A tale of a purse, a phone and a video

I got a pretty new purse some months ago.  It's quilted with a black and white print. The other day, I was looking at my pretty new purse and thought "it's time to wash this!"  The white was looking a little more yellow in places.  Gross.

So Sunday, I came home from church and a quick stop at G.G's to turn on the water for her dogwood tree (being a dutiful niece following a text from her uncle who was thinking about his mom) and gathered up clothes to wash.  I remembered my yellowing purse and grabbed it, emptying the contents onto the coffee table.  I put everything in the HE washer, hit start and went back out to go back to G.G's house to turn off the water (it had been about 20 minutes total).

As I drove the mile and a half or so, it occurred to me that I didn't have my cell phone with me and my brain began to backtrack.  The last place I remembered having it was when I was sitting in the chair, with my purse.  Hmmm.  I finished what I was doing at G.G's and headed back home.

I arrived at home and searched for my phone.  High and low.  With dawning horror, I called my number, listening for the buzz so I could locate it...and it went straight to voicemail.  CR*P.  I knew where it was.  At that moment I heard the washer slow to switch cycles and I hightailed it to the bathroom.  Opening the washer, I reached in, felt around and found my phone.

And I fell apart.  Not because of the phone.  I could care less about the phone.  It wasn't about the pictures.  Yes, there were some great pics on the phone but they were on a MicroSD card that was more likely to be salvageable.  No, I fell apart because on that phone is a video from December 2013 of Papa Bear and Little Miss P.  It was after dinner one night and she was using the napkin rings and napkins to decorate her Grandpa.  At one point she draped the napkin over his head, placed the gold napkin ring on his ear and proclaimed "He's a pirate!"  She was giggling, he was giggling, sitting patiently and enjoying the moment.  The video is only a minute and 35 seconds long but it's the only thing left where I can hear Papa Bear's laugh and his voice.  Where I can see him move, blinking to adjust the contact lens that was knocked off his eye in the fun, holding onto Little Miss P so she didn't fall off, and in the final seconds, leaning forward and to hug her.  I fell apart fearing that one last connection was lost.

We aren't a family that has done a lot of video recording, nor are we so good with taking photos, though I have plenty of photo's to remind me of good times with Papa Bear.  It's the sound of his voice and his laugh that I so desperately long to hear again.  As I sat pulling apart the phone, drying off everything I could reach, googling how to dry out a phone and MicroSD card, my heart was breaking again.

Yo Momma and I had made plans with some friends, and so after doing what I could to salvage those items, we left home.  I broke down on the car ride to our friends house.  The looming sense of ONE MORE loss just too much to handle.  Yo Momma cried with me as I shared my worries.

I've held myself together over little, silly things these past 15 months.  But this one didn't seem so little or so silly.  This one was tangible.  I can watch that video over and over again and for a minute and a half, I can see and hear Papa Bear again.

As I contemplated my phone that was sitting at home drying out, with the potential only copy of an irreplaceable video trapped inside, a glimmer of hope suddenly pushed it's way to the surface.  When I was putting together the slideshow for Papa Bear's celebration of life party, had I transferred the video from my phone to the laptop?  I patiently waited through the movie and ice cream with my friends (and enjoyed the time) but once we got home, I turned on the laptop and stared at it with the fervor of that lady who starred in the Mervyn's ad's years ago thinking, "Open, open, open."

A few clicks later, I opened a file and breathed fully for the first time in a few hours.  The panic eased as I watched Papa Bear and Little Miss P on the screen, playing, laughing and hugging.  I heard his voice, listened to his laugh and saw Papa Bear again.  I cried and cried and cried.  I hadn't lost that connection after all.

My washed phone is truly dead.  I have a new one.  Phones are easily replaceable.  I've lost most of my contacts but I can get many of those back.  The MicroSD card works.  I've transferred the photos onto a flash drive.  I've backed up the video onto a flash drive and will be putting it on a DVD and Dropbox.  I'm not taking any chances.  All was not lost, and for that I am very grateful.

"He's a pirate!"

 *Sorry, I couldn't fix the photo so please excuse the eye glare.*

What I did on my day off

I'm sitting in a hospital room at the really good hospital about an hour away from our house listening to Papa Bear sleep.  We've teased him for years that when he drops into a deep sleep he sounds a little bit like Darth Vader breathing.  He doesn't always appreciate the comparison.  Every so often his fingers, toes or legs will twitch and then the bed adjusts so reduce the risk for bed sores.  I'm finding these little things comforting today.

