Something's Fishy at Valencia's Central Market

We were surprised by a flag throwing performance in Italy, but we never saw this. I guess we didn't frequent the right market...



You've gotta love a country that reacts to a surprise opera in the marketplace by breaking out the wine and passing it around!

Oops. That Can't Be Good.

Just a Reminder to Relax and Have Fun!

Sometimes I stress out trying to make things too perfect, which is utterly impossible in my world, so this is a reminder to myself that being together and having fun is really the whole point. Mishaps will add to the humor and everything else will slip into place when it is supposed to. Merry Christmas!
TSO Wizards in Winter 2007

Thank You, I'd Like That

Christmas is all about gifts. We search high and low for the perfect “somethings” for those special people in our lives simply because we want to illicit that sharp intake of breath and exhale of surprised joy. We scour toy stores in order to obtain the one item for which a child has pinned all his or her hopes on Santa to bring, lest he or she be disappointed in their hero. We trade homemade gifts with neighbors and we even share a little something with coworkers because even the most irritating people look less so against the halo of light emanating from our Christmas spirit. We make sure the homeless have a place to sleep and a proper holiday meal, we toss change into Salvation Army pots as we shop, and we donate gifts to names on the community tree. It all adds up to a lot of giving, a lot of buying, and a lot of gifts. Although this seems to be a testimony on materialism, I can’t help but see a different perspective here.

From the Christian point of view, Jesus is a gift to us from God; a gift of Himself given to lowly and privileged alike. Not earned. Not bought. Not deserved, but given anyway...and, what’s more, given with a love that expects nothing in return. Such a perfect gift, given in such perfect spirit. In our best moments, our giving can come close to this same spirit. Yet, it has occurred to me that this Christmas theme of giving is only half of the story about gifts. Acceptance, the theme of the final week of the Advent season reminds me that the giving of gifts is not complete unless the gifts are received.

Now, I’m not sanctioning a “gimme, gimme, gimme everything I want” kind of attitude, but just a gentle consciousness that people in our lives work hard and sacrifice to give to us all the time. Yet, pride or embarrassment or stubbornness often keeps us (er, me, let’s be honest) from accepting it.
“Ah, no thanks, I’m fine.”
“Oh, no. I can do it. Thanks anyway.”
“Naw, that’s too much trouble.”
And the most beautiful, selfless gift that people offer us, but that we tend to either take for granted or shrug off as not necessary, is their time and themselves.

So this year I am going to enter Christmas and the New Year with a spirit of acceptance as well as that of giving. I am reminding myself that I can’t do everything alone and that I need to say yes to help sometimes. For faith, hope, love, safety, freedom, friendship, family and the miracles of everyday life, I am thankful and blessed and I send wishes for all of the same out to every one of you. Don't forget, miracles happen to those who believe in them...

Straight No Chaser: A Cappella

These guys are having way too much fun. Loosen up! This is proof that everything does not have to be perfect to be great; different can be fun.

The Sound of Joy

Christmas is almost here!

Curls For Christmas

I am not sure how many years it has been since Mom’s last perm, possibly three, but it has been her greatest regret; the last vestige of southern pride torn from her during her troublesome ninth decade. She has mourned its loss to all who might listen, and even to those who are indifferent, feeling that she must recount that last experience when a wave of dizziness convinced her that the chair she was in was falling. Gripped by a confused beautician who assured her that the chair was nailed down and she couldn’t fall, they weathered the spell and gave up the idea of a perm since leaning backward over the sink, which occurs three times during the process, was what had triggered it. To one who will not leave her bedroom, let alone the house, without her Elizabeth Arden “face” on, nor go to town without the “right” pants on, straight hair (which also has the audacity to be perceptibly thin now) is not acceptable.

The nineties have forced Mom to deal with some irritating challenges: random flashes of dizziness, limited range of motion, knotted hands, an increase in general aches and pains, a few seizures, and a general decline in strength and stamina. However, dealing with straight hair has been the bitterest of blows. Since she cannot raise her arms enough to reach the back of her head, I curl and brush her hair. Although I have expressed willingness to curl her hair more often, she only wants to “inconvenience me” once a week so that it looks good on Sunday for church. Unfortunately, without a perm (as she has often bemoaned), the curl only stays in for two to three days. This is not a good thing for a woman of southern breeding.

