Change

Change is good, people say. Change can also be bad, sad, distressing. Change can even, I suppose, be neutral.

I've known people who adapt easily - they see change as a challenge to be met, a goal to be attained, an element of life to be embraced. I'm not one of those people. I can adapt, but I have to do it in my own time, in my own way. For example, I can release objects that I've acquired or held dear, but I usually have to live with the idea for a while. It's almost as if I have to begin to think about letting go, and then my brain begins to slowly cut the connection until, one day, I can release that object to go on to its next habitation, wherever that might be.

The past 17 months have brought more change to my life than I can process very easily. Physically, my new hip prevents me from doing some of the things I've taken for granted most of my life. I can't sit cross-legged on the floor for more than a few minutes without feeling distinct discomfort. Previously, I could sit until my leg fell asleep, and then I'd complain about the annoyance. Now I have to get my body into a more comfortable position, quit what I was doing while sitting in the floor, and try to quell the frustration that I feel. Not a big deal, but I'm not adapting well.

On a more emotional level, I'm experiencing the almost daily change in how my life is ordered, and the ebb and flow of Jim's physical and mental limitations.

Today, with the help of my son, my step-son, and my brother-in-law, I completed moving from my and Jim's well-loved home into the new house that Jim will never share with me. That was hard, really hard. Jim loved that house; and, because he loved it so, I came to love it, too. Every corner held a memory. Rooms we had painted together, window coverings we had hung together, bathrooms we had remodeled together, plants we had nurtured to maturity, additions Jim had made while I "supervised" and served as his "gofer." The back yard we enjoyed when weather permitted, and, most poignantly, the deck where we exchanged our vows of love, celebrating our wedding with friends and family. Today, as the last of the lawn furniture, the potted plants, the papers, books, and Jim's clothing were removed, as I bade this well-loved home goodbye, I felt a deep sense of loss and sorrow. Jim's clothes are packed to be donated to the Vietnam Veterans of America, and I like to think that he is providing for those less fortunate than we have been. But I held onto a shirt that he particularly loved, as well as the navy blue blazer he wore when we were married. I can't let those go just yet. Maybe I'll never be able to. Change is hard.

Today, as I sat with Jim, helping him eat, his face suddenly became blank and his eyes were far away. When I asked if he was okay, if he hurt anywhere, if he didn't feel well, he said only, "My mind is gone. I can't remember." I asked what he was trying to remember, and he said, "Me. You." Fighting back tears for the second time today, I got out my iPad and showed him pictures of us, our wedding, our friends, our children, our grandchildren. I talked about that beautiful, special day, our joy, our love, our life together. He smiled and said, "I love you." He finished lunch, and almost immediately fell asleep in his chair. The aides wheeled him away to put him in bed for a nap, and I came back to this home that Jim will never see. Change is sad.

Today is the one-year anniversary of Jim being admitted to the memory care home. A year ago, I still harbored secret hopes that one day he would come home, that it couldn't be the home we loved and fell in love, where the stairs and the opportunities for him to come to harm were obstacles that we couldn't overcome, but that we would make a new home, in a new place, together. Even then, when he was more aware of where he was, when he was angry with me, when he would yell and rail against life and against me, even then, even then... I hoped. Wherever Jim and I could be together, that would be home. Together, we could weather that change.

Today, I know that home exists in two-hour increments, two or three times a day, when I drive to be with Jim, to help him with his meals, to hold his hand, to sit with him and talk about things we've done, when I edit my day's activities to not mention the cat he doesn't know I have, the house he doesn't know I bought, the move he doesn't know I made. For two hours at a time - sometimes only an hour, sometimes a little more - for that time I am home, for that time I am content, I am almost happy. Home is where my heart is, and my heart is with Jim.

That will never change.

Milestones

Tomorrow, my Sweetheart comes home for good! I am so excited to have him here with me that I can hardly stand it. We will begin reordering our lives to match our "new normal." Some things we both hope we can resume: reading the paper together in the mornings while we drink our coffee; discussing events of the day; watching our favorite t.v. shows; enjoying our deck in the afternoons - the warm weather is arriving just in time!

Some things will be different for us. There will be new regimens of medications, learning to navigate safely around each other and the house, piecing together the events of the past several weeks so they begin to make some sense for Jim, more doctor's appointments (for both of us), physical therapy, learning to shop with wheelchair and cane - the list goes on!

One of our biggest challenges will be Jim's level of awareness regarding his - and my -limitations. I'm trusting that coming home will provide the comfort and security he needs to not only settle his mind (he still has occasional hallucinations), but also to help him regain his mobility and use of his right hand. I told him that I don't care how long he plays Solitaire on his computer, since I firmly believe using the mouse will be positive in healing it. Fortunately, his therapist agrees with me!

It will be seven weeks on Friday since our lives changed so drastically. We've had the love and support of so many people, that it humbles me and makes me even more aware of how blessed we are. We've both come a long way, but Jim's journey has been longer and more arduous. Given the fears that I had in the early days following his strokes, I'm just so very thankful to know that he'll be home in fewer than 12 hours! I do ask that you, my family, friends, and casual readers, keep us both in your good thoughts and prayers as we begin this new chapter.

My Sweetheart is coming home!

What really happened!

On Monday, April 25, I fell out of the back of Jim's truck. Although that may not sound like a big deal, let me rush to assure you that falling from a height of about four feet onto an asphalt parking lot and landing full force on my left hock, with only minimal fall interference from the left hand and arm, can be a very big deal indeed.

Jim hovered over me for several minutes, asking if I needed an ambulance, while I struggled to assess just how badly I was damaged, and whether I did need an ambulance or not. After a few minutes, with a light Oregon rain falling on me, I told him that I thought I was okay, and that I just needed some help to get into the truck. I didn't feel able to actually get up onto my feet, so I crawled the length of the truck to the front door, where I used the door to pull myself up, and Jim helped me haul myself up into the seat. As he climbed into the driver's seat, he continued to worry that we should call 9-1-1, while I reassured him that I thought a broken bone would hurt a lot worse than I seemed to be hurting. We drove home, I dragged myself up the stairs to our bedroom, climbed painfully into bed, took some heavy-duty drugs, and slipped into an uncomfortable sleep.

