Lasagna, Brownies....and Memories

When Catie and I went shopping on Saturday, it was the last errand of the day and it seemed as if Walmart would be the death of me.  I pushed the heavy cart back and forth 3 times between the front and back as I tried to remember everything I needed, cursing the layout that makes you walk every inch of the store.  I was picking up groceries for "Chin Sunday Dinner" as the kids have named our weekly family meal.  Then I remembered a friend who had surgery and decided to double the meal and drop it off.

 I had a Peanut Butter Fudge Brownie recipe in mind for dessert and would bake 2 batches of those too.  Then Catie corrected my numbers, reminding me that she HAD to take sweets back to school to share with her friends.  She advised me that treats from Grandma Chin were now expected on Sunday nights.  

As I cursed the recipe that called for nearly a full pound of butter per batch, I loaded the cart with tons of sugar, butter, cocoa and peanut butter.  Adding in a new calculator to replace the one that was stolen in class when Catie went to the bathroom,  the ingredients for lasagna, the weekly supply of juice and some fresh fruits for her to take back to the dorm, I was grateful for her help pushing the heavy cart,  as we made our way to the register to pay. 

Sunday, I began making the sauce for lasagna and Joe asked if I was feeding the neighborhood.  Andy walked by and remarked that he would eat it all week.  I've never seen sauce or lasagna go to waste in the Chin house.  Catie watched and declared that she now knew how to make Chin Sauce.  (I'll remember that the next time and she is welcome to try her hand at it).  However, she was hanging in the kitchen with baking in mind.  Catie loves to bake, so I offered to allow her to make the Peanut Butter & Fudge concoction.  No deal!  She wanted to do it together.  

It turned out to be quite a process to bake 3 pans of these brownies.  Neither one of us could resist tasting each of the 3 layers and by the end, we got creative, adding to the recipe for "taste".  Then we found out our friend already had a meal planned for the day, so we would and drop off one another day.  No problem...until Mike and Courtney cancelled.  Now we were staring at a HUGE pan of lasagna and 3 pans of the richest brownies on earth.  One bite was so rich, it was hard to take a second until the sugar rush subsided.  I knew I could force myself through the pan before the week was out.

Catie quickly grabbed her pan and began to slice and get it ready for her dorm buddies.  She was debating if she should take total credit for the baking or admit that Grandma "helped".  The best part of the day was her Facebook posting:  

Had a good weekend at home, I made homemade peanut butter brownies and lasagna with grandma today (: 

I guess it was the memories we made that were far more lasting than the food.  

Pleasant Dreams

Yes, it is 4:10am and as I lay in that land of barely asleep, Andy came down for the 31st time and although he was attempting to be quiet.  I am awake.  I was in the midst of the most lovely dream.  I am more angry about leaving my dream than being awake at 4am.  In my dream, I was with so many people that I have loved and lost.  Some are still alive and yet we have lost the people that brought us together....namely our parents and grandparents.  My cousins are wonderful people and I do miss them.  In this day where very few live people in the same little towns as their parents before them, we are scattered throughout the country  Somehow, when a phone call or even a Facebook chat brings us together for a few moments, we always share those memories of Nana and Pop and the wonder and joy of being children in a close family.

We reminisce of warm days at the cottage, as our parents played pinochle and drank beer.  We were running freely in and out, jumping in the lake with a bar of soap to bathe, since there was no bathtub.  We were playing Chinese Checkers on the screened porch, when the lake was too rough to swim.  The only game in the cottage was stored behind the couch and I still have it in my closet.  I need to pull it out and play it with a grandchild soon.  Someone has to tell the story of my father and Uncle Bill almost getting into a fist fight after too many beers, but Nana was handy with a mop to break it up.

The cottage never seemed small.  The Detroit house on Northlawn seemed to grow as did our family.  I realize, looking at the photos, that we were packed in like sardines.

There are still old photos with little girls,  all in dresses and MaryJane shoes.  Summer's bathing suits gave way to holiday gatherings when all our mother's brought pies and favorite dishes to Nana's house and children gathered upstairs in bedrooms, according to age.  You always knew the cousins closest to your age the best. Only the youngest grandchildren missed out on this life that was truly reminiscent of a "Waltons" episode and I wish they had these memories.  They are something to build on.

Many of us are in our 60's now, which is older than our grandparents were when the memories were made.  When you are a child, age is kind of simple.  You are a kid, you are a parent or you are a grandparent.  That is "old".  It wasn't too old to laugh with us, tease us and love us.  It was old enough to teach us and so many of us are still making the old recipes.  Just the other day, my cousin's daughter posted something on Facebook about making Christmas cookies.  She was using Nana's (her great-grandmother) recipes.  Technology enabled me to ask for a copy of one of these precious memories and I will make them and remember.  I keep a photo of Nana teaching my own children to bake Christmas cookies in my kitchen.

In my dream, I was hosting a party with grandchilden and everyone was there.  We were near a lake, in a cottage that was unknown to me.  As I walked through the crowd of cousins, Aunts and Uncles, I was teaching my grandchildren to always speak to everyone.  There was so much laughter and love as I moved through the crowded rooms and soon I was in a screened pavilion out by the lake, filled with relatives.  Suddenly we were talking about what a good job Uncle Frank had done in building it.  I have to smile because it is something he might have done in is life, if he owned lake property.