Today, Danielle’s friend, Ashley, came to Mom’s rescue. A recent beauty school graduate, and a “Grammy fan,” Ashley came to our home to give Mom a perm. She had even purchased a special hair bib (for want of a better term) that can be used to funnel water into a sink without the wearer leaning backwards. Although we need to work out a few kinks, since Mom couldn’t have ended up much wetter during the second rinse if we had put her in the shower, it still kept her from having a dizzy spell. Fortunately, Mom saw the humor and laughed as hard as we did while I helped her change clothes before Ashley gave her hair a trim.

There are so many ways that illness and age-related issues can steal away people’s dignity that it felt really good to see a little of that reversed for Mom today. I purposely didn’t tell her Ashley was coming until this morning, which was almost too early because by mid-afternoon she was starting to become fearful that she would get dizzy. I tried not to waiver and to stay positive and, thankfully, Ashley came soon after that and we just got the process going before Mom could back out. So, a little drenching a couple hours later was easily met with merry laughter because by then the danger of failure had passed. That is such a nice accomplishment for Mom: to not have something outside her control cause her to fail. Who would have thought that a perm could matter so much to self-esteem, but it was definitely a victory; a sign that life is not over yet because human spirit can still prevail! Today, in this fourth week of Advent, we have certainly experienced the theme of joy. When we dare to hope, we open the door to the possibility of joy. What are you rejoicing in today?

Carol of the Bells

Could I possibly make it one more step, I wondered desperately? No. The answer ringing in my head scared me more than the lack of oxygen in my lungs. With alarm, I realized my breathing had changed from the mere breathlessness of exertion to that desperate gasping that comes when taking air into the lungs is no longer enough. This was the first moment I actually considered that I might not be able to make the whole climb. It was a terrifying thought because I couldn't see a way out; going up meant not being able to breathe, but going down was surely impossible because the narrow passage was only one-person wide. I'd never get past the people behind me.

Thankfully, the people ahead of me stopped for a moment. At least, I was thankful until I realized they had stopped to let people coming down the narrow, marble staircase go past us. As I heard the descending steps of those heard-but-yet-unseen sightseers coming nearer, I tried to consciously control my breathing and slow my heartbeat, wondering all the while how any adults could possibly squeeze by. This must be a joke! Not one to usually feel claustrophobic, I began to press myself against the stone wall in a slow panic, praying that we would not get stuck. I would have held my breath as well, but I couldn't get enough of it in to hold. Who on earth led these groups to the top of the duomo? Had they never heard of timing or one-way routes? What on earth was I doing here?

Somehow, we slipped past one another, the descending group uttering encouragement as they passed. "Not much farther," they lied. Then I had to face the continuing climb. How many steps did the tour book say? 367? That didn't seem like much at the beginning, but after the first 60, when I had lost interest in counting, I was really questioning my ability to make it. Foolishly, I had followed the quick climbing pace of those in front of me; a young couple jogging as they counted and bantered. Cruel people, actually. This is a typical mistake for me; trusting the lead of others instead of thinking for myself. I, who called, at best, a 20 minute daily walk a "workout" had no business JOGGING up 367 extremely tall steps. Were those walls closing in, by the way? Was that 24 inch wide passageway getting even narrower, or was it a figment of my oxygen-starved brain?

At 100 steps we reached a broad landing where people stopped to look at antique paraphenalia hung on the walls overhead. I feined interest as I audibly gulped in huge quantities of air and refused to continue the climb again until my blue lips faded to at least white. Now at the back of the pack, my two kindly cohorts let me lead us up the remaining stairs at my own leisurely pace. I'm sure the guide, who followed at the rear and made the trip several times a day, was ready to throttle me, but at this point, survival was my only goal. I no longer cared if the view was worth it; I just wanted to live. Two-thirds of the way up we got another reprieve at the base of the dome as we filed along its inside wall just long enough to admire the frescos before re-entering the passage again. Hope flooded me at that point as I actually began to concieve of salvation. That was about the time the right hand wall became a vertical rope around which the steep steps spiraled and the left hand wall began to lean in. My breathing was better, but I will admit that my prayer life increased as I petitioned that no one would need to pass us again.

For me, the challenges of the climb were unexpected and life-changing. The view was, of course, worth it, but so was the experience itself. In that moment of hopelessness, when neither going up nor going down seemed actually possible, I faced real fear. Grace gave me a moment to collect myself, but it was hope that made me start moving again and got me to the top. I learned that nothing worthwhile is gained without risk and that my own instincts and reason are worth trusting.

So, during this second week of Advent, I celebrate Hope; one of the greatest gifts we have ever been given and one of the best blessings we can share with one another. Hope is what keeps us from giving up...on ourselves, on God, on each other. It keeps us from becoming bitter, dried up skeletons no longer capable of loving or taking risks. It drives us to keep looking for cures, to forgive, to try again, and to take another step up that winding, claustrophobic staircase of life.

