There's the bathroom on the right...

I love to sing. I sing around the house, in the car and - on occasion - I have been known to sing at work. My dad used to say that he loved to hear his kids sing because it meant they were happy. He had a valid point. It's pretty hard to be miserable when you are singing unless you're singing 'the blues' - but even then, I have been known to get a little joy out of 'the blues' on occasion. Case in point:  "The Babysitting Blues" from the movie "Adventures in Babysitting"

Anyway, one afternoon recently while belting out a mean version of Creedence Clearwater Revival's "Bad Moon Rising, I was delicately informed by my musically-oriented husband that the lyrics were..."There's a bad moon on the rise" and not "There's the bathroom on the right"...

OK, so I don't remember lyrics. I happen to know that I am not alone.

Several years ago, an article written for The Dallas Morning News by staff writer Cynthia Sanz spoke to me ... it included several 'garbled' lyrics and I admit my guilt to a few of these, do you?

The 'Garbled Lyric Hall of Shame' ...

Rock the Catbox                                    Rock the Casbah

Bring me an Iron Lung                         Bring me a higher love

I want a new truck                                 I want a new drug

Felix                                                       Feelings

The girl with colitis goes by...                  ...with kaleidoscope eyes

I am 'The Worrier'                                  I am The Warrior

Ham-free                                                Half-breed

Scratch Your Knees                              Tragedy

Every time you go away,                          ...a piece of me with you

you take a piece of meat 

with you...

Don't it make your eyebrows                 ...brown eyes blue?

blue?

JoJo was a man who thought                 ...who thought he was a 

he was a woman                                              loner

Admit it. We've all been there. Yes, I might screw up a song more than the average person but that's just because I break out in song a little more often. I know that every time I get the music in me, I risk ridicule but I'm OK with that. I just keep on singing.

"The Knife and Gun Club" - Part 3

(See: Knife & Gun Club - Part 2)

As a staff nurse, my responsibility was not to contact family members. We had a clinical coordinator and chaplain to do that sort of thing. So I guess I was off the hook. But I did promise that I would “tell Cameron” and that bothered me.

I asked a couple of other nurses, techs and the ER doc what their opinions were of contacting family 'after the fact'. The general consensus was that I would be NUTS to even consider calling. Decision made. No phone calls to Cameron or any other gangster’s family members. This was a time to reinforce those ‘boundaries’ that I had been working on.

A couple of days later, while reading The Dallas Morning News, a story caught my eye about a young man who had been working the evening shift in Dallas when, on his way home, he became involved in a minor ‘fender-bender’. The cars were pulled over on the Dallas Tollway when a drive-by witness saw a tall, black man get out of his vehicle and walk towards two men who pulled out weapons and started shooting him. The man was a 29 year old named Michael Baxter (not his real name – although I clearly remember what his real name was) he left a wife and son.

The story continued to say that a few days before his death, Michael had spoken with his wife, Anna, and told her he felt that he had done what God wanted him to do in this world. She pleaded with him to talk about these feelings with their pastor and on the morning of his death, he did what she had asked. When he kissed her and their son good-bye on that afternoon, Anna said that she had a bad feeling about him going to work, but kept it to herself.

Michael was not a gangster.
According to his obituary, he was a hard worker and dearly loved by many.

Although, I would feel the tug on occasion to “tell Cameron”, I resisted the urge. I had no business in getting involved at this point. After all, these people had been through enough. What would I say to them anyway? Who was Cameron? A man? A mistress? Far too complex. Let it go.

And then, about six months after Michael died, I had a vivid dream. It was Michael’s voice and he simply stated his first and last name. That was it. I knew I just had to try to get in touch with his wife.

Next: Knife & Gun Club - Part 4

Coming to America 7

Banking, American Style
Payday. I thought it would never get here. I didn’t have a bank account yet so I asked around and a couple of the new Filipino nurses told me that a banker had just given them a class on "American Banking". His bank was within walking distance of Baylor (a definite bonus) so they gave me his card.

That afternoon, I told my 'ride' not to wait for me as I planned on walking to the bank, opening an account and cashing my check. I would take a cab back home. When I made it to the bank, I couldn't find an entrance door for the life of me. Well crap, it was a 'drive-thru' bank. So, with my head held high and shoulders back, I walked up to a car bay and pressed the red 'call' button. "I would like to open an account" I said. The teller (who had to be stifling a laugh) said "I'm sorry ma'am, but this bank is a drive-thru only. If you would like to open an account, you will need to visit our bank office." There were two cars now, lining up behind me. I pretended not to notice. "Where might that be?" I asked. Trying my best not to sound sarcastic. "Just turn left on Hall then make a left on Elm. It's about 3/4 miles up on Elm" she said. - Easy for her to say, she was not the one walking alone in downtown Dallas.

That weekend, with cash in my handbag and a smile in my heart, I began my search for wheels. The used car section of The Dallas Morning News had pages of car ads and many dealerships were offering “No Money Down!” Perfect! I had no money to put down on a car anyway so, I’m thinking that this type of deal will work well for me. After calling several of the “No Money Down” dealerships, I soon learned that the “No Money Down” deals were for people who had an established credit history in Texas. My bubble burst. Was it a sign? Should I just pack up and go back to Canada?

On Monday, I contacted the banker whose card I had recieved earlier - 'Mr. Lou Bittner, Vice President, The Texas Bank'. I made an appointment to see him that afternoon "about a loan". The way I looked at it, if he was kind enough to help Filipino nurses learn the American banking system, maybe he would have a soft spot in his heart for a Canadian.

Mr. Bittner was a well-groomed, older man who looked very much the part of ‘the banker’. He invited me into his office and seemed genuinely interested in what I had to say. I took a deep breath and began my semi-rehearsed pitch… “Mr. Bittner, I am twenty years old, I am not an American citizen, I have no collateral and I have only been a nurse at Baylor for three weeks but I am trustworthy and could provide you with personal and professional references from Canada and Arkansas, I don't know anyone here. Anyway, I would like to apply for an unsecured loan to buy a car.” I had remembered being told by my dad that a loan without collateral was called an 'unsecured loan' and I thought that using 'banker-speak' would make me sound like I knew what I was talking about.

Mr. Bittner paused for a few seconds then looked at me intensely and said slowly, “I’ll tell you what... I will loan you $3,000.00. But first, you have to come up with $1000.00 on your own. When you do that, call me and you'll have your loan. Your car cannot amount to more than $4,000.00 including tax and title.”

We had ourselves a deal!   Part 8: Wheels!