Pearl

 This part of the blog was written on the night of October 1st, 2021 :

Pearl's committal service was held this morning at Oakwood Cemetery in Chatsworth, the front gate of which is less than 30 feet from where I park my car to hike at Santa Su. It was a beautiful morn, warm and still. The sky couldn't have been any bluer. Only a few of us were present - Me, Helen and Carol, Pearl's niece. Pastor Christian from Reseda Methodist was also there, performing the ceremony, along with his assistant pastor, who was on his first day on the job. For the assistant, then, his first act for the church was to participate in Pearl's service. Also standing watch was a wonderful lady from the cemetery named Margo, so there were six of us in all, and it couldn't have been more heartfelt. Everyone shared in the feeling, which was a mixture of sadness, awe and triumph. Pearl lived to be 97 years old, and as I said to Carol she had a Storybook Ending. No hospital, no tubes or machines. She died in her own bed in a comfortable position in the house she lived in for 68 years, with her daughter and me holding her hands. She was in no pain that we could see, and we'd just finished watching Carol's church service from Minnesota, as I mentioned in an earlier blog.

Tonight's movie was "The Sleeping City"(1950) with Richard Conte, who's becoming one of our favorite Noir stars. Here, he plays a New York City police detective who goes undercover as an intern at Bellevue Hospital, in order to solve the murder of a staff member. In that guise, he's being supervised by Ward Nurse Coleen Gray. She's as alarmed as he is by the depression among the interns. One talks of giving up medicine altogether, then he too is found dead. Is it a second murder, or a suicide? Conte's police captain wants answers before the whole hospital shuts down. This is really good stuff. The only problem is a less-than-perfect print. It's soft but still watchable, and if you don't mind the print quality, it's highly recommended. Two Big Thumbs Up. Conte is proving to be another Mr. Reliable, like Glenn Ford or Dana Andrews. ////

This part of the blog was written Saturday night October 2, 2021 :

This morning was Pearl's memorial service at Reseda Methodist Church. I was mildly nervous on my way over, because I was scheduled to read the Remembrance, which I'd written myself over the course of last week. During the week, as I worked on it and refined it, I couldn't read it through without choking up, to the point of not being able to continue. I solved that problem by reading it out loud, to myself, over and over again for the past two days. The sheer repetition blunted the emotional overload, so I thought I'd be able to get through the actual reading at the service without crying. But I still worried about having a tremor in my voice, or tripping over the syllables. I'm not a public speaker, and even in grade school I can remember the nerves I would feel at having to speak in front of the class for Current Events.

But something must've happened, Pearl must have been with me, because when Carol finished her eulogy and Pastor Christian announced me as the next speaker, once I got to the podium I felt good. It's a stage I've stood on over 270 times before as a choir singer, and once I started reading, the words came out with ease, so much so that I felt comfortable enough to add some dramatic flair, as if I were telling a story.

I wanted to read it directly to Pearl, and I think that's why it came off so well. Many people came up to me after the service to say they were moved by my remembrance, some said they were moved to tears, and I mention this just because I wanted to write about how much my years with Pearl meant to me. Though I've had my heart ripped out and have experienced severe disorientation to an extreme degree over the past two weeks, the last couple of days have been beautiful, albeit in a grief-stricken way.

Although I had entertained the hope that Pearl just might live to be 100, I knew in the back of my mind that she'd already lived a very long life, and that her physical condition - while stable (good vitals, eating well, etc.) - was weakening. Still, because we had kept up our routine all the way to the end, with amazing wheelchair walks every evening to look for The Famous Green Parrots of Reseda, I never suspected anything sudden was coming. I thought that when Pearl was gonna go, there'd be a period of time over which it happened, like with my Mom and Dad. But there was no such period. She was her regular self one night, and gone the next morning. I'm just glad I was there when it happened. She truly had a Storybook Ending.

Thank Goodness the Franz Kafka Construction Company has taken the weekend off. All is quiet as I write, and I did watch a movie this evening, "Murder By the Clock"(1931), a pre-Code mystery, set in a horror context, about a bimbo who kills off her rival heirs to inherit the estate of a wealthy widow. This movie has a gothic, creepy style, straight out of early Golden Age Horror, in which weirdos stalk the hallways of secret paneled mansions. The bimbo is played by early actress Lilyan Tashman (born 1896), who appears to have been sewn in to her gown. Irving Pichel, later to become a director (whose films we've seen and reviewed), plays the leering, towering nutjob. This is classic Hollywood Horror fare of the low budget variety, circa early 30s, but there's a conviction to the way the characters are portrayed that could never be reproduced today. ////

That's more or less all I've got for now. I haven't been listening to much music of late, save for Classical KUSC in the background. Somehow, some way, I hope to find an even keel. What I really want to do is write, and even write another book. "The Lorne Street School Story" would be my next project, something I've had in the works since 1996, but with diligence could now be brought to fruition. It might take a few years to complete (and I've already got 120 pages worth) but at this point in my life, with all that's happened, and all that's never been resolved (and which no one has ever acknowledged), I just feel the need to stick to my guns, and see this tale out to it's end.

Fingers are crossed for making it all the way. 

Thanks for reading and I'll see you in the morning. I send you tons of love as always.