From then until Friday morning, I managed - with lots of rest and drugs - to get around the house, eat the occasional meal, watch some t.v. in the family room with Jim, and even do my laundry. Although I was in pain, it seemed better each day, and I was a little more mobile each day. Briana even brought Addison and Drew over for a visit on Thursday, and we had quite a nice time. I was pretty sure that things were healing and I was lucky to be doing so well after a nasty fall.

Friday morning around 7:00 a.m. I made my way downstairs to find my Jim apparently still groggy from sleep and not making much sense. After trying to get him to respond, I made the decision to call 9-1-1 -  the best decision I've ever made. When the EMTs arrived, they told me that they thought he was having a stroke and should go immediately to the hospital. After arguing with Jim for a while, I called his son Mike, and Jim finally agreed to go. He left in the ambulance, and I followed about 30 minutes later in my car.

When I arrived at the ER at the VA Hospital, I parked and struggled to get out of the car. Finally, I grabbed my lower leg and bent it enough to get my foot past the doorsill. I heard a couple of popping sounds, and my whole field of vision went white as I experienced the worst pain I've ever felt. After several minutes, I attempted to put my foot on the ground and stand up. When I did, it felt as if there were nothing under my foot, and I almost passed out from the pain. After hanging by my arms between my car and the one parked next to me, I was able to flag down a very nice man who grabbed a wheelchair and wheeled me to the VA Emergency room. Mike and Christina were already there waiting for Jim to come back from an MRI. I saw him for just a few minutes, and Christina wheeled me across the Skybridge to the ER at Oregon Health & Science University. After waiting what seemed an interminable time, I was x-rayed and told that I had broken the neck of my left femur. Apparently it had been broken when I fell of the truck, but wasn't displaced until I bent my leg, at which time I completed the circuit. The treatment: a full hip replacement.

I saw Jim again briefly that afternoon, and early Saturday morning I was wheeled into the operating room for a four-hour surgery.

For the past few days, I've been recovering from surgery and visiting Jim each day, thanks to the cooperation of the two hospitals and the strong arms of Mike to push me in a wheelchair. Jim has been in and out of the neurology ward and ICU, and we've been told variously that he's had three strokes - or maybe two strokes - that he's had a heart attack and that there either is or isn't a blood clot in his heart that may or may not be feeding clots to his brain. He has traveled in and out of coherence, and has been happy to see us or unable to recognize us. It's all been very frustrating, but he's being cared for by lots of good, well-qualified people.

Tonight I am in a short-term care facility about 7 miles from Jim, where I will spend the next couple of weeks learning how to take care of myself without dislocating my new titanium hip. Jim is resting well and will be returned to the neuro ward from ICU as soon as a bed opens for him - hopefully tomorrow. I will be able to visit him each day, by utilizing medical transportation. Each time we are able to spend a few minutes together it's revitalizing for both of us. And each day I am thankful all over again that I told Jim I didn't need to go to the hospital when I fell; he would have been home all alone at a critical time on Friday.

We have been blessed with the love and care of so many of our family and friends who have visited, run errands, sat with us during difficult times, retrieved things from our house, bought clothes (mine had to be cut off of me), and who have just generally provided loving support during what has been a difficult 10 days. We hope that we're both on the road to full recovery, but recognize that there are still some unknown waters ahead. Together, and surrounded by love, we will face them!

Looking back

Saturday evening, a phone message at my sister's house was the first hint I had that our return to Miami might be different this time.

Ben and I were wrapping up a week in Portland which my sister and I had spent going through our mom's personal items following her death the previous February. It had been a bittersweet time, filled with both sadness and hilarity, seasoned with nostalgia and hard decisions. Claudia's phone message was something about a hurricane that was headed for Miami - "a bad one" - due to arrive Sunday night just a few hours after our own scheduled arrival.

I wasn't particularly concerned; it had been many, many years since Miami had taken a direct hit - never in the 23 years I had lived there - and most hurricanes tended to wander off course and not be nearly as awful as they were predicted to be. Still, we turned on the weather and watched as the meteorologist briefly mentioned it. We got to bed way too late, but still managed to make our early morning flight with its plane change in Dallas/Ft. Worth.

To our surprise, the flight out of DFW was packed - mostly with news people from everywhere, along with their cameras and other equipment. We were told that it was the last scheduled flight to Miami until after the hurricane danger was over.

It was an uneventful flight. Ben and I talked about our just-completed vacation in Portland, and I worried about the boxes of my mother's memoirs and how they were faring in the baggage compartment. As we approached Miami International, it was a shock to see how empty the expressways were! It had been a long time since I'd seen them without bumper-to-bumper traffic.

My then-husband met our flight, gathered up our luggage, and drove us home through a ghost-town-like city. He stopped to get cash from an ATM, but it had no money in it! People had cleaned out ATMs, grocery stores - wherever they could get cash. Stores were closed and shuttered, and Ed told us that he had put the hurricane shutters on our house. It was becoming real.

After we got home, Ed took Ben with him to his office at the airport to check on his crews and be sure all of the planes were safe. I started laundry and took a much-needed nap.

By the time it struck that night, we were prepared. Jugs of fresh water, all outdoor furniture, hoses, sprinklers, etc., were put away, and we were watching nonstop weather reports on the television.

We went to bed at our usual time, Ben crawling in bed with us because the wind was so loud and scary - not just to him, but to Ed and me, as well. When the power went out, I remember turning over to finally go to sleep, hearing the wind rushing past the house, branches snapping, things flying through the air - and the double front doors blowing open and slamming against the interior walls!

In a flash, we were out of bed and in the entry. There Ed and I spent the next five hours holding the doors shut, bracing ourselves against wind that gave us no rest, while Ben kept our pets and himself safely out of danger's way and periodically brought his dad and me cold drinks. We didn't dare let up our force against the doors - each time we did, they blew open again, once knocking me back about ten feet before I recovered and forced it shut again.

