9/11 2010-2011

We lived in Tehachapi, California. California is three hours behind New York City, but at 5:45 am we were already up. We're both schoolteachers, and Marty's school starts at 7:30 am. We lived in the mountains a half hour outside of town. I had an hour and fifteen commute to my school in Palmdale.

Marty and I were exercising in the downstairs room. He was on the treadmill and I was using the weights when we heard on the radio that an airplane had crashed into the World Trade Center. The report didn't have any urgency to it - we thought maybe it was a small plane accident. I decided to go upstairs and turn on the television (any excuse to quit exercising?) while Marty finished his run. I was watching the burning tower when the other airplane came into the picture and crashed into the other tower.

Shock. Disbelief and confusion. I yelled for Marty to come upstairs. We were glued to the TV for a few minutes, but then we had to finish getting ready for school. It's funny - I can remember calling Rhiannon, but I don't remember how Calvin found out. He was a sophomore in high school and Rhiannon was a sophomore in college. I need to ask Calvin what he remembers about that morning.


I was in the car, making my hour-and-15-minute drive to work, when the first tower fell. I heard it on the radio (Air-1). I was horrified. It was more than my brain could understand. Why would someone kill thousands of regular people? It didn't make any sense at all.

I got to school, joining other shaken teachers. I pulled up the internet news and took glimpses as I prepared for class.

How to teach 7-year-olds on a day when the world as we know it has changed so drastically? Some of the kids came in talking about it. Their parents had been watching the news. We had a few students that were kept at home that day because their families were worried that California would be attacked. One of my girls said that her mom was upset because a cousin lived in New York.

We had a "Classroom Meeting." That's where we put chairs in a circle and passed a "talking stick" (small rain stick) so everyone could have a turn to speak. I gave the second graders a chance to share what they had seen or heard. Some of them saw people jumping from buildings. I explained as factually and calmly as I could what had happened. They wanted to know why someone did this. We discussed the words "freedom" and "democracy." We did go back to our regular routine, and I gave them time to "write and draw" about what had happened.

We had more classroom meetings that week as the need arose, and new questions came up. I couldn't answer the question "why", but I tried to explain what is special about America. We learned some more patriotic songs.

People in Tehachapi were hurting and confused, and we needed a prayer time. Since we were church leaders, Marty called for a prayer service. Members of our church family joined us on Wednesday to pray for our country, for the families of those who were lost, and for ourselves as we struggled to understand what this meant.

We had a women's retreat planned for that weekend, and I was one of the leaders/planners. We had a quick phone call conference - do we go forward with it? Yes, we thought it was a time we especially needed a spiritual retreat, and the precious time with sisters in Christ.

Liz and I went a day early to get things set up. We stopped in Maricopa, where we always stopped for a potty break. We met a servicewoman who was driving non-stop across the country back to her unit. She was called back from leave, but was not able to take a flight back because all flights were grounded.

Marty and I lived in the woods in the mountains, and it was eery at night the next few weeks, seeing no airplane lights among the starlight.

Everybody has stories like these... A teacher at Marty's school lost a brother in the WTC. One of our best friends, an airline pilot, flew over the WTC three days after the attack, astounded at the view of the smoking hole. Dave had been assigned a load of special services troops and landed lights-off in an unlit field in a middle-eastern desert. Another friend was working at the pentagon when it was hit. The mother of one of my students was no longer able to help in the classroom because her reserve unit was called up. A young friend of our family was clad in a burka as she headed overseas to put her language training (Farsi) to use.

Our youth group leader was "stuck" in Reno, Nevada. She and her husband did chaplain service there for air races, and all those airplanes were also grounded. They were needed there. This strange attack on our country had special meaning to recreational pilots. How horrible that airplanes could be used against us in this way. Marty is a private pilot, and has seen in the ensuing years growing regulations and prejudice against small aircraft. People today get frustrated with the TSA's pat-downs and X-rays; but they should see how the TSA has crippled small airports.

Here's what I wrote in our Christmas letter that year:

"...Marty felt a powerful draw on his spirit during these days. On September 13 Marty heard something different from the radio while exercising - the Lord's voice telling him to bring Him the lost. Marty was faithful to his Lord's command - that Friday Marty testified at youth group, and seven kids gave their lives to Christ (three recommitals, four new commitments). Those youth are represented by seven teardrops that Marty put in a cross he made for the lay director for the October men's Emmaus walk."

We do live in a different world. This week I have been trying to figure out how it has changed. Here's one of the most important ways that we have changed - many of the children, youth, and young adults who witnessed 9/11 are contributing to the world with their time and talents. I can't count how many of our friends' kids joined the armed services when they grew old enough. My children and their spouses have gone on several mission trips. They and their friends became full-time missionaries, peace-corp volunteers, teachers in other countries, and teachers here. That is a wonderful thing, and a thing that gives me hope.

This week a youth from my new church walked over from her high school to help me with my first graders. I still teach at Summerwind, where I taught ten years ago. I love seeing youth working with little ones, at Vacation Bible School or at school. Jessica asked if she could bring a friend of hers on Friday. I said yes, and was delighted to have Karleigh walk in my classroom. Karleigh was one of my students in that second grade class ten years ago, on that confusing and frightening September 11th. My heart delights in seeing Karleigh, Jessica, Kelly, Brandon, Katherine, Caroline, Victor, Janai, Calvin, Kelli, Rhiannon, Jason and others improving our world by helping, serving, and teaching others. They give me hope for the future.

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul.
And sings the tune
Without the words,
and never stops at all.
- Emily Dickinson

Hope has a way of turning its face to you
just when you least expect it
you walk in a room
you look out a window
and something there leaves you breathless
you say to yourself
it's been a while since I felt this
but it feels like it might be hope
- Sara Groves

Painting Pictures of Egypt

I’ve been painting pictures of Egypt, and leaving out what it lacks
The future looks so hard and I want to go back
But the places that used to fit me cannot hold the things I’ve learned
And those roads were closed off to me when my back was turned.


When we left our church of 16 years this song by Sara Groves summed up how I felt. Just like the Hebrews were saved by God from the darkness of slavery, we were saved by God from a different kind of darkness. Yet, just as those Hebrews longed for the comfort of the familiar servitude they knew, I longed for the familiar comfort of the church that was no longer my home.