It's been two weeks since Papa Bear was admitted.  Almost 30 full days since the Acute Myeloid Leukemia diagnosis.  His last day of chemo was Thursday and it won't be until this coming Thursday when he has another bone marrow test to see if the chemo has been successful.  We'll know the next steps once those test results come back.

Last Monday I arrived at his room to find Papa Bear in tears on the phone with Yo Momma and a big white bandage on his temple.  He had fallen in the wee hours of the morning.  Luckily it wasn't super serious but it was serious enough.  Additionally, there had been a complication with some of his medicine that caused another problem and he was in pain.  I left the hospital that night feeling helpless.  There was nothing I could do but offer support and encouragement and cry along with him.  So that's what I did but still, I wanted so bad to take away the pain.

Friday there was another issue that caused him to be transferred to the Critical Care unit.  He just needed to be monitored for about 48 hours then was transferred back to the Oncology floor.  Today, I walked in to find him completely out, Darth Vader breathing and all.  He'd had a reaction to something and so they gave him benadryl to combat the reaction.  Sleep city.  His blood count is low, so they will be doing more transfusions today but for right now the nurse just wants him to sleep. 

I could go somewhere else, shopping, to lunch, for coffee, IKEA, (I would say the beach but it's back at home and with the amount of people heading into Beach Town as I was leaving, I'm perfectly content to not be there), but really all I need to do is be here, listening to him sleep, watching the twitching fingers and toes and being near.  Today that's my job and I'm okay with it.

Curve balls

Last Sunday afternoon I found myself flipping channels.  On one station was a really awful horror movie, the type I NEVER let myself watch because my imagination already runs rampant enough.  But there I was, my attention caught, as this cross between a human/bat kinda thing that was called a creeper stalked down unsuspecting humans.  It was an awful movie.  I will never go in a cornfield again.

On the other channel was the Hallmark movie of the week.  Some schmaltzy equally awful romantic something or another that clearly wasn't as captivating as the human/bat creeper because I kept going back to that channel.  Back and forth I went between the two until the creeper thing came to an end and then, well I wasn't going to watch Final Destination 2 or 3 or whatever it was, so I wound up on the Hallmark channel again.

Later that evening I was with a friend, relating my day spent watching two awful movies and beating myself up ever so slightly for wasting my day when the 2x4 of reality hit me over the head...watching those two movies was really all I could do that day, I had no more emotional or mental strength left.

Almost two weeks ago, now, Tuesday my Dad or Papa Bear as he is known on this blog, was diagnosed with Acute Myeloid Leukemia.  Just like that he went from living to be 105 like Great-Grandpa Ben to really hoping to make it to 73 or 74 or 75 or 76, heck 80!  There's a lot they are doing to treat Acute Myeloid Leukemia and we are going to be aggressive and fight this all the way into remission but still, the blow of the fragility of life took it's toll.

Yo Momma and I were on our way to meeting Lil' Bro and family at the Happiest Place on Earth when we got the news.  Yo Momma has a lead foot when she wants to...she almost cut across two lanes of traffic to make a u-turn to head home.  I did wind up going to meet Lil' Bro the next day and we spent three days together attempting to push away reality at the Happiest Place on Earth, being family and keeping things normal for Little Miss P.  Sometimes you just do what you gotta do.

Last Sunday morning I woke with dread knowing what was coming in church that day and not wanting to get up.  Not only did I not want to talk about what is happening with Papa Bear, I knew that sometime before church was over Youth Pastor Friend was going to tell the congregation he was leaving full-time ministry.  Even knowing it was the right decision and that God is in the midst of his decision, it was still hard to sit and listen to the words flow from his lips.  There was this horrible mix in my head of Youth Pastor friend leaving, Papa Bear's life in crisis and my own sense of everything being so far out of control I just couldn't breathe.

And so, there I was on Sunday afternoon with nothing left in me, watching a horrible horror movie and a horrible Hallmark romance and occasionally finding tears welling up in my eyes.  Tears are only a millisecond away these days.  It's been a long couple of weeks and there are longer weeks ahead.

Tomorrow I will get up and go to work as usual. Yo Momma and Papa Bear will get up and call the hospital to find out what time he is to admitted.  Five weeks from now we hope the leukemia is in remission so that a bone marrow transplant can take place.  As I have told Papa Bear, there are no options, he will fight this and he will fight this hard.  We are going to kick leukemia to the curb.

