While talking on the phone to my daughter one Saturday, the smoke detector in the hall began screaming its ear piercing beep. Immediately, I saw Rick, my husband (who was cooking dinner), run from the kitchen into the hall, grab the smoke detector off the wall, throw it into the spare bedroom ,close the door, and run back into the kitchen! “What was that?” my daughter asked alarmingly. “Oh,” I replied. “Dinner’s ready!” Debbie laughed , asking, “Is that your dinner bell?“ This was one of the moments in time that I shared with Rick over the course of fourteen years. Not one of these moments, good or bad, would I trade for anything in the world. Nor should they be forgotten because he is gone. They were meant to be shared with others, as he shared his life, his love, his spirit, and his caring.
Everything has a beginning and an end. The beginning was when I saw Rick waxing his 280Z. Despite the numerous times we had passed each other in total silence at the apartment complex parking lot, I finally decided to take the plunge and to speak to him. After all, what was the worst thing that could happen to me? Lightening strikes me dead? “Looks good!” I commented, as I made the short journey to my car. Rick thought I was talking about his car. After thanking me, he struck up a conversation at which time I informed him that I was living with my brother. All this time, he thought Bill was my husband. Within five minutes, he asked me out. We were together from that time until he died.
Suddenly, my life was consumed by an old time biker and an old hippy, who looked like a bear, but was, in real life, a teddy bear. A multi-faceted person, Rick kept my life from ever being dull. He didn’t even know what the word “dull” meant. Life was meant to be lived, to be absorbed and to be savored, not just at certain times, but each moment. He was a kind and generous person with an off-the-wall sense of humor. Rick always bragged that he never let the truth get in the way of a good story. My life will never be the same. This is a good thing.
Not long after our first meeting, Rick invited me to accompany him on a vacation to the Bahamas. So, true to my new philosophy in life (what’s the worst thing that could happen to me?), I accepted. On a dream vacation to Nassau, we began to learn more about each other. “We must be friends first, before we can become lovers,” was his belief. True to his word, Rick became the best friend I ever had.
Upon our return to the states, we arrived in Washington D.C. Rick announced that we were going to visit his first wife and her husband. This was news to me. “We’re going to go where and visit who?” I queried in an unmistakably astonished voice. Margaret and John welcomed us with open arms and hearts into their home. While on a sight seeing excursion of D.C., John decided to show us where he worked. Although he had the key to enter the building, John was unable to find his office key, so off he went to procure a spare key. In a flash, Rick had the door open (I truly didn’t see how he did it). Margaret and I, with our mouths still agape, were escorted into John’s office whereupon we took our respective seats. With the door closed and locked again from the inside, we heard the key slide into the lock. John gave out a belly laugh when he saw us all relaxing in his office. Turning to Rick, John exclaimed, “I wondered where the three of you had disappeared. You mean you let me walk all the way for the key, when you could open the door yourself?” Of course, Rick learned this trick when he was locked out of the house by his father, the colonel, after curfew.
Finally, the day had arrived in our relationship that Rick trusted me with his dog T-Bone. At this time I discovered that T-Bone considered me an intruder in his life and was only to be ignored. Although dark outside, I knew I could keep an eye on a seventeen-year old dog. Wrong. Turning around to tell him to follow me, to my dismay, T-Bone was gone. Despite calling his name, pleading with him, and making wild promises of special treats, T-Bone was not to be found. “Oh great,” I thought to myself. “Rick entrusts me with his dog and I proceed to lose him. How will I ever explain this?” Suddenly T-Bone reappeared from around the corner of one of the apartments and dutifully followed me back to Rick’s apartment. But I swear that dog had a “Gotcha look in his eyes!” After telling Rick about what happened, he just laughed, because he said that T-Bone was not only almost blind but almost deaf. However, I know better. T-Bone saw and heard what he wanted to. However, I continued to be the intruder and T-Bone continued to endure my presence.