Two years later we moved from Tehachapi -- we fled and didn’t look back. No more million places to jog painful memories. No more small-town politics and small-mindedness of many of the people there. No more fighting snow, fog, ice covered steep hills to drive to work.

Tehachapi was a wonderful place to raise the kids. We bought our A-frame in the pine trees almost sight-unseen. An A-Frame was our dream home, and on clear days we had a six mountain view (one mountain range behind another, behind another). We grew comfortable with the wildlife – from bears to mountain lions, deer to bobcats. I delighted in the variety and colors of birds at our birdfeeders, and mourned any landscaping I attempted my first few years.



We did Cub Scouts, Girl Scouts, and were involved with the same church for sixteen years. The adults there watched our son grow from age two to age eighteen. I worked at the elementary school that the kids went to, and Marty taught at the middle school. We couldn’t go to a grocery store without running into people we knew.

If a neighbor ran into trouble on Deertrail we would help out with our Jeep & winch. If we ran into car trouble anywhere – even in Bakersfield – we knew someone would come help us out. When you live in a small town everybody knows your business, and everybody cares.

It was time for us to move on, after the kids were grown and gone. I had been driving to Palmdale from the mountaintop for ten years. We wanted convenience and easy to reach health care.

The woods weren’t just ours anymore. More full-time neighbors moved in. The rock castle fort (mountain boulders tumbled together by nature) that our kids played was now behind a fence.




Our house was packed full of memories of birthday parties, Christmases, cooking on the wood stove when the power was out, drying laundry on a clothesline in the loft when we had no drier, a herd of Malamute puppies tumbling after their mama, Quake. Calvin coming out of his bedroom, pretending he was a ghost, oooo, oooo, with a sheet over his head, walking straight for the stairs, where he tumbled down to hit the cement downstairs floor. I painted that cement floor in patterns of leaves and ferns.



Our house was a shell when we moved in, and full of lovingly made custom cabinetry and additions when we moved out. Marty built closets, cupboards and walls to make us a bedroom upstairs. We added on a bedroom above the dining room. Rhiannon painted her walls lavender, blue, and teal (splatter paint). When Calvin moved into that room later we didn’t let him paint it so he covered it up with Star Wars and Star Trek posters. We turned the two tiny bedrooms downstairs into a master bedroom and master bath.










After the puppies were done using the dining room as a whelping box Marty turned the dining room into a kitchen. He tore out the walk-through vacation cabin kitchenette, and in the process, beautified our living room. Our kitchen viewed the pine woods on three sides. Marty made every cabinet and convenience out of love for me. I do miss my kitchen. I also miss my closet. We actually added onto our house so that I could have a walk-in closet. Every shelf and rod was placed to order. It was beautiful. I didn’t get to use this creation from Marty long enough.

Although I miss some things about my house and the nature we lived in, there are many things about living here that make up for it. One of them is having walls! Walls to hang pictures and artwork on! Plenty of room for grandbaby pictures.

When we tell people we moved from Tehachapi people here think we’re nuts. Why are we living in the desert, with gang-infested schools, and temperatures over 100 in the summer? We’ve always said we don’t miss Tehachapi. Marty still teaches there, but we don’t miss living there. In fact, he loves it when he has a snow day in Tehachapi, because he doesn’t have to get me to work in Palmdale. Instead he can work on his airplane all day.

We like the convenience of stores being 5 minutes away, we love our lovely little neighborhood where we walk the dogs twice a day and we enjoy our grassy, shady backyard. Sure we had over an acre of pine woods, but pine woods mean dust and dirt in the house. It’s easier to keep things clean now. We have all the conveniences – air conditioning, central heating, and DSL!

The hardest part about leaving Tehachapi was leaving friends. But in a way we had already done it. Most of the friends we socialized with were with the church we had to leave. When events pushed me into a cloud of depression I couldn’t do much in the way of socializing, anyway. It took us awhile, but we have finally found a church family we love here in the Antelope Valley. I’ve been healing and improving. I find joy in the grandbabies, and I again find joy in the Lord.


…and the places I long for most are the places where I’ve been,
They’re calling out to me like a long lost friend
I’ve been painting pictures of Egypt, and leaving out what it lacks
The future looks so hard and I want to go back

Two incidents in the past few days made me “paint pictures of Egypt” or miss Tehachapi.

I spent 3 hours in the dentist chair yesterday. I like this dentist office – it took me awhile to find one I liked. This is my third visit so I’ve been going there for a year now. Very professional, friendly, thoughtful of the patient’s needs, beautifully decorated, nice music. I listened to the dental hygienist and the technician chat about weekend plans. The head dentist popped in to say hi, he said he met me at my first visit a year ago. And suddenly I missed Dr. Wells’ office with a pain in my stomach and tears in my eyes. I went to playgroup with Dr. Wells’ wife, and our kids grew up together. His twin daughters and my son both studied in France. We both have a love of sled dogs. If I was lucky I got one of the hygienists I was friends with – and we’d chat about our kids, Scouts, schools. If not, we still would chat about kids and school because I knew all the schools so well. Maybe their kid had Marty as a teacher. Or maybe I knew one of their teachers. (There are only 3 elementary schools in Tehachapi – I worked at one for years and student taught at the other two).

Marty still goes to Dr. Wells. I don’t want to drive to Tehachapi after work if I have a tooth problem or appointment. I like my new dentist. But OH I miss Dr. Wells and his office.

Our bible study leaders host many parties for church. Their swimming pool and spa is always very popular with the kids. On 100+ degree days we eye the pool with some lust, but it is usually full of splashing children. We learned from years of living in Bear Valley Springs that it’s hard to relax in a pool full of kids. We’d go to pool at the Country Club and kids would be climbing all over “Mr. Feehan.” Teaching in a small community for 18 years you get used to getting mauled at the neighborhood pools, and receiving special, respectful treatment by waiters who were goofballs back in 7th grade.

A couple days ago we went to our friends’ house for a party celebrating the end of a study. This time I was determined to get in that pool! There were about seven kids there, ranging in age from around 12 to 18. I enjoyed watching two friends goof around with their three teenagers. Marty and I were playing with a pool noodle. Bobbing around on it, bending it, talking about all the possibilities. A pool noodle had been the subject of the morning’s children sermon! At one point Marty splashed the daughter of our host with the noodle. Instead of laughing, or splashing back or anything, she gave him a look like “who are you, anyway?” I realized these teenagers don’t know us well enough to goof around with us. We weren’t there when they were little kids.

