THE WEARING OF MY MOTHER’S CONSOLATION RING

06 Dec 2012 10 Comments

by Sheila Clapkin in Life Events, Reflections, Trials and Tribulations

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What does consolation mean?  It means a source of comfort to someone who is upset or has been disappointed.  In this light, my mothers ring, the ring I now wear to honor her, is what I call her consolation ring because I believe it gave her comfort in her disappointment of not receiving the ring she thought was going to be hers.  In spelling out the details I may reveal too much and I would not want to do that at all.  So the ring she was to receive will remain a mystery, but the one she did received as her comfort, made her feel proud and important.

My mother was a woman of strong character in the respect that she would never hurt anyone, she would always smooth over the truth to make all things right. She loved openly, honestly, fiercely and was a true friend to everyone. When my father recognized my mother’s disappointment in the alternate ring giving, he wanted to consol her, but she wanted to console him even more.   She told him things that relieved his besieged mind and let him know that she had already won the prize. The prize in her mind was my father and all that he represented in her life. She told him that she was gloriously happy being his wife, having his children, living their lives together and there was not a ring in the world that could change her love for him and her happiness being with him. My mother never made trouble for anyone and she stayed constant and quiet about the events revolving around the ring. She said no more about it. She was convinced it was all over.

My father on the other hand, decided that my mother, since she was not offered the ring I have discussed, should have the ring of her choice. He made an appointment at Donovan & Seamans Jewelers in Beverly Hills, the finest jewelry store on the west coast at that time. At the initial ring meeting, my father had in attendance, the store’s top designer ready to work with my mother to design something especially for her and something that would express her ideas of what her ring would encompass. At the meetings hence, the designer and my mother worked together to produce the consolation ring, which now has become a symbol of my mother and father’s love and respect for each other.

Each diamond in the ring represented an idea my mother had and wanted the ring to convey.  I know my mother wanted something to represent eternity, something never-ending, and the ongoing relationship of a couple’s love and union. She wanted her ring to be a reminder of their commitment. She asked that there be an element of magical powers worked into the design, and she believed that it should be round with no beginning and no end showing wholeness and a completeness to her life. She wanted the ring to embody strength, health, and willingness in all things presented, plus she wanted the ring to show the esteem in which it was designed and given to the wearer. She insisted that her ring carry the power of protection and peace. She wanted the designing and the wearing of her consolation ring to symbolize love, unity and the bonding together of people on their journeys through life with an abundance of tranquility and harmony.

My mother’s consolation ring continues to divulge lessons and give inspirations that have caught my attention time and time again.  The lessons have changed my viewpoint on the life affirming secrets revealed as I gaze into the consolation ring.

This ring is all and more than my mother, my father and the designer hoped. When I am gone, I bequeath all that this ring is and can be to the new receiver with my love and the blessings of your predecessors.

UNEARTHING MY GRANDMOTHER’S RUSSIAN SILVER FOX FUR JACKET

26 Nov 2012 8 Comments

by Sheila Clapkin in Clothing, Family History, Reflections Tags: , , , ,

I knew what I wanted from my grandmother when she was ready to give it up and I told her. When I would visit her in windy cold Tule fogged in San Francisco, she would let me wear her fur coats. Never ever before or after the wearing of the furs did I feel more regal. I came from a very warm climate in Southern sunny Los Angeles, so when I would arrive for a visit to Grandma Dora and Grandpa Joe, it was a quick hello and a whisk off to buy me undershirts, a sweater, a jacket and some socks.  When Grandma Dora passed away, I received as physical remembrances of her, a half used lipstick, all of her undershirts, which I Tie- dyed, and her Russian Silver Fox jacket. What treasures, all of them.

Before I continue with the unearthing of my grandmothers silver fox jacket, let me tell you I began having a flashback of visiting in my grandparent’s home and being given permission to search for treasures in the downstairs basement which had, to the naked eye, basic furniture and all the signed books from My Uncle Irving Stone.  But, leave it to a child in a candy store, or that is how I felt being given searching rights.  I unearthed from the very recesses of the closet that held her silver fox jacket, a box full of little bits and pieces of jewelry.  They did not have anything connected to them or did they relate to each other in any way, but they were unusual and one of a kind pieces. When I showed the unearthed box to my grandmother she was very surprised and told me she had forgotten about the box since her mother who was in the pawnshop business, put it there before she died.