This afternoon Papa Bear and I sat in the family room and watched the Giants and Dodgers battle for a win. We watched the players do their thing and eventually cheered when the Giants won in the 10th inning (they can never make it an easy win).  I look forward to the day when Papa Bear and I can go to another Giants game together at AT & T park.  I will buy the best seats possible for that game.  Life throws curve balls every once in a while and sometimes all we can do is just step back and watch them go by, waiting for just the right moment to hit that ball right out of the park.

It wasn't just a hand mixer

When I moved away for college, I moved into an apartment.  It was a cute little place close to campus.  I rode my bike across the street and then across campus most days.  Moving into an apartment meant that I got to open my "hope" chest and use all the pretty dishes that I had been collecting over the years.  Along with all the dishes, I took with me some hand-me-downs from family and friends to fill the cupboards of my apartment.

One of those hand-me-downs was a hand mixer that once belonged to Grandma O.  My Grandma O was a fabulous baker.  I never once remember going to her house and finding the cookie jar empty.  She made homemade rolls for special occasions that were melt in your mouth good.  Her apple pie was outstanding.  Grandma O wasn't good at verbalizing her feelings for people.  She wasn't an overly warm woman but I believe that Grandma O showed her love with food.  She baked, she cooked, she fed her family and friends and that is how she told us she loved us.


This afternoon, I pulled out Grandma O's mixer.  I had fresh lemons from my lemon tree and was determined to make a lemon meringue pie.  In college I had successfully made pies using that mixer, that turned out beautifully, with no weeping or shrinking or anything.  They tasted mighty good too.  Of course when I moved back home after college, the recipe I used to make those fantastic lemon meringue pies got lost in the shuffle.  I have tried to make that pie again, several times, with little success.  My Food Network magazine arrived Wednesday with an easier recipe, I had a fresh lemons, the kitchen was empty, I had the time and so it was time to try again.

I squeezed those fresh lemons (I should have taken a picture of my lemons...the rind is at least an inch thick.  They look like softballs.) and mixed together the ingredients for the base of the pie.  When ready, I poured it into the waiting shell (store-bought because while I have inherited a little bit of Grandma O's baking genes, I fail at pie dough.  FAIL.)  I then pulled down Grandma O's mixer, ready to tackle the meringue.

Upon putting the first beater in, I noticed that it wobbled a little.  The connection between the shaft and the beater blade seemed a little tenuous.  The next beater was a little more solid but when I put the second beater in, I noticed the two beaters came together too closely.  I tested it once outside the egg whites and they clanked together.  No good!  I pulled them out, switched places and tried again. A little less clanky, so I decided to give it a try.  Into the egg whites the beaters went.  I switched the mixer on and smoke started to come out of the motor, the beaters clanked together and then stopped, jammed together.  I looked at Grandma O's mixer and realized, the end had come.  There was no fixing this.  I pulled the cord from the socket, tried to eject the beaters to no avail.  I then pushed and pulled until they came apart.  The one tenuous beater was now even more wobbly.  The era of this hand mixer had come to an end. 

I washed the beaters, dried them, put them back into their rightful place on the mixer, loving wrapped the cord around the mixer and took it out to the recycling bin for their future ride to their final resting place.  It's just a hand mixer and yet, I will admit to feeling a little teary at the end of our time together.  They will be replaced by another hand mixer.  An updated one with a bigger motor.  But that mixer won't have the memories attached.  When I pull it out of the cupboard, I will no longer think of Grandma O and the wonderful things she made with that mixer.

As I started to write this post thinking about Grandma O and her baking, the dates started connecting and suddenly the tears that came weren't because of a silly hand mixer dying after, gosh, 40+ years of use. 22 years ago this week, Grandma and Grandpa O celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary.  We had a grand party, a dinner of course, at a favorite restaurant of theirs with family and friends surrounding them, celebrating their lives together.  That night Grandma O went to sleep and didn't wake up.

Over the years, I have come to believe that grief meanders in ever widening circles.  The first days, months and years, we cycle through our emotions, feeling the loss of those we loved in an immediate and profound ways over and over again.  As the years go on, the circles of emotions become wider, with longer times between the waves of sorrow.  Little things will trigger our emotions and the grief will return, maybe less intense, maybe just as intense as when we first felt the grief.  For me today it was an electric hand mixer, an inheritance from a Grandmother who left earth years too soon.  I grieve, not just the loss of her presence, amazing baking and cooking skills, but the relationship between a grandmother and granddaughter that was just beginning to form after years of relationship "misses".