When finally - finally! - the wind died down, we carefully ventured outside to view our neighborhood. Where, just the evening before, had stood lovely homes with mature trees and manicured lawns, we now saw what appeared to be a war-torn neighborhood. Roofs were gone, fences were flattened, trees were either blown completely over with roots exposed, or snapped off completely. Roof shingles were embedded in tree trunks, plywood sheathing lay scattered around the neighborhood, garage doors were unhinged; it truly was a disaster.

We were without power for two full weeks. We spent Thanksgiving and Christmas living in a trailer in our front yard, and it was the end of January before we could move back into our house. It was a time to be thankful for so many things - mostly that we were all safe. We lost nothing that couldn't be replaced. We had good insurance, and they paid quickly. We discovered the value of real friends and community.

It was eighteen years ago today that Hurricane Andrew reminded the people of South Florida that nature will have its way, and that we are presumptuous to think we have all the answers. In the years since 1992, the southern US has felt the force of many hurricanes stronger and more costly than Hurricane Andrew. But he was the wake-up call.

In a way, Ben and I both still treasure the memories of that day and the ones that followed. It was hard, but we all pulled together, and there is a good feeling in recalling that. As I've often said, it wasn't the worst thing that happened to me that year - my mother's death was - but it was the event that taught me the most about myself. And that's not a bad thing!

Once upon a time...

... a long time ago, there lived a young girl whose greatest dream was to be a mother. This little girl loved to play with her dolls and imagine they were her children, and she always stopped to peek at new babies and say, "hi," if their mommies didn't mind.

Over the years, she occasionally set her sights on other careers - always ones that were appropriate for girls, since she lived in a time and place where girls had fewer choices. Sometimes she wanted to be a nurse, like Cherry Ames, who also got to solve mysteries! Sometimes she wanted to be a teacher, like Mrs. Slough, or Miss Jones, or Mrs. Emery, who were her very most favorite teachers ever! Sometimes (though she knew she couldn't really do this), she wanted to be Annie Oakley or even Dale Evans, singing those old songs and riding horses and married to Frank Butler or Roy Rogers.

But always and forever, her dreams came back to being a mother.

As little girls will, this little girl grew up - too quickly for some, but hardly fast enough for her! - and met a handsome young man with whom she fell in love. There were obstacles to overcome, and there was a war going on, but over the years they stayed together, and eventually they were married.

Life wasn't easy, as it isn't for any young couple, but they managed. And still this former little girl - this new wife - wanted more and more to be a mother.

Then one day - an upset stomach that wouldn't go away... a trip to the doctor... and happy news, the news she'd waited to hear for almost her whole life: a baby was on the way! The time - as time always does - alternately dragged and sped by. Some days it seemed the baby would never arrive, and other days it seemed it was passing all too quickly.

Preparations were made; furniture, clothing, books - oh, so many books! - to read and learn from! And, finally, one Sunday morning, a trip to the hospital, a short (but painful!) labor. A baby boy! My child, my son, my dream realized.

Forty years ago today, my Marty-boy, you were placed in my arms, and I cried (as I do now) from the sheer joy of knowing you and loving you. Through the good and bad, the ups and downs, the tears, laughter, anxiety, fear, sorrow, and joy, I have loved you and always will love you.

Happy Birthday to my oldest son! May you be blessed - may I be blessed - with many, many more.

A mothering moment

This morning, as is usual on Wednesdays, I arrived at Ben & Briana's house to spend the day being Granny Nanny to Drew. She and I have developed a routine to our days that satisfies both of us - most of the time! At almost eight months, she's very interactive and loves to laugh and play. She has a prodigious appetite, and makes noises the whole time she's eating. And when she smiles - well, as I described it to her mommy and daddy - it's as if her whole face breaks out in a grin! I love being with her and watching her grow, in the same way I've loved the time I've been with her big brother. I hope that Drew and I will share a closeness similar to what I have with Addison.

Watching these two grow frequently puts me in a nostalgic mood, and I sometimes recall the growing-up years of my own boys. Oh, there were lots of frustrations - anyone who's raised kids knows exactly what I'm talking about - but the frustrations were outweighed by the joys, and I'm always amazed at how quickly the years passed.

Ben, who is my youngest, fell victim to the lousy economy last Fall when he lost his job. He's a graphic designer, and incredibly talented. But we live in an area that is replete with talented men and women who are looking for work, so that makes it both more difficult and more likely that he will find a good job. In the meantime, he's had quite a few freelance jobs come his way, and coupled with Briana's resourcefulness, they're managing just fine.

This morning, though, well it was pretty special for me. Ben had an interview schedule for an actual employment position - hopefully with benefits - and he didn't have to leave as early as usual. When he was ready to go out the door, he kissed me goodbye and I wished him good luck. I looked at this wonderful young man - almost 30 years old now! - and my heart swelled with such pride it almost burst. He stood so tall and handsome in his suit - not the usual jeans and sports shirts graphic design-types usually wear, but a real suit with dress shirt and tie! As I watched him leave, I thought about how lucky I am to have had that moment with him.

Oh, I wish he hadn't lost his old job, of course. It was a good one and they tried very hard to keep him on, despite the economy. But I sometimes take his role as husband and father for granted, and - truthfully, now - I sometimes still think of the little boy who looked to his mom for comfort and reassurance, and I miss those days. Now he finds - as he should, and as I want him to - his main support and encouragement from his wife, and she's his rock. But this morning, just for that fleeting moment, when he said, "Wish me luck, Mom," I was very thankful to be there, to say all the things that you say to your kids when they're venturing out into a world that isn't always kind and welcoming. "Good luck, son," I said. "Try not to be nervous, and just be yourself. Who you are is the best advertisement for your work."

And it's true, whether he gets this job or another one. He is a genuine person, and I'm very proud of that.

Where did I come from?

One of the blogs I read regularly is authored by my online friend (and follower of my blog) JD. Although we've never met, JD is from my home state of Florida and he writes fairly regularly about places I'm somewhat familiar with. He also writes from time to time about his genealogy research.

Now, I am a woman of many interests, and genealogy is one that has occupied me for many years. I love the connection I feel with my forebears, and when I'm lucky enough to find an old photograph, I might inspect it for a while to see if there is a family resemblance that has survived the generations. I have a membership at Ancestry.com, which isn't cheap, but it does allow me to "connect" with others who are researching common ancestors. There's a certain thrill when I find a distant ancestor's information in a census or in an old story, as well as the occasional famous person. (I recently discovered that I'm a descendant of Simon Bradstreet and Anne Dudley; quite exciting!)