We had a wonderful, more than wonderful, an astonishing and brilliant afternoon picking through each piece and enjoying guessing where they had been and what they had adorned. She finally made the statement that I could pick three items to keep. Oh my, I leapt and pranced and ran around the box picking what would be mine.  Not so fast, not so easy, lots of moans and groans and picking became the hardest work imaginable. I must tell you that I learned then and there, that my grandmother stuck to her word and never, ever gave in to pleading.  I learned from a master grand dame and I never forgot her secret desire peeking through to give me the moon, but she stuck to her three pieces.  I took the three pieces and they hang framed in my living room ever since our encounter that foggy cold afternoon in the basement of their Ocean Avenue home.

Now to the saga of the Russian Silver Fox jacket.  I never thought my request to have it would come to pass.  Why?  There are many, many San Francisco relatives who I thought wanted it, too.  Who I thought would be chosen over me. Why I thought that they would be chosen and not me is another story.  But to my joy and delight I have had the jacket for 47 years.  It was worn, stored and worn again and again stored. Then, PETA: People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals became very vocal and very physical in the early 1980’s, so the jacket went into semi-permanent storage until yesterday.  I opened the bag containing the jacket and little hairs began to fly. I threw it in re-cycling. I went in the house in psychic pain. I saw all the faces of those who had wanted the jacket. I saw my grandmother looking at me. I remembered my fervent desire to own my grandmother’s precious possession. I ran outside and pulled the jacket from the trash bin and shook and shook the jacket; hairs flew. Albeit, less and less hairs flew as I continued to shake.  I put the jacket in the drier on air dry.  I took it out of the drier, took it outside and shook it again.  The more I shook the more beautiful it became. I thanked all of the Russian Silver foxes that lent their hides to make this jacket.  I did not apologize to PETA because after all, this jacket was before PETA’s time, then, again, the concept of cruelty to animals should have always have been observed.  Now the beautifully fluffed jacket is hanging in a closet downstairs.

At this writing I wonder if I am really going to wear the jacket.  I know I am, I just do not know when.  When I wear it, it will sing out about the relationship between my grandmother and me.  It will show that I was chosen to receive this gift by someone who valued my request. I will wear the jacket with one of her tie-dyed undershirts and complimented by lips wearing the half used lipstick she left behind. I will once again feel glorious and regal. I will melt into my grandmother.

There Is a Shadow in My Mind’s Eye

01 Nov 2012 3 Comments

by Sheila Clapkin in Reflections Tags: , ,

There is a shadow in my mind’s eye that is always and has always been there.  Sunshine or darkness makes no difference except to change the shape and perhaps the meaning. Do shadows forecast shade and define limits, foresee the future, illuminate the present, help us flashback, re-do, redefine, and recount? Is the shade of the shadow defining limits, showing the obscure side, a protection, a security, and a final place of shelter? Could this shadow of mine be a spirit, a phantom who attends me and is my inseparable companion?  I know that it is only a small part of me, a faint representation, and a reflected image.

Before you deem me unstable in my thinking, let me add that you have a shadow, too. Oh yes you do. Yours may or may not have been examined by you. It may be something you have been unaware of or perhaps small glimpses of it have peered through.  I can’t see your shadow or transfer into your meaning because I am so emotionally wound up and tied into my own, but I think it wise indeed to follow the shadow probability and make the best of it. Remember you have a shadow, whether it is illuminated or not.  You are not alone, in a good way.

We can learn to tame our shadows or let them run wild. Instead of calling it trash talk when we step out of line, we can call it shadow talk and tame it. It is up to you to accept a shadow or scrap it. Why did I bring up the shadow effect? Only to re-examine mine and I wanted you to have a look into yours.

I am constantly giving away my worries and insecurities by letting the shadow talk.  I want to slap it down, but it leaks out.  This belief allows me to shrink from the responsibility of something in and of myself if I don’t approve. Is it possible that this shadow has an ego that gets mixed up with mine?  Perhaps you might say, there is no shadow at all and it is just me or you trying to make the best meaning out of living and getting the best shot at it.

I have come to realize that my shadow is full of fear, dread and trepidations for some of the dark days to come as stated in Ecclesiastes.  Finally realizing the meaning of there is a time and season for everything has been helpful. As far as the shadow knows, there are two kinds of fear, one is the outside force and then, there are the ones that linger on the inside.