It wasn't just a hand mixer, it was a memory catcher; a reminder of someone I loved and the way she loved me in return. 

Celebrating

July is THE month on my birthday/anniversary calendar that is filled with names of people who are celebrating.  8 of those dates are family members, another 6 more are friends.  One of the dates has multiple names on it.  Today, is one of those days.  At the same time July is also a month with a "celebration" that took a long time to feel like a celebration.

Today is the birthday of both of my grandmothers.  How's that for coincidence?  One would be 94 today, the other is 82.  I've learned a lot from my grandmothers, though I've had 21 more years with one than the other.

I keep telling people that I'm taking after my Grandma O. as my hair color changes each time they see me and I'm pretty sure the baking gene came from her as well.  Grandma O will forever be 73 in my mind.  The last time I hugged her, she was in the middle of her 50th wedding anniversary celebration.  The next morning she was gone.  I remember thinking that morning as I heard the news that I was just getting to know my Grandma O.  I think we would have related to each other better as adults and I wish we had gotten the chance to know each other as adults.

G.G. celebrates her birthday today too.  My deep love and appreciation of music comes from G.G.  Growing up in a family where Grandma sang Bass/Tenor, Mom was a low Alto and Aunt was a Soprano, harmony was common.  Someone once asked me how I knew how to sing harmony and I honestly answered, "I just hear it".  I will give G.G. and time around the piano singing all the credit.  We've had many adventures together over the years.  She's been a good friend through the years.  I have to say, though, I find it disgusting that my 82 year old Grandmother has less grey hair than I do (hence the different colors referenced above...maybe I took after Grandma O. in that way too!)

Tonight I am grateful for two women, born on the same day, though a few years apart.  Happy Birthday Grandma's.  I love you both.

A date on a calendar

We all have those days, when the day on the calendar becomes a marker, not just another numbered day in a month.  Sometimes those days are filled with joy, some days those days are filled with grief, some days they are filled with both. 

Today was one of those days filled with both.  Joy for a life lived, for family of the heart and grief for a life cut short, for stories left unwritten.  

Praying tonight for those left behind, not just my own family but for the many I've heard in the last 24 hours for whom this day is no longer a date on a calendar but a date that now has one of those kind of memories attached forever.

I am not my parents

I grew up (and still live) in a small town.  Yo Momma moved to this small town with her parents when she was 6 or so.  Papa Bear moved to the small town when he was 28, started teaching and quickly became known.  I grew up being known as "Brittany, the daughter of...".  Though I was the first child, I was not the most popular child.  Soon I became known as "Brittany, the sister of...".  That's what happens when you are a shy person, not good at sports in this small town.

Growing up in this small town I never expected to be known for myself, except around my friends.  I told myself it didn't matter but it did.  I told myself that I was okay being known as the daughter or sister of...but there were times when it got old.  Really old.  Then, one day it changed. 

I remember the day that Papa Bear came home and looked at me and said "It happened.  I introduced myself to someone and they said 'You're Brittany's Dad!' ".  There was a poetic justice in that and freedom.  I was no longer just someones daughter or sister, I was me.  The best thing, was that I wasn't riding the coat tails of my family members, I had struck out on my own and was just me.

I was reading an blog post today about someone who is in the spotlight a lot because of their last name.  It's a famous last name because of this person's Dad.  The Dad is respected, well liked and when The Dad speaks, people listen.  The child has ridden The Dad's coat tails a bit to get where they are and is trying to emulate The Dad but it's not working.  The child is not The Dad and though the media keeps trying to make the child, The Dad, more and more it's clear, the child is really not The Dad.

That whole thing started me thinking about those in the media who have been thrown into the spotlight because of their famous parents.  In a way, it doesn't seem fair that we expect the child of the famous parents to be just as eloquent or charismatic or good as the parent.  In another way, it seems really awful when the child tries to work off of their famous name to become famous themselves.  Especially as time goes on and it becomes crystal clear that the child isn't as lovable as the parents, yet they continually try to work off that name or are given more opportunities to speak out because of their famous parents name.  The child is not the parents.

If people looked at Papa Bear, who was the sports guy and a PE teacher, and thought "gosh, his children will be extremely fit and athletic people", well they would be right with one of those children but not the other.  I am not my Dad.  If people looked at Yo Momma, the outgoing people person, and thought "gosh, her children must be outgoing people as well", well, again, they would be right with one of those children but not the other.  I am not my Mom. 