Why do we have dreams like this?  Maybe I just needed some time with all of those wonderful relatives of mine.  Every so often they seem to stop by and I wake up knowing how important those memories are.  It was good to see them all tonight.

2013 and JOY

 The photo above caught my eye because I was sure if someone took a photo of my heart, this would be it.  I was leaping into the air, stemming from pure joy because I could not wait to leap into my future.  There would be little looking back, except to breathe a sigh of relief, pause to give thanks or to remember why I was so thankful for my wonderful future.  Yet, in order to appreciate the joy, we must sometimes remember.

After nearly 42 years of marriage, I finally "get" it.  Married life is not about a good or bad weekend, month or even a tumultuous year.  It is about a lifetime of putting shoulder to shoulder and making your way through life's adventures, joys and  unfortunately, sorrows.  What a blessing to have a partner in that journey.  My worst fear was to face it alone.  After 2 years of gut wrenching fear being my constant companion, the dawn of 2013  is filled with promise. 

I know the rest of the world faces illness every day.  This time it was MY  husband who seemed to suddenly spiral downward, each day bringing a new complication.  Rarely did I have the time to lament over how unfair it was, this final insult,  after too many punches in the past few years.   

 From diagnosis to new diagnosis, I was reading and searching for knowledge.  It was a challenge to keep up and understand what was happening. The days were filled with hospitals,  phone calls, new doctors,  new diets, medications and many miles driven.  As I sat compiling numbers for my tax return,  I had to recalculate over and over to believe we had traveled well  over 8,000 miles driving to pharmacies, doctors and hospitals.  

After a lifesaving heart surgery, being told that he needed a kidney transplant seemed like something out of a sad Lifetime Movie.  We were first sent to dialysis classes, and quickly realized that while it was a life-extending treatment, it was not a permanent solution.  It was miserable and only a temporary means to cope with  a life ending disease.  Transplant lists usually brought a 3-5 year wait and patients often did not last that long.  There are just not enough donors.  We were told that our children could provide the best chance and the oldest 2 stepped right up to be tested first.  They both matched.  It was getting real.  

On November 16, 2012 we left the Ann Arbor motel room in the early dark hours of the morning.  There was so much to be said, yet both of us seemed to afraid to speak what was in our hearts.  We quietly drove to the University Hospital and met our daughter in the surgery waiting room.  She and her father stepped up to the desk together, smiling and acting as if it was an every day affair to check in and share human organs.  No drama, just love.  

Father and daughter walked in, leaving my son in law and I with a quick kiss and a smile.  He and I sat there and looked at each other, keeping up the ruse.  No big deal, right?  Wrong.  As the sun slowly rose, I thought of my first born child laying in surgery, giving up her kidney to save her father's life.  No amount of statistics could ease the anxiety in my soul.  Then, to my surprise, my husband walked back out of the surgery area.  With IVs inserted, he was told to wait with us until his kidney was "ready".  This was just too weird now.  Our little girl was in there and it was hard not to talk of  fears and to focus on the miracle we hoped for.  

The transplant surgeon emerged about an hour later with a big smile on his face.  "Everything is going like text book.  I've been watching your daughter's surgery and we should have a kidney in about 15 minutes, so be ready to go!"  We just stared at each other. It felt like waiting for a baby to be born and I realized she was giving birth to her father's new life.  She would endure pain and bring forth new life.  

During the hours, they both lay in surgery, I embraced the statistics.  They would be fine. No complications, no organ rejection.  Just absolute success.   I would not accept any other answer and for the 1000's of reasons that I ran through my head,  I just knew it was going to be ok.   Then my name was called and my heart skipped a beat.  I could see my daughter now.  Quiet, but with a face that showed great pain, she lay there looking so tiny in that big white bed.  The nurses encouraged me to talk to her and to try to get her to verbally respond.  I knew my stubborn girl and as she shook her head "No!"  every time I asked her to speak, I sat quietly by her.  This was not a day when I could push her to do anything.  Thankfully, my friend stepped in and did what I could not.  

Then a nurse called my name again.  "Your husband is back!"  I stood in that large recovery room with my husband on one side and my daughter on the other.  I literally did not know how to move from one to the other.  Thankful for my friend, who was lovingly tending to my daughter, I walked the few steps to my husband's bedside where the doctors and nurses were jubilant over the success of the surgery.  At that moment, I was felt close to collapse from sheer joy and relief.  An hour later, on the way to much needed food, I swooned as if out of an old southern novel.  

It was really over.  It really worked.  2 years of fear washed away in an instant.  Although there would be recovery days, medications and doctor visits, she had saved his life.  Moreover, she had given him a quality of life that would bring a real future.  Since birth, she had always felt like a little miracle, but never in a lifetime could someone do anything bigger than what she had just done with such humility.  Here is Cat embracing her baby girl, after coming home from the hospital.

Today, he gets up and goes to work each day.  He enjoys Skype sessions with his grandchildren, signed up for the gym to rebuild his strength and is back announcing at the High School wrestling meets.    He is able to eat a normal meal without fear and to talk about going fishing this summer.    We are dreaming and planning our retirement without calculating the miles to a hospital or dialysis center.   

2013 is filled with promise, because 2012 held a miracle.

Miracles Do Happen

I try to only blog about the positive things in life.  There is enough drama and sorrow everywhere else.  We are about to embark on a miracle journey and that is the biggest positive in my life so far, so it deserves time here.  After spending the last 2 years fighting kidney disease, quietly and while not complaining, Joe is about to be cured.  He will receive a kidney from his child, completing a cycle of life that few will ever experience.  How many children can give life to their parents?  Isn't that usually the other way around?

