I am a notorious plant killer. I have received many gifts of plants in my lifetime and I have only kept one, a spider plant (they are nearly impossible to kill) alive more than a week or two - maybe three if I'm really lucky. I was so thrilled, I named him Bob and when he began to look sickly, I gave him to my green-thumbed oldest brother. He lived a long life there, though I had him for the first 2 years of his life in a giant pot. My house has no greenery in it that is real. Okay, you might say, Why not water your plants regularly? Or you could actually read up on how to keep living plants alive. Yeah, what's your point?
This summer I decided to turn over a new leaf. I got on the internet and looked up container tomatoes. I went to Wal-mart (where else?) and bought two of them with those metal, circular, level thingies (like a round stake?) and some potting soil and tomato plant food. I planted them and put them on the back porch. I water them every other day (unless they look really moist). I fed them plant food when it says to. I spritz them when they look a little limp after a hot day. I sprayed them with bug spray for tomato plants when a couple of leaves had been chewed on. I check on them every day. One day I walked out to see if there were any weeds or dead leaves from the tree in them and......Shock! Amazement! I had 3 little green tomatoes!!!!! Now I have 6 or 7 more. They are growing! I'm actually growing tomatoes!!!! Which, by the way, I LOVE to eat when they are fresh from the garden. A little mozzarella cheese and olive oil with them and mmmmm, mmmmmm good.
So apparently, whatever forces make us keepers of growing green things looked at me recently and said, "Hmmm, she's kept the hubby and kid alive. The dog and both the cats are still hangin' in there. Maybe she CAN keep a plant alive!" Whatever it was, so far so good. I can hardly wait for those tomatoes to turn big and red.
And this miracle spread - sort of. I got a geranium as a gift from the 3rd grade teachers at the end of the year and although the blooms all died, the plant is still alive and kicking on my front porch. Okay, maybe the blooms died because I didn't water it for the first week. Then a friend brought by a flowering bowl and it's still alive there, too. I think I may have reached a new plane of understand and become a giver of life rather than of death for green things. Yeah, Baby! They LIVE!
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Monday, June 23, 2008
Leaving, On a Jet Plane....
It's a song by Peter, Paul and Mary and if you're too young to know who they are, that's okay. They're folk singers and I actually really enjoy their music.
Anyway, my parents left this morning for Indiana to visit with my Aunt Jane and other extended family - mostly on my mom's side. My aunt is 3 years older than my mom but in much better health. Lately, though, in the last three years or so, she's had some health issues. She lost an eye when working in her garden and falling on some mud. A small branch from the berry bush she was weeding poked her in the eye and they couldn't save it. She overcame that obstacle and then recently fell again and is using a cane until her knee heals. She falls because she's so active. She's played in a band (banjo) for many, many years, gardens all the time with a huge veggie garden, helps every one out - She just stays very active. Thus, her health is pretty good. They will all love seeing each other, but my siblings called ahead and warned my aunt about my parents condition. They require quite a bit of help and they suggested she have someone come in every day to help out a bit. I have several cousins there and my aunt is well off enough that she may already have someone coming in to help her out, so I don't think it will be an issue.
When I think of my parents, I have many emotions, a large variety of memories and a lot of fear of what the future will bring with them. The range of emotions stem from the simple fact that I had a rough childhood. I would say I was the black sheep of the family - never smart enough, never good enough, never successful enough. When siblings hear these things about you from your parents, they believe them, too. So what was just something I heard from my parents at first became who I was in our family. I don't know - maybe they thought saying those things to me would help push me more. I don't know where I lacked, though. But I know now, despite what I thought growing up, that they love me.
My mother grew up in a very wealthy family. My grandfather owned a Ford dealership and was a friend of Henry Ford's. My mother sat on Henry Ford's lap as a child. My grandfather also had a restaurant and many, many other business dealings/companies. When he became sick with cancer and it spread to his brain, he started making very bad deals and decisions. Some people who lacked decency took advantage of his illness and him and he lost almost all he had. My grandmother was left to live on very little but my grandfather had asked a close family friend to take care of her and he did so until his death many years later. I was a year old when my grandfather died, so I don't remember him. I only know him through my mother's adoring eyes.