One of the dangers, however, is that it's easy to be led astray by connecting with folks who aren't as diligent (read "compulsive") as I about keeping the family lines straight! That's where the family connection comes in.

I've recently been contacted by a fellow genealogist whose own family tree intersects with mine in an oblique manner: My great-aunt was married to a man named Jasper Black; my online friend's grandmother was half-sister to Jasper. So we share no blood, but do have an interest in where our family lines brush up against each other. In her research - which is more linear regarding the Blacks than is mine - she discovered that I had connected with incorrect ancestors. Now this may not seem like a big deal to those of you who live in the here and now, but what it means to me is that I now have a better chance of finding other connections for those family members who have remained elusive.

Via email, this friend and I exchanged phone numbers and she surprised me with a phone call a couple of days ago. It was pleasant to discuss Great-aunt Vesta with someone who shares an interest in the family, and since she still lives in Florida, it was nice to hear again the slight southern accent that she still carries. (My accent has all but disappeared until a few glasses of wine or an encounter with someone from the South revives it!)

By indulging in this kind of research, I know of the long family tradition of interest in things political, in our family's service at sea over the generations, and have a glimmer of where the family interest in writing has coursed its way across the centuries. I already knew that my grandfather was something of a genealogist (although he apparently had no qualms about revising the unpleasant!), and I know that it continues in my middle son as well as a few of my cousins.

My own personal religious beliefs lead me to embrace the idea of an afterlife, but regardless of what might eventually prove to be true, the Johns and Vestas and Fenns and Annes and Simons live on in my research and my desire to know who they were and where I came from. And, perhaps, so shall I in generations yet to be born!

Feeling good while feeling bad

I'm sick. Nothing serious, I think, but a sore throat, a cough, a mild headache, and sneezing and dripping. It doesn't feel like the flu - swine or otherwise - but just one of those illnesses that enervates and makes you glad you don't absolutely have to do anything!

I had the foresight yesterday to bring in enough firewood to keep the woodstove going until Jim gets home in the wee hours on Monday. I have a pot of homemade clam chowder to soothe both body and soul, I've got the remote in easy reach, a comfy sofa to doze on, my computer close at hand (obviously!), and with Jim out of town, I have the luxury of thinking of no one but me.

So, of course, being who I am, I'm thinking about my family - specifically, my middle and youngest sons and their wives.

Jason and Lisa were married on my birthday in 1996. They had been friends for several years before romance blossomed, and I first met Lisa when I was moving to Oregon in 1994. One of my fondest memories of that trip can still evoke strong emotions in me: Lisa had changed the startup sound on Jason's computer to say "I love you, Jason." Every time he turned on the computer, he was greeted with that affirming statement, and it resonated with the sentimental in me - and thrilled the mom part.

Jason and Lisa are the parents of three absolutely wonderful boys: smart, loving, handsome, funny, and all of those other superlatives that grandparents apply to their grandchildren. Of course, in this case, they're all true! They're a busy, happy, involved family. They play with the boys, they tease, they participate in scouting - generally doing all the things that good parents do.

But more importantly, they love each other - and it's obvious. Every couple of years I board an airplane and fly to the midwest to visit them. For several days, I'm right in the midst of their daily lives and get to experience their relationship up close and personal. They are such a perfect match and it warms my heart to be around them. I'm also privileged to be their "Friend" on Facebook, a medium where it's not uncommon to see see the comment

Jason > Lisa: I love you

Lisa > Jason: I love you, too

Jason and Lisa: I love you both. Thanks for being friends, lovers, excellent parents, and wonderful role models on how to make marriage work and make it fun at the same time. You make it look easy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ben and Briana celebrated their fifth anniversary this summer. I first met Briana when they were both in college, and was immediately drawn to her - not only because she's a warm, loving woman, but because she and Ben so obviously loved each other. And how can you not love someone who gives your youngest child that wonderful glow?

One memorable summer, they, along with my oldest son, shared my two-bedroom condo with me. It was a great opportunity to really get to know Briana and to observe their relationship. They are now the parents of two smart, loving, funny children: a boy and a girl. They, too, are good parents, and I love to watch them as they raise their children to take their places in this world. (Although Drew is still just a baby and her major focus is currently bubble-blowing and getting her teething ring into her mouth - she excels at both activities!)

Again, though, their biggest contribution to their children's well-being is the love they share and the time they make in their busy lives to reinforce that love. I am a more intimate part of their lives simply because I've been Granny Nanny since their oldest was only two-and-a-half months old. I'm in their home several days a week, and I see them at the most stressful times of the day - leaving for work in the morning, and coming home in the afternoon. We also have family events that we share, and I'm always thrilled to be a part of those. In times both stressful and relaxing, busy and laid back, their love and caring for each other shines through.

I'm also their Facebook "Friend," and love to see:

Ben: I'm making tea for my baby wife.

Briana: I'm curled up with my hubby watching old movies.

Ben and Briana: It has been and remains one of the great joys of my life to watch your love grow and to see the many ways you complement and care for each other. You reinforce my belief in marriage, and set an example for those who are privileged to be an intimate part of your life together.

Could I ask for more? I think my headache has even gone away!

Going Home

My week in Champaign is coming to a close. In just a few short hours I'll be on a plane heading west, and these days with my Illinois family will be just a memory.

We've had a great time: we've played, laughed, talked, reminisced, and have made lots of new memories. I never know just how long it will be till we're all together again, so leaving is always hard, even as I look forward to being back home with my dear ones in Oregon.

Jason and Lisa have made me feel at home - as they always do - and although I know they'll be glad to reclaim their sofa and their privacy, I know that they will miss our time together. I am so blessed.

My grandsons are all strong, intelligent, healthy - and gorgeous, I might add! - and I will miss their silliness and their hugs and kisses. The two older boys are back in school next week, so their days will soon be too full for missing me, but I know that all three boys have good memories of our time together.