After finding a house to rent in Pensacola, Florida, moving day had arrived. We both worked feverishly in an attempt to make it as livable as possible. Rick, with list in hand, took my car (which was parked behind his) to the store. Both vehicles were 5 speeds. Suddenly, I remembered some other items that were not on his list (this was before cell phones), so I jumped into his 280Z to make my quick trip to the store. Unfortunately, the gears were not the same. My car, a Dodge Charger, had reverse where first gear is in other vehicles. Putting the car in “reverse,” I turned to back out of the driveway, when the car careened forward through the garage door. Fortunately, I was able to stop the car, but found myself stuck inside the garage. Although there were two other doors in the garage, they were both locked, and I did not have the key. After attempting to back the car out, I discovered that this action would only damage the car further. Not wanting to spend whatever time I had left on this earth in a hot garage, I began pulling chunks of the garage door off. When a sufficient quantity had been removed, I backed the car out of the garage and returned to the house to await my fate. Upon Rick’s return, I went out to meet him with my explanation. He just looked incredulously at the garage door and his car, saying, “I was only gone for thirty minutes.” Thank goodness he saw the humor in the situation, laughed and said not to worry. By the way, I was wearing a T-shirt purchased in Nassau that read, “Hey mon, be hoppy!”
T-Bone and I were still tolerating each other. We were preparing to leave, in his now repaired, 280Z. Rick asked me to go ahead and put T-Bone into the car. A real estate agent was showing the rental house across the street to a young couple. I called T-Bone who, playing the scene for everything it was worth, tucked his tail between his legs, low crawling over to me. Any unknowing observer would have thought that I beat this dog on a regular basis. Upon slinking to the car, T-Bone looked up at me with that “Gotcha” look and promptly jumped obediently into the back seat. Rick jumped into the car, unaware of what had occurred and said, “Good dog!” Yeah, right!
On a flight to visit my daughter and son-in-law in Arlington, Virginia, we had boarded the plane. The flight attendants scurried around, helping the passengers along. The little child that lived inside of Rick, made him start pushing all the overhead buttons, one of which called for the attendant. After the third time, she made him stop playing with the buttons. I overheard her muttering to herself, as she walked away, “I never thought I’d have to make an adult stop playing with those controls!” But I knew. It wasn’t his fault. He just couldn’t help himself.
The day Rick and I married was a perfect day for a gazebo wedding. Our invitation welcomed, those who chose to do so, to ride their motorcycles. After the reception, friends followed us back to our house to continue the party. One very dear friend, with a few too many under his belt, became obnoxious, insulting Rick’s brother-in-law. The incident ended with the friend threatening to fight Rick. Rick turned to walk into the house. The friend asked him where he was going. Rick replied,, ”I’m not going to fight you. I’m just going to shoot you!” He is still a friend, because he realized that he couldn’t handle the booze and has not had a drink since.
Our honeymoon was in Acapulco, Mexico. After observing the driving methods of the residents, we decided that using cabs was an excellent idea for survival purposes. On one such trip, a driver switched lanes, that no longer had lines. This maneuver was done irradically and without warning. After a few minutes, Rick asked the cab driver how he knew where the lanes were. The cabbie replied that he remembered where the lines “used to be.” This was a comforting thought which drew us into the first bar we could find upon paying the taxi driver..
When we lived on the corner of Dexter and Kincaid, the powers that be deemed that this should no longer be a four-way stop. Consequently, Dexter became a race track. Rick made calls to DOT, started a petition of the residents on Dexter, and even stood outside with his cordless phone in hand, while talking to the DOT. As the speeders passed by our house, Rick would hold the phone out and ask, ‘Did you HEAR that?” Not until a child was hit by a speeder and had to be flown out by Life Flight, did a remedy ensue. Did they put up another four-way stop? Not on your life. That would have been too economical. Instead they installed this raised circular spot with curbing, surrounded by poles. We were never sure how many cars this obstacle tore up. Rick wasn’t looking for the destruction of speeder’s, vehicles, just to slow them down.