My father, on the other hand, grew up dirt poor. His father was a farmer and he worked his son to the bone along side himself. To this day, my dad doesn't like fried chicken because that was what they ate every Sunday his entire life - from their own stock of chickens. When he met my mother, he was 16 years old and she was 15. They were engaged soon after and married at 19 before my dad left for basic training in the Army. Being in the Army, he couldn't provide anything close to the way my mother had grown up, but her father slipped her money frequently. I would think all this - my mother's adoration for her father and the money that he continuously gave to her - would have been hard for my dad. He's never spoken of it, though it must be said that her adoring eyes are all his now. He spent 23 years in the Army. And when he got out, I was about six years old and we'd settled in Colorado. Things just got worse from there. My grandfather was long gone, so no more additional cash coming in. My dad ended up managing a 7-11 - back in the day when they were actually open from 7 a.m. to 11 p.m. He was held up 4 times when my parents decided it was time for a change. By this time, my older sister was in college (and may have been married by then, I don't remember), my oldest brother was in college and my other older brother had dropped out of high school and was working 3 jobs because he wanted the things we'd never had growing up. My older and younger sister's were straight A students. My oldest brother went to college on a full football scholarship. My other brother was not a worry or concern to my parents anymore because he fully supported himself, though he came home now and then, so we kept a bedroom for him until he got married. He became the person who slipped my mom cash and so he became the one she adored. And that's okay, too.
My dad was physically abusive with my oldest brother and I. I think it was partly because of being in the Army and possibly because he was raised in the same manner. My other brother got it sometimes just because he was with my oldest brother. I've always thought he saw something in my oldest brother and I that he didn't like in himself - but that's just part of what I've tried to work out in my own mind. When the boys were gone from home, it was just me. Where my oldest brother had often protected me, taking a beating for it, there was no one. My mother just grew hateful with me. I don't understand that, but she was bitter about a lot of things and always felt a jealousy of her sister when she was young as my aunt was very successful. She was in politics and had my grandfather's business sense (before the cancer reached his brain, of course). I remember not being more than seven when my mother and I were watching a movie where a man and a woman where taking a little girl from her home. The girl was crying and saying, "I'll be good, I promise I'll be good." My mother turned to me and said, "And that's what will happen to you if you don't behave." I remember that triggering nightmares I had well into my teens where my entire family just left me places, never to return. I don't think I was a particularly badly behaved child - that was pretty much beaten out of me. I just think they didn't like who I was. I do remember being emotional - crying when my brothers and older sister teased me (my dad took part in that, too), often running to my room and closing the door. There was so much contention in our house, fostered by my father pushing us all to compete against each other. He once tried to get my younger sister and I to have a fist fight in our yard. My sister was willing, I was not. I didn't want to hurt her. I was much taller and, I suspect, quite a bit stronger even though we were only 15 months apart in age. She was a tomboy. I was all girl. This.....lifestyle just wasn't who I was.
When my dad left 7-ll, we moved to the country. We lived in a trailer. Since we'd been poor our whole lives, we didn't really think much of having to live in a trailer, so we were happy to have new things (trailer's came cheaply furnished back then). I was told I would have to work so I could buy all my own school clothes, make-up, shampoo, etc. I was put to work on a farm and I was just 13 years old. My younger sister worked on the farm a couple of days a week. I worked there 5 days a week. At the end of summer, my sister never worked again until her third or fourth year in college. Sometime after this, our trailer burned to the ground and everything in it was lost - all my parents mementos from their travels when my dad was stationed overseas, all their wedding gifts, everything. A few things were saved, but most of it damaged. I moved from working on the farm when summer ended to working at a small cafe in town. The owner was a completely insane woman, but she paid us under the table and I worked every day after school (and on Saturdays) from the time I could walk there (about 10 minutes) until she closed at 8:30 p.m. I met my best friend there and we were in very much the same situation. After the cafe closed, I went home, did my homework and chores and waited for my dad to get home from work, sometimes as late as 10 p.m. It was my job to put his work clothes in the washer and then the dryer while my mom and sister went on to bed. I would get to bed around 11:00 or so and then be up again at 4:30 a.m. to get into the bathroom before my dad needed to. We only had one bathroom after the trailer was gone and we moved for a few months into a replacement trailer that let snow and rain in a bedroom closet. We quickly moved from there into a farmhouse about 2 miles outside of town. It was an absolute dump. When I first showed it to my then fiance, Jay, he couldn't believe we'd lived in such a place. And he understood why I was uncomfortable in his sister's house when we visited and it was a very old house that had had no improvements made to it. Well, it didn't exactly bring back good memories for me. In the end, when I was 17 years old having taken a night class so I could graduate a year early, my mother told me one day they were moving to the city and I couldn't come with them. I called my older sister who took me in for 2 months until I had a job, first months rent and a deposit for an apartment. I had to board my dog at a vet near the small town we'd lived in until I had my own apartment because of my sister's allergies. And for many years, there was a vast abyss between myself and my parents.