I am the introverted, curvy (ha!), non-athletic, perfectly me child of my parents but I am not my parents.  I don't always think like them, I don't always agree with them and I am most definitely not them.  I have their last name but I am me.  I don't want to be "famous in a small town" because of my last name but because of who I am, what I have accomplished and what I am good at.  Actually, I don't really want to be famous at all, that's a lot of pressure.  I just want to be me.  

A little bit of this and that

I've started and stopped a number of posts over the last couple of days.  Though there are words that are begging to be let out, there's a part of me that always holds back not wanting to over share.  It's a struggle that I always feel when it comes to blogging.  I want to share yet where is the line?  When does it become just whining and over sharing?  I don't have that answer yet.

I've been a busy girl lately.  Last weekend was Cousin V's wedding, which I was so honored to officiate.  What made it even more fun was that 29 of the 30 family members (and significant other's married or not) on that side of the family were together at the same time.  It was fun to see the 2nd cousins running around playing and laughing.  There were photographs taken, I just don't happen to have them.  They will come later.

My one day a week job has been good for me.  Youth Pastor Friend, Mr. T., has been out of town but he left me with a list of things to do...which I've pretty much done.  On the list was to start clearing off his desk and going through pictures.  Just would like it recorded that when I was in youth ministry I was given a REALLY bad time for the state of my office.  My office had nothing on Mr. T's.  Just sayin'.

Aunt C asked today if I had gotten back to a normal schedule after the weekend and I laughed to myself.  I don't know what normal is lately but I'm enjoying it.  Something comes up every day.  Take Monday for example.  I had lunch plans with Amy and needed to drop off an application for a very brief job (Child Care at a camp this weekend) but had nothing on the schedule for the rest of the day.  Then LN texted and I wound up getting coffee with her and a behind-the-scenes tour of the local amusement park.  It was a pretty cool!  If this is normal, I like it!

Today marks my 37th year in the world.  I'm enjoying my free birthday coffee with a side of peace and quiet and will enjoy pizza and the company of K, N, Meg and kiddo's later today.  I've been showered with blessings and well wishes all day and am feeling very loved.   

That said, there is stuff brewing beneath the surface on this birthday (see beginning of this post) and I'm aware more than ever that God is in control of my life and I am not.  Totally grateful for where I've been, the people that God has surrounded me with and for the opportunity that I have right now to sit back, to pray, ponder and listen.  Just can't help wanting God to hurry things up already!

Happy Birthday G.G.

Today is G.G.'s 81st Birthday.  I've been blessed with a grandmother who is fun, adventerous, willing to listen, likes to laugh, encourages and supports those around her, has special part in her heart for each of her family members and always is happy to see us.  G.G. tends to downplay her importance to our family, but yet I know that each of her children always seek her out, her grand kids like having her around and the great-grand kids love her too!  We are all grateful that G.G. is in our lives.

Happy Birthday G.G.!  I love you!  

A Father and Daughter's Adventure on Mother's Day

For at least a couple of months, I've heard this scritch-scratching noise late at night and early in the morning.  Actually, now that I think about it, the scritch-scratching was preceded by the sound of something kind of running up and down the front walk of the house, brushing up against the house as it went.  The scritch-scratching has been more recent and has been right outside the window of my room...or, as I was starting to believe in the wall.  One night, not so long ago, I activated the motion lights outside, just to see if I could see what was causing the noise.  Light went on, noise stopped.  At least I could sleep.

Friday morning the scritch-scratching woke me up at about 5am.  I was not amused.  Papa Bear and I had lunch that day and I mentioned the noise.  Saturday morning it woke me up at 5am again.  Grrrr... Saturday night, just as I was trying to go to sleep it started AGAIN!  I lay in bed, listening intently trying to get an idea of where the noise was.  I tapped on the walls, the noise continued.  I got out a flashlight and made sure there was nothing actually UNDER my bed.  Then I went outside as quiet as I could be to see if I could locate the noise.  I opened the screen door, which always activates the automatic lights, but still the scritch-scratching continued.  I put one foot out the door onto the walkway, causing the boards to shift and bump and the scritch-scratching stopped!  Ah-ha!  There was no dealing with it at that time of night though.  Better to wait til daylight.