Once they knew that he needed a kidney, the reaction was swift.  So many, including friends were willing, but only one would be chosen....and I truly believe God has His plan.  It was truly in His hands.   We will never forget the love extended by offers of those who for one reason or another, could not be  chosen.  When you offer to give up a part of your body, you are showing true love.

Joe does not complain as he goes through endless testing, medications and surgeries.  He goes to work each day, regardless of exhaustion.  He has shown exactly what he is made of.  Determination, the need to take care of his family, humility and the list goes on.  He is just plain tough.

Our reward will come when, as U of M promises, he will feel healthier by the hour after surgery, returning to a state of health and life to go on for many years as husband, father and Papa.  God knew how much we needed him and He will take us through this.  There is going to be one big celebration party coming!

Travel-Phobia

Every time I hear people rave about exotic vacations, cross country road trips or dream of a retirement filled with travel, I shudder, thinking how I would much rather bloom where I am planted.  As the saying goes, "different strokes for different folks" because some will always yearn to see what they have not seen and I will always wonder why they are so anxious to give up the comforts of home.

My favorite chair is always waiting to cuddle me, my coffee pot produces a consistent quality that cannot be duplicated and thoughts of airports make me cringe. Long car trips make my joints beg for relief, so transportation to the lands I have not seen is a major hurdle.  Anyway, hotels rarely have a comfortable chair and it is just too much work to find a snack at 2am when you don't have the candy stash in the drawer waiting.  Among the comforts of home, my best buddies Rocky and Josie cuddle beside me most of the time and I am sure they agree that our morning snuggle time is the absolute best.  With one Chihuahua on each side of me, even the coldest winter mornings feels warm.   I have actually come to the point in life where I really missed my dogs every day of my last vacation.  It takes a lot these days to convince me to leave home for longer than an afternoon.

This morning I thought about the fact that I am getting ready to drive 1224 miles this week to attend a 2 hour school event.     However, when a little boy has stolen your heart, you will drive to the ends of the earth, regardless of "travel-phobia".

This adorable little boy reached out and stole my heart on the morning he was born.  I remember the tears of joy running down my face as I held him, bonding instantly to the warm little bundle in my arms.  I had already learned that grandchildren are God's surprise gifts.  You assume nothing can equal the love of your own child, until you hold that first grandchild.  Tate was number 6 and I knew from experience what a gift he would become.

I have been called Junkfood Grandma and I had to learn that Tate preferred broccoli to my never ending stash of candy.  I could however make him smile with waffles and "Grammy Syrup".   He preferred a good game of cards to the latest video game and was delighted with a blank notebook and a pencil.  I watched him make lists in his notebooks and had more fun than he did when I found a new notebook to give him.

His sense of humor can send him and you into fits of giggles when you least expect it and the twinkle in his eye comes through in every photo.  The best part of being Tate's Grandma is the moment when he runs through the door yelling "Grammy!!!!"

 Although Hallmark has invented every kind of holiday, the teacher who thought of Grandparents Day deserves a hug.    I have been honored to attend these events for 2 other grandchildren and those afternoons  absolutely beat seeing the Grand Canyon or Buckingham Palace.   There is nothing better than the face of your special little one as he shows off his artwork or sings a song he has practiced just for you.

 So, my bags are packed and I am just waiting to open the car door and hear...."Grammy!!!"

In My Dreams

It is truly Spring when I think about freshly turned earth, ready for neat little rows of eggplant, zucchini, green pepper and tomato plants.  Every year about this time, I envision my perfect little garden.  Then I wake up and remember that I absolutely cannot turn that earth, much less rake it out.  I really like to fantasize and dream of beautiful raised beds, built in tiers and adding to the landscape of my perfect yard.  Some days I wonder if I bought a book and learned how it is done, if I could actually do it.

There is magic in picking that perfect vegetable and eating it within the hour and although I have had the garden and eaten the perfect tomato,  it did not look like something that graced the cover of a gardening magazine.    The day we were closing on our mortgage, I glanced at the deed and realized the land had once been part of Eaton Rapids famous Miller's Dairy farm.   Thanks to years of cows depositing their manure in my yard and you can literally throw a seed out the back door and watch it grow.

The down side to this is that I have 1/4 acre of constant growth.  The hedges that frame our property are so high that it might take a bucket truck to trim them this year.    Flower beds quickly fill with weeds that should be part of a science fiction movie.  Rose bushes seem to grow overnight until pruning could be done almost daily.  I look at the bush outside the door and remember scattering the petals down the aisle for Cat's wedding.  They are beautiful, but whatever is planted will quickly demand my attention daily.

Since no one in this house feels the urge to commune with nature, I have 2 choices.  I can continue to dream or find someone in need of a few bucks to turn that earth.  I don't think I will kid myself about building tiered beds either.  Who am I kidding?  Turning on the saw would be dangerous for me.  Another day to wish my brother wasn't somewhere across the country.

1000 Attaboys!

As self confessed Dr Phil fan, I think sometimes the man just says something brilliant.  On a regular basis he reminds us that "It takes 1000 Attaboys to equal one time when you tell your child they are a jerk."  For some reason the other day I got to thinking that we spend so much time trying to correct our kids that it must outnumber the times we stop to appreciate them.  I decided to take the day and notice what was good about them.  What an amazing experience!

