Yesterday I performed my annual first rite of fall. I moved my summer clothes; shorts and tank tops to the box stored in the back of the closet. From that box I had already pulled out sweatshirts and long jeans. From the sweater storage in the vinyl zippered bags, I removed my sweaters and some dress pants. I put in cropped pants and the sleeveless tops and swimsuits. The sundresses and summer pantsuits were hung in a winter closet and the fall and winter outifts were re hung in the bedroom closet. I do this twice a year, but the spring changing over is a drawn out affair as spring is a fickle mistress here. She may tease us with 70 degree days in March and early April but we know it will not last so we tend to just keep the jeans in place and replace the sweatshirt with a t-shirt for that day. We slowly replace sweatshirts with tees and finally sleeveless and tank tops. The shorts come out last and it is likely June before the full switch over is completed.
Somehow in the Fall we just know when it is no longer shorts weather. It happens in September and we go from loving having shorts on to the rapidly shortening days and cooler mornings and earlier evenings of wanting jeans, seemingly overnight. We just know. And so we begin the switch. We do it grudgingly, acknowledging that Fall is here and much as we would like to turn back the clock to the glorious days of summer, its not going to happen, until Autumn and Winter have had their say. I usually do this switching over with great resignation, boxes and clothing taken out of drawers sitting in the bedroom for weeks at a time, but this year it just seemed to be a good job to do on a rainy day, and so I did.
I used to embrace autumn and I would like to do that again, and so I smiled fondly as I put away clothes that would wait another year to be reworn, sorted through the fall and winter clothing, gleaning good clothing I hadn't worn for the last two years to send to the church run clothing bank. It gets easier as there are just the two of us, and I care less about what clothing I have. I realize I am slowly sinking into that mode of preferring what is comfortable to what may be the latest trend. I am finding that it has crept up on me, but is not without its attractions. I don't endure uncomfortable shoes for the sake of style, and admit I have "problem feet" and need the support of solid shoes and don't really care if high heels make my legs look longer. It does me no good if I can't walk for four days afterward. I find I am still most comfortable in good fitting jeans and a comfortable, well worn sweatshirt. I dress for warmth in winter now, not style.
I hope I have retained my love of harvest in the fall as I have been gathering apples this year, the last of the tomatoes to bring inside and allow to ripen wrapped in newspapers slowly so I have garden tomatoes into the late fall. I have cut the last of the garden basil to make a pesto, as frost will surely do that delicate annual in here. I still have carrots and onions to dig, but they will wait until later in the fall. This year I will not plant the 600 or so tulip and daffodil bulbs I generally do every October. My spring bulbs will have to be what they are next year. But I have many "housekeeping and yard" tasks to do this fall yet, and I will not lack for things to button up and tighten down. It is the farm girl in me to want to harvest and then store my "nuts" as does a squirrel. The wild turkeys are every where now foraging on the nuts reigning down from the trees, another sign fall is upon us.
The days are shortening and the trees are now changing color rapidly. We have reached that window of perhaps 3 weeks of color in our part of Michigan. The maples begin it all along with poplars and aspens. Next the oaks and locusts, go to reds and shades of gold. Finally the weeping willows turn yellow and drop their leaves in late November winds. We go from color abounding to bare, brown trees which will be our landscape for the next 6 months.
It is the time to put up and store away. To plan for the winter projects and look back over a year, hopefully, well spent. To review and decide how you have learned and grown. To realize the worrying and the "stressing" probably didn't accomplish anything. To mourn the loss of dear friends and loved ones, and to appreciate the new lives entering, to make our senior years ones of joy. It is a time to appreciate the little things, that are taken for granted much of the year.
This year as I put away the clothing of another summer of my life, I also put away the happy memories and all that I have learned, to be pulled out in the coming winter months as something to celebrate. This year, I am determined not to mourn the ending of summer so much as to reflect on all it taught me and look forward to the challenges and comforts of autumn and the ending of the year. I learned much from last winter's hard lessons, and now hope to celebrate good health and a new decision to make the most of what I have right now. I have reconnected with my Lord and I want to keep that growth as something I strive for through every day remaining to me.
Hello to Autumn and a fond farewell to a Summer I won't soon forget.
Friday, September 30, 2011
Monday, September 19, 2011
The Memorial
Last week I went to the funeral home for an old friend, who died rather unexpectedly. Don had survived a heart attack little more than a year ago. He was alive because another friend knew enough to do CPR and demand a frightened high school softball player help him. He survived bypass surgery and survived the post operative, when many thought he would have major memory gaps. He survived all of that and when I talked to him the following summer, I never would have known except for a profound gratitude that he had survived it all.
It was then a huge shock when I was called and told he had passed away after surgery for a tumor in his colon that had complications. He passed quickly but was able to say goodbye to his kids.
I had known Don since I was a kid. Four years older than I he sometimes came over with some other kids in 4-H to play soccer on our stretch of road that bordered a Catholic mission church. The road widened there to include parking and we quite often used the area for fierce soccer games. Later on, Don took my best friend's older sister to the prom and her sister's and I peeked out from behind a door as he picked her up. I went away to college and when I would come home summers I would see him on my brother's fast pitch softball team. He was a record setting pitcher and was well known in the area. He pitched for years and was entered into the Michigan softball HOF.
I would see more of him again when I met my later, husband Kurt on his softball team. Don married had two children and was an excellent dad to a step son. He lived on the family farm and worked it all his life. He never wanted for more than what he had right there.