So Sunday dawned bright and beautiful.  I was up at out of the house just past the crack of dawn, as usual for one who works for a church, and didn't think much of the thing under the walkway.  When I got home, I noticed that Papa Bear had started to loosen one of the walk way boards, so I decided to move it off and see if I could see anything under that portion by my window.  I moved that board and the next thing I saw was this rodent body peek out and dash back under the rest of the walkway. "AH-HA!  A mouse!" is what I thought.

I quickly relayed the news to Papa Bear, who was busy inside dealing with the flying termites.  He would get to it later. I went about my good Sunday business...laundry and cleaning.

I was vacuuming later when the house phone rang.  We rarely answer the phone anymore, the proliferation of automated health care calls and "You are invited to the Macy's grand sale today only calls." have driven us to cringe in fear whenever the phone rings.  So in strict adherence to the avoidance of the phone calls, I let the machine pick up.  Then I heard in whispered tones "Brittany, the mouse, Brittany come outside.  Hello, hello, Brittany."  It was Papa Bear calling from his cell phone from right outside my room.

Opening the front door I peered out at Papa Bear standing just a few feet away with a square nosed shovel in hand.  Boards from the walkway were haphazardly strewn around him.  "It's right under here.  He's big too!" Papa Bear said.  "If you get a broom and scare it this way, I will get him."  Now, my dear Internet friends, this is where my compassion for little furry animals started to give way.  I knew what that shovel was for.  I have witnessed Papa Bear reach for the square-nosed shovel on the occasions where the rattlesnake was in the driveway.  I knew that the little furry animal under the deck was going to meet a painful end and I really didn't want to see it.  But I am a good girl, I do what my Dad asks...and truthfully, I was done with the scritch-scratching at 5am.

I retreated into the house for my shoes, stepped out the front door, retrieved the broom and moved just to where the walkway meets the deck when I heard "There he is!".  When I thought about the end of the rodent, I didn't think about the sounds of protest the rodent would make.  Ugh.  But there we were, me facing away, so as not to see anything and Papa Bear and the rodent in battle.  Papa Bear shifted and all of sudden the rodent had gotten free.  Now, at this moment I was standing at the open edge of the walkway and a memory flashed through my mind. It was evening time, down in Anaheim.  Opinionated Friend and I were walking along a slightly darkened pathway near the House of the Mouse when out of the bushes on one side of us a rat appears and runs, right in front of us, grazing Opinionated Friends foot...which was pretty amazing because neither of her feet were on the ground at that moment.

Momma's and G.G.'s favorite swear word...that's pretty much what I was thinking too.

With no broken bones or snakebites, I was dispatched to retrieve the cordless drill...which really, I think, was Papa Bear's kind way of giving me something to do while he dispensed of rodent number 2...and upon returning found that the rodents had built a nest of epic proportions right under the walkway we walk over every single day.  With rodent number 2 eliminated, the search was on for the severely wounded rodent number 1.  The walkway was taken up, nest removed, cement underneath sprayed down (the smell was nasty), de-con was placed, rodent number 1 was still not found.  Papa Bear looked under the deck (and retrieved the broken board) but rodent number 1 had eluded us.

As we were putting everything back together and cleaning up, I finally asked what kind of rodent it was.  My heavy heart was so sad for the mouse that I thought I had aided in offing.  Papa Bear, though, was kind enough to report the rodents were rats!  Two big ones!  One pregnant.  The sadness evaporated, my guilty feelings ebbed, the mystery was solved.

Rat number 1 is still missing.  Papa Bear is confident that he was severely wounded though.  If he does come back, there is some nice tasting de-con waiting for him to snack on but no nest to sleep in.  As for the deck, well, we are supposed to be tearing it out and rebuilding it anyway...I just helped it along a little.

And that, my friends, is the tale of a Father and Daughter adventure on Mother's Day.  Where was, Yo Momma, you ask?  In a hot tub in Iowa after a 60 mile bike ride...just where she wanted to be.

In memory...

Growing up in my family, there were a few things that were a given. One was that we would spend a lot of time in Lake Tahoe, another was that we would travel to Iowa. At the time, some of the travels were not as fun as they could have been. I clearly remember driving for what seemed like days in the back of the Chevy truck (with a camper shell) across the beautiful landscape of...Nevada. I won't ever forget the lightening storms in Wyoming nor will I forget the fireflies that one night camping in Iowa.

