law since the mid 90s when I worked at KXBS, 96.7 The Bus radio station and she was in the local band Tantrum that we added to our playlist. She stood out because not only was she adorable and had such an easy smile, but she was a female bass player in this heavy rock band.  She rocked that bass!  I was very impressed.

But it was just the last year or so that we started to actually hang out due to the music scene here in Ventura.  She had started up Afirm Records a number of years ago and I started a website called VenturaRocks.com four years ago which supports the music scene here in town. We really do have a lot of common interests, so it’s such a treat when I would get to hang out together.  She attended a “Girls Dress Night Out” as well as Staci Brown’s birthday celebration and I made sure I supported her husband Charles’ band, Charles Law and Jagged, when he played at The Tavern and again at Amigos.

Just a couple of weeks ago I received a special invitation via Facebook from Christine simply entitled: Girls Nite – Dinner at Christine Law’s served by Ventura Firemen!  She said she won a dinner for 8 served by Ventura County Firemen at her house.  But the truth is, she bid on the package which was a fundraiser for the Boys and Girls club.  She’s very much involved in improving conditions in her community and participates in many civic engagement projects.

I have to admit, I was a little giddy about being included for this exclusive gathering of friends.  As it turns out, the women she invited were extraordinary women, more than half I already knew and call my friends and the others I thoroughly enjoyed meeting and hope to see again soon.

Christine and Charles live up above Santa Paula, in the upper Ojai rugged terrain on a ranch style house with horses up against the hills over looking wilderness.  What a beautiful piece of land.  We arrived to find the firetruck parked in her driveway along with the Battalion Chief’s truck next to where the half dozen or so firemen were busy preparing a barbecue dinner for us women.  I didn’t even try to attempt to wipe the smile off my face.

Charles was in charge of the beverages because the rules state our firemen could not drink. Actually, if memory serves, I was informed when we went to have our photo ops that there were two rules for these beautiful heroes, no alcohol, and no nudity.  Again, I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face just conjuring up some new images in my mind.

So we had our photos taken after playing on the truck for a while, and the guys were more than gracious and patient about it.  After our group shot and the women were starting to disperse, I half-jokingly mention to the chief that it would be really cool to have a picture with just me and the guys.  He said, “Are you kidding?  Of course!!”  And immediately he rounded up the boys and BAM!  It was a done deal.

We then left the men to go munch on h’orderves which consisted of different cheeses, crackers, bread, dips and fruits, we had plenty of wine, beers and shots of Patron, as we engaged in good conversations enjoying our beautiful surroundings.  Just so you know, while the firemen provided the makings for dinner, we provided the snacks, beverages and dessert. Before we knew it, dinner was ready to be served.  Some of us half expected spaghetti, but our firemen were graciously serving up tri-tip, chicken, veggie kabobs, grilled zucchini and corn on the cob with salad and more fresh fruit and they never allowed us to lift a finger. They served us and treated us like queens.

Our guys cleared the table for us and one of Christine’s guests, Melissa, brought out a bottle of Limoncello, offering up shots to cleanse the palate.  Delicious.  Before long we had our dessert of two types of chocolate cake, I opted for the German chocolate, and I was stuffed…still smiling.

At one point we asked if our firemen were volunteering their time, and we learned that our heros, which included two Battalion Chiefs, were on the clock and always on standby.  If a fire broke out, we were on our own.  Luck was with us as we only lost one fireman who had to respond to a TC (traffic collision).  It was just amazing. They were all true gentlemen.  They served us and took care of us, did not allow us to help clear the table, and when I saw one pass by with an apron wrapped around his waist, I had to follow and what I found brought tears to my eyes:  several of our guys were washing the dishes in uniform. Could there be anything sexier?

Before long it was time to say goodby and give thanks to our firemen for doing this to help raise funds for the Boys & Girls Club.  It was an event I won’t ever forget.

We hung out several hours longer as Christine and Charles opened up their home to us and we talked about my favorite subject of music as we collaborated on how to make the music scene in our town even better.

Before long it was time to say our thanks and goodbyes and with five of us in one car ready to head home I still couldn’t help but smile remembering being treated like a queen for the day and all because Christine Law considers me one of her friends.