I walked into the funeral home and the viewing. Don had been cremated and the table was decorated with a simple box and mementoes from his life. Upon walking in I was immediately asked if I had done the framed picture on a stand near his box. My first response was "No" but then I realized my name was on it. It was a pastel picture and I had done many, more than 25 years ago. Don was kneeling in his softball uniform holding a softball and looking back at me. I studied that portrait I didn't really remember doing, and I would have done much of it differently but the face.....I had gotten Don's expression even all those years ago. He hadn't changed much in 35 years. I may not have remembered doing the picture, but his sister saved it all those years. She had stored it in the attic and gotten it out, cleaned it up and framed it and it had a place of honor. I felt honored that someone had saved something I had done so long ago. Honored and humbled that in the celebration of a man's life after his passing, something of mine survived and was remembered as being Don. He would have been embarrassed by all the fuss and kind words, but he would have loved the stories we shared. We spoke of all of our best memories of him and looked through the scrapbooks and photos, someone had made and saved, probably his sisters, we laughed and we cried a bit, and we rejoiced that we had known Don in all his quirky, plain spoken, stubborn allegiance to his friends and family.
We will miss Don and everyone I lose now seems to be the continual road of people going on before me. A shadow box my dad had made to hold a retired softball jersey of Don's sat among the mementoes. He had gone on and Bill had followed and Don now, and so many more. They have walked that road and we will all someday follow. The things we leave behind are the memories and the good we have done that live on...and on....
It was then a huge shock when I was called and told he had passed away after surgery for a tumor in his colon that had complications. He passed quickly but was able to say goodbye to his kids.
I had known Don since I was a kid. Four years older than I he sometimes came over with some other kids in 4-H to play soccer on our stretch of road that bordered a Catholic mission church. The road widened there to include parking and we quite often used the area for fierce soccer games. Later on, Don took my best friend's older sister to the prom and her sister's and I peeked out from behind a door as he picked her up. I went away to college and when I would come home summers I would see him on my brother's fast pitch softball team. He was a record setting pitcher and was well known in the area. He pitched for years and was entered into the Michigan softball HOF.
I would see more of him again when I met my later, husband Kurt on his softball team. Don married had two children and was an excellent dad to a step son. He lived on the family farm and worked it all his life. He never wanted for more than what he had right there.
I walked into the funeral home and the viewing. Don had been cremated and the table was decorated with a simple box and mementoes from his life. Upon walking in I was immediately asked if I had done the framed picture on a stand near his box. My first response was "No" but then I realized my name was on it. It was a pastel picture and I had done many, more than 25 years ago. Don was kneeling in his softball uniform holding a softball and looking back at me. I studied that portrait I didn't really remember doing, and I would have done much of it differently but the face.....I had gotten Don's expression even all those years ago. He hadn't changed much in 35 years. I may not have remembered doing the picture, but his sister saved it all those years. She had stored it in the attic and gotten it out, cleaned it up and framed it and it had a place of honor. I felt honored that someone had saved something I had done so long ago. Honored and humbled that in the celebration of a man's life after his passing, something of mine survived and was remembered as being Don. He would have been embarrassed by all the fuss and kind words, but he would have loved the stories we shared. We spoke of all of our best memories of him and looked through the scrapbooks and photos, someone had made and saved, probably his sisters, we laughed and we cried a bit, and we rejoiced that we had known Don in all his quirky, plain spoken, stubborn allegiance to his friends and family.
We will miss Don and everyone I lose now seems to be the continual road of people going on before me. A shadow box my dad had made to hold a retired softball jersey of Don's sat among the mementoes. He had gone on and Bill had followed and Don now, and so many more. They have walked that road and we will all someday follow. The things we leave behind are the memories and the good we have done that live on...and on....
I Left my Heart in San Francisco
My beautiful grand daughter was born in the middle of August in San Francisco. I have lived vicariously, seeing many pictures of her and knowing her other grandma was out there just enjoying the heck out of her first grand child. Pictures are wonderful, but they just don't aren't the same as seeing that face and feeling those tiny hands in person. But I knew my time was coming so I treid to be patient amid the steely waiting that has become my life.
The time actually flew by as I rushed to finish the baby quilt conceived so many months ago and a calming influence amid the rushing I seem compelled to do, that takes me no where but in circles. To hand quilt anything means to sit and be quiet while you put hands to the rhythmic in and out motion of the needle. It was a pleasure I had put off too long and one I hope I will find use for again very soon. I have reconnected with many past pleasures this year, baking, quilting, and my garden, in a way that was not rushed or futuristic but something that allowed me space to slow down and look at each moment as caught in time and enough of itself.
The flight out was fun as I met several women going to a Susan B Komen event in San Francisco from my area who ended up flying all the way to my destination with me. I met up with Annie in Minneapolis and with some juggling we managed seats together, along with a young mother and her three month old baby. The baby was a love and the mother, relaxed and interesting. The flight flew by and upon arrival in San Francisco, daughter in law, Jen and Vittoria met us at the airport. The first thing Jen told me after hugs and kisses was to pick up my grand daughter and with silly tears in my eyes, I accomodated her. You can fill your heart with love in just seconds, and once again I was introduced to the mysterious wonders that being a grandma brings forth in a huge eruption within my soul. It kind of amazed me both times, the length and breadth of my feelings upon first gazing at my new grandchildren.
The visit was a huge success. Vittoria was a peach. She is as alert most times as the pictures indicated, a very good baby who seems to know she is loved and wanted. She puts up with her goof ball daddy, calling her little arms, "chicken wings" as he dresses her, and gives him a startled look as he sits her in the small tub to bathe her and then brings her eyebrows together, just as her father does, to let him know she is studying on the whole situation. I think she is already plotting ways to get back at dear old dad for all of this. I fed her, dressed her, changed her, (her Aunt Annie's first changing of a diaper), helped bathe her, but mostly just held her and watched her. I couldn't get enough of her and I guess, knew my time with her was short and the next time I saw her she would look so different. I know now how fast babies change in those first months and I didn't want to miss a second of Vee.