The reason for going to Iowa was always to meet up with relatives. Papa Bear's side of the family came from Iowa. Cousin Jean and family (Grandpa O's niece) live in Davenport. Aunt Iva Jean and family (Grandma O's sister) in Burlington. Every trip we spent time each side of the family. They all hold a special place in my heart for the memories and for the people that they are.

Over the years time has taken it's toll. Grandma O was the first of the family to pass away. She died in her sleep the night after celebrating her and Grandpa O's 50th wedding anniversary. Aunt Iva Jean and her husband were staying at our house. I will never forget hearing hushed voices telling Iva Jean that her sister had passed away and the mournful wail of grief that followed.

It was strange visiting Aunt Iva Jean after that. She reminded me so much of my grandmother but yet she wasn't. They worried the same, their voices had the same quality, their skin has the same feel, their hair always done just so, they looked similar being sisters and all. Aunt Iva Jean and Grandma O had the same laugh, though Aunt Iva Jean used her laugh more. Aunt Iva Jean was a little more demonstrative too. Every time we left, I knew that she wished we would stay longer. Both of them weren't the easiest women to get to know yet I know that both women loved their families with every fiber of their being...and they loved each other.

A couple of years ago, when Papa Bear and I traveled to Iowa together, we surprised Aunt Iva Jean and showed up on her doorstep...the same house I had been to time and time again as a child. She was expecting Yo Momma but when she saw Papa Bear and I her exclamations of surprise and delight were there, if carefully tamed. Her eyes lit up and she pulled us both in for good hugs. Her husband had died, the house and Aunt Iva Jean had changed some but she was still the woman I remembered, slightly reserved yet fun, fretting over little things but willing to sit down and visit, wanting us to be around longer.

Thursday Aunt Iva Jean passed away. I have no idea what heaven is like but I know she is there. If we get to meet up with those who have gone before, then she's catching up with Grandma and Grandpa O, her husband Bob and the many who have gotten to heaven ahead of her. If there is a kitchen in heaven, I wouldn't be surprised to find Aunt Iva Jean and Grandma O there, cooking and baking for the people they love...I'm pretty sure that's the picture that I will have in my mind for a long time to come.

Farewell, Aunt Iva Jean. Thanks for the many memories...and love.

Happy Birthday!

Today is Papa Bear's birthday. I won't give away his age.

There are many things that I could tell you about him. Despite knowing him all my life, there are many things that I'm still learning about him. He's strong and quiet, with a wicked, dry sense of humor. He looks a little gruff, but just watch him with Little Miss P and you will see that there is a big softy underneath the exterior. He's super political (just a warning) and getting more vocal as the years go on. Papa Bear feels things deeply, has a heart of gold and is the best person to have watching your back. He's a pretty cool guy...and I'm not saying that just cause he's my Dad.

Happy Birthday Papa Bear! You are loved...and if we were in Iowa, I would take you out for ice cream. =)

Just stuff

There is much going on in life lately. Much of it, I'm just not ready to share about yet. My brain keeps spinning and spinning and spinning but the words just don't want to come out here. Sorry.

I am, however, getting anxious about the upcoming trip to Mississippi. It's been such a huge part of my life for the last 5 years, that the reality of this being the last hurrah is weighing on my heart. And lest you think that I jest about this being the last trip, I'm already exploring other opportunities for the youth for spring or summer. I'm that serious. The other day I started to write about the trips, just because I couldn't stop thinking about them. One memory sparks another and another and another. It's good but overwhelming at the same time.

My anxiety is also tied to financing for the trip as well. I've got $400 to raise still. Aack! It's doable, just stressful. If you're willing to help out go here www.ca2ms.blogspot.com for details on how to help. You can also read about past trips.

Before all that, though, it's family time. G.G. and I are taking a quick jaunt to visit the Redding part of the family before heading to Tahoe for Thanksgiving. Which means I am going to be surrounded by family and babies for the next week...so excited!

G.G.

Last Friday, G.G. turned 80. I had full intentions of posting something wonderful in honor of her and got so busy putting together the huge PowerPoint presentation for her party, it just didn't happen. I've spent a lot of days scanning photos (over 200) and putting them into a slide show of G.G.'s life. It's been fun to go through pictures (some have wound up on my facebook account) and see the progression of her life and our family.