Andrew (11-1/2), David (7-1/2), and Matthew (4) are boys that any grandparent would be proud to claim. I'm so thankful that I can call them mine.

And so, I am homeward bound. Leaving ones I love to return to ones I love. I'll see you on the West Coast!

A marvelous day!

I'm in Champaign, Illinois, visiting my middle son, his wife, and my three oldest grandsons. I arrived Thursday morning, the 6th, and am enjoying being in the midst of my Midwest family.

I'm going to quickly note the horrendous flight here and get on to the good parts.

The very best part of my overnight flight from Portland was landing at the Atlanta airport. If you've ever had the misfortune to be routed through Atlanta, you'll know right away that the flight itself was truly awful. We were late leaving Portland because our plane was late arriving. That was the good news. We experienced turbulence for about 2,500 miles of the 2,700-mile flight. I don't mind turbulence, and ordinarly would have been able to sleep. Except for the 9-month-old baby who was flying with her grandma. She was cute as a button - when she wasn't crying. But she only stopped crying during the approximately 200 non-turbulent miles! We all felt so sorry for her and her grandma, but she would not be comforted. And every time she quieted for a few minutes, the turbulence would start up, and so would she. All of this was exacerbated by the noxious perfume the person in front of me was wearing, and which gave me a headache. Not to mention the fact that I had to fly all the way to Atlanta and then fly BACK to get to Peoria.

Not a lot of fun, but it's over and I'm here!

Today (the 6th) is Jason's birthday. I haven't spent his birthday with him for about 18 years, so that in itself is a special treat. To make it even more special, tonight was opening night for the community theatre production of "Annie Get Your Gun," in which Jason plays the part of Foster Wilson. Those who know me, or who have read this blog for a while, know that Annie Oakley is my all-time favorite historical woman.

Jason has gotten tickets for all of us for Saturday night's performance, but I decided that I wanted to attend tonight, as well. After all, it's his birthday, it's a musical I love, and my son has a role!

It was fantastic! I wish I could go to every performance, but will be content with tonight and Saturday night. I had my picture taken with the actors who played Buffalo Bill Cody, Annie Oakley, and Frank Butler. What fun it was, and how like a child I feel when soaking up the wonderful songs written by Irving Berlin. The acting is good, the pride I have in my son is even better, and the anticipation of a whole week with these loved ones is the best of all!

You'll be hearing more from Champaign, but for tonight I am enjoying the glow of the memories already made.

And the Flight From Hell is fast becoming a distant memory.

When you're hot, you're hot!

There is nothing that means more to me than my family.

Today - our third day of 100+ degree temperatures (with another hot one promised for tomorrow) - I invited my daughter-in-law, jr. to bring the kids to our house to spend a few hours in the air-conditioned comfort of our 5th wheel. With a three-year-old and a one-month-old, I knew Briana would be facing one more uncomfortable afternoon, looking for ways to entertain two children without having to face the crowded "comfort" of a mall, a park, or some other form of entertainment. She graciously obliged, thinking, I'm sure, that she would find some respite and some company while we endured another day of our heat wave. And, since I know her pretty well, she was also thinking that Gran would enjoy some time with the kiddos!

She's such a smart woman!

After she called to say they would be coming over, I extended the invitation to my son Ben, and also to Jim's son and daughter-in-law, and our granddaughter, Ada. Unfortunately, they weren't able to join us, but we had a fun and impromptu gathering of Ben, Briana, Addison, and Drew. We were cozy in the 5th wheel as we enjoyed slot cars, movies (Elmo and Winnie-the-Pooh), a light - and cool - dinner of shrimp, cucumber salad, strawberries, cantelope, and a little beer and wine.

I'm basking now in the afterglow of a family afternoon, spent with people I love, doing things that were enjoyable across the generations, and knowing that I am, without question, among the most fortunate of people!

We can always weather the vagaries of life, of weather extremes, of misfortune, as long as we have people whom we love - and who love us right back!

It's been a great summer so far!

Oh, gosh, where to begin?

I guess I should show you my beautiful granddaughter, Drew Alexandria, born just two days before my birthday. I haven't had much time with her yet, but am planning to remedy that tomorrow. I'll pick Addison up from school, take him home, and spend the rest of the afternoon with Briana and the kiddos. Then I'm invited to stay for dinner so I can have a little more time with Drew. After all, I have to learn to change those cloth diapers and she and I need to get to know each other a little better!

On Sunday, July 6th, Jim & I took off in our 5th wheel for a few days at the Oregon Coast, clamming with friends. Razor clams are quite the delicacy here and digging them is loads of fun. Cleaning them, not so much. Eating them is awesome!

So, the way to dig is with a "gun" (actually a tube about 3 feet long and 3-4" in diameter), in the wet sand, while the tide is going out. This entails getting to the beach at about 4:30 or 5:00 am (morning tides are best), rain or shine (mostly rain here in Oregon), and being willing to get very, very wet in the process! There is a per-person limit of 15 clams per day, and Jim and I both limited on each of three days, but only dug 15 between us on one day.

That's 105 razor clams in my freezer, folks!

But it was fun. We were with people we enjoy, we had mostly good weather, we managed to take late-morning naps (required when you get up at 3:30 and spend two hours in the surf!), we drank a couple of glasses of wine, had bonfires, roasted marshmallows, and just generally put the cares of the world aside for a few days.

As always, though, it was good to come back home!

What happened?

I'm 62 years old. No getting around it. Social Security checks will start showing up in late August, gravity is winning, and my oldest grandchild is now into double-digits of age. (Of course, he's the smarty who first called me old, back when I was barely 57!)

I love my birthday. Hell, I love everybody's birthday! I think they're important milestones. Yes, I know age is just a number, but birthdays give us an opportunity to reflect on the year - or years - past. People do that on New Year's Eve, too, of course, but birthdays are more personal I think.

It's been an interesting week around here. Tuesday morning I got up early and met my son, daughter-in-law, and grandson at the hospital where Briana was scheduled to have labor induced. The plan was for me to spend Tuesday, and, if necessary, Tuesday night and Wednesday with Addison, making occasional trips to the hospital to visit mom, dad, and baby sister.