But we managed to take in the sights of San Francisco. We walked miles up hill then down hill, as I discovered there really is no level spot in the "City by the Bay". We did Fisherman's Wharf, the Farmer's Market, Ghirardelli's,saw Lombardy Street, Chinatown, and walked across the Golden Gate Bridge. We had sunny, breezy weather, and only one afternoon of the misty, damp cold I had expected. I learned the weather changes drastically from one spot in San Francisco to the next, and was grateful for the sunny weather I had while there. We took Vittoria in her stroller and took in the sights, (she slept pretty much the whole time), and she had her first changing of the diaper in a public place, (a restaurant we stopped in at for a quick drink). I ate sourdough bread, great cheeses, and an excellent fish taco, (my first). We stuffed ourselves on Ghirardelli chocolates and the only sight I missed was the tour of Alcatraz. But maybe for a next trip....
Annie and I caught a cab as our planes left very early on a Monday morning. I had said goodbye to my new Baby Girl the night before, but my heart still broke off a piece when I walked by the door of my slumbering grand daughter so very early that Monday morning. I left the nursery room, Annie and I had shared, with its crib, (Vittoria slept in it for the first time after we left), decorated in shades of pinks and browns, the delightful chandelier and whimsical pictures and shadow boxes adorning the walls. A wonderful first room for a little girl. I left tiptoeing out and know that pieces of my heart were scattered across the floor. I'm a Grandma now, suddenly gone to mush when I look at my grandchildren. I guess all my friends were right, you fall into the "rabbit hole" and nothing is the same Alice, and now I know.
I am home now, where I know I belong, and missing seeing her every day becomes a little less every hour. I still marvel at her alertness and her serious nature and the unexpected smile I induced, which wasn't gas. I now look at her cousin, Luca, who smiles joyously all the time and coos and talks to us, and know that one is not complete without the other. I hope I can enjoy each new step that my grand children achieve, even though it may have to be long distance with the one. Its not a perfect world, but I have long since realized that I don't crave perfection, and that I can learn to cherish each moment I am here. Thank you for the gift of grandchildren, and the lessons they teach....
The time actually flew by as I rushed to finish the baby quilt conceived so many months ago and a calming influence amid the rushing I seem compelled to do, that takes me no where but in circles. To hand quilt anything means to sit and be quiet while you put hands to the rhythmic in and out motion of the needle. It was a pleasure I had put off too long and one I hope I will find use for again very soon. I have reconnected with many past pleasures this year, baking, quilting, and my garden, in a way that was not rushed or futuristic but something that allowed me space to slow down and look at each moment as caught in time and enough of itself.
The flight out was fun as I met several women going to a Susan B Komen event in San Francisco from my area who ended up flying all the way to my destination with me. I met up with Annie in Minneapolis and with some juggling we managed seats together, along with a young mother and her three month old baby. The baby was a love and the mother, relaxed and interesting. The flight flew by and upon arrival in San Francisco, daughter in law, Jen and Vittoria met us at the airport. The first thing Jen told me after hugs and kisses was to pick up my grand daughter and with silly tears in my eyes, I accomodated her. You can fill your heart with love in just seconds, and once again I was introduced to the mysterious wonders that being a grandma brings forth in a huge eruption within my soul. It kind of amazed me both times, the length and breadth of my feelings upon first gazing at my new grandchildren.
The visit was a huge success. Vittoria was a peach. She is as alert most times as the pictures indicated, a very good baby who seems to know she is loved and wanted. She puts up with her goof ball daddy, calling her little arms, "chicken wings" as he dresses her, and gives him a startled look as he sits her in the small tub to bathe her and then brings her eyebrows together, just as her father does, to let him know she is studying on the whole situation. I think she is already plotting ways to get back at dear old dad for all of this. I fed her, dressed her, changed her, (her Aunt Annie's first changing of a diaper), helped bathe her, but mostly just held her and watched her. I couldn't get enough of her and I guess, knew my time with her was short and the next time I saw her she would look so different. I know now how fast babies change in those first months and I didn't want to miss a second of Vee.
But we managed to take in the sights of San Francisco. We walked miles up hill then down hill, as I discovered there really is no level spot in the "City by the Bay". We did Fisherman's Wharf, the Farmer's Market, Ghirardelli's,saw Lombardy Street, Chinatown, and walked across the Golden Gate Bridge. We had sunny, breezy weather, and only one afternoon of the misty, damp cold I had expected. I learned the weather changes drastically from one spot in San Francisco to the next, and was grateful for the sunny weather I had while there. We took Vittoria in her stroller and took in the sights, (she slept pretty much the whole time), and she had her first changing of the diaper in a public place, (a restaurant we stopped in at for a quick drink). I ate sourdough bread, great cheeses, and an excellent fish taco, (my first). We stuffed ourselves on Ghirardelli chocolates and the only sight I missed was the tour of Alcatraz. But maybe for a next trip....
Annie and I caught a cab as our planes left very early on a Monday morning. I had said goodbye to my new Baby Girl the night before, but my heart still broke off a piece when I walked by the door of my slumbering grand daughter so very early that Monday morning. I left the nursery room, Annie and I had shared, with its crib, (Vittoria slept in it for the first time after we left), decorated in shades of pinks and browns, the delightful chandelier and whimsical pictures and shadow boxes adorning the walls. A wonderful first room for a little girl. I left tiptoeing out and know that pieces of my heart were scattered across the floor. I'm a Grandma now, suddenly gone to mush when I look at my grandchildren. I guess all my friends were right, you fall into the "rabbit hole" and nothing is the same Alice, and now I know.
I am home now, where I know I belong, and missing seeing her every day becomes a little less every hour. I still marvel at her alertness and her serious nature and the unexpected smile I induced, which wasn't gas. I now look at her cousin, Luca, who smiles joyously all the time and coos and talks to us, and know that one is not complete without the other. I hope I can enjoy each new step that my grand children achieve, even though it may have to be long distance with the one. Its not a perfect world, but I have long since realized that I don't crave perfection, and that I can learn to cherish each moment I am here. Thank you for the gift of grandchildren, and the lessons they teach....