In order to satisfy the outside demons, I learned I couldn’t control others, so I can only play it safe by, keeping observant, and following my rules.  The inside shadowed demons are quite another story. They stem from a lifetime of piled on uncertainties, worries, accusations, suspicions, doubts and qualms about past, present and most certainly the future. So, I realized that if I change the frames and put the inside shadow on the outside and the one on the outside on the inside, I might hopefully have a vantage point with a new perspective and vision. In this altered state, I began to examine each new and varied form of the shadows. It is like seeing a fast running movie of myself frame by frame.  No I am NOT in a chemically altered state, just one of contemplation. In changing the shadow positions, I made references to reflections never reflected upon in their old respective positions. The change of attitude in viewing inside verses outside shadows gave new dimensions, new avenues to travel, new hope that the inevitable changes will hold benefits and life altering settlements with the pain and fear of what heretofore has been unknown.

My Partial Knee Replacement Changed Me Forever!

21 Oct 2012 6 Comments

by Sheila Clapkin in Life Events, Reflections Tags: , , , ,

I had knee replacement surgery recently and am still recovering. You don’t get over it so fast and it is not a piece of cake.  When you walk unaided and the horrible pain that put you in a wheelchair is gone, you are full of tears of gratitude. A friend in London asked if I were going to write about my surgery experience. I nearly bit off his words because I was scared to pieces and too fearful to think about it. Besides who wants the gory details? Not me.  But I did have several experiences worth a mention.

Coming out of anesthesia is a weird trip in itself, but for each of us it is different.  Mine had reduced me to a child calling for my mommy and daddy. I did so want to see them waiting and caring for me.  I wanted them to be there like they always had been. Wanting them was a strong ethereal moment that has not left me.  What did I want to tell them, and what did I want to hear from them?  Did I want them to make it all better?  Did I forget that they are gone, or did I want to bring them back from beyond to tell me how they are doing there? Did I want to be the child, or did I want them to see me now, see that I have accomplished many of my dreams and still looking for more?

The time spent healing and time spent on my own true wavelength is rare time that normally most of us are too busy to ride this wave. As soon as some of the swelling and pain from surgery started to subside, my usual friendly ailments arose and lay side by side with my new frailty. My new wave length became a prominent state of being for a while.  I began to mourn for my youth and who I used to be.  I mourned all of my fears in Technicolor. As I mourned for who I used to be and fit new puzzle pieces of who I am into the old mold, I came to reexamine all that I understand. I became willing to take what I have become and go with it. In a different light, you see the changing hues as a positive addition to the composition and become a little closer to whole.

I could surely go dancing right now, but I think I will wait a little longer to make sure I can fit all the steps into the right synchronization of the timing and be able to adjust the tempo of the overall effect. After all, the knee joints are mandatory for just the right articulations of bowing down and giving thanks for the new ability to navigate the earth on my own.

My Sorority Reunion

23 Sep 2012 Leave a comment

by Sheila Clapkin in Life Events, Reflections, Social Events Tags: , , ,

A Fantasy Photo because the real one is out of reach.

I graduated a U.C. school a long time ago.  The school remains nameless to protect it.  It scares me to even write a date let alone conjure up what all that those many years mean.  I am sure they mean as many things to as many people who are still alive and still have a memory to remember those days.  We scheduled and held a sorority reunion on a lovely, warm, October Saturday afternoon.

Many people who were invited did not come to the event.  I know exactly how they feel; they would rather a Mac truck hit them than attend anything like a reunion.  As I said, I know how they feel, but I feel differently.  Of course the day of the event and some days leading up to it, I hated my hairstyle, worried that I hadn’t maintained my acceptable appearance, my weight was not what I wanted it to be, but hasn’t been for years.  I worried that they would have accomplishments way greater than mine, or that they would have nothing to say to me and I, nothing to them.