I quickly realized that lately Andy had begun to really care about the rest of the family.  It showed in the many little things he stopped to do, the smiles and jokes that brightened my day and the consideration for others.  I realized he really did not complain when I asked him to take care of chores any more.   When did that happen and how did I not notice?  Maybe I was too busy correcting something else.

Yes, Catie grumbled and forgot to empty the dishwasher, but she also brought home an award winning report card.  Certainly worthy of praise and so instead of just keeping it between us, I posted it on Facebook so everyone could tell her what a good job she does.  Every comment made me smile.

It's a lot more fun to praise, but I do hope she empties the dishwasher today.

Chapter 2

It has been a year since I last posted here.  I sat yesterday reading back over the postings that began in 2006 and am so grateful for this journal of my life.  A high-tech scrapbook of sorts, complete with photos as life happened in the "Nuthouse".  A lot of it was good times, some of it was not.  Either way, it was life as it happened to me.

In March of 2007 we lost our Karen and I notice that my postings were frequent, as I worked my way through the numbing grief.  When it was too painful to speak, there was always the blog.  Joy or sorrow, celebrations and everyday life fill the pages.  A lover of history, it is mine and I wonder if I should print it and put it in a book for some grandchild to read.  Perhaps one of them will be like their grandmother who would be delighted to find such a record.  Regardless, today I realized that it is not time to end it, but to create another chapter.

 Each year in March we all brace ourselves to face the end of the month, not sure whether to stifle the memories or give in to them and mourn.  This year, I knew it was a time for new beginnings.  

Five years is not a magic number or an official ending point for grief.  Somehow in my heart, I knew I had traveled the road of mourning and that it was time to begin Chapter 2.  I can finally look at pictures of Karen and smile, remembering her laughter.  I am ready to take the boxes of memories and create the Scrapbook of all Scrapbooks.  Every time I tried before, it was just too painful.  Now I want to do it.

 I know now it is time to remember Karen's life, rather than her death.  I caught myself the other day giving Catie a lecture about how she should be more like her Mom and told the story about how she took over running the house when I was ill and she was only 15.   She took care of baby Mike, managed to handle Joey, cleaned the house and actually made me homemade chicken soup and baked fresh bread from scratch.  That was Karen at her best!

 I will always answer the question of "How many children do you have?" by saying 5.  When asked for details, I will tell people that one is in heaven.

Tiger Mom

Recently in the news the Battle Hymn of a Tiger Mom, by Amy Chau has caused much controversy. After the first few interviews that discussed Chinese traditional methods of child rearing, I cringed at the thought of such punitive discipline. I could not imagine refusing to allow my little darlings to have friends spend the night, so they could instead practice their instruments or study, long after their homework was finished.
Finally, I had to buy the book. There had to be a reason for so much discussion and just pushing children hard was not enough to generate this much discussion. I cannot put it down. Although the methods are absolutely severe, the reasoning behind it is fascinating and compelling. Amy Chau hit it right on the head when she says that we absolutely teach our children to be disrespectful by allowing them to watch TV shows like "Hannah Montana" where the entertainment is listening to a teen quip sarcastically to her parents as the laugh track plays constantly. It really isn't funny.
Chinese culture teaches respect, both for self and most especially for elderw who have earned it. For a child to converse in a manner that does not show respect is considered a shame unto the family. What an amazing concept! Although, I think it used to be similar in the US a couple of generations ago.
To excell is expected in Chinese culture, yet today our worries are about pushing our children too hard. Chau questions what Americans push their children to do and why. She says that her parent's generation worked very hard to provide and to raise children who were equipped to succeed in the world. She fears raising a child that is "too soft", entitled and unable to do the tough things we all have to face.
Although very wealthy, she made her children do lots of physical labor growing up. She feared she would raise a lazy child who expected things to come too freely. She demanded that they work hard at whatever they chose to do, just to teach hard work. I am not finished with the book yet, but I am starting to see what she is trying to accomplish.
There are many fine young people in this world, but how many struggle into their twenties, still unsure of what they want to do. In Amy Chau's world, this is the luxury of a lazy child. Her thinking seems to be a throwback to the society I grew up in, not the one I raised my children in. I am looking forward to finishing this book, knowing if I was a Tiger Mom, it was a different kind of tiger!

Longing for My Childhood

14 year old girls with freshly scrubbed faces wore simple tennis shoes,  pink or blue pedal pushers and blouses with splashes of 1960's era color.  Pedal pushers were something between shorts and what are now called capri pants and it was funny to look back at them.  Watching a movie set in my childhood,at first made me smile, but soon left me stunned and  a tear ran down my cheek somewhere in the middle of the movie.    I wasn't yet quite sure why.

Those girls, with barrettes and bows in their naturally colored hair,  actually said "Okey Dokey" and "See ya later, Alligator" to their friends and "Yes, Ma'am" to adults. They met a man walking down their road and sat and listened to his tales while drinking from glass bottles of soda pop that he bought them.  He offered them each a cigarette and of course, they had to try it. Coughing away, they tried different poses to be cool and soon tossed them to the ground, stating they had to be home soon for dinner.   While they waited for their mothers to call them for dinner, they read books in the yard, comparing stories.   Video games would not be invented for another 20 years and the black and white TV usually wasn't turned on until the family gathered after dinner.   Instantly, I was back laying under the apple tree in my yard, book in hand with Pat, Susan, Yvonne and Annie.  I learned to embroider with the same girls under the same tree on a summer afternoon.