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
10 Days Later
It has been 10 days since the birth of my grand daughter. I have many pictures of her and receive almost daily reports of my Peanut. While its not the same as being able to see her in person, I will soon enough, and it was the deal I knew going in.
Traveling through this life I have been granted, when I thought about the future, (which wasn't often enough), it seemed a road fairly straight into the horizon. It was occassionally blurred by mists and a storm or two would block it for a time, but it always seemed pretty assured. I would grow old gracefully, not worrying about expanding waistlines and drooping parts that once had been my pride and joy in "perkiness". Kurt would find hobbies he would love and after retirement would be content to putter. We would have grandchildren like baby bunnies all around our feet, and our days would be filled with laughter and contentment. Sometimes I wonder what I was smoking at the time to have had these visions. When had my life ever gone in such an unudulating path? I would suppose I had envisioned every facet of my life in a certain way. Childhood to teen years and dating. I never had the "Ozzie and Harriet" television version of being a teenager, and yet, I survived it pretty much intact and by other's standards it was almost idyllic.
We didn't know we were the "Me" generation, post Vietnam, and yet very much influenced by what happened there. We didn't know that those cars, the guys among us drooled over, the Dodge chargers, Chevy camero's and corvettes, Ford novas and mustangs, would someday fetch alarming prices if we had only hung onto them when we could finally afford one. We didn't know that, though many of us got college degrees, many of us didn't use them at the time, females especially if they married, still stayed home if they could. Many of us still went into the big manufacturing jobs available as the last of their kind. I didn't know that after graduating college with a teaching degree and no romantic entanglements, that I would meet the man I would marry, the summer after graduation and never really attain that career.
I didn't know that having children would change my life. An abrupt change that no one prepared me for. Thank goodness for two sets of grandparents and many aunts and uncles and siblings that helped me along the way, and allowed me to keep my sanity that first winter with a newborn. The children got easier, as like learning to make pies, raising children was about practice and it an on the job, 24/7 kind of training. I was fortunate, looking back that my kids were pretty easy. They were healthy, and I believe happy, though they might beg to differ.
I centered my life around family and Kurt centered his life around the family business. We were like our friends, raising families and working for the American dream, voting in elections but too busy raising kids and pursuing our pleasures to pay much attention to politics and where this Nation was going. We suffered minor recessions that now seem inconsequntial and gas wars that really seem silly in light of today's $4 a gallon fluxuations. We suffered stresses that gave us stomach problems, and drinking problems and many learned to smoke cigarettes and spent years trying to quit the insidious habit. Because I didn't work, I thought we sacrificed some things, but we still took vacations with the kids, patronized their sports endeavors and were able to buy them the latest toys or clothing. They might see it differently, but looking back I wish we had gone with even less or perhaps I had chosen to go back to work at a time when they were all in school.
Choices were made and many times choices were made for lacking of making a choice. We chose to stay where we were because it was comfortable and secure at that time. I never thought that going through it, as there was always something to worry about, but we were secure living our part of the American Dream.
Somehow we put the kids through college. One year we had three in college, the year of 9-11. I remember it vividly as the 10 year anniversary approaches, because after the cataclysmic events happened that forever altered us as a Nation, I remember calling each of the kids at their schools to make sure they were okay. I knew they were, but I had to hear their voices on that day. I breathed a sigh of relief when Annie graduated from Western Michigan University, thinking my days of paying college tuitions were over, and it was now "us" time and time to start thinking about what Kurt and I wanted to do for the rest of our lives. Time to start being the couple again, but two weddings and two children leaving the state, one the country for a time, seemed to put that off, indefinitely once again. And once again it was easier to do what I had always done, tackle each thing as it came along and not look into the future too far.
In remembering it all life is a series of doors you go through. You pick door number 1, 2 or 3 and sometimes you don't even realize you are choosing a door or walking through it. We are given challenges every day by our Creator and He guides us. Whether we always pay attention is another story, but He is always there. I will face many challenges in the rest of this year and my years here on earth, and slowly like training a child, I get it through my stubborn head that I can affect how I regard the challenges in my life, though I am in the end never in command of my own ship. I am just a traveler through this life that is mine.
Ten days old is my grand daughter Vittoria and so much lies ahead of her and her parents. I think that's why grandparents were made, to fully relish what lies ahead....
Traveling through this life I have been granted, when I thought about the future, (which wasn't often enough), it seemed a road fairly straight into the horizon. It was occassionally blurred by mists and a storm or two would block it for a time, but it always seemed pretty assured. I would grow old gracefully, not worrying about expanding waistlines and drooping parts that once had been my pride and joy in "perkiness". Kurt would find hobbies he would love and after retirement would be content to putter. We would have grandchildren like baby bunnies all around our feet, and our days would be filled with laughter and contentment. Sometimes I wonder what I was smoking at the time to have had these visions. When had my life ever gone in such an unudulating path? I would suppose I had envisioned every facet of my life in a certain way. Childhood to teen years and dating. I never had the "Ozzie and Harriet" television version of being a teenager, and yet, I survived it pretty much intact and by other's standards it was almost idyllic.
We didn't know we were the "Me" generation, post Vietnam, and yet very much influenced by what happened there. We didn't know that those cars, the guys among us drooled over, the Dodge chargers, Chevy camero's and corvettes, Ford novas and mustangs, would someday fetch alarming prices if we had only hung onto them when we could finally afford one. We didn't know that, though many of us got college degrees, many of us didn't use them at the time, females especially if they married, still stayed home if they could. Many of us still went into the big manufacturing jobs available as the last of their kind. I didn't know that after graduating college with a teaching degree and no romantic entanglements, that I would meet the man I would marry, the summer after graduation and never really attain that career.