Worries and or no worries, the reunion came to pass and many of us from long ago were there.  The ones that did not come won’t know and the ones that did will take away what they needed.  I needed to see that everyone was the same person, with the same hopes dreams and desires even these many years later.  Nothing much has changed; everyone at the reunion was in tact.  The singers sang, the leaders led, and the talkers talked while listeners listened. The doers did and the watchers watched.  Most tooted their own horns while a few shy ones got their horns tooted by good old friends.  Everyone was happy and friendly.  I thought of our dearly departed Judy and how much she would have loved being there with everyone.  After the event, I wanted to call heaven and talk it over with Judy.  She would have loved, absolutely loved some of the stories.  Since she is not here and I can’t call heaven, so I will tell you.

At all of the reunions in the past, one of the gals who will forever remain nameless, goes around secretly and takes the purses of people she wants to sit at her table.  She strategically places them on the chairs surrounding the table that she deems hers.  Every year she takes mine, but this year, she did not, others took my place.  I was surprised, but realized that she, like a mother bird, lets her fledglings go when they are strong enough to fly.  I was thrilled with my new table and made new friends from the old.  I was after all, forty-nine years stronger and able to fly on my own is such a good thing.

Another lady realized that she needed to come to the reunion just to make peace with her self.  Some wanted to use it as a forum for advertising things of a business nature and other venues.  Others wanted to tell of current updates on volunteer and charity opportunities.  One family donated a wing to the new university hospital and wanted us to know.  Some wanted to reconnect with people and others wanted to relive youth and be with their oldest friends.  And probably those who were initially hesitant about attending this reunion realized perhaps this was the event they wouldn’t have wanted to miss.  As songs were sung and hands were held, many wonderful memories were shared along with jovial reminiscing.  Who can argue with that?

THE MEANING OF THE PUNCH BOWL, THE EIGHT CUPS, THE LADLE, AND THE ACT OF HATE

01 Sep 2012 4 Comments

by Sheila Clapkin in Life Events, Trials and Tribulations Tags: , ,

After fifty-one years of married collecting, we have begun to give away some of the long saved acquisitions we have amassed. It is easy seeing bags of interview suits, of long ago fashions, of clothes with sizes belonging to another time and place bagged and headed for the charity shop, but to see the little antique treasures all boxed ready to go isn’t so bad if you think your kids will take them. Most items get passed over and no one wants them. I digress a bit, but found some handkerchiefs from generations and generations ago. So, I ironed them up and put them in envelopes and sent them to my descendants. Hope they enjoy the gift of antiquity…each got 5 or 6 absolutely gorgeous old time handkerchiefs, more beautiful and stitched beyond anything of today.

Are we moving, downsizing to go to a one-story house, no, just cleaning up before the real clean up, the real downsize, the real end.

Today was a lucky day. Our son came over and actually said yes to the boxed, never opened, never used punch bowl set. Oh happy day. He wanted to open the box and enjoy the beautiful set in our presence. When he opened the box and began to unpack it, nearly instantaneously, he realized something did not look right. He noticed a small hole drilled in the bottom of the bowl and upon further inspection he noticed a small, precisely drilled hole in each cup and on the ladle as well. The perpetrator left no surface untouched, or should I say hole free. This act of hate took a long time and a great amount of deliberation.

Before I discuss my take on this, let me tell you how we were able to figured out how we became in possession of such awfulness. Skip worked for a liquor distributor a long while ago, and when they would have sales meetings they would have perk parties. You would draw a number and when the number was called the gift was yours. We figured Skip’s number produced the boxed punch bowl set as the prize. The way we figured this out was because his old boss’s name was written on the bottom of the box.  Had we not been able to see a name, we would have been in the dark as to where, how and why we came to own this gift of horror and hate.

Was the boss such a horrible person, and what could he have done to promote this intensely and passionately hostile act?  Whoever perpetrated this had such deep emotional dislikes directed into each precisely drilled hole. Not one hole, two or three, but one into each piece to be used in the set. Thank goodness we were able to piece together the name and to whom this act was against or it would have plagued us forever. Free from the blame or the designation, we took the damaged punch bowl set to recycling so it can become some benefit in its new form. Hopefully in the melting down process and during the rebirth of this set, the new item will be infused with liberty, independence, affection, autonomy, self-determination, responsibility, trustworthiness accountability, most definitely love, and the right to live free from doubt and fear.  From the depth of hate, and hostility there is hope in renewal.