Here's G.G. at a year old. They just stuck her out in her high chair in a field.
She loved animals...look closely there is a chipmunk on her legs.
She was quite the fashion plate too.
I could tell which era the pics were taken in because of the hair too. Any guesses on when this one was taken?
The glasses here are awesome!
I could go on and on. The point is, that G.G. would tell you that she doesn't understand why we made such a big fuss. That her feelings were hurt when we wouldn't let her do anything and kept shooing her out of the kitchen. She might even tell you that she didn't need the party. That's okay. She can tell you those things. WE needed to tell her, to show her, to shower her with the love that we feel for the woman who keeps us all together.

G.G. taught me that family is important. My Aunt K was sharing a little bit of her impressions of G.G. before the party. Aunt K said that one of the things she loves the most about G.G. is that she is always there for her family and friends. If something happens and you need her, G.G. will be there. Aunt K said that she felt closer to G.G. than her own Mom at times. That there is a caring and love that is there that makes you know that you are special and loved.

Aunt K also said that the person that reminds her most of G.G. in that regard is me. What a legacy a Grandmother can pass on to her granddaughter. To be one that others can count on, whom you know loves you and cares and who will be there when you need them. It's a compliment that I hope to live up to someday.

G.G. Happy Birthday. I love you very much.

Happy Birthday Lil Bro!

Wasn't it only yesterday that you were this old?
Time flies! Soon we'll be taking pictures of your little one on the living room table!
Happy Birthday Lil Bro. I love ya!

4 years

God weaves lives together in mysterious ways sometimes. Just when we need them, new people come in and make things better, help us through the trials at the moment or become the family that we never knew we were missing.

The unfortunate part of humanity is that many times, the people we treasure the most are the people we take for granted the most. We always think that there is going to be more time later...and sometimes later never comes.

It's been more than 4 years since I last heard Mark's voice, saw his smile, was the recipient of much teasing (as a younger "sister" is rightly due). I wish for a lot, but mostly just one more smile and hug from the man I came to cherish as a brother.

Today a few more tears are springing forth, for a brother lost too soon, for the kids that lost a great Dad and a wife who lost her husband and friend.

Grief is a winding road that sometimes never ends.

A belated note...

I missed it. Well, to be honest I remembered but in the midst of stuff, I just didn't post this when I was supposed too.

40 years and 2 days ago, these two tied the knot. 40 years and 2 days later, they still like each other and sometimes even wear the same silly grins on their faces when they gaze into each others eyes.

Congrats Yo Momma and Papa Bear!!

Lil Bro

My Lil Bro has a blog now. Ha! I'm corrupting the family yet! You can read his thoughts, musings and rants at Tahoe Groomer.

Speaking of brothers...I've got a post brewing about my newest "brother". Curious? Just wait.

If I had Twitter...

this is what I would have posted today.

7:30am--little birds outside my window, if i had a b.b. gun, you would be gone.

10am--Star$'s really, really needs to be open today.

10:15am--Payten just left me a voicemail...yes a 3 month old can talk...Auntie B in tears.

10:30am--Star$'s open! Hallelujah! Everyone who sees me today will be grateful.

11:30am--Next best thing to seeing Payten, seeing Sammy.

2pm--Local store open too. Good thing. 1 pumpkin pie to bake and 3 really outdated cans of evaporated milk at home. Gross.

3:30pm--Just ran over something in Aunt & Uncles driveway...pretty sure it was the paper...don't really want to check.

4:15pm--Turkey good injected with lots o butter good. Really, really good. So is sparkling wine.

4:45pm--I love stuffing. And mashed potatoes. And sweet potatoes.

6pm--Blessed to have a family that loves to laugh.

6:30pm--Pumpkin cake w/cream cheese filling and chocolate ganache oh so yummy.

7:30pm--Is it bedtime yet?

Happy Turkey Day!

Laugh of the day

Today was a tense day. G.G. went in for a lumpectomy today, after being diagnosed with breast cancer a month ago. In the process of all the doctors visits, she also found out that she had gallstones as well, so it was a double whammy of a surgery day. She came through the surgery well and there is no sign of cancer so far in the lymph nodes, though there are still some tests to be done. We all breathed a sigh of relief after that news.

I didn't relax fully, though, until Meg and I exchanged the following text messages:

Meg: I just passed a guy on the corner with a sign that said "bet you can't hit me with a quarter." getting more creative out here!

Me: So did you try?

Meg: Nope, I was too busy texting

Me: Texting and driving! Naughty, naughty!

Meg: Yep, guess he should be glad that I didn't hit him with more than a quarter, eh?

I love my friends.

BTW--I do not condone texting and driving or talking on your cell and driving, or shopping in Safeway and talking on your bluetooth...but I needed that laugh.