 It wasn't just another time, it was a very different world.  We said the Pledge of Allegiance as we started each school day.  Blue jeans were not allowed in school and girls wore pretty dresses.   In a world without cell phones, we spent time with the kids on the block, most of it spent outdoors.  We didn't send a text message, but knocked on the door of each friend, stopping to greet mothers in the kitchen.   Just like these girls, we got up in the morning and our day began rouding up friends who spent summer days seeking and inventing adventures.  The girls roamed their grandmother's attics, searching for treasures or creating a mystery to solve.  They played in the woods, building treehouses and forts, just as I did.  My best fort was in the yard, where I could string an extension cord to have electricity to read by in the evenings and begged to spend the night with my friends.

 They rode bicycles, not to go anywhere, but just to be together. I wondered how many miles Pat and I logged as we rode until dark every single night, after the dinner dishes were finished.   They stopped along the way to visit neighbors that they called Mr and Mrs.  and even said "Please" and "Thank you" on a regular basis.  I remembered fondly that I knew the name of every single family on my street and how we greeted everyone as we rode by.   When a fight broke out on the playground, one girl stated loudly "We were raised to be ladies!"  as the others nodded in agreement.   I realized that I was one of those girls.

I watched those girls play freely, without fear, roaming their neighborhoods, not to return until dinner and back out again.    Their mothers couldn't call to check on them and didn't worry either.  They were too busy getting their housework done, visiting the beauty shop and spending afternoons playing cards with their girlfriends.  Every woman in the movie either looked like my mother, neighbor or my aunt.  They wore pretty dresses and ballet flats, changing to high heels to greet their husbands with a cocktail at the door.    They served lunch on pretty plates and took pride in setting a beautiful table.  The clothes looked funny now,but I realized that it was an era of femininity and yet freedom.

I thought about how the Feminists had not yet emerged, yet discontent was relatively low and girls couldn't wait to be called ladies.  It was a time when cleavage and tight clothing was for bad girls and no one wanted to be a bad girl.    It was a time of freedom from expensive name brand clothing and electronic diversion; freedom from  fear  to roam the world and grow up freely smiling at your neighbors.  I realized that my tear was for nostalgia, but even more for a world that my grandchildren would never get to experience and I would wish it for them.

I kept watching the movie, nearly ignoring the story, but immersed in the era.  It seemed so strange to remember a world without a computer,cell phone,.  television, Ipod or video game and I remembered what kids used to do.  I wish for one day of my childhood for my grandchildren.

Start-itis

I have to admit that starting projects is much preferred to finishing them.  My knit basket will rat me out if I don't admit it, as will the kitchen that is currently painted 4 different colors.  When you begin something the excitement is still there and has not yet been killed off by the boredom or physical pain in some cases.  I also love to window shop and do much more looking than buying.  When starting a project, I can shop forever before making a decision.  And then.....sometimes it just doesn't work out.  The kitchen currently has walls sporting 2 shades of blue, gold and beige.  I don't like any of them.  The yellow paint is resting in the can, waiting for another day.  

I am facing that moment where I need to sort my craft room so that I can find what I want to work on next.  I could finish a number of projects, but maybe I will start a new one instead.  I just spent the last hour reading patterns online and stopped by one of my favorite yarn stores today to buy a new pattern....for someday.

Life is too short to commit to anything you don't have to!

Happy Fathers Day

I miss my Dad today.  I miss him every day.  I have written here many times about how he influenced my life.    It has been 20 years since he passed away and yet, I miss him more than ever.  I miss his silly jokes, watching him do the "fishy dance" with my little kids, listening to him tell "Jenny stories" and hearing him say "While you're up, can you get me a beer?"  Yep, I miss it all.

I miss waking up on a Sunday morning and finding out we were headed for a "new adventure".  We never knew what he would do and that was the fun.  We might take a trip to our grandparents' cottages (never planned) or he was just as likely to buy a plane ticket and head for Florida.  No planning, just spur of the moment fun.....always.

I want to drive down Wildwood Street and see him sitting on the porch in his lawn chair, with his dogs Mickey and Jewel beside him.  That is exactly where you could find him from about May to October every evening.  I used to just get in the car and drive over with my 3 little kids whenever I needed a break.  He loved those kids so much that I could pull up and know that they would be occupied and giggling for hours.  I never knew anyone in my life that could and would spend hours on end just talking to children.  It was his favorite pass time.  

Maybe that is why I miss him so much.  He was a father who really talked to me.  He was interested in everything I said and did.  Not just half listening, but really listening.  As we talked,  I learned so much without ever knowing he was teaching me.  I did know one thing and that was that he loved me and would rather be with me than any adult who came by.  

 I read and hear about parents who spend "quality time" with their children.  My Dad spent ALL of his time with us.  Sure, he went to work, but if it was a Saturday and we wanted to go along, he took us.  We knew that meant we would get lunch at the local bar on the way home.  Once we arrived, he didn't go sit with his buddies, but ordered us each a hamburger or hot dog and then sat down and we would play a make-believe game.  My name would be "Joe" and his name would be "Joe".
 We were two buddies, sitting at the bar, talking about our lives.  We would role play forever.  "How's life, Joe?"  he would say...."Pretty good, Joe.  How about you?." I would answer.
 "Do your kids need new shoes?"  he would ask.  "Yeah, they probably do" I would say.  "Well, I know where you can find some extra work to earn that money.  Are you interested?  My rose bushes need to be weeded and I am paying good money."  he would say.  And on it went.....