Extreme Doors Off Helicopter Ride On Maui

24 Aug 2012 6 Comments

by Sheila Clapkin in Reflections, USA: Travelling Outside California, vacation

You probably cannot get a better-unobstructed view from a helicopter ride than flying with the doors off.  Why choose this kind of experience?  You decide that once and for all, you are going to take a chance, get your adrenalin rushing, and give yourself a memory for a lifetime. After all, one comes to realize that you do fold into yourself as you age and become a bag of memories. Unless you continue to add to your bag, you will become a limited memory bank.  When considering a helicopter ride, you make the decision to do it and then you decide; doors on or off.  So it is your first helicopter ride, you don’t know if doors off or on will be your bet?  But, I considered something extreme for me, why not if it is offered? There is very little you have to do except sit there and let it all happen. The two-way talking headsets serve talking back and forth, but they also protect you a bit from the wind and noise.

The flight begins and you are holding your camera, where the handles are also draped on your neck, but still you are too afraid to move. Will the wind grab the camera, sweep you off of your seat; will it blow you to bits? No, actually you make friends with the wind and the elements that come your way.  Still, you feel a type of pain; maybe I’d better call it discomfort at being exposed.

Soon you are working the camera, talking photos because you know you will not remember each of the individual sights and you come to realize weeks later that all you do remember of the sights are in your photos.  What you do remember are sensations of wind, your calculated breathing, the pilot saying something every once in awhile, other passengers asking questions, and when you realize you are doing this doors off thing, it is time to return to the air field and land.

Folks, there are NO spirits up there. There is nothing up there but air and your entering into it causing the wind.  All that we are, all that we want to be, all that we have, all that we need, all that we dream, all that we understand, all that we hope, all that we believe is down there. Down on the ground called earth is our life, unless you are a NASA scientist or an astronaut and then this would be another realm for discussion.  Maybe I sound a little negative, but I am not. I am just saying it was over in a flash of wind, memory, discomfort and the marveled fact that I learned why early fliers wore caps.  You cannot, and I mean cannot comb your hair after a flight in the brutal air. Wind tangled hair is the single most challenge of the encounter and the most lingered memory.

So that you can experience a bit of the doors off flight, with a view from above, here are a few photos, which only hope to capture the beauty of the land below. It was more than a bird’s eye view, it was more than you get on your own physical means, it was more than fun, it was more than a theme park ride, it was unlike what you expected, but not what you thought it would be…soaring, idyllic, tranquil, relaxing, otherworldly, perhaps mystical. Sometimes expectations and inexperience get onto our path of reasoning.

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HAWAIIAN MAGIC

14 Aug 2012 5 Comments

by Sheila Clapkin in Reflections, travel, USA: Travelling Outside California, vacation

Sometimes there are magic moments in time where everything works like a charm, works simultaneously with the spirits, works so to speak seamlessly in your favor. When you are counting on other people to make this happen, it is what I call the ultimate leap of faith. And so it was…

With the help of Glenda at Frosch, Will at Ohana Fun, NCL where the staff is the ultimate with kind attention, and our own great wits, we sailed off literally into the sunset.  The Hawaiian vacation planned for 15 members of our family included a stay on Waikiki and a cruise circling many of the Hawaiian Islands in July 2012.  When I tell you that everyone was on time for all of the excursions, all of the sit down dinners and meetings, and all had an enchanted and magical time, believe me.

Our special moments included a Pacific Cove Luau filled with food, activities pertaining to Hawaiian life and dancing. We had a moving experience in Pearl Harbor visiting the War Memorials and museums, remembering the attack of December 7, 1941. When you are there, if you close your eyes and breathe deeply, you can still hear and smell the horror and you receive an understanding of the valor of our brave hero’s, many who gave and many who saved lives.

Our next top was Maui where we experienced The Road To Hana, an extensive day trip where you drive around Maui seeing and stopping at all the sights. Maui is green and lush, right?  Soon you realize that it is not green all the way around and that during the latter part of the day, on the other side of the island we were driving on unpaved, bumpy roads in a desert wasteland where no rain comes to help match the other side’s verdant terrain.

As we explored the Volcanoes of Hawaii we visited Hawaii Volcanoes National Park, the rim of Kilauea, watched the earth spew steam, walked on lava, crawled through a lava tube, ran through the rain and spent a beautiful day in and on Hawaiian soil. We will remember Macadamia nuts and Kona Coffee, remember Kui Kui Nuts, hand painted Long Boo Necklaces and bracelets, and remember the beautiful harbor of Kona where you had to be tendered into the town.  I met a local lady in Kona with two little children. We were sitting under the town tree. She seemed to want to talk about worldly things and I told her to start thinking out of the box. She told me she and her entire family had never been off that island. I wonder what she thinks I meant by thinking out of the box. I wonder myself.