Here's to the hope that Christmas will reign in our hearts forever:

Project WILD SHOPPERS: Shop-to-Drop 2009 Trip

Mission Statement:  Leave no store un-shopped!

Objectives:
     1) Create joy for ourselves and everyone around us.
     2) Don’t lose Betty...
     3) Eat well and often!

Tools: head gear & earrings by BJ, necklace by Dave, comfy shoes, shopping lists, sale ads, discount coupons, cell phones, husbands’ credit cards, cash.

Secret Weapon:

     Betty, “on the whine” for a special deal!

Mottos:

     1) No shrimp left behind!

     2) No good deal passed up without dickering for a lower price.

Rules:
     No men (except chauffeurs only)
     No children (unless nursing)
     Whatever BJ makes for headgear you wear PROUDLY without whimpering.

     Pre-authorize MIA or be willing to pay the consequences. (This means you, Sarah and Jen!)

     Bottom line – No humor, no go!

Obstacles:
     Grumpy, bah-humbug people
     So many stores, so few of us
     Getting around people who obviously don’t realize we’re shopping, or hungry, or cold!

Shopping Health Food Groups:
     Lattes, especially eggnog
     Shrimp; lots and lots of shrimp
     Cheesecake
     Haggen daas
     Margueritas, any flavor
     Shrimp (remember our motto!)

Accomplishments:

     Worked out on the Wii to develop balance and stamina for the trip

     Made good memories together.

     Laughed a lot.

     Only reminded once to be quieter in the bookstore (thanks to Danielle for bringing the obscene chicken).

     Ate remarkably well

    

    Drove safely

     Maintained Christmas spirit

     Spread good cheer everywhere we went

     Indoctrinated a free spirit shopper

Evaluation: Mission successful.

Recommendations:

     1) Learn how to operate Karen’s coffeepot, microwave, and car temp/air flow controls.

     2) Meet Karen at Arlington and drive all the way to Portland on Thursday so we can eat a good meal, watch a movie, and sleep in the next morning.

     3) Remember the Christmas music cd, not just the cd jacket (this means you, Karen).

     4) Pay closer attention to room numbers before you make a fool of yourself. If you mess up, run like hell.

Ready for Ultimate Shopping

It is time. Even my toes are ready. Two local preparatory shopping trips, the last of which included a spa pedicure, have helped us pull together our Christmas lists so that today BJ and I can migrate to Karen’s house for the night and then get up early to head into the Big City for the weekend. Although we will meet up on the fly with friends and family, our primary goal is to Christmas shop, laugh, eat, and shop some more.

This year marks our twenty-ninth year of making this trip. When we began, we lived in the same small, isolated town and each had one or more children under eight years old. In fact, Karen and I made the first trip alone, going down and back in one very long day. BJ came with us the following year when we extended the trip to include an overnight stay in a shared motel room. We figured out which stores opened earliest every morning as places to start and shopped at Toys-R-Us last because it was open until midnight. In all the years since, I have only missed twice and one of those times was not worth it. When I dutifully decided on my own to stay home to save money one year, I soon learned that the trip with these friends was a Christmas gift to myself that I couldn’t afford to do without.

Our annual trip now begins at noon on Thursday and extends through Sunday evening when we dawdle in to our respective homes as late as possible. Together we have survived moving away from each other, raising our kids, empty nest syndrome, changing jobs, retirement, family illnesses, deaths, caregiving, and cancer. Nothing can ever replace the memories that bind us to one another; the laughter, tears and craziness. Hair dying in our underwear in the motel bathroom, a naked man in the hot tub that Karen never saw, BJ riding in my Toys-R-Us cart, being serenaded over my chimichanga, getting a ride from BJ on an unattended hand cart, late night stops for ice cream and Megabucks tickets at Albertsons, wearing matching bawdy decorations in our hair that often jangle, sparkle, or bob so that BJ can find us in the stores, and making newcomers to the group park the car, carry packages, and run our coats and packages to the car periodically are just a few of the reasons that I hold these friends and our time together so dear. And I haven’t even mentioned the amount of shrimp we can put away at an all-you-can-eat special, or the tears I have shed from long bouts of uncontrolled laughter, or BJ’s amazing ability to milk a great deal out of any proprietor.

No, this trip is about more than just shopping, although I would never admit that out loud. It is about female solidarity, friendship, and fun and I am really glad that my daughters have been able to be part of it. I wish this simple but pure joy for all of our children and I hope that they carry it on after we are gone.

