4/20/02 Angelic Connections

INTRODUCTION: As most of you, I'm sure, know, Johnny Angel isn't his real name--even though it fits him to a tee!

It's one of my pet names for him--and I use it in Cyberspace in order to respect his privacy.

However, I'm going to subsitute it for his last name in this diary entry in order to tell some of the stories that connect us where a last name is required.

On a related subject, I was thinking about the time we got together at McDonald's, and I served some cake to him that I'd made.

He was eating it and telling me how good it was, and he asked, "Is this angel-food cake?"

I replied, "Not originally--but it is now!!!"

Of course, he responded with that precious, childlike laugh of his that just melts my heart to even think about!

Anyway, on with the rest of the entry. . .

What does it mean when a person's name, nickname, username/screen name, etc. has some kind of special connection to you?

Does that automatically make that person the one you're going to marry?

Not necessarily, because the guy I referred to as my Republican Lawyer in the novel where I referred to Johnny Angel as my Democrat Lawyer and I have a lot of connections that relate to part of one of his handles, and he didn't turn out to be "the one."

Even so, he and I have a special connection to this day, and we know it.

I'm now going to, in this entry, substitute "Angel" for Johnny Angel's real last name to share some of this with you.

Here goes. . .

The Weatherman

Back in 1979, my goddaughter, Michelle, who is waxmaker here, came over to spend a few days with me.

She was only a little over a year old at the time and so soft and cuddly.

I remember one evening watching the six o'clock news while rocking her in the rocking recliner.

I had her positioned in my lap facing the TV so that she could watch it, too.

Then, Bob Gregory came on to give the weather report.

For some reason, my mind wandered back to the weatherman from when I had been a couple of years older than Michelle, give or take.

His name was Bill Angel, and there was something about him that I found so homey and comforting.

Aunt Ruby and Phil (her son & my first cousin) lived with my folks and me for awhile.

I remember one evening that I was in the kitchen with Aunt Ruby who was washing the dishes that evening and hearing Bill Angel's theme song drifting in from the living room, and I just felt warm all over without even realizing why.

As I thought about that while holding Michelle, I wondered if she were picking up the same kind of vibes from listening to the Eyewitness News theme song and watching Bob Gregory giving the weather.

Now, I believe that I found all of this comforting because it was part of my routine of being in a happy and loving family--but that it might have also been a sign of that special person sharing the last name of the weatherman who would eventually be part of what was up the road for me.

A Born Writer

I've always loved to not only read/listen to stories but, also, have loved to tell/write them.

My folks and I used to spend some time each summer on the farm about 12 miles from Bowling Green, KY where my grandparents; Aunt Mary & Uncle Jim; my cousins; and a whole bunch of animals then lived.

I can't remember a time when I wasn't able to read at least a little, but, of course, not enough to be able to get through a story without being read to. And my ability to write was also limited.

But I could both tell stories and draw pictures of them.

And I loved going out with my cousins to catch fireflies (a.k.a. lightning bugs) and put them in a jar with holes in the lid.

When we had enough of them to make a lantern, we would take the jar of twinkling and flickering light into a dark bedroom and sit around it in a circle telling "spook tales."

Our "spook tales" were more silly and funny than they were scary, and usually had scenes in them that we picked up from cartoons--like having a wolf on a motorcycle come out of a closet and chase the heroine around until the hero came to rescue her.

After we were done, we would take the jar outside, unscrew the lid, and let the fireflies wing their way back home to their Mommies and Daddies.

As I got older, I began to write stories, too--and, eventually, could type them.

Oh yes! One of the Christmas presents I got when I was four or five was a Tom Thumb typewriter. Of course, I didn't write anything real on it at that time--just liked to press different letters and numbers and watch them get struck onto the inserted paper.

But--though I can't remember what the story is about now--I remember that I wrote a romance story when I was in sixth or seventh grade, and one of the sympathetic characters had the last name of Angel. Of all the names I could have chosen, I chose Angel (the REAL name isn't uncommon, but it isn't all that common, either)!

I wonder why I was inspired to choose that name--or DO I!?!

Peachy-Keen!!!

I had been to a poetry convention in Ohio.

Because it was held in a college dorm--making the cost of it affordable--we poets were able to live there for an entire week!!!

It was Poetry Heaven!!!

I could have eaten most of my meals there, too, if I would pay considerably-more--but I was on a tight budget at the time and was lucky to even be able to afford to attend the convention.

Besides, I saw this as an opportunity to lose a little weight (and I was a lot less heavy back then--in 1984--than I am now).

So, I decided to mostly live on fresh, healthy stuff--and one place I went to get it was this farm market that was a few miles out of town.