Christine, I’m honored.  Thank you!

Looking forward to meeting up on the basketball court one of these days!

I Was a Bone Marrow Donor

Back when I was still using Stephanie Rose, I wrote this article in 2004 and it was published in Buzzine Magazine. Since then, the methods and statistics may have changed, but the back story remains the same.  Here is my article:

Original Bone Marrow Article

In February 1996, I helped host a bone marrow drive that was being sponsored by the family of a little girl who desperately needed a bone marrow transplant. Her family contacted the radio station I was working at and we were happy to help. During the event, our listeners were invited to find out more about the National Marrow Donor Program, or NMDP, and to register in the hopes of becoming a potential match. I was asked if I would like to participate. Having donated dozens of pints of blood over the years, I was open to the idea so I read the brochures explaining what was involved and signed up. A small sample of my blood was extracted and put into a couple of vials and that was that.

Time passed and I was not contacted to help this little girl. I continued raising my family and taking care of business that is until the call came in August 2001. The American Red Cross called to tell me that I was a potential match for a bone marrow transplant. All they could tell me about the recipient was that he was a 1-year-old boy who, without the transplant, had little chance of surviving. I was asked if I would authorize further testing through the NMDP for compatibility and I agreed. After more tests and examinations and then several months of waiting, I was notified that I was a match and a date was set.

People have often asked me if I was donating for a family member and are shocked to find that the recipient was a stranger. It never ceases to fascinate me that they then ask why I would do this. I recently discovered that only 11,000 individuals have donated bone marrow for unrelated patients. 50,000 – 60,000 family members have done so to date. I have spent a long time thinking about why I would want to put myself through such an ordeal and it all boils down to this – nothing more or less – just to be able to help.

On the day of the procedure I was treated like royalty. I was a little embarrassed by the attention, which kept my mind somewhat off what was about to happen. My Red Cross liaison was by my side the whole time, even when I came out of the fog of anesthesia. The procedure had been flawless and she informed me that at that moment my bone marrow was on a plane, on its way to the little baby boy.

The gravity of the situation hit me hardest at that point. Here was a family I had never met doing all they could to hang in there and wait for the arrival of my bone marrow.

I was discharged before I knew it. The doctors warned me of the pain that would follow, likening it to muscle soreness after hours of gardening. They were right. The first day afterward I was sore, but I was still able to get around and make dinner for the family. Each day was better, and within five days I didn’t really notice it all. I’ve talked to other donors who endured worse pain, or perhaps their pain threshold is different from mine. But the way I see it and the way most donors do, is that the pain really isn’t the issue in the long run. The issue is the possibility of saving a life. That is all that matters.

The following weeks and months seemed almost surreal, like the transplant hadn’t really happened. I had heard no news, which is standard (the donor is not given news for at least a year, as conditions can change). I contacted my Red Cross liaison and she recommended writing a letter. In my letter I told this family of strangers who are so intimately connected to me about myself and my family, giving no specifics, no names, no cities and such. I sent the letter to the American Red Cross who then forwards it to the baby’s family. I didn’t know what to expect. I didn’t want this family beholden to me. But I also didn’t want them to think I didn’t care, and I certainly wanted them to know how much I hoped their baby boy was doing better. I felt awkward.

I received a letter from the little boy’s mother telling me that for the very first time in months they had taken their baby home. They were scared at first because there was no longer a nurse outside the door, but time was passing. At the time of her letter, it had been eight months since the transplant and she said that all was looking good, but only the future would tell of the long-term effects. She had been told her baby would die before the age of 10 without the treatment and that the treatment needed to occur before he turned two for the most effective results. He was 18 months at the time of the transplant. The thanks she gave me were superfluous to the news that her baby had been given a second chance. A little being is alive and doing better because of the science available to us, the American Red Cross, the National Marrow Donor Program and because people care enough to take a simple little test one day with the off chance they may save a life.

During the holiday season I am reminded of this gift that I was able to give and the inner joy of being able to help. I look at my own little girl and realize that she could have been that little baby and could have been at the mercy of strangers. I am reminded that the choice I made the day I registered was one of my better days as a member of the human race.