So I wish you all a great weekend, wherever you are, and I pray for good roads and lots of laughter for us all. Sarah will be on a similar trip of her own with friends this year, Jen is off to New Zealand (so watch her blog, Traveling Red, for updates and pictures), and Jeremy is busy in NYC, but Danielle will be joining us for the first time... I wonder if she remembers the rule about carrying our bags?

Would You Like Soy With That?

For the last two months Don has been sporting a new allergic reaction, in the form of itchy hives. At this point, we have finally narrowed down our suspicions to soy products. I thought an allergy to eggs and wheat would be bad, two of the three finalists still in the running, but even the latter takes a backseat to soy. The final tipoff came when Don used the last bit of a large bottle of vegetable oil and happened to read that it was not made from corn or canola, as we had assumed, but was 100% soy oil. Since then, we have discovered soy, in some form or another, in the following:


Pancake mix
Cake flower
Various margarines
Crisco shortening
Rice-a-roni
Cake mix
Miracle Whip
Mayonnaise
Canola Oil cooking spray
Oreos
Wheat Thins
Smokehouse almonds
Chili
Chicken noodle soup
Cookie Dough and Mint Chocolate Chip ice cream
Some vegetable oils
Some breads

...and those are just things around the house. I cringe to think of where all it occurs in restaurant food.

What Do You Expect?

Today is the first day of Advent, a four-week season of preparation less well known secularly than Lent, but my favorite nonetheless. For Catholics, it is the new years day of the liturgical calendar. As we prepare to celebrate the birth of Christ, we also remind ourselves that there is preparation to be done for His return. Preparation, in this sense, refers to personal reassessment and change, an uncomfortable notion that usually makes me wrinkle my nose and groan. However, just as Christmas preparations can be drudgery, sending out cards, putting up lights, spending hard-earned money, and baking, baking, baking, it can also be inspiring. We hear from people who live far away, neighbors bring scrumptious goodies to share, carolers sing at our door, family makes time to spend together, people vocalize appreciation of one another,and even strangers wish each other peace. Whatever we believe Christmas is becomes the foundation for what we expect from it, and I believe our expectations spur us on to doing our part to make it happen.

Since "expectation" is the theme of this first week of Advent, I leave you with a little motivation and, hopefully, a smile.

Think Pink

Sometimes we wonder what we can do in our little corner of the world to make a positive difference. I think, sometimes, it is just a matter of not saying no to the risk of stepping outside our comfort zone a little bit. Here is a really fun video in support of Breast Cancer awareness made by a crossection of staff from Providence St. Vincent's Medical Center in Portland.

Holiday Essence

The beds are all clean

And so is the floor.

We’re ready for kids

To come in the door.

The turkey is stuffed,

The potatoes are creamy;

The rolls are homemade

And dessert is quite dreamy.

Cookie dough ice cream

And mint chocolate chip,

One pumpkin pie and

A cheesecake with whip.

We’ll roll from the table

And take a quick nap,

Drink wine for digestion,

Then look for a snack.

Play games, work a puzzle,

It matters not what;

The best of Thanksgiving

Is the family we’ve got.

A Wednesday Drive

A week ago yesterday, as I traveled along the Columbia River Gorge on my way home from an unexpected trip to the city, I couldn't help but admire the beauty of an area that I often take for granted. Five days earlier, the trip down had been less than inspiring since I was battling torrential rains, as only a mother can, to get to my children.

Although they are perfectly capable of handling just about everything, Jennifer's diagnosis of H1N1 and Pneumonia was more than I could stay away from; that old mother lion instinct does not diminish over time. Sarah and Danielle had everything under control, but, well...you know...I could at least cook for them, or clean something, or get in their way. As it was, while Danielle was at work I contented myself with making sure medicine was taken, finishing laundry, carrying water glasses up and down the stairs, and hovering in the doorway, as I'd often done with all the kids when they were little, making sure Jen was breathing.

Anyhoo, the little pickup Danielle is using had some issue and wanted to come home with me for a checkup so I traded vehicles and drove home at a careful 58 mph. Bearing in mind that the freeway speed limit is 65 mph, that's one slo-o-o-ow trip home. I had many hours, especially through construction zones, to admire Oregon scenery. This particular section, where some of the worst weather often rares an ugly head as it had on my way down, is breathtaking in the fall when the river along one side of the road and the mountains on either side provide smoky blue backdrops to the vivid colors of the deciduous forest that creates a stunning corridor. On this day, low clouds added a mystical quality to the whole scene.