We had a pretty good time. Addison is pretty easy-going and I've spent enough time with him to know his patterns of behavior and he knows when Gran means business, so we seldom have more than the occasional 3-year-old (or 62-year-old) lapse in routine and manners.

After an abbreviated nap on Tuesday, we spent most of the afternoon with his best friend, Jascha, and were planning what to do next when we got the phone call that Drew Alexandria had arrived in the world! So off we went to the hospital to meet her. Addison was pretty excited (you always have to wonder what kinds of images their minds conjure up; I think that mostly they think life will be exactly the same and may even think that the new baby is a passing incident - surely not someone who will take up permanent residence!), and, yes, so was I!

Drew is a cutie, all 5 lbs. 15 oz. and 19" of her! She has lots of black hair and makes sweet cooing sounds nearly all the time. She's my granddaughter!

After dinner, off to home and to bed for Addison and me (and everyone else, I think!). Wednesday, we went to the hospital for a visit and Addison got to hold his baby sister for the first time. He was very gentle and very sweet, but did not want to leave his mom when it was time to go! He clung and cried and had to be carried to the car. It made me feel so bad for him. I knew it would happen, of course, but I still felt bad.

At home, after lunch, he did not want to take a nap and fought it with all that is in him, becoming quite put out with me:

Addison: "It's almost 2 o'clock Gran. Mommy says I only have to sleep till 2 o'clock."

Me: "But you haven't slept, Addison; you need to sleep till at least 3 o'clock. You need to rest for when mommy, daddy, and Drew come home tonight. And tomorrow's my birthday party; you don't want to be tired for that, do you?"

Addison: "I'm going to be sick tomorrow. I can't come to your party."

Me: "What? You're going to miss my birthday? I'm sorry; I don't like it when you're sick."

Addison: "I'll be well again when your party's over. Then when it's over I can have some cake."

He eventually settled down and did actually sleep for about an hour, but not without making me aware that I was just not playing fair!

So, an eventful week in many ways, but especially with the birth of my first and only granddaughter. As I told her on her birth day, I'd been expecting her for 39 years! She and I are going to have a lot of fun, and I look forward to getting to know her in the ways that I know her Big Brother, Addison.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In 1996, my middle son, Jason, called and told me that he and Lisa were planning to get married, and would it be okay if they got married on my birthday. Okay? It was more than okay!

Happy 13th Wedding Anniversary, Jason and Lisa. You two make it look easy! I love you both.

On being a mother-in-law

I've had two mothers-in-law, neither of whom was particularly happy to have me as part of the family. In fact my first mother-in-law actually threatened to kill me if I "ever hurt her Joey." I did hurt him - badly, I'm afraid - but lived to remarry and have another mother-in-law! Lucky me.

With apologies to my sons, who loved their grandma (my second mother-in-law), we never quite hit it off. I did provide her with her first grandson, and she liked that, but if it could have been done via another method (someone other than me, for example) I think she would have been happier. I'm sure our lack of rapport and our failure to bond was as much my fault as hers. We came from vastly different backgrounds, had diametrically opposed ideas about child-rearing, where her son's loyalties should lie, and whether or not I actually qualified as family.

But bad experiences can have good outcomes if we pay attention. I vowed, when my sons married, that I would be the best mother-in-law I could be. I accepted - mostly gracefully, I think - that I would no longer hold the role of the most important woman in their lives, and that any attempts on my part to hang on to them would only cause bad feelings and could damage their primary relationship: the one each son has with his wife.

I know I haven't been perfect, but for the most part I think I've done pretty well. It helps a lot that I truly love my daughters-in-law, and am thankful for the partnerships they have forged with their husbands, my sons. I think they're both good moms to my grandchildren, and we enjoy a mutual love and respect that I treasure in the deepest parts of my heart.

Both of them - Lisa and Briana - have shown remarkable respect and restraint when I have opened my mouth inappropiately, and both of them have gone out of their way to ensure that I have time to nurture the mother-son relationships that mean so much to me.

So now you're expecting some big revelation, some "uh-oh, I really f****d up this time!" Au contraire, Dear Reader; I am here to tell you that I have waited patiently for ALMOST TEN DAYS to write this blog. Never let it be said that I cannot show restraint. Just because I have nearly chewed my foot off waiting, well please accord me points for keeping my mouth shut until d-i-l, Jr (known in the family as Briana) posted her own blog today, in which she detailed the recent events surrounding the anticipated birth of my first granddaughter!

Drew was originally due around July 4th, but recent events (which I will not repeat here; cruise on over to Briana's place) have conspired to advance her birth date to next Tuesday, June 23rd. Because Briana has been ordered to conserve calories, I have had the pleasure of spending more time with Addison than I ordinarily would. And I've had the pleasure of some unrushed conversations with Briana. Since most of our exchanges revolve around Addison (quite literally sometimes, as he insists, "It's my turn to talk now!"), it's been nice to indulge in girl talk with a young woman I love and admire.

So now you know. In just a few short days I will hold in my arms a little girl, my own flesh and blood. I'm excited and a little afraid. Even today it's not an easy world in which to be a woman, but I know that her parents, her big brother, her aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents, will all be for her a source of love, strength and comfort.

I can hardly wait to see her face, this girl-child. Perhaps I hope to see in her a bit of me.

We're havin' a heat wave...

Here in the land of slugs and moss, we're still usually having rain this time of year. Frequently we're still even having the occasional fire in the woodstove! But not this year. This year we're having warm - dare I say "hot"? - weather. Not hot like in South Florida or other parts of the south and northeast, but still... Mid-80s is pretty darned hot for us in May!

Of course, hot weather has some advantages. Such as yesterday's barbecue at Ben & Briana's, with Christina, Ada, Julie and Erich - and Addison, of course! It was a gorgeous day, spent mostly outside admiring their garden, watching the kids play, and complaining about the heat. But what else can you do about the weather?

We finally got the deck furniture out today. Well, Jim got it out while I played inside on the computer. Later this afternoon we'll sit out there with glasses of wine, enjoying our yard that we love so well. Our new honeysuckle vines are twining around our newly-installed arbor, and the star jasmine has exploded with growth and lots of buds that hold the promise of sweet smells in a few weeks.