One of the things I grieved the most about leaving our previous church was leaving the kids that I had known and ministered to since they were babies. While “church-shopping” I had a tough time if the “children’s choir” did a song. I didn’t know any of the kids! I’m getting better by being involved in VBS the past two years. Also, I’ve had the pleasure to get reacquainted with some of the kids I had left behind in Tehachapi through FaceBook. However, last Sunday in the Balch’s pool I realized that there won’t be any kids playing with or attacking “Mr. Feehan” in the pool anymore. At least, not until we go swimming with the grandkids.

Thank you, Lord for our grandbabies and the joy they bring. Thank you, Lord, for the new ministries you are giving us. We’ll keep moving on, step by step.

But the places that used to fit me cannot hold the things I’ve learned
And those roads were closed off to me when my back was turned

Joy

Joy
Is holding a newborn baby for an hour while she snuggles like a roly poly bug. Sometimes I place Brielle on my lap so I can watch her new face squint against the light. Her eyes crack open and she darts glances one way, then another. She stares at the window and makes an O with her mouth. She yawns, so big, and sneezes. She sighs. When she begins to get sleepy her eyes twitch and her mouth goes through all the known expressions…. fearful frowns, curious grimaces, and the sweetest newborn smiles.

Most of the time I hold her against my shoulder. She likes Grandma’s cushiness – I’m built to cuddle babies. She squeaks. Once in awhile she squawks and starts rooting. If I need her to wait for a little while for Mama milk, I’ll let her suck on her little fist. She slurps and sucks, slurps and sucks. Or I’ll wear a tank top so she can lick and mouth my neck. Tiny newborn kisses searching for comfort and milk. I know how to keep a baby soothed long enough that she’s just squealing, not screaming, until Mama is there to offer the ever-ready milk.



Joy
Is having my 20-month old grandbaby look to me for comfort when she’s sick or sad. Eliora is having an ear infection, teething molars, and has been displaced as the “baby” all at the same time. Usually the happy-go-lucky smiley-face girl, she’s been crying in the morning or after nap. I pick her up, all drooley and slimey from mucous. She buries her head against my neck and I give up on that clean T-shirt. Her busy toddler body totally slumps and relaxes in my arms. She trusts me, even after I make her scream by wiping her nose. I give her medicine and juice and carry her until her coughing stops. Then her wide-eyed smile takes over and she starts her busy, flirty day.

She brings me two books at a time. She backs her diaper-padded bottom onto my lap. I read the short, rhyming cardboard books with drama and action. I’m confident in my reading… after all I was a school librarian who read to every class every week. I sing the songs and chant the rhymes. When we finish those two books she slides off my lap and trots to the bookcase to get two more. We can read twenty books in a row. Then a book will remind me of a game to try with her.

Eliora and I play a mean round of “Patty Cake.” I clap her hands together; I roll her hands to roll out the dough. She squeals with giggles when I write a “B” on her palm, and she laughs when I stretch her arms up for “Baby and me!!!!” Then she looks at me with big eyes and demands “Den!” I assume that means “again.” So we do patty-cake again, and again. We do patty-cake ten times in a row! I give up before she does. “Eliora, do you want to play in your room?” So we head to her room to play with the xylophone-alligator, or the kitchen, or the blocks.



Joy
Is knowing my four-year-old granddaughter so well, and having her know me well enough to laugh at me and tease me. “Grandma, you’re a silly goose!” Nayeli loves tradition so we do some things every visit… “I love you this much.” “No, I love you this much!” “I love you all the way to the sky.” “No, I love you all the way to the sky!” “I love you as big as the ocean….” Lately she’s been cheating. Out of the blue, “Grandma, I love you as big as the earth.” I scratch my brain trying to think how to top that. She throws her head back and laughs at me.

I always sang lullabyes to Nayeli as part of our bedtime routine. She’s now allowed “only two songs” because she knew she could always drag “just one more” out of this easy target. She’s grown past lullabyes. Just last visit she was still asking for her favorites, like “Horsie, Horsie.” On the way back from visiting Brielle in the hospital on Thursday, however, I sang one silly song after another. She knew she had hit a gold mine. Now when I tuck her in for nap or bedtime she asks for “two new songs.” My mind stretches back past school teaching days, through Girl Scouts, all the way back to the silly songs of my childhood. Every night we exchange “favorites”… “What was your favorite part of the day.” Every day since Brielle was born, the new baby has topped her list, but Sunday Nayeli said “my favorite thing was when you sang the Susanna song, and holding my new baby sister.”



Joy
Is watching my daughter mother my grandchildren. While exhausted from the demands of a newborn she understands the need for her other two to have Mommy time. She cuddles and reads books with Nayeli and Eliora. The most amazing/painful/joy came from watching her read Someday by Alison McGhee and Peter H. Reynolds. I had given this book to her, but it ended up with Nayeli’s books. As soon as Nayeli brought it out to read Rhiannon teared up and said “I don’t think I can read this right now.” She was already filled with stress and confusion and love as she tried to give time to her oldest daughter and middle baby; while dealing with contractions and newly filled breasts. “Don’t touch Mommy when I’m nursing, sweetie, it hurts too much,” falls on deaf four-year-old ears when Nayeli just wants to get close to her baby sister. Eliora is even more persistent, wanting to climb on Mommy’s lap even though there’s a baby in the way, a baby that needs to be shielded from Eliora’s dripping nose and persistent cough.

Rhiannon opens the books, and reads “One day I counted your fingers and kissed each one.” She’s okay during the first couple pages of babyhood and childhood milestones. Then she gets to, “Someday I will stand on this porch and watch your arms waving to me until I no longer see you.” Rhiannon starts sobbing. “Someday you will feel a small weight against your back.” Picture of a mommy with a child in a carrying pack. I’m tearing up now. Nayeli and Eliora look at their mommy, wondering why she’s crying and clutching them to her. Finally, “Someday, a long time from now, your hair will turn silver in the sun…and when that day comes, love, you will remember me.”

Bah Humbug?

The “hell” in Noel, the joy in rejoicing.

I should have known today was going to be a bad day when I dropped a brand new, expensive bottle of smelly medicated shampoo in the shower and it split. The house still smells like tar (T-gel).