Tonka Tym and I made it home safely, and left three coughing, but resilient girls behind. Between Danielle's massive decontamination efforts before I got there, and all our efforts to maintain sterile conditions, I did not bring the flu back to Don and Mom. It certainly is nothing to mess with; even the cough of the lessor version caused Sarah to pull a muscle in her back, Jeremy to crack a rib, and Danielle to have an elderly lady run away from her in the store.

The pictures I took on this trip remind me of the daily beauty inherent in life that I often stumble past in a fog of routine, to-do lists, and distraction. The combination of power and delicacy in texture, color, and design represent the power and delicacy of the relationships for which I am eternally grateful to have in my life. Gratefulness is not just for Thanksgiving Day. Take care of yourselves.

Get Into the Spirit!

This is the week of Operation Christmas Child, which is sponsored by the nondenominational Samaritan’s Purse organization. Mom and I have each packed two plastic containers (instead of the suggested paper-wrapped shoeboxes) with small toys, stuffed animals, toothbrushes, toothpaste, bars of soap, hard candy, flip flops, socks, puzzles, notepaper, pencils, and erasers. We will take them to a nearby relay center, along with $7/box for postage, where they will be checked for inappropriate war toys, candy that could melt, or liquid substances such as shampoo before being boxed in crates and sent to regional centers and then loaded onto planes for delivery. Accompanied by a little bible story book printed in a native language, the gifts go into countries all over the world and are given to children who are victims of war, natural disasters, poverty, and disease. Many of these kids have never received a gift before.

Our church has also done this as a group project for quite a few years. I provide the plastic containers because they can be reused by children’s families to store food, etc. and everyone in the parish randomly brings small toys, wrapped candies, and hygiene items with which to fill the boxes. Some bring a little, some a lot. We spread all the goods out on tables and then each grab a box and fill it according to whether it is for a boy or girl and which age group (3-5, 6-10, 11-14). It’s easy, fun, and feasible for everyone.

If you’d like to try it, here’s where you find a drop-off center close to you and more details about the process. I love the joy that this brings to everyone involved. What a great way to begin Advent!

Ellie: Checking Our Sanity

"Okay. Tell me one more time why you stare over here so much because, I'm telling you, there's absolutely nothing back here; I checked."

Where Is Your Whisper?

The following little Greek video from Jean shares what someone affected with dementia might want us to know if they could step outside themselves for a moment. Watching it brought back a flood of feelings and thoughts that must now tumble over themselves to spill out through my fingers onto the keys. Please bear with me...

Many of us have been touched in some way by at least one form of dementia, watching helplessly while someone we love struggles with memory loss, slowly losing the words that could maintain a spindly bridge of understanding. For me it has meant standing on the shore as a child while watching my grandmother float away after several strokes, reaching out to my father as he worked so hard to mentally stay with us while emphysema robbed him of breath, holding my mother-in-law’s hand as we watched her very essence fade before us, and now sadly dreading the weekly decline that I see in the once-lively face of a neighbor.

Dementia, particularly Alzheimers, is a mean disease that clogs the brain, chokes memories, robs emotions, and stabs the very hearts of those left behind to watch its progress. Its victims become at first confused, then frightened, and, finally, silent. There are medicines available that slow its progression and research that brinks on prevention and cure. Until that time, however, it is important to remember that there is always grace.

Born and raised in this American society of independent thinkers and problem-solvers, it took me a while to realize that I could not fix my loved ones. How many times did I patiently, and sometimes not so patiently, try to explain and re-explain what pills to take, how to wash hands or pull up the covers, or why pushing someone down the stairs was not a good idea? Finally, in a moment of grace, I realized that learning was not possible; my friend could not be fixed. The best I could do was analyze each situation and find a temporary solution that might help us both feel less frustrated. I began to hand out each pill to be swallowed, hold her hands in mine under the running water, tuck her in at night, and ask the doctor for medicine to ease the aggression. When she couldn’t remember, I repeated; when she was afraid, I consoled; when she forgot the words, I prayed her prayer aloud and we were both blessed.

This is grace: an unearned gift from God that makes all the difference in the world. To anyone who has just slammed against the wall of Alzheimers, I offer you this ray of hope as you pick yourself up, dust yourself off, and brush away the tears. There is a gift within this loss. Grieve the person who is slipping away, but don’t miss out on this chance to love them more than you ever have before. They need you. They are children, now, who cannot learn, cannot explain, and do not understand why. They need you to make them feel loved and safe. Don’t be afraid; you can do this and you will never be sorry. When you need it, grace will come and you will all be twice blessed.