The maple trees we planted 3-1/2 years ago are now providing enough shade that we don't hide from the afternoon sun any longer. And our ducks will swoop in later to enthrall us with the simple fact of their return.

As a teen in Florida, I loved the summer. It meant beaches, shorts, long and lazy days. As a young mother I was less thrilled with it, but can still conjure up the smell of sun-drenched little boys, all sweaty and puppy dog-like in their odor and behavior. And now - dare I confess? - I have occasional flashbacks to what summer in Miami was like and there's an elemental longing for hot afternoons, cold drinks, and then retreating inside to the airconditioned house.

Here, we don't have a/c - seems a little wasteful to us for these few days or weeks of heat. And, here, too, I know that these hot days will be quickly followed by drizzly rain, and then before I've had a chance to get a really nice tan, it will be fall!

So, here's to summer: However long it lasts, however hot it gets, it's a lazy time of year and I'm enjoying it so far!

Ask me again, though, in August when we start edging toward 100 degrees. I will likely be singing the praises of rain and snow by then!

Traveling Fool

Over Memorial Day Weekend, Jim and I - as is our custom - headed east to the tiny Oregon town of Spray to watch their rodeo. Spray boasts a population of about 150 people, but it swells to nearly 15,000 over the Memorial Day Rodeo weekend! There is one motel, with only five rooms, and in-town camping facilities for about 30 trailers. The rest of the folks camp either in "nearby" towns (meaning anywhere from 40 to 50 miles away) or in the Umatilla National Forest. And that is where we choose to camp.

To add to our enjoyment, we took the grandkids with us this year, leaving on Thursday. Ada's mommy and daddy joined us on Friday evening, and my sister and brother-in-law arrived on Saturday. The kids were not particularly impressed with the rodeo, but did enjoy seeing the animals and definitely enjoyed the freedom of playing in the forest! We arrived home on Monday, exhausted, but with lots of happy memories.

Upon my arrival home, I found an email from one of my eFriends, commenting on our recent travels to Europe, and outlining her adult children's travels, along with a few of her own. She closed her email with a question: "Don't you think it would do most people good to travel outside the US to see how others live?" (I do hope she doesn't mind that I'm blatantly using her comment in my blog!)

I've thought about that over the past couple of days, in light of our recent European travels as well as our trip across the US last year, and even this past weekend in a small Oregon town. And I've come to the conclusion that travel of any kind is good for us. It opens our minds and broadens our horizons. It keeps us from becoming too comfortable with our way of life, and it challenges our assumptions.

By encountering people of different cultures - whether it be a foreign culture, or just the culture of a different region of our own country, or a town of a different size - we frequently come face to face with people whose ideas are opposed to ours, but who hold those ideas with the same fervor we feel. By taking on the role of guest in another culture, we have the opportunity to experience what it is like to be in a minority position - language, religion, government policies, food preferences - the list is long! - and to be for a short time in a position that is outside our usual comfort zone.

I am a woman who is not known for being submissive or feeling insecure. However, in a foreign country, or even in Spray, Oregon, I am much less assertive than I am in my "natural" environment. I am aware that I am a guest (with all that this status implies, thank you , Mom!), and I am always aware that my views on everything from politics to religion to the environment may be diametrically opposed to those whose space I have invaded. It makes me listen more carefully, examine my own comments more carefully - perhaps even editing what I want to say, and even putting myself in others' places to try to understand why they feel as they do.

So, yes, I do think it would be good for all of us to have the experience of travel. Not just outside the US, but outside our communities, our cities, our states, our geographic regions. I think the key to understanding is meeting each other face to face. It doesn't mean we will change our minds about anything, but it at least allows us to see that those who think differently are not demons, but our fellow travelers on this planet. Broadening our horizons in whatever ways we can will only make us more whole, and will certainly go a long way toward lessening our fear of that which is "other."

Thank you, Holly, for asking!

Catching up, briefly

Wow! It's been a long time, hasn't it? I'm going to beg your indulgence and post my travelogue of our trip to Europe in three parts: London, Paris, and Rome. We had a great time - as you will note if you decide to read them all.

But, as always, it's best to be back home.

Yesterday, we hosted a baby shower for my youngest son and daughter-in-law. It was so much fun and I always enjoy seeing my children's friends. All those high-school years I spent worrying about the people he ran around with are just distant memories now. He and his wife have a wonderful group of friends, and we had some family here, too.

We look forward to welcoming our little girl in just a few short weeks, but for now the lovely late Spring days make for a time of lazy anticipation.

I'll get back into the blogging routine soon!

Sometimes I just can't sit back and be quiet

For the second time in as many days, I've been assaulted by an email from someone in my family or extended family. No, I didn't say I've been assaulted IN an email, but BY an email.

I am a Christian, with what I consider to be Christian values (remember "Love thy neighbor," and "Do unto others"?), but I do not insist that my family, friends, acquaintances, neighbors, blog-readers, or even the people who go to my church believe as I do. I think one of the greatest freedoms we enjoy in this nation is the freedom OF religion: that means you can be Christian, Jew, Muslim, Buddhist, Secularist, Wiccan, Atheist, or any of a bazillion other religions and expect your choice to be respected.

I do not believe that organized prayer should be returned to schools. I believe children can pray whenever and however they choose as long as no one else (especially the school administration) dictates to whom or for what they should pray or not pray. I mentally cringe when I recall the daily New Testament reading in my school and the Christmas pageant, realizing today that there were a fair number of Jewish children in my classroom. I also ponder how difficult it must have been for the Catholic children to hear the closing words of the "Christian" Lord's prayer ("...For thine is the kingdom, and the power and the glory..."). Those lines were added later (most scholars believe from the Illuminations done by monks) and Catholics do not say them. So, no prayer in schools. Unless, of course, EVERYONE gets a turn and the Christian parents will allow their children to sit through readings from the Koran, prayers to Isis, etc.