I didn't know that having children would change my life. An abrupt change that no one prepared me for. Thank goodness for two sets of grandparents and many aunts and uncles and siblings that helped me along the way, and allowed me to keep my sanity that first winter with a newborn. The children got easier, as like learning to make pies, raising children was about practice and it an on the job, 24/7 kind of training. I was fortunate, looking back that my kids were pretty easy. They were healthy, and I believe happy, though they might beg to differ.
I centered my life around family and Kurt centered his life around the family business. We were like our friends, raising families and working for the American dream, voting in elections but too busy raising kids and pursuing our pleasures to pay much attention to politics and where this Nation was going. We suffered minor recessions that now seem inconsequntial and gas wars that really seem silly in light of today's $4 a gallon fluxuations. We suffered stresses that gave us stomach problems, and drinking problems and many learned to smoke cigarettes and spent years trying to quit the insidious habit. Because I didn't work, I thought we sacrificed some things, but we still took vacations with the kids, patronized their sports endeavors and were able to buy them the latest toys or clothing. They might see it differently, but looking back I wish we had gone with even less or perhaps I had chosen to go back to work at a time when they were all in school.
Choices were made and many times choices were made for lacking of making a choice. We chose to stay where we were because it was comfortable and secure at that time. I never thought that going through it, as there was always something to worry about, but we were secure living our part of the American Dream.
Somehow we put the kids through college. One year we had three in college, the year of 9-11. I remember it vividly as the 10 year anniversary approaches, because after the cataclysmic events happened that forever altered us as a Nation, I remember calling each of the kids at their schools to make sure they were okay. I knew they were, but I had to hear their voices on that day. I breathed a sigh of relief when Annie graduated from Western Michigan University, thinking my days of paying college tuitions were over, and it was now "us" time and time to start thinking about what Kurt and I wanted to do for the rest of our lives. Time to start being the couple again, but two weddings and two children leaving the state, one the country for a time, seemed to put that off, indefinitely once again. And once again it was easier to do what I had always done, tackle each thing as it came along and not look into the future too far.
In remembering it all life is a series of doors you go through. You pick door number 1, 2 or 3 and sometimes you don't even realize you are choosing a door or walking through it. We are given challenges every day by our Creator and He guides us. Whether we always pay attention is another story, but He is always there. I will face many challenges in the rest of this year and my years here on earth, and slowly like training a child, I get it through my stubborn head that I can affect how I regard the challenges in my life, though I am in the end never in command of my own ship. I am just a traveler through this life that is mine.
Ten days old is my grand daughter Vittoria and so much lies ahead of her and her parents. I think that's why grandparents were made, to fully relish what lies ahead....
Monday, August 15, 2011
Grand daughter...
Christmas 2010 was a happy time as I found out both of my sons would become fathers in the coming year. At long last I would become a grandma. We later learned we would be blessed with a boy for our eldest son and his wife and a grand daughter for my second son and his wife.
Any grandparent will tell you that grandchildren are life changing, even at a time, you'd thought you had seen all the changes you could possibly handle in your lifetime. There are always more surprises I have learned.
Two pregnancies, quite different, and different we knew would be the paths each would take, but the joys of a healthy baby would be the same and the happiness of new grandparents would be delightful. This we knew and anticipated. We were not disappointed. My grandson I was able to see minutes after his birth. It was a sensation I did not expect to feel, and I was surprised and almost overwhelmed by the power of it. The feelings calmed down and life settled into a routine for him and his parents as they learned the ropes of parenthood. I knew it would be different with my grand daughter. I wouldn't see her minutes after her birth and could just hope and pray that everything went easily for both and I was prepared to live on pictures of her right after and the accounts from my son of her adventure entering this world.
We were awakened at 6 a.m. here yesterday morning. They were at the hospital and she was in labor and while it would be awhile, we would have a grandchild at some point on the day. So began our Sunday, trying to be a normal Sunday while staying close to the phone. Having been through first babies, myself, I was guessing it would be after noon, here before she would arrive. I missed that estimation by only a few hours. The morning went fairly quickly as we had things to occupy us. But noon, in my mind was the end point. Noon passed and then 1:00 and 2:00. After 2:00 officially passed I was starting to become nervous. Kurt said to call Korey, but I didn't want to catch them in the middle of it all and I figured Korey's phone would be turned off anyway. So we waited and I began to find "put off" jobs to do. When I am nervous, I need to be involved in something so I went outside which always has things for me to do. I want to say I was nonchalant about it all and was an old hand at being a grandma now, but I wasn't and this one was so different. Just before 4:00 in the afternoon, my son called and our grand daugher was born. We had nothing more than her name, which I got wrong, the first time out, as she was pretty new and haven't even been weighed and measured yet. That would wait until the next phone call along with a picture of how gorgeous she was. I guess it was the big secret of grandparenthood. As long as all are healthy, everything else is gravy.
The tears came after when I saw her, and realized I wasn't there and she would look so different when I finally got to meet her in person, but they were happy tears and grateful tears, that all had been brought safely along in this world.
As my daughter, Annie, who has been "Baby Girl" for a good many years, since her aunt tagged her as such, and will probably always be my Baby Girl, there's a new one in our family and I and she will happily look forward to September and our meeting of her and every special thing she will bring to all of us.
Welcome to the World, Baby Girl....Grandma loves you and can't wait to meet you...
Any grandparent will tell you that grandchildren are life changing, even at a time, you'd thought you had seen all the changes you could possibly handle in your lifetime. There are always more surprises I have learned.