And for goodness sake, keep your sense of humor! My fondest memory is of Betty animatedly conversing with the lady in the mirror, telling her one day how pretty she was and how glad she was to see her. Poignantly sad, yes, but that is still one of the good memories that balances out the painful ones. If you can’t laugh with a mother who turns herself upside down on the sofa so she can see someone behind her, or who giggles and talks nonstop in rhymes for a week, you will never survive and neither will they. I firmly believe that the moment that they step into heaven, memories released from a mental prison, they will be laughing along with you and marveling at how you stuck with them and gave them dignity and love even when they couldn’t ask.

Although it seems like the person you loved is already gone and only an empty shell is left, I found that they really are still in there somewhere and spending time with them will sometimes reward you with a fleeting glimpse of their spirit. Out of the blue Betty’s eyes would suddenly sparkle as she’d point no where in particular and say, “you know...” like she was in the middle of a conversation. And you know what? Somehow, we did know.

To The Rescue

This is Griz who has been a guest at Jen’s house while his owners went on a road trip. However, this past week he has been doubling as a nursemaid companion while Jen was down with Swine Flu and Pneumonia. This is not to diminish, of course, the roles of sisters Sarah and Danielle who trundled Jen to Urgent Care, dispensed meds throughout the night, and decontaminated patient, environment, and visitors, but Griz was the sole supplier of snuggles throughout fever, chills, and coughing fits around the clock. Sans mask and rubber gloves, and scoffing at Lysol products, he bravely committed himself to Jen’s comfort, even going so far as to take his meals with her in bed so that she might be better fortified. A grueling task, to be sure. Thanks, Griz!

P.S. The patient is now back to work and Griz is back home.

Not Your Typical Ninety-Six Year Old

Wow! Mom hit paydirt this birthday. I am so happy for her! It started at the end of Mass on Sunday, when the organist, Dolores, asked her to tell everyone how old she was going to be. After Mom announced that she would be 96, there were audible gasps of surprise and then everyone broke into applause before singing Happy Birthday to her. She was pleased at the attention and I was thankful that they all responded so warmly.

Today she was inundated throughout the day with more nice surprises. Cards, phone calls, flowers, and emails came from many family members, including grands and great grands. Two ladies from church, Helen and Della, also sent handmade cards, and Dorothy stopped in with a card and a loaf of bread still hot from her oven. It is so nice that the people here have embraced Mom. I know sometimes she feels left out because she can't do things to help and has trouble hearing in a crowd, but this effort by everyone reassures her that she is still cherished.

For our part, we catered her dinner wishes of meat loaf, mashed potatoes and gravy, Dorothy's bread, corn, and cheesecake for dessert with a later dish of homemade ice cream on the side. I broke my new red glazed stoneware dish in the process and served a slightly dry meatloaf, but she forgave me as she always does. Thanks to everyone for sending her your love and thanks be to God for her kind heart, good health, sharp mind, and young spirit.

Here's Mom with a new bathrobe and an Amarylis Don picked out for her. They are fun to watch grow and so beautiful when they flower. Happy Birthday, Mom. We all love you!

What Happened to Thanksgiving?

I can't believe I'm hearing Christmas music on the radio already! I thought it was rude to see Christmas decorations in the stores this early, but, really:  Frank Sinatra crooning "White Christmas" on November 1st?! Pu-lees. Besides, that's not my idea of Christmas music. If we're going to get into the spirit of Christmas this early, let's do it with a little more style. Transiberian Orchestra style...

Dear Betty,

Deb's grandkids:  3 Little Pigs

Last night was another Halloween; the sixth one since you left us. In the afternoon Don put out a few of our decorations while I worked on a window painting. Actually, rather than put a design directly on the window, I painted with acrylics onto a piece of plastic that we later taped to the window. Pretty ingenious, don’t you think? I know Vern would appreciate the idea. After the holiday I can roll it up and save it for another year; no mess, no fuss! We didn’t carve pumpkins this year, though. I know you would be disappointed if you were here, but it’s hard to find motivation for that now that our kids are grown. I always loved the results and the creativity, but hated the mess and effort.

Halloween was always more your holiday than mine. Remember in Fossil how you used to play a record of haunting sounds and dress as a witch to meet the kids at the door? As we sat at dinner last night, waiting for the first of over 60 trick-or-treaters we were to have this year, my mind went back to the first Hallowed Eve that you lived with us. The encroaching Alzheimers may have confused your thinking by then, but you were still you. The disease had not yet robbed you of the instincts that were based on long-term memories, making you who you were.

