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.

The winds of change

In 2002, shortly after I moved into Jim's home, we heard (and felt) an enormous crash in the wee hours of the morning that signaled "Taps" for the 250-year-old oak tree around which our patio was built. In falling, it took our chimney, our fence, a cherry tree, our neighbors' second-story deck, and issued a reminder about impermanence.

This morning I looked at my youngest grandson, wearing a shirt that just a few short months ago hung below his bottom, with sleeves half-way down his arms. This morning, it fit him.

In 1998, I few to the Midwest to meet my first grandchild and to marvel at where the years had gone since his daddy - my middle son - was a sweet, sleepy baby in my arms. Next January, Andrew will be a teenager.

In 1970, I held my first baby in my arms, marveling at the perfection and beauty of this long-awaited child. This month, Martin will be 40 years old.

My younger sister and I spent our growing-up years alternately playing together and fighting with each other. We shared a room and taped a line down the middle over which we dared one another to step. She took all of my dolls under the dining table and pulled off their arms and legs. I either ignored her or treated her with disdain through most of my teenaged years. In a few months, my baby sister will be 60.

On Monday, Jim & I stood gape-mouthed, staring up at one of the three tall old fir trees that stand next to our deck. We were sick with the realization that the abundance of fir needles in our yard this Spring is due to the death of this beautiful old tree. A phone call will have to be made, the tree will have to be felled. We will benefit from it one more year as we burn the wood during the winter. And we'll still have the other two to enjoy for a few more years.

Change. Transition. Uncertainty. Of such is life made. But no matter how hard I try to remember this, no matter how many times I promise myself that I will appreciate each minute, each day, each event, as unique and transient, I continue to fail. I take things for granted, whether they be trees, seasons, relationships.

Perhaps that is the nature of humankind.

Blueberries are the best!

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Originally uploaded by cher_ware

What else is there to say?

Spring, maybe

Here we are again, sort of... almost... maybe... it's going to be Spring!

I think...

Mr. & Mrs. Duck have returned for their fourth year of enjoying the fine cuisine served in our back yard: cracked corn spiced up with a stray insect or two. They've become quite fearless, and will even venture up onto the deck if we aren't outside. They've taken to flying in at least twice a day in the afternoon - and once they arrived in the morning.

I guess even ducks know an easy mark when they find it!

Our Neighbor From Hell has erected an all-but-invisible fence to a height of 12', and into which Mr. Duck accidentally flew on Saturday. He toppled pinfeathers over bill into another neighbors' yard, but was able to fly away. We spent the next day worrying about him since Mrs. showed up by herself, but by the afternoon he, too, was at the trough. We have noticed, though, that they now give the neighbors' yard a wide berth when they leave!

Addison spent Friday and Friday night with us, and Ada came over for the day on Saturday. Jim and I had carefully strategized for the weekend, given that clear skies and sunshine were forecast. We figured that the two kiddos, being much closer to the ground than Gran and Grandpa, could be bribed hired to pick up the copious quantities of fir cones that bury themselves in the ground around here during the winter.

At 5¢ per cone, we figured the incentive to work hard would be darned near irresistible. And we were right; the little rascals lightened Grandpa's wallet to the tune of $12.00 EACH! We've since had people from all over the U.S. offer to come out and pick up fir cones!

But it was all worth it; we had some fun with the grandkids, moms and dads got a break, and the kids got some sunshine, exercise, and spending money! (I'm thinking we should make it an annual event; Grandpa is thinking it could get really expensive!)


Sunday was another lovely day and Jim & I both worked hard getting things ready for our garden wedding in July. We've reset the steps through the arbor, planted dahlias and ranunculus, and finished setting a redbrick mow strip around the deck.

Our rhodies are beginning to bloom, as are the azaleas, and spring is definitely arriving in our garden.

I'm certain spring-like temperatures can't be too far away!

Give peace a chance

For the past several weeks, Jim and I have been watching HBO's series The Pacific, based on events in the Pacific Theater during WWII. I'm not really a fan of war movies (although Saving Private Ryan is one of my all-time favorites!), and I hadn't intended to watch this series. My plan was to read while Jim watched, but the story and the acting are both so good that I was pulled into it, almost against my will.


There's plenty of gore - after all, it was a war - but not gratuitous shots of viscera and body parts (although they both are shown as incidental to what's going on). Mostly there are young men who are uncertain, frightened, and - by turns - both brave and not-so-brave. I keep reminding myself that these characters are representing US Marines who are now in their 80s and 90s; the age my father would be if he were still alive. And, indeed, he did serve with the Navy Seabees in the Pacific Theater during WWII.