Marty and I had planned to get a little bit of shopping done, and get our tree up. Yesterday’s shopping went okay, but I didn’t feel very festive. I got a lot accomplished, but I felt pretty “blah.” I decided today to dress nice and fix my hair and face before heading into the holiday throng.

First stop: Best Buy. We had been debating about buying a photo frame for Marty’s almost-blind mother. She loves to look at photos, but has a difficult time seeing because of her glaucoma. We went back and forth trying to decide if the photo frame would be easy for her to use, be a large enough image for her to see the pictures, or if it would work under her magnifier. We asked for help from customer service, but the “fill-in” guy admitted he didn’t know anything about the frames. When the department manager (yellow jacket guy, not blue shirt guy) came around we asked him some specifics. I tried to explain that the two models we were comparing were mislabeled. They had each other’s model number on the sticker. He didn’t get it and Marty made me stop trying to explain it. We finally decided to get the frame. I figured I could load folders of photos quickly, we could mail the package today, and Mom would be happy. Ho, ho, ho. Ha, ha, ha.

Later, after two phone calls, a fruitless online chat session, download of software that failed, searches on the Internet, and quite a bit of time just spent trying to figure it out myself, I gave up. My first attempt gave her 800 jumbled up photos – pictures from 20 years ago, pictures of dogs, pictures of Nayeli as a baby and at three, pictures of both kids’ weddings, pictures of this past summer, pictures of Marty’s airplane building – completely jumbled together. Hence, the phone calls, chat session, searches and downloads to try to set up slide shows. The clock was ticking for mailing a package. Finally, I decided to put just a hundred or so pictures on the internal memory, and send the SD card later. However, I couldn’t figure out a way to select photos and transfer them to the internal memory. After another half hour of trying I got one photo transferred. And I’m pretty computer savvy. By then I was crying.

In the meantime Marty was trying to put up our Christmas tree. When we lived in Tehachapi we always cut our own tree. When we moved here we decided to go for modern and convenience and invested in one of those expensive trees advertised in Reader’s Digest, etc. They have a 100% lifetime guarantee. Ha ha ha. Ho ho ho. It arrived with some of the lights not working. I called – they said we could put up the tree and send it back later, because if they sent a replacement now it wouldn’t arrive in time for Christmas, or we’d have to pay for a second one. After Christmas I called about getting the replacement. They said we had to send it back. I said can they have a shipping company pick it up? How do we package it? We went back and forth for awhile until they finally admitted their guarantee had changed. They sent me a device to check the lightbulbs.

Each year another string of lights went out. Marty was so aggravated this year he decided to cut out all the lights and string it with regular Christmas tree lights. I had one more item I really wanted to pick up today for a family member at a store near Target, so I said I’d pick up lights at Target. Ho ho ho. Ha ha ha.

First – have you ever been to the “Lancaster International Mall?” It’s one part Tijuana, one part Asian tiny tourist traps in a made-over 24-hour Fitness. Vendors stand outside their metal stalls and try to lure you in. The “boutique” I was looking for was closed.

Okay, zip across the street to Target. Comfortable, clean, cozy, familiar Target. Immediately I was assaulted with the noises of teenage boys making weird sounds trying to pester customers. Then three boys walked by me talking amongst themselves, pretending no one could hear them. They were making sexual innuendos about everything and everything they saw: “Oh, I’m wet and mooshy in my pants.” I thought “I did NOT just hear that!” I walked on, unzipping my jacket. I heard, “oh look, she’s hot for you.” I wondered if I was being paranoid or if they were talking about me. I was torn between stalking them through the store to try to catch them in the act and confront them, or finish my shopping and get the heck out of there. I chose a combination of the two, continuing to run into the guys all over the store. I wanted to tell a manager, but the store was so ridiculously full of irritating people that I would normally associate with a bigger chain.

Target was out of Christmas tree lights. I cried on the way home, listening to beautiful Christmas music.

Why does this happen? I love to give. I love Jesus. I love Christmas. I’m feeling closer to God then I have for years. I finally have a church family again. I get to chat with old friends on Facebook. So why the stress at Christmas?

I know part of it is unrealistic expectations of how much we’re going to get done. I would like to bake, make homemade presents, knit Christmas stockings, design, print and mail 150 Christmas cards, decorate my house beautifully, scrapbook, and cook a wonderful dinner when my family is here on the 26^th. Here’s what I hope to get done – finish printing and sending out 60 Christmas cards that I designed, get the house somewhat decorated, and cook dinner for the family on the 26^th. I did most of my shopping online. I haven’t wrapped a thing yet. I can always wrap on Christmas day, the first family arrives that evening.

I know part of it is the extra stress and pain this year that’s made it the season even harder. First grade is so exhausting, and I wanted to make that last week before winter break so special for the little ones. Then, our beautiful, sweet Alaskan Malamutes had a fight the Friday before the last week of school. We had the stress of vet visits, surgery, sadness over the event, sadness over how Ivy looks, loss over knowing we can’t show or breed Sandy (on her 5^th heat and she’s 21 months, so we have to spay her), frustration over the added expense, and lots of lost sleep as we’ve been sleeping with the dogs. Ivy’s bare ears can’t take the cold nights, we don’t want Sandy to accidentally rip a stitch out…. On top of that is all our older body aches and pain – Marty’s feet, my neck (I fell at work and I officially hate Workmen’s Comp), my sinuses (I don’t think my sinusitis ever cleared up), Marty’s sinuses (his uvulitis almost turned into pneumonia).

Part is bittersweet Christmas memories. I had a hard time at church last Sunday when most of the praise songs were Christmas carols. It was the first time I took a “chill-pill” at this church. It just swept me into memories of people that I still “mourn” – Christmas Eve services that I was intimately involved with. I loved being part of the church body that we worshipped with for 16 years. Most of the time I’m better, but sometimes the pain comes back. Plus it happened at Christmas time – really two Christmases – the crisis, and the next year our final departure. I was the lamb that was lost, and my pastor didn’t try to find me.

I also miss the people at the last church we were at before we moved. I miss being involved in something as fabulous and wonderful as their “Walk Through Bethlehem.” Christmas is when we seem to miss people the most. Marty’s dad died near Christmas. I miss my dad. We miss friends that moved away. Christmas is often associated with sickness, pain, or loss. The expectation of happiness and perfect joy set up against the human existence is a great conundrum.