Now when we got home, I would actually weed those rosebushes and he would pay me.  I was learning about life and never knew it through those make-believe conversations.  No lectures, just talking and using imagination.  How much that man taught me!

He was all about family and he made sure we knew it.  How many times  I heard him say "Family is the most important thing in your life." I cannot count, but he didn't just say it, he lived it.  He had few rules, but one of them was "Never go to bed mad."   So many times I had to hug my brother and apologize for being mad before bedtime, but what a lesson it taught me.

We spent our Sundays with our grandparents most weeks, either having dinners together or in the summers at their cottages.  We played pinochle or just sat and visited.  He enjoyed playing poker with my great-grandmother pictured at the left and she loved to see him coming with the cards and a 6 pack of beer.  Even as a young man, he took the time to play cards with an old lady.  It makes me understand why 2 generations later, my brother and I would go to the Senior Citizen apartment building and play cards with my grandmother.  We learned from him that there were good times to be had with our family.

He is in every childhood memory.  He left me with a longing for his company.  This week is always tough.  His birthday is June 14 (which is flag day and he loved flying the flag on his birthday) and Fathers Day falls the same week.  It is always a week of thinking of Dad more than ever.

Once we grow up, we sometimes forget how to play.  He was a bit like Peter Pan and never forgot how to be a child.  He knew how to play.  When an adult plays, children stop and join in and the fun begins.  Looking through old photos, you find so many silly poses and costumes like the one shown at right with my uncles.  He would do anything for a laugh.

He loved his sisters and mother and was definitely not afraid to boast about them.  He could often be heard saying "I have the most beautiful sisters in the world!"  (He also had the smartest kids, the most beautiful children and the best wife).  How nice life would be if we all learned from him to go ahead and praise our families.

Gordon, Madeline, Kaye, Nana, Mona and Dee  having fun at a birthday party

He always told me, "You only go around once, Pal.  Make it fun!"

I am trying, but I sure wish he was still here to enjoy it with me.  We will have a Fathers Day picnic today in the park and have a great time.  I will stop often and think just how much he would love knowing all of my children and grandchildren.

All Because Two People Fell In Love

39 years ago on June 18, 1971 we were crazy kids and we got married.  We were 17 and 18 and had nothing but an old Mustang and a few hundred dollars between us.  We absolutely didn't care about any of the practical things, the planning or the wedding.  We were in love.

We loved our first apartment and furnished it with hand-me downs.  It was ours and that was all that mattered.  We began to create a home where everyone was welcome.  We could always stretch the Kool Aid and spaghetti to feed a couple more and we did.  We played cards and ate popcorn until the wee hours of the mornings with Debbie and Jim. We worked 2 and 3 jobs and still managed to have time together. We listened to Stairway to Heaven and American Pie on an old stereo and we couldn't have been happier.  

When the first "good job" was paying 5.92 an hour, we were ready to have a baby and make our lives complete.  Soon our beautiful Catherine was born and now we needed a house and a dog.  We paid more for our 2004 Chevrolet than we paid for that first house, but we got the dog,  fenced in the yard, put in a sandbox and soon Karen was born.  By this time, brother Mark had joined our family and we needed  a bigger house. With promotions coming along  (and Joe sometimes working 2nd jobs) we bought the next house and added Joey to the family.  We adored our daughters, but now we finally had a son!  

 This photo was taken in 1979 

In spite of numerous promotions, the economy was taking it's toll and Michigan salaries were not rising, although our family was growing.  We moved to Florida where the jobs were plenty and the pay was wonderful.  The sunshine and beaches were like magic after Michigan's days.  Our life with the National Enquirer had begun.  It was an adventure for 8 years!  We met movie stars, spent our evenings on our boat and had wonderful parties with all our friends.  It was a wonderful time of our lives.

One day we realized with 3 children in school that the opportunities for education were just not as good as we had in Michigan.  All our friends were trying to get their children into private schools and crime was rising in our area.  We soon headed home to Michigan and nestled into small town life in Charlotte in a huge, old house with 5 bedrooms.  We still joke about the need to fill those rooms.

Michael and Andrew soon joined  siblings, who were in Jr High and High School.  It was like the whole family had new pets.  We passed them around and they had a multitude of people loving them.  Nothing was cuter than Mike in a Batman costume, trying to fly or Andy sleeping with his baseball mitt.  Cathy went off to U of M and later the Air Force3, Karen got married and made us grandparents and Joey soon did the same.

This photo was taken in 2006, 27 years later and we had grown to 15 of us.  (Joe was posing everyone, while I photographed.)  I think it is the last photo of us all together.  

We experienced the terrible loss of our Karen along soon after this photo, but we remain a strong and loving family.  We are spread so far away geographically, but we remain in touch daily.  It takes about a minute for Joey and Cat to know what is going on at home.  The internet is fast and nobody keeps a secret in this family.

  We have added beautiful little Soleil to our family and we are now 15 strong again. 

 Tonight, as we sat listening to 1970's music, the memories flooded me.  Most of them were good ones and I remain convinced, the best is yet to come.  

Create!

I never considered myself creative in the least.  During art class in elementary school, I would envy those little girls who could take a crayon and create magic.  I had failed before I began because I didn't trust myself.  My world was not filled with any kind of artistic expression and I had no idea where to begin.