On Kauai, we visited the Waimea Canyon and grabbed a float on the Waialua River on our way to see the Fern Grotto. On the way to and from, we learned a few Hula dancing steps, which turned into dances. The day was perfectly serene.

Our lovely specialty sit down dinners are now legendary. A very distinct level of communication happened over those tables we inhabited. Huge decisions, ideas, thoughts, philosophies and deals were made and I do believe no amount of money or urging could have pulled off this positive and productive interaction between our family members.

We will remember the majestic waterfalls and the rainbows where the pots of gold landed right at your feet. We will remember the huge valleys, canyons, volcanoes, mini geysers,  lava, flowers, and fresh fruit.

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A special treat we will remember is sailing the Na Pali coastline of Kauai, which is a true wonder of the world full of exquisite sights of beauty as well sporting a multitude of rainbows with perfect gradations of colors and their pots of gold just out of reach.

We will remember that Hawaii does not grow sugar cane and pineapples for export anymore. The worldwide competition became too great, but the history, scenic beauty and the people of these islands are well worth the visit.  Yes, Virginia, you can still find sugar cane and pineapples grown in Hawaii for local consumption on the islands. Here is a photo for proof of pineapples in Hawaii and two photos of the closed sugar cane production site.

We will long remember the fresh island air and the energy we extracted from it. We will remember the tranquil, refreshing atmosphere and the exploring of the natural beauty to gain its restorative powers. We will remember working and being together.

Please stay tuned for our Extreme Doors Off Helicopter ride and photos; an astounding experience.

My Uncle Max Levin

10 Aug 2012 Leave a comment

by Sheila Clapkin in Family Activities, Family History, Growing Up, Reflections Tags: , , ,

My Uncle Max Arnold Levin was born on February 12, 1927 and died July 24, 2012 in Millbrae California at age 85. Max was born to my Grandmother Dora and My Grandfather Joseph Levin in San Francisco. He was known as one of the twins.  He was a true sports fan and was loyal to the S.F. Giants, 49ers and a Warrior fan for his entire life.

I knew little about his life and his growing up years. I was not even born for some of it and then, he lived in San Francisco and I lived in Los Angeles.  I would visit my family in San Francisco and got to know Uncle Max.  It wasn’t until I was grown did I really understand my Uncle Max’s talents. He was quiet until he spoke and when he spoke everyone within range heard his booming statements. He thought for a long time before he made a statement.  Everyone did not agree with him all of the time, but all of the time he was right. I realized that those that did not agree did not understand his well thought out truths.

My Uncle Max had many bosses in his life that told him what to do and he did it.  When he got to be his own boss, he was happy and satisfied that he did a wonderful job.  Now that he was the boss, he made decisions he had made all of his life, but this time he made them and carried them out to fruition in his own time and in his own way, the right way.

Later in his life, a painter put a paintbrush into my Uncle Max’s hands. He dipped and stroked the paper with great and true abandonment.  His works of art dripped and strode across the page.

He created masterpieces with remnants of his life story. They were the simple truths of his reality. They told of his struggles and his gradual coming through to the light. They are few, but they are brilliant statements he alone could have made. They stand unaided in all of their beauty. The artist born in my Uncle Max marked him and enlightened the world.

When Uncle Max told you some thing, it was something he had been thinking about for a long time.  If he asked you something he wanted to know the truth. If he was quiet, he was thinking. He was always thinking and then sharing. Uncle Max was a caring man, but he didn’t care if you believed him or understood him, but if he liked you, he wanted you to like him.

When Uncle Max’s parents became ill one by one, he took great care of them. He made promises to them that he carried out to the letter until the day he died. He was a man who if he made a promise, always followed through.  Knowing this about my Uncle Max has led me never, ever if possible to make a promise for fear I might not keep it.  Uncle Max never worried because he had always kept his promises and knew he always would. He was so diligent, conscientious and attentive to all of his tasks.