Two pregnancies, quite different, and different we knew would be the paths each would take, but the joys of a healthy baby would be the same and the happiness of new grandparents would be delightful. This we knew and anticipated. We were not disappointed. My grandson I was able to see minutes after his birth. It was a sensation I did not expect to feel, and I was surprised and almost overwhelmed by the power of it. The feelings calmed down and life settled into a routine for him and his parents as they learned the ropes of parenthood. I knew it would be different with my grand daughter. I wouldn't see her minutes after her birth and could just hope and pray that everything went easily for both and I was prepared to live on pictures of her right after and the accounts from my son of her adventure entering this world.
We were awakened at 6 a.m. here yesterday morning. They were at the hospital and she was in labor and while it would be awhile, we would have a grandchild at some point on the day. So began our Sunday, trying to be a normal Sunday while staying close to the phone. Having been through first babies, myself, I was guessing it would be after noon, here before she would arrive. I missed that estimation by only a few hours. The morning went fairly quickly as we had things to occupy us. But noon, in my mind was the end point. Noon passed and then 1:00 and 2:00. After 2:00 officially passed I was starting to become nervous. Kurt said to call Korey, but I didn't want to catch them in the middle of it all and I figured Korey's phone would be turned off anyway. So we waited and I began to find "put off" jobs to do. When I am nervous, I need to be involved in something so I went outside which always has things for me to do. I want to say I was nonchalant about it all and was an old hand at being a grandma now, but I wasn't and this one was so different. Just before 4:00 in the afternoon, my son called and our grand daugher was born. We had nothing more than her name, which I got wrong, the first time out, as she was pretty new and haven't even been weighed and measured yet. That would wait until the next phone call along with a picture of how gorgeous she was. I guess it was the big secret of grandparenthood. As long as all are healthy, everything else is gravy.
The tears came after when I saw her, and realized I wasn't there and she would look so different when I finally got to meet her in person, but they were happy tears and grateful tears, that all had been brought safely along in this world.
As my daughter, Annie, who has been "Baby Girl" for a good many years, since her aunt tagged her as such, and will probably always be my Baby Girl, there's a new one in our family and I and she will happily look forward to September and our meeting of her and every special thing she will bring to all of us.
Welcome to the World, Baby Girl....Grandma loves you and can't wait to meet you...
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
Is it August already? Part II
Somehow July slipped by me. We had the Historical Society's annual ice cream social and the end of July saw us attending the Saginaw County Fair. We didn't have ice cream social's when I was a kid so for me those are relatively new experiences which knit the more senior of our community together. They come for the ice cream, scooped expertly by me, (at least I am getting better at it every year). They listen to a band comprised of mostly senior gentlemen but a couple of 30 somethings add a nice touch and I respect their committment to playing music that is old by my standards. This year I saw women I had gone to school with now sheperding their mothers to seats and laughing about how far we have come, or gone. We have now quite often become the parents to our parents, something we could not have imagined 10 years ago. But it is what life doesn't tell us. I am finding that in every stage of my life, I have arrived unprepared and I am constantly learning on the job and maybe that's the way it should be. It would be nice to have our visions of life at the end be close to what we expect, but surprises make us appreciate the good so much more. So the ice cream social was people getting together for a brief time to listen to music, to sweat, (it was a 90+ day), and eat ice cream and laugh about diets not being in the realm of a hot fudge sundae.
While my childhood run in's with ice cream were of the Merrill Whippy Dip and homemade variety, the County Fair was in my memory from my earliest recollections. I can't remember a time we didn't go, and it was always held in September, and quite often rain would drown out forays if we waited too long to go. It was magical the few times we went at night, the ferris wheel and bullet lit from all over the area. When we were old enough for 4-H we almost always went on the day the cooking entries had to be in. We got in free if we carried in a baked item for the Fair. For us the rides were the least of the Fair. The Fair was about caramel and candied apples, elephant ears and rock solid ice cream cones dipped in chocolate and then rolled in crushed peanuts. It was french fries in a cup right out of the hot oil and sprinkled with vinegar and generous dollops of ketchup. It was corn dogs and bags of popcorn, often given out free in the vendors buildings. We made a slow tour of the grounds, generally starting with the barns, as that's where the 4-H barn boys hung out. The 4-H kids who brought animals got 3 or 4 days off school to stay with their animals and it was as much a party as anything. After trying out our burgeoning flirting techniques on clueless boys we went to the other barns where draft horses so huge there back ends stuck far out into the isles and bulls so huge they needed pens all to themselves, and finally pigs so wide they seemed incapable of standing and lay on their sides letting an occasional grunt escape.
After the barns were thoroughly perused we would amble up the Midway deciding which rides we would go on when we finished doing everything else. We weren't all that courageous and the ferris wheel was enough to make us squeal for the rest of the day so it was saved until close to last. The vendors buildings were next after the 4-H building where we it seemed to extend forever and we knew so many of the names on exhibits and clothing and baking. We all had our 4-H projects and I just wanted to be old enough to have a camera and exhibit in the photography show. Somehow when I got to be that age, I had left 4-H behind and never entered the upper eschelons of high school 4-H projects.
The vendors buildings meant a stop at the first place that offered bags to store all the loot we could pick up on a couple of go throughs. There was the usual pamplets we picked up from everything to home building to insurance and weather tight windows. Yardsticks, pencils, rulers and frisbees were just a bit of the junk we picked up on our way. We came out laden with bags bulging and then had to decide on rides or carnival shows. The carnival shows, such as the bearded lady always seemed enticing, but our allowances wouldn't cover the shows and the rides and the rides usually won out. From the top of a ferris wheel, the world spread out before us and was magical. While the seats were stopped and patrons let off we would sit on that top seat for a brief minute and our breath would escape us at how we had left the world behind. The ordinary rural kid's life we all lived every day was suspended in the County Fair every year in September.