The people were so nice there, and the fresh produce knocked my socks off--especially those peaches that were so juicy that some of the juice ran down the sides of my mouth whenever I bit into them. They were BIG, too!!!

Fellow peach-lovers: I think you know exactly what I'm talking about!!!

Plus, they had all kinds of nic-naks, cute postcards, etc. for sale.

It was--to me, anyway--definitely a place to remember and hope to return to someday.

A few years later, I was in the area of where the convention was held and decided to drive around the campus and remember.

And I really wanted to get back to that farm market.

I had remembered it being closer to town than what it was--and, after driving a short way outside of the city limits and not finding it, I came to the sad conclusion that it had been torn down in the name of progress (someone else's opinion re: whether this was progress and not mine!).

A couple of years later, I was back that way.

This time, I found it by accident--it turned out to have been probably ten or fifteen miles away from the college town where the convention was, but it was such a pleasant trip there and back that it didn't seem that far at the time.

I was just riding along and recognized it--so I turned around as soon as I could and made my way back there.

And my eyes popped out when I saw what had been written on the barn roof: the name of the place, of which the first word was Angel's!!!

When I went in to pick up some of their wonderful, juicy peaches--along with a lof of other great taste treats such as plums and cherries--I asked the clerk if she were related to Johnny Angel.

I also asked her how long this place had been owned by her family and had that name--and found out that this had been the case for a long time.

This meant that it had been in the Angel family even before I'd discovered it for the very first time in 1984!

I bought a picture postcard of the place and sent it to Johnny Angel.

No--as far as the clerk knew--they were no relation. No more than shirt-tail, anyway.

Yet, they probably WERE related, because this is located in the same state where Johnny Angel was born, even though he grew up in Northwestern Indiana.

Making New Memories

It was a gray day in early 1988 (or was it early 1989).

Whenever it was, I was having an awful time finding a kind of black & white film that was compatable with a simple camera I knew how to use.

The reason for this was that they were about to quit making it.

Once it was off the shelves, it would be history.

My plan was to buy up enough of it to last me until I could afford to buy a 35 mm camera and learn how to use it.

These black and white glossy photos that I was wanting to end up with would be used to go along with related writings.

I was also discouraged about a relationship--where a man and a woman could really love each other and want to spend forever together, but it wasn't enough.

Anyway, with the discouragement I was starting to feel after not finding the least bit of the kind of film I wanted in any of the camera shops I went to, I didn't want to trip down memory lane when it came to this guy, so I wanted to steer clear of places that reminded me of him.

What I was on was one of my day-trip-style road-trips, and I was visiting different towns and going into their camera shops.

The last town I had gone to definitely made me trip back to a better time romantically, and I didn't want to be in another town like that.

So I headed off in another direction.

Then, I saw a sign telling me that Angelville was (whatever the number was) miles away.

Suddenly, a message formed in my mind: "Make new memories in Angelville."

Now, don't get the idea that I'm talking about "hearing voices" as a person with schizophrenia might. I'm just talking about the kind of inspirational message that comes from God in the form of thought messages like this, dreams, something read, etc.

Anyway, I thought God might be telling me that there would be a photo shop in Angelville that had at least a dozen of the type of film cartridges that I needed--and, probably, a whole lot more.

As I drove toward there, I saw no difference in the sky.

It was still gray--and the grass, fields, etc. were still brown, because it was still winter.

The sun set early, and I knew it was going to be close to dark by the time that I got there.

When I got there, nothing seemed to be opened but a Roselyn Bakery (an Indiana chain, now defunct).

I went in there and got a couple of items that looked especially good to me and took them back to the car to eat while sitting there in the parking lot studying the town.

"Not a bad town. . .has possibilities. Think I'll come back sometime when the streets aren't rolled up for the night. . ."

I never made it back to the town until several years later--and, by then, I knew what had been meant by making new memories in Angelville!

The Call Of The Dunes

A very dear friend, Marshall Mitchell, had a short stint at Indiana Dunes National Lakeshore when he was still a seasonal ranger.

This lasted from mid-September to mid-November in 1985.

I went up there to visit him--and ended up falling in love with the area very quickly. To this day, I still love to go there and spend several days at a time.

Before long, I'm going to write an entire piece on the area.

This was in 1985--and, almost five years later, I would meet Johnny Angel who had grown up close to there and loved to travel over that way to spend time and watch the sunset.

I find it uncanny to this day how I first fell in love with the area--and, then, ended up falling in love with somebody who grew up there!

There are even more connections between us that I know of--and I'm sure I'll be discovering more in the future!

:)"4/26/02 Dreaming Of The Dunes--And You!" :)