The tradition in the Levin family was to keep in touch. The two business locations were in different cities, San Francisco and Los Angeles.  A designated person, family member and manager in one city would call a designated person, family member and manager in the other city on a certain day, at a certain time every week, week in and week out. When the managers and family members began to die off, the tradition continued, but the designees changed. Uncle Max, the last of the tradition called my father Martin, every week until Martin died, and I called Uncle Max until he could speak no more and soon died.

My Uncle Max was a successful businessman and enjoyed the fruits of his labor.  He was generous, big hearted and a loving man. If he loved you, he wanted you to love him back and we all did. We love you dear Uncle Max and thank you for being our Uncle Max!!!

You really do not want to know about my 5 1/2 hour experience at the DMV, but I am going to tell you anyway.

10 Aug 2012 2 Comments

by Sheila Clapkin in Customer Sevice, Day Trips, Entertaining, Life Events, Uncategorized Tags: , , ,

Even though it is 107 degrees in the shade, even though the lines, nine of them are out of the door and spill into the nearly filled parking lot, even though I had an appointment, even though I began to sob and lean deeply into my cane and even though I dragged my ass from window to window for over 5 hours, there was no escape.  There was no escape from the lines with only one person helping the deluge of people, there was no escape from the many and varied languages spoken at high volumes all around you, there was no escape from the heat, there was no water and the lines to the bathrooms equaled the ones you are waiting in to have your picture taken. It was the kind of terror I experienced when I was nine months pregnant and I realized that I had to do this, it was my baby, I had to have it; and this time as well, there was no other way out if I wanted to participate as a driver in my state, in my country. I and I alone had to navigate this maze.

Without further ado, I did pass my test missing only one.  No I am no winner, I studied beyond the bell. I knew every question backwards and even the ones stated in their tricky manner, except the one where I may have made an error on being polite. Nope, you can’t even be polite, just legal.

I paid $31.00 for my license renewal, but would gladly pay $100 if it would gain enough revenue to open one more line for photos, one more line for information, one more line for appointments, one more line to get and take the driving written test, one more line to correct the test and another line to take the driving test. There are nine or ten booths to take your money, and your vision test, which takes minutes, but only one line for each of the other services.  Imagine the crowds descending from the open easy booths to the funneling; huddling crushes of one line for each of the other the services.

Several much younger and stronger folks just sat down or lay down in line.  I used a chair with a handicapped sign on the back and pulled it around for a while.  I am waiting in another type of line for a partial knee replacement.  If I had known the extreme physical challenge of the DMV experience, I would have come in a wheel chair and had someone wheel me through the process. It would not have cut down the time because no one will let you in line for handicapped, everyone in that building waiting in line was in pain and felt sorrowfully handicapped. Dragging the chair did help me through the ordeal.

When I had waited in all of the lines and all of my tasks were done, they put all of my collected information into a computer at the end of the last line.  Mine would not go through.  Everyone before me had theirs go through. I began to melt down. The gentleman was very apologetic, but nonetheless, I had to go back to window 1 and start over.  That is when I opened up the floodgates and melted down to jelly.   I was assisted through the second time at the head of the lines. I can’t wait to see my second photo after 5 and 1/2 hours in a sweatbox. Of course, by the time I got to my car at the end of the long, long parking lot, I was proud of my accomplishment at the DMV facility because I was still alive, barely. It takes several days to get over an experience like this at any age.

There is no one to listen, but I do believe that you might be interested to know that the written test is given in every language imaginable, and people walking out of the DMV that day passed their written driving exam, but will they be able to read merge, and end of divided highway?

Since I realized that all of my immediate America was in this building, huddled together for a common and individual cause, I looked around and drank deeply of ethnicity. They all acted very nice and accommodating to each other. People who didn’t even know each other, and some that did, helped each other and took turns standing in line for one another while the other rested in some chairs provided. When there were no chairs, they just slumped into the wall and ultimately the floor. I thought I was the only one suffering so greatly, but as I looked around at these faces, they were all commonly suffering for the same singular goal; the right to drive in California, in the United States of America. The young, the old, those in the middle of the road and all those in between had pain and standing for long periods of time hurt, plus the whole experience was daunting and painful. It was good to know I was not alone.

A good observation to report is that all of the people working for the DMV behind the counters, with the floods of people staring at them from the other side, never ever lost their cheerful, high spirited approach to their job and the people they served that day.

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