But as things go, they change. They grow or they stagnate. The Fair was losing patrons every year. Its down town venue became a place where no one wanted to be at night any longer. The 8 day fair seemed mired in rain half the time and it was becoming financially impossible to keep it going as it had. Many suggestions were made but the one that finally caught ground was the building of a new fairgrounds in Chesaning, the far south end of Saginaw County, and a smaller schedule would be put in place. It went from 8 days to 5 days and was changed from rainy September to late July or early August which was usually a dry period. Rural Chesaning was a good place to hold a County Fair. The parking was safe and abundant and there was space for growth. We don't go every year, but like to go every couple of years. Sadly what used to take us three or four hours now can be done in an hour. As with everything the size has shrunk. One building for 4-H exhibits and the collections exhibits which are all that remain of the "home" arts. A smaller building for livestock, horses, pigs and sheep share a building and chickens and rabbits share another small building. The Midway is scaled down but still seems "midway" sized. The food isn't the same, but then I'm not a kid any longer either.
The biggest draws seems to be the track which hosts demolition derbies, and big truck and auto races that filled the stands the evening we were there.
In these times, we hold onto those things that are the best of our childhood memories. They may in reality be just a memory but we can't quite give them up, and hope every time we go to catch lightning in a bottle, even though we may be reduced to a lightning bug in that bottle, and our memories will still be the best part of these events.
While it may not be quite what I remember, in these times of upheaval and nothing old is new anymore, in hundreds of venues all over the states, County Fairs still go on, and I hope always will...
While my childhood run in's with ice cream were of the Merrill Whippy Dip and homemade variety, the County Fair was in my memory from my earliest recollections. I can't remember a time we didn't go, and it was always held in September, and quite often rain would drown out forays if we waited too long to go. It was magical the few times we went at night, the ferris wheel and bullet lit from all over the area. When we were old enough for 4-H we almost always went on the day the cooking entries had to be in. We got in free if we carried in a baked item for the Fair. For us the rides were the least of the Fair. The Fair was about caramel and candied apples, elephant ears and rock solid ice cream cones dipped in chocolate and then rolled in crushed peanuts. It was french fries in a cup right out of the hot oil and sprinkled with vinegar and generous dollops of ketchup. It was corn dogs and bags of popcorn, often given out free in the vendors buildings. We made a slow tour of the grounds, generally starting with the barns, as that's where the 4-H barn boys hung out. The 4-H kids who brought animals got 3 or 4 days off school to stay with their animals and it was as much a party as anything. After trying out our burgeoning flirting techniques on clueless boys we went to the other barns where draft horses so huge there back ends stuck far out into the isles and bulls so huge they needed pens all to themselves, and finally pigs so wide they seemed incapable of standing and lay on their sides letting an occasional grunt escape.
After the barns were thoroughly perused we would amble up the Midway deciding which rides we would go on when we finished doing everything else. We weren't all that courageous and the ferris wheel was enough to make us squeal for the rest of the day so it was saved until close to last. The vendors buildings were next after the 4-H building where we it seemed to extend forever and we knew so many of the names on exhibits and clothing and baking. We all had our 4-H projects and I just wanted to be old enough to have a camera and exhibit in the photography show. Somehow when I got to be that age, I had left 4-H behind and never entered the upper eschelons of high school 4-H projects.
The vendors buildings meant a stop at the first place that offered bags to store all the loot we could pick up on a couple of go throughs. There was the usual pamplets we picked up from everything to home building to insurance and weather tight windows. Yardsticks, pencils, rulers and frisbees were just a bit of the junk we picked up on our way. We came out laden with bags bulging and then had to decide on rides or carnival shows. The carnival shows, such as the bearded lady always seemed enticing, but our allowances wouldn't cover the shows and the rides and the rides usually won out. From the top of a ferris wheel, the world spread out before us and was magical. While the seats were stopped and patrons let off we would sit on that top seat for a brief minute and our breath would escape us at how we had left the world behind. The ordinary rural kid's life we all lived every day was suspended in the County Fair every year in September.
But as things go, they change. They grow or they stagnate. The Fair was losing patrons every year. Its down town venue became a place where no one wanted to be at night any longer. The 8 day fair seemed mired in rain half the time and it was becoming financially impossible to keep it going as it had. Many suggestions were made but the one that finally caught ground was the building of a new fairgrounds in Chesaning, the far south end of Saginaw County, and a smaller schedule would be put in place. It went from 8 days to 5 days and was changed from rainy September to late July or early August which was usually a dry period. Rural Chesaning was a good place to hold a County Fair. The parking was safe and abundant and there was space for growth. We don't go every year, but like to go every couple of years. Sadly what used to take us three or four hours now can be done in an hour. As with everything the size has shrunk. One building for 4-H exhibits and the collections exhibits which are all that remain of the "home" arts. A smaller building for livestock, horses, pigs and sheep share a building and chickens and rabbits share another small building. The Midway is scaled down but still seems "midway" sized. The food isn't the same, but then I'm not a kid any longer either.
The biggest draws seems to be the track which hosts demolition derbies, and big truck and auto races that filled the stands the evening we were there.
In these times, we hold onto those things that are the best of our childhood memories. They may in reality be just a memory but we can't quite give them up, and hope every time we go to catch lightning in a bottle, even though we may be reduced to a lightning bug in that bottle, and our memories will still be the best part of these events.
While it may not be quite what I remember, in these times of upheaval and nothing old is new anymore, in hundreds of venues all over the states, County Fairs still go on, and I hope always will...
Is it August already?
What happened to July? It was here and it was hot and it was dry. We wanted rain, we needed rain, but we never got rain. We ran the AC because it was hot, and I railed against it. I got my watering routine down to a fine science. Lug hoses here, lug hoses there, lug hoses everywhere.