Today I realize that my world is driven by my creative endeavors.  I spend each day making sure to find the time to knit, sew or take photographs.  Somewhere along the way, I stopped caring about what others thought of my work and let it become pleasure.

So, I had better get my "work" done for the day so I can get back to the beautiful part of my life!

Thanks, Dad!

Today was one of those days when I missed my Dad, but was so glad I can still hear his voice whenever I get in trouble.  I was driving home from a relaxing visit to the Knitting Shop when I heard very LOUD bells going off.  I looked down and saw a red light flashing, which said "Engine Overheating".  NOT good.

Instantly, I heard my dad in my head.  Pull over and turn it off!  Ok, that would have been fine except I had chosen to take the "shortcut" home, which included about a 2 mile trip through a bit of Lansing's ghetto.  I always joke about the fact that I don't take that shortcut at night and wouldn't want to break down in that neighborhood.  Today I did.

I don't scare easily, but I admit today I was afraid.  I locked my doors, as a large group of not so friendly looking teen boys approached.  Large groups were clustering in the empty parking lot where I sat.  I just kept hoping that this was not going to end badly.  I called Joe and knew it would take him about 30 minutes to get to me.  It was going to be a long, hot wait as the temperature was about 80 and I had the car sealed up.  Of course, my cell phone had very little remaining battery and I began thinking about what I was going to do if things didn't go well.

We added coolant and started the car.  The temperature gauge began to rise again.  Darn it!  As Joe and I began trying to figure out what the problem was I remembered my dad's advice again.  "If the thermostat has gone bad, turn on the heat".  I flipped the switch and within a few moments the gauge began to drop and quickly returned to normal!  THANKS, DAD!

I drove home, with Joe following, praying but knowing it would be ok.  I called my brother Dave and we chatted for a few minutes about how grateful we were that Dad was so wise.  He always insisted that we take part in every project or repair, always teaching.  I like to think he is smiling tonight, knowing he left a daughter who is very grateful for a Dad who believed girls should learn to take care of themselves.  He taught me well.

I loved listening to my grandmother tell stories more than anything I can remember as a child.    She was so animated and absolutely hilarious when she told them.  She also had a way of making a point that would leave you laughing and I always remember her talking about a radio show where someone had a closet that every time they opened  the door, everything fell out.  So, if she opened a messy closet or drawer, she would always ask, "What is this?  Fibber McGee's closet?"

Well, I have my own Fibber McGee's cupboard.  Actually, I should admit to quite a few of them.  Catie's job is to empty the dishwasher and she insists on cramming everything in and slamming the door.  Now, she knows that SOMEONE (usually me) will open that door and often get hit with a flying dish, pot or pan.  This was what happened this afternoon when I opened the cupboard to cook dinner.

When I ran for the camera, she yelled "Grandma!  If you take a picture I SWEAR I will post a million nasty things on Facebook about you!"

I really wish I could have had a great come-back, because I know Nana would have had a good one!

Cleaning the Pond....YECH!

After a long Michigan winter, my little pond was in sad shape.  Since Joe remarked that his favorite Mexican yard boy was still sleeping at noon, he was heading to the yard to begin the weekend work.  Feeling guilty, I thought maybe I could find something I could do to help without causing too much arm pain.  I really like working a bit around the flowers, but heavy duty yard work in NOT my thing.

Last summer my boys installed a small pond that I love in the corner of the yard.  I sat down and began arranging the little stones and rocks that Joey's black Lab had used to stay amused this winter.  Then I remarked that we really needed to drain and clean the pond.  Joe grabbed the pump and then the stench came!  OH, it was BAD!  Since this was the first year we had done this, we didn't realize how many nasty leaves would be in the bottom or just how bad they would smell!

That little project took a pump, the shop vac, lots of rock removal and we won't mention all the other things in that nasty water.  Let's just say next year we will cover the pond.  By the time we finished we had all sprayed each other with the hose a couple times, had some fun in the sun and the smell was gone.

As Joe weed whipped around the yard, pulled weeds and did the rest of the hard work, I brought out cold drinks and a plate of cheese, nuts and fruit to keep his energy going.  I found a nice chair under a tree.

There Is No Roadmap

As children, there are so may rules.  We are told to drink our milk, go to school and get good grades ("That's your job" my dad used to say.)  There are rules all day about everything and most of us try hard to follow them.   We know that we have to "grow up" and be responsible adults.  That is when it gets confusing.  Suddenly we are thrust into a world of choices.  Apart from the law, we have to start making our own rules.

I have watched my children struggle with the choices, probably far more than I did. I didn't really have many choices or I didn't know about them.  So,  I was quite content to settle into married life and become a mother.  It was a primary calling for me.  Yes, I had dreams of doing other things, but being a mother was my main occupation.  I still think it is a noble calling. 

Fathers today are expected to be much more involved than they were just a generation ago.  I chuckle to myself as I hear mothers complaining about their lack of involvement today.   I remember a blur of being grateful for the moments when my husband would stop to cuddle the infants and play with them.  That was my time to escape for a much needed shower.  I also remember begging for a night off to go ANYWHERE.  Far from lazy, he was often working 2 jobs or working and going to college at night.  He just didn't have the time to commit to diapers or daily care.  