Part of the problem is feeling the pain of this particular Christmas season. So many families are hurting in this economy. I help where I can. I found out on our last day of school that the reason why one of my little ones had been absent all week -- a family member had been killed in a car accident. I had told her mom at parent conference that I had put her name in for a food basket. The PTA was putting in food baskets for some of our needy families. The mom was so grateful – we have several families living “on the edge.” However, I didn’t understand the process by which the PTA selects families, and she didn’t get selected. The PTA gave me some of the collected food and I’m putting together a basket for my first grader’s family. I just have to call and deliver it sometime tomorrow. I have to get it done.

God gave us the most amazing gift ever when he sent Jesus to be born as a human being, to fulfill all the prophecies, to mend the break between God and man. I thank the LORD that I am now able to feel joy when I worship! Thank you, GOD!

I also feel joy when I am with my family. My son and daughter-in-law are so happy and fun together and their joy overflows onto us. We get to splash around in their happiness! And, of course, grandbabies are such joy-givers! My birthday-gift baby is now three. I sent her a Playmobile Little People Nativity Scene. She asked her mom for the “menu” (directions) and she carefully set up the scene exactly the way it showed on the menu. I also sent her some new shoes. She called me up on the phone. First I heard a silence and a crackle as my daughter handed the phone over. Then I heard a tiny voice saying “I like the shoes.” I’m going to have so much fun watching her and her baby sister (14 months old). “Watching?!” Their other grandma likes to watch me as I get on the floor and play with them. Total delight! And we found out yesterday they have a third “princess” on the way!

I just opened a box of fun stocking stuffers that I ordered for my grown son. I ordered something fun for me, and it’s sitting next to me, quietly cheering me up. It’s a fiber optic colorful Christmas tree that plugs into a USB drive. Thank you, little Christmas tree for your pretty lights!

I know I shouldn’t get stressed. I shouldn’t let rude people get to me. This is the season of JOY, damn it! Maybe I’m being bipolar – I’ll be laughing with my husband at a lunch out during shopping, and a couple hours crying over bad customer service and rude boys. Or maybe I’m normal, and doing the best I can.

Anyway, thanks for letting me share. I know we’ll all have a Merry Christmas, in some way. I am blessed. May the Lord bless you and yours!

- Ann

Conversations with a Three Year Old

When you're a first-time grandma you take delight in the first utterances from the precious one's mouth. I was blessed during Nayeli's first four months to be able to spend long periods of time with Rhiannon & Jason, and we "imprinted" on each other. After all, she was born on my birthday, so we were sure to have a special connection!

The first name she called me was kind of a long, drawn out "Maaaa." When she wanted out of her room (if she was supposed to be going to sleep and was putting in last requests, i.e. water, toy, one more song) she would start out calling, "Mama," "Mama." She'd lay on the floor and call under her door. Then she'd start calling "Maaaaaa." It was hard to resist but I usually did, trying to respect Rhiannon and Jason's bedtime rules.

Nayeli visited while R&J went to a wedding when she was about 21 months old. She loves our dog, Ivy, who is a gentle giant of an Alaskan Malamute. One of Nayeli's earliest words was "Ibee". She would pray for Ibee and "Tee" every night. Tee was what she called our cat, Misty. When Nayeli would visit we'd go through a little routine where we'd tour things around the house. I'd pick her up and we'd look at my collections, the animals on the fireplace, and the pictures on the wall. She'd get excited when she saw "Mommy," "Daddy," "Calbin," or "Ibee." We were standing in front of a collage Rhiannon had made for me of Nayeli's first year. Nayeli loved looking at baby pictures of herself. There are several photos of Nayeli with other people, including me. She would point and say "who's dat?" I'd answer, or I'd say "who is it?" She'd point out "Mommy," "Daddy." Then she saw one of the pictures of her with me and she pointed to the picture, and said "MA!" Then she turned in my arms to face me. She put her hands on my cheeks, looked in my eyes, and said wonderingly, "Ma!"

Nowadays I am "Grandma." Or usually, "Grandma, Grandma, Grandma." "Grandma, Grandma, watch me!" (jump off a rock in our backyard). "Grandma, Grandma, I want, I want, I want." The first time I heard her at a complete loss of words was at Disney California Adventure when I told her she could pick out a toy for her upcoming adventure. Her favorite princess is The Little Mermaid, Ariel. We found a playset for ages 3 and up of Ariel and her companions. She held the big box in trembling hands and said, "Grandma, grandma, I, I, I, grandma, I want, I want, Grandma, this, this, this for birthday?!" I agreed that I would get that for her for her birthday but she couldn't play with it until then because it said for ages 3 and up, and she'll be turning 3 on her birthday. She was quite satisfied with that.

As her vocabulary has increased, so have the chances for embarassment. For several amusing vignettes, check out Rhiannon and Jason's blog. One story Jason told recently involved a toy I bought her at Disneyland. She LOVED "It's a Small World" and I bought her a little boat that had four children from different countries. One of the children wore a sombrero. That was last February. A couple weeks ago, Nayeli brought it to Jason, saying, "Look, Daddy, I found a teeny tiny Mexican under the couch!" Pretty funny/disconcerting for a culturally enlightened teacher of Spanish living in a mostly Hispanic neighborhood in Nipomo!

I visited my Mom for twelve days at the beginning of July. That also allowed me to spend a fair amount of time with Nayeli and her baby sister, since they all live on the central coast. Nayeli would wrap her arms around me and squeeze. "I love you so, so, so much, Grandma!" Grandmas live for moments like this.

They visited us for a few days at the end of July/beginning of August. I noticed that Nayeli, now 3 1/4 years, has become quite the conversationalist. She seems to know that it's normal to converse at dinners, so she would bring up topics for discussion. She asked me, "Do you know Grandma Pam?" "Yes, I know Grandma Pam, she's very nice," I told her (Pam is Jason's Mom). "Do you remember Gram?" (My mother). "Yes, I remember Gram." "Gram, she, she, she, she, goes in the bathroom!" (laughter). "You're right, Gram does go in the bathroom."