Lately, too, I've been thinking about my generation's war - Vietnam - and the young men who saw battle in other jungles and in other times. I remember how painfully young so many of those sailors, soldiers, airmen and marines were, although all of us certainly thought of ourselves as quite grown up at the time. I remember two years ago at the Vietnam Veterans' Memorial in our nation's capital. As Jim and I began our walk along the path adjacent to The Wall, unexpected and uncontrolled tears began streaming down my face. I don't recall that I was sobbing, but my eyes seemed to just be leaking copious tears. Jim asked, "Did you know anyone here?" and I replied, "I knew all of them." They were my classmates, my friends, young men I had dated, the fathers, brothers, husbands and lovers of my friends. Someday, there will be an HBO series about Vietnam, I'm certain.


Someday, too, there will be series covering the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. More young lives forever changed by the horror that is war. More minds damaged beyond repair - both physiologically and emotionally - coming home to a world that cannot comprehend how truly awful war is.


Following the attacks on the World Trade Center in 2001, I made it my daily practice to read the brief biographies of each of those who died as they were printed in my local newspaper. It was an act of respect for those lives lost, those who, in a sense, were stand-ins for me and my loved ones - for all of us in this country. And so, although it's somewhat outside my comfort level and I have to take frequent breaks because of the intensity, I watch The Pacific. I feel that, in some small way, I am honoring those who served in time of war, who fought for our freedoms, who came home changed - or who never came home. By extension, I am also honoring those who serve today - young women and men who probably never thought they'd really be on foreign soil facing deadly attacks by people who hated their way of life. The older I get, the younger they seem, until even those who are approaching great old age seem like children to me. Lives interrupted in the midst of becoming.


My only thought, my only prayer: No more, dear God. Please! No more!

Getting away from it all!

Last weekend, Jim and I took a long-awaited trip in our 5th wheel just to get away from it all. Between holidays, family, and some legal issues, we hadn't made an out-of-town trip since last summer.

We left on Thursday night for the Oregon Coast - our refuge of choice is just north of Tillamook at the Barview Jetty County Park - and arrived, along with the wind and rain, late in the evening. We didn't take time to set up since it was cold and wet, but had a bite to eat and fell into bed, rocked (quite literally at times) by the lullaby of the wind and rain.

Next morning, we got fully set up and drove over to the jetty to watch the waves crashing as they entered Tillamook Bay from the Pacific Ocean. There is nothing peaceful about this great body of water, but I do love the powerful forces of water and wind as the waves break across the jetty and on the shoreline. It's a far cry from the truly peaceful Atlantic Ocean and Gulf of Mexico that were the experiences of my youth.

I could watch these forces of nature for hours, and some people do - we always find cars parked facing the ocean when we make our trek to the jetty, and many of them are still there when we leave.

We made the obligatory trip to the Blue Heron Cheese Company where we purchased delicious Brie and bleu cheeses, and then drove up the coast to Rockaway and Flamingo Jim's for a little early Christmas shopping!

On Saturday, we drove South to Munson Creek Falls, where a short hike provided us with some of the incredible scenery - including some old growth forest - for which the Northwest is known. 

I do love this gorgeous state and feel so fortunate to live here!

We managed to visit a few local restaurants and enjoy the fresh halibut, clams, and other local delicacies (Oregon has some delicious wines!), but mostly we just relaxed and were thankful for some time away from the cares of the world!

But it's always good to come home.

Babies!

Last week was Spring Break here in Oregon. Addison and Drew's mommy took a couple of days off and we planned for a week that was a bit different - one that involved Drew's first overnight with Gran and Grandpa!


Briana - my d-i-l - thought it would be nice for her to have a special day to devote to Addison - the first day just for him since Drew was born last June - and I thought it would also be nice to have a chance for Drew to spend the night. Funny how it all works out sometimes!

Jim and I were very excited to have a baby in the house again. It's been so long since Addison and Ada were all cuddly and needed holding, and we both have missed that. So, I dusted off the Pak-n-Play, picked Drew up, and off we went!


She's a very good baby, and enjoyed having new sights to see and new things to explore. She had a bit of a cold and woke up a couple of times during the night, but always went right back to sleep. Needless to say, Grandpa and I thoroughly enjoyed having her over, and hope we can do it again soon!


Oh, and Addison had a glorious time at Oaks Park with mommy and daddy!


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We then had the joy of having Ada with us on Friday and after dinner we all went to the hospital to welcome our latest addition to the grandchild team, Felix William!


Isn't he cute?