So I just kept moving.  With 3 children in 6 years, I was very, very busy.  I don't remember it any other way.  I loved chaos that was mine.  The only schedules were naptime and bedtime!  Those were the moments of quiet, when I could rest from all the activity those little ones could produce.  Every day at noon, they ate their lunch and if they were not in school yet, they went off to nap.  Aaaaaaaah!  I could have 2 hours of uninterrupted peace!

Years passed and with 2 in high school and 1 in Jr High, life was changing to a new rhythm.  I was working full time, not at a career that fullfilled me, but at a job that helped to pay for music lessons and teenager's car insurance premiums.  Then God decided to surprise us all with a new bundle of joy.  The older kids referred to him as "Ooops!"  I call him Mikey, a child of my heart.  

As I listen to people today who are so very serious about their child planning, I think of how I might have missed out on one of the most wonderful boys ever born, if I had planned.  This delightful baby made everyone smile from the moment he arrived.  It has never stopped.  I used to sit in wonder as he would play for hours on end building make-believe words with his Legos, narrating the stories he was imagining.  Today, I sit in awe as I listen to him play his guitar and fill my soul with his beauty.  

The following year when the kids were talking about "Ooops" having a new brother that they were calling "Oh, Oh!"  I knew they just didn't understand yet that life with a roadmap would be awful for me.  I would have missed out on so much if I followed a roadmap.  That quiet little baby loved to cuddle and he just sat for hours and watched the world go by in all his cuteness.  Who was he?  

Instead of teddy bears, he often preferred to sleep with his baseball mitt.  He would chase any ball and seemed to be filled with joy at the sight of anything that  moved, especially if he could chase it.  How different they are from the moment of birth.  As I watched him grow into a boy who loved to play baseball, wrestled his heart out, recovering from injuries and surgeries, yet returning to the mat, I knew who he was now.  He was a young man born to move, to go places, do things and experience life at it's fullest. 

I am so glad I didn't have a roadmap.  I would have missed all the sideroads that took me to the most beautiful places.

One of my favorite old photos of my guys!

Did Progress Bring Too Many Choices?

I was thinking about my grandmothers' lives yesterday.  While talking with a friend about the beautiful needlework that both of them did and how I value owning those things today, I realized that their lives were far more simple than mine.  Yes, they had to use a wringer washing machine, made their own laundry soap and didn't have microwaves or computers, but they knew exactly what their lives were destined to be.

Here is grandmother Louise Albert teaching my little ones how to bake Christmas cookies.

I spent more time with my paternal grandmother Louise, who was famous for her many skills.  She was a wonderful cook, knit and crocheted beautiful things that were given with love and received with joy.  She took classes and learned to decorate wedding cakes, upholster furniture and was truly in charge of her home, which was always spotless.  She did all that while raising 5 children.  I really think she was happy and content with her life.

She loved to tell the story of the time she got a job to earn Christmas money, packing candy in a factory.  I can't help but think of the I Love Lucy episode, with Lucy and Ethel in the candy factory.  She claimed that my grandfather actually paid the kids NOT to do their chores in an effort to convince her to come back home full time.  He loved having his life with his wife at the helm.  He really appreciated what she did.

Here is great grandmother Anna Snell Knox, grandmother Marie Louise (Weeda), my mom Shirley and brother Ed in about 1949

My maternal grandmother, also enjoyed needlework (crochet, tatting and embroidery) and spent a lot of her time creating beautiful items that still grace my home.  Her life was orderly, with each day planned, including her shopping day when she took the City bus downtown to comb department stores.

They both spent their summers at their cottages, enjoying smaller spaces to keep neat, watching the lake as they knit away and listened to grandchildren play.  I don't think either one of them felt pressure to "be" any more than they were.  They enjoyed their lives.

Today, as I question my value constantly, I wonder why.  I cook and clean, knit and sew, create scrapbooks to document our lives,  have raised more than 5 children and yet I still think I have something else I must do, haven't done enough (or well enough).  I think of all that I "could" have done and haven't.

I think of the dreams I once had to teach and to write.  I think of the goals I probably won't attain.  I am going to work on remembering all the ones I have reached.  They are probably the most important.

Purging

Three years ago when Karen passed away, I began purging possessions.  It began with the need to change the environment, as if to create a new look to my home.  I didn't want to look at a chair and picture her sitting in it, so I got rid of the chair.  I painted new colors, eventually got new furniture and realized the living room looked completely different.

I moved from there to the antiques and sentimental stuff.  Instead of hanging on like most people, those items no longer gave me pleasure to look at.  I knew none of the other children wanted them and I had always been "saving" them for Karen.  She was gone and it was time for them to go too.  Some were carefully packed away and stored, just in case one of the children changed their minds.  The rest went to charity.

Then Catie wanted to try to fill a big bottle with coins to save for a trip to Disney World.  We began saving and got the idea for a garage sale.  It was just the perfect answer for the rest of the clutter.  My rule was simple:  If it went to the garage sale, it didn't come back in the house.  We made a lot of money, cleaned out a lot of junk and it felt good.

As I approach Spring, I am in the mood to do it again.  I am finding that I never missed a thing I got rid of and am ready to see what else can go.  I recently took all my extra yarn to a sale and made money selling it, although it was a credit to buy more yarn.  GROAN!

The junk on the back porch is condensed to a couple boxes that will go into rafters, since it belongs to the kids.  The crawl space was "cleaned" once, but it is going to be attacked again.  I went through my shoes, organized them and found that I had 3 pair of flip flops....and just bought a pair.  I am good for at leas 2 summers now.  Now, if only Joe would let me purge the garage!