The gift that keeps on giving

Each year, my sister and I try to get away for a weekend at the Oregon Coast. It's just sister time - no boys allowed - and we always have fun. We do have the occasional opportunity to rub each other the wrong way, but it's always fleeting and a whole lot less damaging than some of what we inflicted on each other as children!


This year, we chose to go on the weekend that encompassed the 90th anniversary of our mother's birth. In one of my more blonde moments, I commented to Peggy, "Ninety years! I'll bet she never thought she'd live to see this day!" And, of course, she didn't, having died 18 years ago. But it's a tribute to her that not only could the thought pass through my brain and out my mouth, but that my sister and I had a good chuckle over it. Mom was never one to mince words. You didn't "pass" or "pass away," you didn't go to "eternal rest," either. You died. And we knew what she wanted to be buried in ever since we were quite young. As it turned out, she was cremated and didn't get the ecru nightgown, but that was her choice. Ecru was so 1960s by then.


We played on our computers, watched Harry Potter movies, ate junk food, drank a little wine, a little Bailey's, a little Kahlua in our coffee. We had hot chocolate, popcorn, and I took along homemade clam chowder and some delicious biscuits my son had made. We watched the waves break, and the people and dogs on the shore. We went in the pool and the hot tub, and just generally had a high old time.

Then, Saturday night late, we each got a message on Facebook that our half-brother - from our dad's other family - had posted some photos and had tagged us. So, of course, we had to look!


All of a sudden, a little cloud crept into our cozy getaway. There, on Facebook, were two photos of our very own mother that we had never before seen. Our half-brother had scanned and posted them as "Old Florida pictures," and they were from our dad's photographs that Rodney has been kind enough to go through since dad died last October.

Also among the many that he posted were pictures of Peggy, our older brother, and me. Pictures that dad had kept for all these years - the most recent were taken in 1972, 38 years ago.


After my first reaction of stunned silence, and a momentary flash of anger that this should intrude on what was otherwise a perfect weekend, I shed a few tears and went out onto the balcony to let it all sink in. This man, this biological contributor, had cared enough at some point to keep these photographs of his children. The same children he abandoned and left to be raised by a crippled woman who was old before her time because of the long, hard hours she worked at physically demanding jobs. This man who had allowed our home to be foreclosed on, who had moved from Florida to Alaska and thus out of the reach of any enforced child support, this very same man had kept these photographs of his children.


Peggy thinks the keeping was not deliberate, but simply the lack of any need to weed out those things that weren't important to him. Perhaps she's right; she often is about things like this. But for a fleeting moment, it passed through my mind that maybe he had loved us after all. That maybe - despite vast amounts of evidence to the contrary - he felt proud of us and kept those pictures as a reminder of us.


Had he not avoided us on occasions when we could have seen him, and had he not shown his disregard for us in so many other ways, maybe I could eventually convince myself that he cared. Once again, I have proved to myself that being old doesn't necessarily equate to being wise!


Anyway, Happy 90th Birthday, Mom. We (mostly) enjoyed the party.

Cronies

I've never been one who sustains long-term friendships. Oh, I still have one friend from my high school years, but we were out of touch until about three years ago, so that probably doesn't count. And my sister is my friend, and we've known each other longer than either of us would like to think. And I count my daughters-in-law among my friends - and probably always will! - but, if not for my sons, I wouldn't even know them! There are a few others, female and male, who I've known for several years, but not in sustained relationships, just the kind that you call each other every year or so and catch up.

But let me tell you about Jim and Tom.

Last month, both of these "boys" celebrated their 65th birthday. Tom's wife was out of the country, but he attended Jim's bash, and on Tom's birthday, we had him over for dinner and conversation, along with a tiramisu with candles for dessert.

Tom and Jim met when they began attending Jesuit High School at the age of 14 (that was when Jim still had hair, I'm told!). Each of them has been heard exclaiming recently, "Fifty years! We've known each other for fifty years!" It's nearly as amazing to me as it is to them, even if for different reasons. I can't imagine knowing anyone I'm not related to for that long, and they (bless their hearts) can't really, deep down, imagine that they aren't still teenagers getting into some kind of mischief!

Their friendship has survived Jim's stint in the Navy back in the 60s, Tom's job move to Memphis in the 80s, marriages and divorces, raising children, travel, and most recently Tom and his wife living in Mexico for most of the year.

But every fall, without fail, finds Tom here in Portland for their annual elk-hunting expedition. After days and weeks of planning, organizing, discussing, reorganizing, packing, and double-checking their equipment and shopping lists, they're read for adventure. When Tom lived in Memphis, most of the packing up and preparation fell to Jim, but these days they work together.

This morning at about 6:45 the two of them, along with Tom's son Jeff, headed for parts east, reminding me a lot of Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn! Jim's son Mike will join them tomorrow and, although I'm pretty sure it's less and less about the elk each year - at least for the two old guys - the friendship always benefits from the time they spend together at elk camp.

Happy hunting, Jim and Tom! May there be many years of it left for you to share!

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.

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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.