I don't think the lack of prayer in schools is responsible for the "moral decline of America." I think people make choices, and some of them are bad ones. I don't think the tragedy at Columbine, Alabama, upstate New York, or any other such tragedy is because there is no prayer in schools. If that's so, then how do you explain the Sunday School teacher and granddaughter of a minister, sexually abusing and the murdering her daughter's playmate? Was she denied prayer? How do you explain Jim Bakker, Jimmy Swaggart, or Ted Haggard - ministers all - straying from their marital vows? As I said: people make bad choices.

I think the words "under God" should be removed from the Pledge of Allegiance. They weren't added until 1954, after all, so really don't have the imprimatur of centuries, regardless of what Sarah Palin thinks. In fact, the Pledge didn't even come into being until the late 1800s, and I'm not even sure we should have a pledge. For an interesting article, see here.

I don't think gay marriage, people living "in sin" (I'm guilty!), or the host of other "ills" that some claim are besetting this nation mark the end of Life As We Know It. I think a lack of empathy, the great divide between the haves and have-nots, the increasingly intrusive nature of the extreme right and their brand of narrowly-defined religious values into government, and a need among many to be "right" no matter the cost to their fellow humans, are far greater threats to unity and continuation of our way of life.

I don't think taxes are bad, but necessary. And I found it intriguing that while Gov. Perry of Texas was stirring up his constituents to secession from the Union, many of them were waving American flags.

I don't think firearms should be outlawed in this country, but I can't think of one good reason for a private citizen to own an AK-47 or any other kind of assault rifle.

I'm sure I've offended some of my readers (and perhaps some of my family members), and for that I am sorry. I'm not normally an offensive person. But *I* have been offended, and those who committed the offenses had no regard for my feelings.

Sometimes, even the most tolerant of people can be pushed once too often.

Sshhh - it might be Spring!

Here in the part of the country often referred to as the "Pacific NorthWet," we take Spring pretty darned seriously. It is arguably our most beautiful time of the year once it deigns to arrive.

Frankly, we don't really expect the daily rain to subside until July 5th or thereabouts, but we are occasionally graced with some truly beautiful days before then.

Inevitably, though, just as we are glorying in the budding trees, the clouds will roll in and the rain will once again dampen our streets, frizz (or uncurl) our hair, derail our plans, and send us scurrying indoors for family celebrations.

Jim and I enjoyed having Ada and Addison for Friday, Friday night, and Saturday, while their parents enjoyed some couple time and a good night's rest. We colored eggs on Saturday - no photos, though; it was a very intense 20 minutes and I didn't dare leave long enough to get my camera!

We also went to the park - twice! - and had fun in the sunny, but somewhat chilly, weather.

The kids were returned to their respective parents on Saturday, but arrived again this afternoon to find that the Easter Bunny had visited Gran and Grandpa's house, leaving lots of fun things for them. They brought their moms and dads, along with Ada's grandma and uncle. We had lots of good food, fun, and general hilarity.

In the midst of our celebration, we also had a vist from Mr. & Mrs. Mallard D. Ducks. This is the third year we've been their fast-food restaurant of choice and they know they can always find cracked corn in the yard.

We know that Mallards do not mate for life, so we're not certain if it's Mr. or Mrs. who always finds his or her way back, but we're so happy to see them that we don't ask questions.

In a few weeks, our rhodies, azaleas, fuschias, and honeysuckle will fill our yard with riotous color and we'll bask in warmer, rain-free days on the deck. Till then, we gratefully welcome the brief respites from rain, the bright faces of children, and the return of "our" ducks!

I think it might be Spring!

When lives intersect

A generation ago - or more appropriately, less than a half-generation ago - a person's death was usually grieved by family members and people in his or her physical communities. Oh, you might hear of the death of an old high school or college friend, and have a momentary sense of loss for the person you used to know, but you quickly went about your life and there was probably nothing that triggered the memory of that loss until the next time you were laughing over old photographs.

Today many of us have "friends" whom we have never met - and probably never will. I have lots of friends through several online venues, in addition to those I call "friend" in my neighborhood, from jobs I've held, shirt-tail relatives, and friends of my children. My online "friends" are people who read and comment on this blog from Arizona, Virginia, Wisconsin, and other places. I don't know them in the traditional sense, but I know them from their comments and from their own blogs. They're important to me and add to my life in many ways.

I've had online friends in the past from newsgroups as varied as beta testing, graphics software, and the Episcopal Church. Some were very real to me and as I - or they - dropped out of these various groups, I missed them. Once, several years ago, a particularly personable and friendly member of my graphics newsgroup died. His death was reported by those who knew him well, and though not unexpected, it was still a shock - in the way death always is - and he was mourned by all of us.

As a recent devotee of Facebook, I have upped my online friend quotient dramatically. Some "friends" are family members, I have an old BFF from high school, and one or two others whom I know personally for one reason or another. But many of my Facebook friends have come by way of being friends of friends, and are people with whom I have no connection other than Facebook, and - for some, at least - an affinity for the Episcopal Church.

This morning, I awoke to the very sad news that one of these tangential friends had taken his life, apparently some time on Sunday. He was a friendly, funny man who had some health issues, was in the midst of a divorce, and - according to his last post on Saturday - had not been feeling well. He leaves behind two young children who loved their dad, and whom he adored. He gave no hint that he was planning this drastic action, and had been busy and active this Lenten season in his church.

The posts that are appearing on his Facebook page are testament to the fact that his loss is felt by people across North America, not just in the corner of Tennessee where he lived. When he was born almost 41 years ago, he lived in a much smaller world than the one in which he died, and I'm sure no one ever dreamed that his death would cause sorrow in so many.

With suicide, we who are left wonder why: What pain was so great that you couldn't reach out? What finally sent you to that place in your mind where being dead was preferable to being here? What depths of despair did you reach that even thoughts of your children could not lift you out? And if funny, involved, well-loved Lee could reach that awful place, who else in my life might make that choice?

Hard questions, all, and no answers for any of us. My faith is such that I believe Lee has found at last a freedom from pain, and that he rests this day in the arms of God. So I do not mourn his death so much as I mourn his death-effect. We who knew him online will miss his banter, his wit and wisdom. Those who knew him in life will miss so much more. And his children will miss him for the rest of their lives.

Rest in peace, Lee. You are a part of my life's story.