I remember you work shopping this in San Francisco. Even better this time. And I loved the photos of the old guest house. And now as hospice chaplain and former ZHP vol, I so appreciate the warmth and ease of this form of hospice care. Thank you for sharing this with us Josh.
On your May 17th post, I told a story about a friend named Charlie who died then came back and an inconsequential series of books. You worried it would ruin the story to ask, but you asked the name of the series. I never responded. The best thing about it, should you find yourself inconsequential, is you can't ruin anything. The series was the Miss Fortune Mysteries by Jana Deleon. Read the first one. You'll laugh. I promise.
Do you remember me? Three months before the world changed you screened Haiku Tunnel in Berkeley. It was me, an old woman, your wife and brother and his family. I asked your nephew what he wanted to be when he grew up. "A bird!" he shouted and ran around the room flapping his arms. Would but that we could all be birds. We rode the bus together twice. Your son and I talked about bridges. It's a favorite memory of mine.
My talismanic number is 58. My own father was 68, but my mother's father wasn't, and on his side, we have a curse they say. I'm 37, so I have some time. And so is Charlie now, 37. I wasn't raised a red diaper baby like you and Beth. In fact, my 58 year old grandfather once killed a communist during the war. My grandmother would catch him crying about it sometimes. I'll try not to die yet, and I'll try not to kill. I have a bit more control over one than the other. But I'll cry plenty I'm sure. Your stories help more than a little bit in that endeavor. ;-)
Thank you for another beautiful comment, Adam!! I remember you, and that screening and those bus rides, very well. It was all very magical and lovely. Let's both try our best not to die, and not to kill -- and to face with hope and wonder a future that seems brighter to me now than it did just a short time ago. And I'll definitely check out the Miss Fortune Mysteries!
I love all of your stories, but this one is especially exquisite. I feel fortunate to be among those who get to follow your journey as you write these posts and share them with us.
Thank you, Amy! I originally developed this story in improvisations towards what I intended to be a full-length solo piece. A funny thing: The first time I told it to an audience was right after that lunch at the Olive Garden. "Beth" knew I was workshopping a piece about the hospice -- and when I came in for my next shift, she excitedly said, "So did you tell them about us at the Olive Garden?"
Gawdamighty, you've outdone yourself again! What a story! Blessed art thou (and fellow workers/volunteers) for your hospice service!
Thank you - I'm crying and full of hope and joy! Peace, ck
I remember you work shopping this in San Francisco. Even better this time. And I loved the photos of the old guest house. And now as hospice chaplain and former ZHP vol, I so appreciate the warmth and ease of this form of hospice care. Thank you for sharing this with us Josh.
Thank you, Leslie, for this lovely comment! I miss those days so much! What a beautiful group of people!!
What a lovely, lovely story.
I love hearing this beautiful story, Josh. Thank you for sharing your amazing life and being so generous with us all. Tears of gratitude are flowing!
As a hospice nurse, I love this ❤️
That means the world to me, Janice -- thank you!!
Josh,
On your May 17th post, I told a story about a friend named Charlie who died then came back and an inconsequential series of books. You worried it would ruin the story to ask, but you asked the name of the series. I never responded. The best thing about it, should you find yourself inconsequential, is you can't ruin anything. The series was the Miss Fortune Mysteries by Jana Deleon. Read the first one. You'll laugh. I promise.
Do you remember me? Three months before the world changed you screened Haiku Tunnel in Berkeley. It was me, an old woman, your wife and brother and his family. I asked your nephew what he wanted to be when he grew up. "A bird!" he shouted and ran around the room flapping his arms. Would but that we could all be birds. We rode the bus together twice. Your son and I talked about bridges. It's a favorite memory of mine.
My talismanic number is 58. My own father was 68, but my mother's father wasn't, and on his side, we have a curse they say. I'm 37, so I have some time. And so is Charlie now, 37. I wasn't raised a red diaper baby like you and Beth. In fact, my 58 year old grandfather once killed a communist during the war. My grandmother would catch him crying about it sometimes. I'll try not to die yet, and I'll try not to kill. I have a bit more control over one than the other. But I'll cry plenty I'm sure. Your stories help more than a little bit in that endeavor. ;-)
Thank you for another beautiful comment, Adam!! I remember you, and that screening and those bus rides, very well. It was all very magical and lovely. Let's both try our best not to die, and not to kill -- and to face with hope and wonder a future that seems brighter to me now than it did just a short time ago. And I'll definitely check out the Miss Fortune Mysteries!
This might be my favorite of your pieces that I’ve read. Now to catch up with the rest of your blog! 😊
Great story! Sounds like you're feeling better...?
Thanks, Kristina! Yes, I'm feeling a lot better!! :)
so great!
I love all of your stories, but this one is especially exquisite. I feel fortunate to be among those who get to follow your journey as you write these posts and share them with us.
Josh this is exquisite! Thank you for sharing your experience, your heart, your thoughts, and the photos with all of us.
Your stories from your time at hospice are wonderful. Will you be turning them into a performance piece or a book?
Thank you, Amy! I originally developed this story in improvisations towards what I intended to be a full-length solo piece. A funny thing: The first time I told it to an audience was right after that lunch at the Olive Garden. "Beth" knew I was workshopping a piece about the hospice -- and when I came in for my next shift, she excitedly said, "So did you tell them about us at the Olive Garden?"
This is such a beautiful story! I remember hearing you tell it at Berkeley Rep's Ground Floor a few years ago.