Once we were driving in his truck to Montgomery, Alabama to purchase equipment and supplies to set up a special order for an aquarium. My eyelids grew heavy and before long I was fast asleep only to be abruptly awakened by Rick shaking my arm. “We’re being pulled over!” was all he said. My first and only question was how fast he was going to which he replied, “85!” I must inject that this was on I-65 when the speed limit was 55 mph. He exited the truck looking like a little boy who was caught with his hand in the cookie jar. However, he was wearing his favorite t-shirt that proudly proclaimed, “I own a Harley, not just a T-shirt!” When he returned from the troopers car, he handed me a slip of paper. “I got a warning,” he informed me. “A WARNING! If it had been me, they would have hauled me off to jail.” Rick truly lived a charmed life.
On a trip to New Orleans, we decided to visit the Aquarium of the Americas. As we were passing by each aquarium, Rick heard a small child ask his father a question about a fish. The father didn’t know the answer and since we owned an aquarium business,, Rick spoke up and answered the question. As with any child, the questioning continued and Rick kept answering the questions. The child and his father followed Rick from one aquarium to the next. Before long, like the Pied Piper, Rick had a trail of children with their parents following us. Soon others, who had no children with them joined the parade. Everyone had a wonderful time, young and old alike, as Rick made their visit more interesting with his own personal guided tour.
Rick and I frequented a local biker bar. On July 4th , the owner would throw a big party with plenty of food and live music. Everyone was welcome to enjoy the festivities. At one such party, door prizes were given away at a drawing. An announcement was made that whoever won the bikini would have to put it on and model it. I think you are ahead of me on this one. Yep! Rick won it. He went to the men’s room and donned his new bikini (leaving his briefs on for security purposes). Then he strolled out and strut his stuff, to the amusement of all observers. As quickly as he appeared, he was gone and reappeared fully dressed. To the best of my knowledge, that was the first and last time he ever wore a woman’s article of clothing. His incredible sense of humor included the ability to laugh at himself.
On Rick’s first visit to our family physician for a check-up. We were waiting, as all patients do, in the examination room. Dr. Bellard emerged into the room only to find Rick sitting on his stool, wearing a plastic glove. Rick snapping the glove, instructed Dr. Bellard to have a seat on the examination table. The good doctor obliged, thus starting the visit from a different perspective. And so began a long and trusting relationship between the two.
Friends of ours, Ben and Shari, who live at Pensacola Beach, threw a party. Upon our arrival, so many cars were parked close to the house, that we were forced to park several houses down the street. As the party goers began to dwindle, Rick decided to drive my car up to their house. About twenty minutes lapsed, causing me concern about what happened. After all, it shouldn’t have taken “that” long.
Finally, a gasping Rick “crawled” through the door. “Your car wouldn’t start,” he announced, “so I had to push it to the house!” All night long I worried about the car, thinking about having to have it towed and to what precisely was wrong with it. The next morning, I checked the car, which started immediately. Rick inquired as to what I had done, to which I replied that I had done nothing unusual. Then it dawned on me. Inquiring as to whether or not he had pushed the clutch in when he tried to start it, he replied with a resounding, “NO!” That was the problem. Rick had pushed the car about half a long block, because he didn’t push the clutch in. We just looked at each other in astonishment and then ended up rolling in laughter at the little details that can cause big problems!
Webmasters note: We thank Ginger for sharing such wonderful memories of her beloved Rick with us and hope that she will be able to someday share more of these wonderful moments of her
life with Rick.
They were blessed to have found each other and I can truthfully say "I believe that these
two were true soul mates, destined to be together."
Rick's passing was a devastating time in Gingers life and these memories are an important part of the healing process one must go through. God Bless you dear cousin. You are very loved.
Music Playing: If Tomorrow Never Comes