I helped work dogs at nights that weren't training days. I was the "bird boy" or bird dummy who threw the bird dummies. I read a couple of very good books, one suggested by a friend about mother/daughter relationships and when a special relationship is at a turning point does it survive. Though I knew what the ending would be, I still found the book satisfying as I can now look back on my relationship with my daughter, Annie, and know that we survived sometimes rocky days and nights, to a comfortable one in which she has become my friend as well as my daughter. Maybe we had to go through all the other stuff to get to that. Our relationship was different than my mom's and mine. She was always my mom but I knew even as a child she was my shield against any storm, and I trusted her with everything. There was little I didn't tell her even as a teenager and she knew after my first date with Kurt, he was the "One". After my marriage our relationship changed, and she went into that place called "life after the kids leave". We learn to do it, sometimes easily, but many times begrudgingly and sometimes we are terrified by a house without children. But for her, there was little leeway time between children leaving and grand babies appearing. My brother Kim and I kept her in grandchildren for almost a decade. She developed friends that weren't a part of our lives just as we developed friendships with others, over our own kids and their friends and friend's parents.
Somewhere along the way of my children leaving babyhood and becoming busy children and then more busy teens, I lost my mom for a bit. I didn't really lose her, but her solid place in my life was replaced by family; my family. She was always there but there were times where weeks went by where we weren't in constant contact. When my own children left home, I understood. It was a process and the last was the hardest to let go off into the world. Maybe I should have celebrated that jump to "me time", but it I felt alone and unmoored. I wasn't sure what my next role should be. Over time, I and Kurt carved a life for us that was ours alone. We figured out living alone. The boys brought home girlfriends. Some stayed, some didn't. Finally they each found "the One" and we had weddings and things to plan and a future once again. With these joyous events though came the loss of Dad. It hit us very hard as we had little preparation time for this and you go on auto pilot just trying to get through all the things that need to be done after. We crossed days off our calendars, and tried to make sure Mom was included, but we were silenced by her stoic attitude, and mostly we wanted to believe she was alright because she was the strong one in the family and we knew it. What I didn't anticipate, was the independence was a cover for how she and Dad had leaned on one another. We all hoped that spring would be the answer, but it wasn't. Its almost 5 years and we have all adapted but there is a point of reference missing for us all. I always thought that point of reference was my mother, but maybe it was our dad.
I guess I don't know how I would react were I in her shoes, and I hope I don't ever have to deal with it, but I likely will. I have seen the things I love about her and the things that I want to be different and maybe that's what being a parent is all about. I now see my very different daughter, coming to share things with me. We share more than just genes and some kind of blonde hair. I hope that's what its all about.
I have my mom's eyes, her mousy hair, and her need for quiet time to reflect. I have my dad's hands, his voice, and his nose. I have the love of surprises and the need to see new things from him. My mom's love of reading and my dad's head for math. My dad's flat feet, and his love of chocolate, her steadiness and my mom's love of baking. I hope someday that my own daughter and my sons will look at themselves and say we are our parents children and its a good thing.
I helped work dogs at nights that weren't training days. I was the "bird boy" or bird dummy who threw the bird dummies. I read a couple of very good books, one suggested by a friend about mother/daughter relationships and when a special relationship is at a turning point does it survive. Though I knew what the ending would be, I still found the book satisfying as I can now look back on my relationship with my daughter, Annie, and know that we survived sometimes rocky days and nights, to a comfortable one in which she has become my friend as well as my daughter. Maybe we had to go through all the other stuff to get to that. Our relationship was different than my mom's and mine. She was always my mom but I knew even as a child she was my shield against any storm, and I trusted her with everything. There was little I didn't tell her even as a teenager and she knew after my first date with Kurt, he was the "One". After my marriage our relationship changed, and she went into that place called "life after the kids leave". We learn to do it, sometimes easily, but many times begrudgingly and sometimes we are terrified by a house without children. But for her, there was little leeway time between children leaving and grand babies appearing. My brother Kim and I kept her in grandchildren for almost a decade. She developed friends that weren't a part of our lives just as we developed friendships with others, over our own kids and their friends and friend's parents.
Somewhere along the way of my children leaving babyhood and becoming busy children and then more busy teens, I lost my mom for a bit. I didn't really lose her, but her solid place in my life was replaced by family; my family. She was always there but there were times where weeks went by where we weren't in constant contact. When my own children left home, I understood. It was a process and the last was the hardest to let go off into the world. Maybe I should have celebrated that jump to "me time", but it I felt alone and unmoored. I wasn't sure what my next role should be. Over time, I and Kurt carved a life for us that was ours alone. We figured out living alone. The boys brought home girlfriends. Some stayed, some didn't. Finally they each found "the One" and we had weddings and things to plan and a future once again. With these joyous events though came the loss of Dad. It hit us very hard as we had little preparation time for this and you go on auto pilot just trying to get through all the things that need to be done after. We crossed days off our calendars, and tried to make sure Mom was included, but we were silenced by her stoic attitude, and mostly we wanted to believe she was alright because she was the strong one in the family and we knew it. What I didn't anticipate, was the independence was a cover for how she and Dad had leaned on one another. We all hoped that spring would be the answer, but it wasn't. Its almost 5 years and we have all adapted but there is a point of reference missing for us all. I always thought that point of reference was my mother, but maybe it was our dad.
I guess I don't know how I would react were I in her shoes, and I hope I don't ever have to deal with it, but I likely will. I have seen the things I love about her and the things that I want to be different and maybe that's what being a parent is all about. I now see my very different daughter, coming to share things with me. We share more than just genes and some kind of blonde hair. I hope that's what its all about.
I have my mom's eyes, her mousy hair, and her need for quiet time to reflect. I have my dad's hands, his voice, and his nose. I have the love of surprises and the need to see new things from him. My mom's love of reading and my dad's head for math. My dad's flat feet, and his love of chocolate, her steadiness and my mom's love of baking. I hope someday that my own daughter and my sons will look at themselves and say we are our parents children and its a good thing.
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