Now I would like to invite you to think about making yourself available as a possible bone marrow donor. The team at the American Red Cross is incredible. The National Marrow Donor Program is creating miracles. These organizations are dedicated to saving lives. It is their job and they are proud of it. They welcome your help. Please contact them for further information

: http://www.redcross.org.

Issue of Buzzine with Bone Marrow article in it.

Stephanie Rose
Editor-in-Chief
Buzzine Magazine

I went to a Funeral Today

Matt Cooper and me at Sea World

Matt Cooper and me at Sea World

I went to a funeral today.  I went without tissues which turned out to be a critical mistake. You see Matt Cooper passed last week, on April Fool’s Day, which if you knew him at all, you knew that was so apropos.  I did not cry when I heard that Matt died, I hadn’t been closely connected to him in over 15 years, since we worked at the radio station together in the 90’s, but I saw him from time to time around town, the last time was about a year ago at a car dealership in Oxnard with a woman who would turn out to be his guardian angel and second wife, Juliana.

I arrived about ten minutes before the service was to start wanting to be able to see the slide show of photos his family had put together in his honor.  I had submitted a number of pictures from KXBS when Matt was our morning show host.  There was a couple from some radio station promos as well as pictures when we went down to Sea World to do a radio remote broadcast.  This was the Matt I knew and loved.  I really do miss working with him in radio.

What I did not expect, was to be hit emotionally from his pictures when he was a baby to a child growing up, his time spent in the hospital (his first bout with Cancer), photos of Matt with his family, at different radio stations, and then his wedding to his first wife Alex and of course the last few years with his tailor-made family with his second wife Juliana who had three children.  Matt couldn’t procreate because of the Cancer and treatments he was made to endure so Matt was thrilled to finally have a family to be a part of, and from what I could tell, and the stories I heard, these kids loved him back.

But even if I had not known Matt, I would have been moved by the display of the pictures of a life that is now over, but had so much life and love in it. It is what makes us human.
The first time I cried was when his cousin got up to speak and said something so profound.  He said Matt should not be here today.  We all should not be here today.  We should have lost him 27 years ago when Cancer took its first attempt at his life.  Had he succumbed then, what a different life we all would have.

I looked around and saw the people that were there because of him.  Our lives would have been all so very different that I realized for the very first time how precious all our relationships are.  These were tears of profundity.

Then Rob got up to speak.  We had met earlier in the week to talk about Matt over a couple of beers at Billy O’s.  I knew Rob missed him terribly and I knew this was going to be extremely hard on him.  He started out by saying that Matt was his friend, his mentor, and then he hesitated, and started again saying, “Matt was my…”  It was at least 45 seconds later that Rob found the composure to complete the sentence and I’m pretty sure there wasn’t a dry eye in the house when he finally said, “Brother.”

Again the tears, and this time, I just let them fall.  These were tears of profundity again, about relationships that bond two people like no other.  It was just beautiful.  I knew Rob was feeling the pain of losing his good friend and there was nothing he could do about it.  I knew Rob was a better man because of his relationship with Matt and that is a beautiful thing.

Then a former boss spoke about Matt and told stories about how generous he was and stood up for the homeless, she who also read a letter from a nurse whose life was deeply affected by Matt 27 years ago and how he (at age 16) was found late one night walking back and forth comforting a 2-day old baby suffering from jaundice.

I’m angry that Cancer won this time.  How amazing would it have been if Matt beat it again with all the odds against him.  But he didn’t and now we all must reflect on a life that was cut short.  And it is sad that his family and close friends are now missing him and going through this sorrow of loss.

Matt was a good man.  Not a saint by any means, in all honesty, he was quite ornery; but all in all, he was an extremely good man with heart.

And this is what I took away from Matt’s funeral.  Matt never gave up because life is great. And he knew it.  Friends are everything.  And I’m reminded once again that we are all basically good.  We are here to help one another.  Nurture your relationships with your family and friends.  Create them, because in the end, that is what makes life worthwhile.

The Cancer Card Update…January 16, 2013

My Wedding 1989

(Originally posted January 16, 2013 on Facebook)

Update from the cancer front.

In case you missed it. My friend got the news late Saturday night that the Path report was in. There was no invasive cancer anywhere in her tissue. There was no invasive cancer. Her doctor said, that’s it. No chemo needed.”