We were looking through one of her ABC magnet books and it said "C" is for "cactus." I asked her if she knew what a cactus, and she gave her standard answer for "I don't know," "ummmmm..." I told her I would show her a cactus on our next walk. That evening we were walking all four dogs (they have two, we have two), and the baby in the stroller. Near the end of the walk we come to a neighbor who has a beautiful cactus garden. By this time Nayeli had stopped running (she was walking Ivy, who weighs 130 pounds, tugging at her leash whenever Ivy wanted to stop and sniff). I said to Nayeli, "here is what I wanted to show you." I showed her several cactus plants, explained how the leaves are thick to store water, and said the spines or thorns are "owie." Then she started running for our house.

The next evening we were almost done with out walk. The baby was happier that night, and the dogs really knew the routine. When we were almost done Nayeli saw the cactus garden. She ran ahead, saying, "Come on, Grandma, you need to tell me about something!"

Grandmas (and grandpas) live for these moments of wonder, enlightenment, and affection from these little ones. These little ones are also terrifically honest, however. On one of my visits in July we had had a great day going to the park, going to the beach, and playing at home. I told her I was going to have to "hit the road, soon," because I had to get back to "Gram's" house. She found out that her family was going to visit some friends for dinner. Those friends have three little ones. Nayeli was sitting on my lap and she told me, "I want you to hit the road now, Grandma. Hit the road!"

Nayeli's Grandpa, Marty, visited them on his own in July, to take Jason and Nayeli to an airshow. Nayeli loved the airplanes, and she spend most of her time on Grandpa's shoulders. It warmed Marty's heart to see her run up to different airplanes and say she wanted a picture by that plane, or that tire. Afterward he had her glue up some parts for the airplane he's building. It was a terrific Grandpa/Granddaughter day. When it was almost time for him to head home, Nayeli found out it was bathtime. She loves bathtime so she told Marty, "Grandpa, the door is over here." She showed him to the door!

When you have conversations with a three-year-old you never know what you're going to get. So you take it all - the sweet, the funny, the embarassing, and the surprising!

GoodlyMcNight!

Soon after Mom and Dad got married I discovered that Daddy had a language of his own. Each night he would tell me "GoodlyMcNight." I would ask "are you Irish?" and he would answer, "No, I'm Polish."

When we cooked chicken we used the whole chicken, so we were always finding chicken bits - livers, hearts, etc. in with our wings and drumsticks. But with Daddy around most of those chicken bits were "gilberts," with the exception of kidleys (kidneys). He had a thing for replacing "n's" with "l's". Disneyland was Disleylant.

I think he liked to play with the sounds of words. He was a jazz musician, and he had a gift for languages. I believe he knew German, and some Polish and French. In his later years he tried to pick up Spanish by watching Telemundo. Since he said he was Polish I would cook him Kielbasa, or smoked pork hock & beer stew. The German part of him loved German sausages - a highlight in my teen and young adult years was going with him to Berghoff's in Chicago. French cuisine was introduced in the form of escargot. As an adult I've never eaten it, but as a teen I would try some at the White Horse Inn before our lobster entree.

We lived in the San Fernando Valley, which had its own amusement park in those days. Busch Gardens opened in Van Nuys at the Anheuser-Busch brewery in 1966. Mom and Dad married in 1969 and we took many trips to "Birdland," as my dad called it. We would take the monorail ride through a building which demonstrated how beer was made, and into the park. The smell of hops and beer imprinted on me... however I never did develop a taste for beer (not even when I went off to college!) My sister and I would put up with the boring part of the ride in order to get to the wonders inside... beautiful gardens, birds everywhere, and a handful of rides. Amazingly enough, "Birdland" had free admission, although I suspect that the main reason we visited often was the free beer. I learned that Daddy's favorite beer was the premium brand, Michelob. He preferred Busch to Budweiser. Barbara and I were thrilled when Busch Gardens opened a log ride. That made waiting on our parents outside the beer pavilions all the more worthwhile. Log rides are still my favorite kind of amusement park ride - if you're going to go shooting downhill, let's have some water to land in.
Besides the free beer, Busch Gardens was best known for its collection of birds. Mom and Dad's car (I'm not sure if it was the Mustang or the Cougar XR7) developed a high-pitched screech when they first turned it on. Daddy would say, "ah, Birdland." To this day, when I hear a car make that noise I think "Birdland."

Dust or tiny bits of paper or other debris on the tables were "bits of pih." He would often brush "pih" off a table or his clothes.

He had nicknames for everybody. Babies and kids in general were "ick-mick" Somehow Rhiannon was "the Princess" and Calvin was "the Punk". That hardly seemed fair!

Early on he started calling me "Moldy." I have no idea why. I have thought about it in later years and wondered where it came from, and whether it was positive or negative. However, I was never bothered by it because he always sounded affectionate when he said Moldy. The name stuck into my adult years, because when I got married we became "the Marty and Moldy Show."

Daddy said my sister was "toinky-boinky." At the time I thought it meant she was cute, pretty, and not quite as much into school as her big sister. Later I thought toinky-boinky was kind of mean-spirited, like he was putting Barbara into a certain role. She put herself through college to get a degree in physics, became an optical engineer, worked with astronauts on space shuttle projects, and has been very successfully homeschooling her daughters. No "toinky-boinky" in her!

Most of the funny words and names that Daddy came up with left a positive impression. I still cannot look at chicken parts without thinking "gilberts." They are a part of our family culture. I would be curious to know whether my mom, sisters, or kids remember any other "Aceisms" Daddy had in his unique vocabulary. We should come up with an Ace Glossary! Are any of his words being used by the kids? Will they become part of the next generation?

Goodlymcnight!

The Coolest Man I Ever Knew

The coolest man I ever knew was "Ace", otherwise known as Horace Frederick Hardy III. He was suave, funny, and charming. He was a jazz pianist, a "secret agent man", and an equestrian. He taught me style, manners, and that it's okay to play with your intelligence.

Ace came into my life when I was a very shy, awkward adolescent. I first knew him as my "Secret Friend." Nowadays we might be alarmed if we started getting letters from a man calling himself a "Secret Friend." Back then we had no internet child-stalkers, and besides my mother knew about this - my "secret friend" was her "one true love." My Secret Friend knew that I loved horses so he sent me photos of his horses, clippings of admirable horses from magazines, and notes encouraging me in my riding. He sent me a picture of his horse, "Escalator," with whom he had won the International Reserve Championship in jumping. I later found he had a treasure trove of trophies from jumping. I had started taking riding lessons, paid for by my Secret Friend. Every year for Christmas and my birthday I would ask for a horse (yes I was one of those girls) and every year I'd get another horse figure, book, or poster to add to my collection. The English riding lessons were a dream come true.