I’m not sure you could have told us that it was Halloween, but your hands had not forgotten; they still knew how to scoop out the inside of a pumpkin with very little prompting. I had fixed a simple, early dinner, but the sight of the first little goblin at the door destroyed all hopes of getting you to eat. As soon as you saw that little face, you were at the door, smiling and cooing at how cute he or she was. Don rushed over with the bowl of candy and helped you give one to the child, then steered you back to the table. During the next 15 minutes, you popped up more than a jack-in-the-box, so we finally gave up and Don placed a chair next to the front door for you to sit in between trick-or-treaters. It was a toss up who would get to the children first, you or Meggie, who was dressed up in her SuperMeg cape. Ironically, neither of you was interested in giving out the candy, just in greeting and fawning over the expectant visitors.

Yes, Halloween was definitely your holiday and our memories of your thorough enjoyment of it will always be with us. Thank you for reminding us how to find the joy in life; in the mundane repetitions that we often take very much for granted. As always, we miss you and your effervescent sense of fun and wonder, but we continue to keep you with us in spirit because you touched us deeply.

Love,

Your Family

Fall Back

It is no longer a question of whether or not to wear a coat, but rather, which coat or jacket will suffice. Colored leaves obliterate the ground and clog drains, brown mum blossoms are frozen in time like Vesuvius victims, the furnace is kicking on with regular frequency, and my ice scraper has been put into active duty. The final assurance that autumn is in control and swiftly moving toward winter is the approach of Halloween and the end of Daylight Savings Time. Oddly enough, this year they both occur today.

Judging from last night and today’s balmy 50 degree temperature, we may experience a break in the usual inclement weather tradition of Halloween in my neck of the woods. In Eastern Oregon it is customary for children and their parents to have to trudge around the neighborhood in foul weather on Halloween night. The deceptive sunshine of a fall afternoon does not fool the natives. Our trick-or-treating children are well padded beneath their oversized costumes in layers of sweats and coats. Even fairy princesses wear snow boots and mittens. It isn’t Halloween if a little skeleton’s rain-sodden cardboard bones aren’t falling off or Superman, the scarecrow, and the princess don’t have to navigate around snow banks and icy steps to get to each door.

I have never cared much for this holiday. Carving pumpkins is messy, building costumes took more imagination than I’ve ever possessed, and going from car to house to car, loading and unloading excited children with barely-held-together attire without losing a costume part, a child, or my sanity was nothing to look forward to. More than once I asked myself why we did this, but I know for certain it was only because of those little faces who couldn’t believe they were getting a bagful of treats for no reason at all. Visualizing them standing at a trusted neighbor’s door in their bedraggled outfit, saying the magic words (or, in Sarah’s case, stubbornly NOT saying them but flashing a dimpled smile as the candy is dropped into her pumpkin anyway), was all it took. And now that my kids are grown and gone, that is the part I miss. The only part. The happy faces at the end of the evening.

So, I wish good luck and good weather to all those parents and goblins heading out tonight with their costumes, goody bags, and flashlights. I will enjoy you all from the warmth of my living room as you come to my door and I will wish you a safe, dry, happy hallowed eve as I drop the best candy treats into your sacks (no healthy disappointment here). Take care, stay warm, and remember to push your clocks back an hour when you get home. You’ll need the extra sleep.

Sadly In Need of Repair

Monday
Morning:
Caledonian scrapbooking with Sue
    Feeling of accomplishment

Afternoon:
Body massage
    Sondra. New. French.
    Wo-o-o-onderful!

Evening:
Relaxing in my bubble.

Tuesday
Lunch and DVD with Mom.
    The Proposal: funny, sweet, a keeper.
My bangs are driving me crazy: call Ashley.
Start a new Laurie King mystery.

Evening:
Shoulder and arm muscles a little sore, but am still relaxed.
Take aspirin for agitated nerve in tooth dentist worked on awhile back.

Wednesday
Scrape frost off windshield.
Sub at high school: English, World History, Algebra I.
    Good kids.
    Organized teacher.
Order a new L.K. mystery so it will arrive by the time I’m done with this one.
More aspirin.

Thursday
7 a.m. Aspirin not enough.
8 a.m. Tylenol not enough.
9:05 a.m. Dentist gone: Wait until Wednesday.
Get 12-hour painkiller!
No more relaxed bubble.

Friday
Hair cut.
    No more sheepdog look.
Time for another Aleve.

So, how was your week?