She told me last night, “Thank you for beautiful post on my health and recovery on Facebook. That made me cry. A Good cry.”

She also wanted to express her gratitude for the love and kindness from those who Liked & made comments. She said that the love and good energy makes all the difference and it was really appreciated.

I told her, “My message on FB was completely heartfelt. I’m glad it was a good cry. Continue to mock up being healthy, because you are!”

My friend belongs to a prestigious business community here on the Gold Coast and so I will keep her anonymous. She continues to keep a strong front for her colleagues, friends and family, especially for her beautiful young son.

We’ve been though so much together: grade school, jr. high, high school. We’ve celebrated the best of times being in each other’s weddings, and then the births of our beautiful children, a daughter for me and a son for her. But we’ve also been through the worst of times, our divorces, my mother’s suicide, very bad men and illnesses.

But let me just sum her up to our conversation we had last night. While she thanked me for that post, she was all about trying to help me solve a problem I’ve been dealing with. I love her!

She really is a big tremendous being.

I’m thrilled to know that we’ll continue to grow old together.

The Cancer Card…January 12, 2013

(Originally posted January 12, 2013)

I’ve been giving a lot of thought to my friend  and the fact that she’s been dealt the Cancer card.  Some of you know her.  I know her well, like a sister for almost 45 years.

One can say trite things like she’s so brave or she’s a fighter, and she is, but she is also vulnerable.  We all are.

My friend lost her left breast this week.

Prayers are welcomed. But what I would love from each and everyone one of you, is to mock up seeing clean healthy tissue in the rest of her body.  Mock up a strong healthy body.  Do not mock up her fighting cancer. Do not mock up her trying to be healthy. Mock up her being healthy.

Thank you.

Just One of My Mistakes Raising Sydney

The man himself

The man himself

(Originally posted on Facebook May 29, 2011)

I may have made some mistakes when raising Sydney Rose, but none could be funnier than when I introduced her to David Bowie.   Let me back up. There are two key points to make before we get to Bowie.

1.  Sydney must have been in the third grade when she started playing Britney Spears and I knew an intervention was going to be necessary.  At that point I went out and bought her a London Calling CD from The Clash, and I am happy to say that another life has been saved.

Within the year she had the infamous poster on her wall and she knew most of the lyrics from the title track to “Train in Vain.”  I couldn’t have been more proud.

2.  I made it absolutely clear to Sydney that language does not hurt.  Language is only made up of words. Words are just symbols, they can’t physically hurt.  I’ve never had a problem with her bringing up any topic, nor using any words from “fuck” to “shit.”  But I made it crystal clear to her that with language comes responsibility.  Other people can be offended (for whatever reason) with certain words and especially in the context in which they are used, so she needed to be cognizant of the words and the people she used them in front of. Sydney knew she shouldn’t swear in front of certain adults like teachers, some parents and grandpa. She never once got in trouble for swearing in front of any adults while growing up. She was very responsible.

Then one day I received a promotional copy of female indie artists covering David Bowie tunes.  It was amazing.  This was back when I was still working on Buzzine magazine.  The CD was called Spiders From Venus: Women Cover David Bowie. I’m sad to say that when I just looked it up on Amazon the status was “currently unavailable”.

In any case, we’d be driving up the 101 with this CD blasting in the car and Sydney came to know and love Bowie through these women covering his music.  Neither one of us can carry a tune but that doesn’t stop us from singing along at full volume…especially in the car.

One day I was walking her to school when she started singing “Cracked Actor.”  My smile of pride dimmed as I realized with mild horror and chagrin that she was singing correctly, the following lyrics:

“Crack, baby, crack,
show me you’re real
Smack, baby, smack, is that all that you feel
Suck, baby, suck,
give me your head…”

Now with her being in the third grade I didn’t want to have to broach the subject of fellatio.  If she had asked, that would be different.

I stopped walking, and held her hand and said, “Baby, you’re going to have to trust me on this one, you can’t sing this song in front of your teachers.”

She looked at my calm, yet serious face, thought about it, and cheerfully said, “Okay.”

Years later we revisited this subject and to this day she finds it hysterical that her own mother introduced her to David Bowie, which she continues to sing to, albeit judiciously.

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