My mother, Beverly, had met Ace 20 years before when he was assigned to investigate her by the army's counterintelligence office. Beverly had a friend, Toshiko, who disappeared from school one day when they were supposed to take a test. Bev and her friends were surprised because Toshiko was very studious. Mom describes Toshiko as one of the sweetest and happiest girls at her high school. A friend who lived near Toshiko checked the house and said it seemed abandoned. Toshiko called Beverly a few days later from the Santa Anita racetrack, where Japanese Americans were being temporarily housed in stables. Toshiko's family were eventually settled at Manzanar. Beverly was outraged. At college she began calling these detainment camps "prison camps." She arranged for a speaker at her college chapel, and she wrote letters to her representatives.

In the meantime Bev's father was still working for Walt Disney, who was producing training films for the U.S. military. When some secrets were leaked out Ace was assigned to investigate Mom, who appeared to be pro-Japanese. The boy she was dating was suddenly transferred to another base, and her friends starting pressuring her to meet this "guy." Beverly didn't want to meet this "guy" who didn't sound like her "type." Finally she agreed to meet him. She sat in a coffee house, her back to the door, as the hour for their "date" approached. She could hear people coming in and out of the door, but she couldn't see them. She started to get angry as time passed, because he was late. Then he walked in. She couldn't see his face, but she knew it was him. He walked to her table and they fell instantly in love.

Beverly never believed in the "birds singing", "bells ringing" kind of love, but that's what happened when she and Ace kissed. They dated at her college for awhile, then he took her home to meet his folks. She rode the train to Chicago, and was too nervous to eat. His dad, a very nice, charming man, picked her up at the train station. He offered to give her a tour of Chicago. She's sure it was a wonderful tour, but by this time she was too hungry to concentrate.

When Beverly was shown to her room, after her luggage was brought in, Ace's mother shooed every body out, closed the door and turned her back to the door. She looked Bev up and down and said "you are not what I have planned for my son!" This was the start of an exciting and strange visit. Eventually Ace and Bev decided that although they loved each other they should not marry each other for many reasons. Ace was worried for her safety because he had known the family of a man in Army intelligence whose house had been bombed. Beverly's faith was important to her, and Ace had been brought up in an agnostic or athiest family. Mom loved children, and Ace, a single child, didn't plan to have children. They parted ways, and Beverly decided she would marry the next man who proposed to her.

Unfortunately, the next man who proposed to her turned out to be mentally ill. She didn't realize this until her wedding night. She lived through isolation and many kinds of abuse for almost 20 years because she believed in the sanctity of marriage. However, when her children began to show signs of being "at risk," she sought counsel and eventually filed for divorce. To me the divorce was a relief because my childhood father had been abusive to me.

It was sometime after this that my horseback riding lessons began, and I got letters from my "secret friend." When Beverly decided it was time for us to meet Ace she told us the story about the man she had fallen in love with twenty years before. We met Ace at the Museum of Science & Industry in L.A. I had always been shy with men but I immediately took to this man. His body type was completely different from that of my childhood father, so that helped. He had a twinkle in his blue eyes, and he was impeccably, though casually, dressed.

Soon my "secret friend" became "Uncle Ace." I enjoyed pretending we were related - he began to teach me tunes on our stand-up baby grand piano. I would play a melody - "Five Foot Two," "Lady Be Good," "Honeysuckle Rose," or "Surrey with the Fringe on Top." Uncle Ace would sit next to me on the piano bench and jazz up the song. He was an improvisational jazz pianist who used his craft as part of his "cover" while doing investigations during World War II. He would go to a college town, play piano in a bar, and listen for leads. He also played with several big bands. When I was in high school he enjoyed getting together with the orchestra teacher from our school. Gene would play jazz trumpet, while Ace did his thing on the piano. I loved his piano playing so much I had him play on our wedding day at an outdoor reception at Hardywood Farm in Illinois. We rolled the piano outside on the patio so he could entertain people while the wedding party was still at the church taking photos.

After Mom and Ace got married he quickly became "Daddy" to me. He felt like my "real dad." He'd compare our posting gaits during riding. He'd compare our hands while playing piano and say we had the same hands. He could be strict - but he was never physically violent. He'd be sarcastic and had a quick wit which could cut to the bone. He'd take away privileges, and he would hide things in his desk drawer that we hadn't put away. We learned how to eat everything, including fried chicken, with a knife and fork. We learned how to clean the house and to be respectful to our mom. He had us wait to sit down at the dining room table until our mom was seated. That proved difficult for me when I started dating my husband-to-be because his mother was always jumping up and down "oh, do we need applesauce," "oh, I forgot the salad dressing." I'd be hovering over my chair, lowering.... then pop back up, hover, lower... pop back up!

I loved it when Daddy took me to my orthodontist appointments. I enjoyed listening to him banter with the receptionists. He charmed cashiers, waitresses, clerks, just about any lady he crossed paths with. He could make the ladies feel appreciated and happy. I wasn't worried that he was going to "stray" because Ace and Bev were demonstratively affectionate with each other. It seemed so funny to us teens that she'd sit on his lap, but now I know they were younger than I am now. My husband and I are still affectionate after 30 years of marriage - and Ace and Bev were newlyweds!

For many years it was hard for me and my brother and sister to get to know my dad. My mother explained that he had a "shell" around him. That shell came from having a mom who was a bit nuts and didn't really know how to mother a child, as well as the training he had from being in counter-intelligence. He opened up a little more with me - I was never sure why because my younger sister was adorable. I went to his alma mater, where I met Marty. Ace eventually adopted me, and swore to my husband the night before my wedding that Marty was marrying a "bastard" because I was truly his child. [That whole story can be told another day....]

My sister and I were grateful that during Ace's latter years he loosened up, became more openly affectionate, and would sometimes share stories. He became generous - when my daughter got into college too late to get into one of the few campus dorms, he wrote a check to pay for her entire first year of housing at a private dorm. He loved having my daughter go to college near him. She and her friends would do laundry at her grandparents' house and he'd flirt with her college friends while the wash was running.