Careful What You Wish For

I have been substituting at the high school quite a bit lately; holding down the fort in everything from band to English. It has been interesting to experience this age group again after spending so much time with K-8 the last couple of years.

Sometimes, I wish I would have found a way to get my degree in English, Math, or Science so that I could teach at this higher level. It would be nice to focus on an area of expertise and interest, teach in 50 minute increments, and interact with older students who are capable of abstract, in-depth thought, not to mention being able to tie their own shoes and form a line. However, as I was reminded today, it also means trying to inspire some who are simply not interested, no matter what the incentive, disciplining people who are taller and louder than you, and teaching over the constant drone of raging hormones and the need for self-absorbed attention.

I guess every age has its positive and negative aspects when it comes to teaching. At any rate, I’m still glad to be in the profession and I learn more about myself every time I get into the classroom, regardless of the grade level.

Pre- Pre-Christmas Shopping

This is what my friend, Betty, called me last week to suggest we do. Last year we went on a local pre-Christmas shopping trip before our annual weekend marathon in Portland. That way we could take some of the pressure off of filling our lists and maybe work in some fun or relaxing activities when we got to the big city with other friends and family. It actually was a huge help, and lots of fun, so this year she suggested that we had enough time for two preparation trips if we wanted; and, of course we “wanted.”

We didn’t bring home much, but we did officially get a start on Christmas and I am feeling much more organized. More importantly, we had fun, which is ultimately what shopping is all about! Getting lost on turnabouts, laughter and lunch, solving the world’s problems and thinking about what we can do for others, complaining and consoling, and then more laughter and dessert: how else would I want to prepare for the season of giving?

So, here are some images of our pre- pre-Christmas shopping trip. Our pre-Christmas trip will be in November and the official Christmas shopping spree, where we meet five others in Portland, will be in early December.

Aren’t the fall colors beautiful? We had a crisp, lovely day in which to get lost, as one tends to do in the Tri-Cities area.

This is what was left from our shrimp lunches at Red Lobster. It became a strengthening snack before we tackled Craft Warehouse. (Waste not, want not.) Later, Betty gave me a ride on a hand truck in Best Buy and then we met a woman our age at the mall who was a recent widow forcing herself to get out of the house for awhile because weekends were still hard. She had just come from a coffee date with a group of women who were usually depressing, but that day were fun, and was happy to tell us that her husband had had relatives in our neck of the woods. (I don’t know exactly how it happens, but Betty has an uncanny ability to draw information like that out of complete strangers just by asking for directions. It’s a gift. She can also squeeze the best deals out of the driest turnips with just one sad, little whimper. Truly awe inspiring, but not the only reason she is my friend.)

It took three stores for me to finally break through the ice of indecision and make my first purchase, albeit for myself. I came home with more than a calendar, though. Don’t you wish you knew what I got YOU? Time to send me your wish lists! (Betty said so.) You know who you are.

Spend time with a friend. It feels good.

The Fun Theory

Jen sent these fun Youtube links. My favorite is the last one, but I love the concept of all of them. It's the little things that make life enjoyable.

Que Sera Sera

Today I went to school wearing only one shoulder pad. I’m not sure what happened to the other one, but even though I discovered the imbalance before I left the house, I left anyway with just a shrug of my uneven shoulders. Why stress over what is merely a sublime reflection of my present state of mind? Everything equals out in time:

- Today, one shoulder pad is missing, but I didn’t spill anything on the front of my shirt.

- I am so overdue for a haircut that I resemble a sheepdog, but I did get my flu shot before faulty refrigerators spoiled the serum.

- My house is filled with half-finished knitting and art projects, but I did finally convert a build up of potential energy into enough kinetic energy to plant the mums that I’ve had since Easter.

- I graduated summa cum laude to get a degree that will probably never earn me a job at my age in this economic environment, but I am going shopping with a favorite friend on Saturday and getting a body massage on Monday.

Who needs that other shoulder pad, anyway? Life is good.

Eastern Oregon Skyscrapers

The skyline is changing in our area. What is this new “creature” springing up in our landscape? Actually, they aren’t really new, but the modern generation of them is certainly beefier. Dwarfing its predecessor’s romantic wooden structure and wide, flat blades, these critters stand on stacked steel cylinders the diameter of my dining room, each section almost a block long. The long, narrow blades, which seem tiny when viewed from a distance, are every bit as long as one of the tower sections. I thought it awe-inspiring to pass a long truck hauling one of these parts on the freeway, but seeing them come down the main street of our little town this summer was even more incredible. Nothing prepares you for the size as it stretches across an intersection and halfway down the block, towering above your head even though it is on its side.