My dad could be stubborn but cute on the matters of faith. I accepted Jesus as my saviour after we moved to his family farm in Illinois (a girl from the church we visited invited me on a youth trip...) After years of being the quiet, shy, awkward girl, I blossomed with the help of Jesus Christ, and I wanted to share the good news with my family. I worried about my parents' drinking. My dad called me a "witch-burner." I knew that salvation was not an easy subject to talk about with him. He encouraged mom to take us to church because he knew it gave her joy. My mother loved God, and her first husband wouldn't let the family become part of a church. Although Ace was happy with Mom becoming involved in church, he rarely went to church himself. We were all relieved when he sat down for my wedding and the ceiling didn't crash down (although, come to think of it, a piece did fall down on someone else -- very old church).

My mother got cancer in 1990, and the doctors gave her a year to live. That Christmas Ace and Bev left their nativity scene (a collection my mom started when she was a child) up until the following Christmas. Every time a card came from one of Mom's friends or relatives, saying that she was in their prayers, he'd shake it at the nativity scene and tell "the Jesus people" to "do your stuff or you'll get packed up." Mom eventually became known at Stanford Medical Clinic as "the miracle lady" because she outlived that cancer and a few other cancer scares. Daddy became a believer in the power of prayer. He'd read every card that people sent Mom, and I saw wonder on his face. He asked me to pray for friends who were sick or having trouble.

I asked him once what he thought heaven was. He said heaven would be reliving your favorite moment in life for eternity. (I thought, "What if it's not the favorite moment for the people you're reliving it with?"). I walked him through the gospel message and told him that he could choose at any moment in life to ask Jesus to be his saviour.

My daughter lived with her grandparents during the summers before her freshman year, and her sophomore year of college. One morning in July of 2001 she said goodbye to her grandma and grandpa because she was going to go with a friend up the coast to take photos. She was concerned about her grandpa because he was having trouble "catching his breath." I was hosting Bunko for my Antelope Valley friends in Bear Valley Springs. We had a picnic at Cub Lake, then went up to our mountaintop cabin to play the game. I noticed a message on the answering machine, but decided to check it after our guests left. The message was from my mom - my dad had had some kind of attack and had been taken by ambulance to the hospital.

Marty quickly arranged for a friend to fly me to the coast. My sister also got a friend to fly her from the L.A. area. While we enroute, my sister, my husband, and I were each given a scripture which reassured us that Daddy had indeed come to know his saviour. When I got to the hospital Daddy was on a ventilator. He was unresponsive, but we talked to him, and read him a letter from my half-sister. I washed his hair. When a friend of my half-sister arrived, he was amazed at the peace that surrounded my mom, my sister and I. We were floating on God's promises. The following evening Daddy passed away during the night.

That was the year 2001. My mom has been very busy since then with trips, working with the local museum, and visiting with her dozens of friends. She now has lung disease. It will be ironic if after all her bouts with cancer she is taken down by something unrelated. She is joyful and thankful for all the blessings she has received during the past 18 years - seeing my kids grow up from little kids to young adults, college graduates, married. She saw my sister, who had no children at the time Mom was diagnosed, find joy in motherhood herself. Mom has spent countless hours hosting my nieces and their friends as they visit the coast. She had her grandson live with her for a summer, and her granddaughter and grandson-in-law lived a few blocks away with their newborn baby. She has been able to play with her two great grandchildren. She has seen thousands of ocean sunsets outside her living room window, and taken delight in viewing pelicans, pictographs, and polar bears up close and personal.

Sometimes we're sad that Ace isn't around for some of these things. I would have loved to see him at my daughter's wedding; at my son's graduation. He would have made the best toasts. He would have adored his great granddaughters - after all they are the babies of his "princess" (that's what he called my daughter). His presence is around us though, in the memories we have of him, the collection of trophies in Mom's office, and in his taste in humor, TV, and music that we know so well. "Daddy would have loved this show," or "this song reminds me of my dad." There were times when Ace was grouchy, unsocial, unforgiving, or demanding. However he approached his end with a sense of humor - he said 90% of his systems were operating at 75% or some such number. When Mom was cleaning out some drawers last year she came across some love letters that they had sent each other from years before. It helped bring back to her the man who she fell heart and soul for.

I recently asked Mom for some videotapes so that I could start working on a movie about her to show at her memorial. She's actually okay talking about things like that, and she enjoys telling stories and going over ideas. She doesn't want the movie to be "boring." After my recent visit to her I was copying one of the videotapes to a DVD. It can be a melancholy time of year - Father's Day, my dad's birthday, my parents' anniversary, and the anniversary of his death all ran into each other in the last couple weeks of June, first week or so of July.

I found myself thoroughly charmed by this random videotape from 1999. Daddy would take all the tapes from the year and copy them onto one yearly tape. This tape included a a cousins' reunion, a giant dead sea turtle washed up on the beach, and Christmas. He spent time talking about an amaryllis that they had bought in Gorman on one of their return trips from Stanford. This particular year Mom’s birthday fell on Easter – for the first time since the year she was born. We had a big birthday/Easter celebration, with lots of friends and family. Ace videotaped it. At one point he took a break from the festivities and lovingly described their Easter decorations. Listening to him describe that amaryllis, and those Easter decorations, I was taken aback by the power of love. He loved his life with Mom. He loved the things they did together, like growing an amaryllis. He loved the decorations they put up for Easter and Christmas. Those things always seemed like “Mom-things” to me. But, just as Daddy reminded God of His promise by threatening the “Jesus people” (nativity scene), these funny bunny houses were another reminder of the power of love. The power of love (which we know comes from God) can heal a woman of cancer and give her at least 18 more years with her family. The power of love can bring a reassurance of scripture to their daughters. The power of love can use a woman to transform a man. This man was trained from birth to be cold and distant. This man learned how to be how to take a real interest in the people and things this woman cared for. This man learned how to love more than himself, his parents, his horse, and his wife. God’s transforming power of love is awesome.

I talked to my mom later, the day that I copied that videotape and spent time listening to my dad’s voice and thinking about his character. She said she had received many phone calls that day, including one from Leslie (my half-sister). Leslie always calls on special days, including mom’s birthday, Christmas, and today, which was the anniversary of Daddy’s death. Tears filled my eyes as I told mom I knew we were close to the day but I was fuzzy about the date, and she wouldn’t believe what I was just listening to….

(To play the videos below, click on the arrow)


Ace at the Piano

Ace describing an Amaryllis


The Bunny Village