After a few years of off and on counseling, I understood that my father was probably abused as a child and likely suffered from depression all those years and that my mother probably heard many of the same emotionally abusive things she said to me from her own mother. I learned that they were human and had faults and that it wasn't me that was the problem, but they themselves. It took a lot of weight off my shoulders and I slowly began to see myself as worthy. I began to see I wasn't the things I'd been told I was - especially that I wasn't stupid as I'd so often been told I was. Seeing old report cards from my jr. and sr. high school years helped a lot. Despite living on little sleep and working when most kids were enjoying football games, hanging out with each other and sleeping, I pulled in A's and B's except in math. I'd say I wasn't so stupid afterall. I was just tired. I often wonder what those report cards would have looked like if I'd not had to work all those years.
Because of counseling, I also came to understand why I was easily victimized when I was younger, having endured two assaults almost 6 years apart. I was 16 or 17 years old the first time and in my early 20's the second time. Since then - and counseling - I have stood up for myself and never allowed myself to be abused in any way again. It's kept me strong through some tough times and I think every aspect of my life helped me to have the strong work ethic I have and all the success I have had in my careers.
I can say that despite all these things, I do have good memories. We had really wonderful family vacations. My parent's goal was to get us to all the states in the mainland and the 30 day vacations my dad had in the military helped us do a lot of driving vactions all over the U.S. We had trips to the mountains that we took almost every weekend and I remember hiking and having picnics around Red Feather Lake and other locations. I remember being taught how to spot wildlife, the feel of putting your barefeet in the roaring river waters (very cold and it hurt at first), chasing each other in a field or feeding chipmunks the peanuts we brought with us (back before they asked you not to feed the wildlife). I remember camping in a huge tent my parents had bought in Germany and my mother obsessivly bathing us all at the end of the day in two large plastic tubs. I remember the smell of breakfasts on those camping mornings which my dad always cooked. I remember the pets we had, the yards we played in, the Christmases we had with a tree overflowing with presents (there were 5 of us kids). I remember singing while my mother played piano or my older sister played her guitar. I remember performing at church almost every Sunday with my younger sister and two other boys that were members of our very small church. I remember playing in the graveyard we lived next to for almost a year. One night, we'd gone there to tell ghost stories and during one, the ground began to sink. We all screamed and ran home. Of course, it was just an old grave, not some hand reaching out from the dead. But we sure thought we were being chased. I remember chasing rabbits behind our house. I remember walking on the rocky shores in Maine, picking up interesting rocks for our collection. One looked like a canoe and one like the head of an indian with a headband on. I remember every time we moved, my mom would have a fit about how many rocks we had, but dad had helped us find them. I remember playing in the street on our block and shooting off firecrackers in our backyard every fourth of July. I remember being excited when my oldest brother came home from college at Christmas and for the summer and jumping into his arms and crying because I'd missed him so much.
A few years ago, before dementia became a part of who my parents are, my dad apologized to me for everything that happened while I was growing up. It made all the difference in the world. I've often wished my mother would do the same, but that's not her. She denies anything that makes her uncomfortable (I've found that several of my siblings are this way, too) and so she denies anything wrong ever happened. That's okay. I know she knows, even if only in her subconscious.
There were at least as many good times as bad. And if you focus on those good times most of all, it's easy to put the rest behind you. I've long since forgiven my parents for their mistakes and just made sure that I never allow those behaviors to be a part of my life again. I'd say I'm doing a darn good job of that.
Anyway, my parents left this morning for Indiana to visit with my Aunt Jane and other extended family - mostly on my mom's side. My aunt is 3 years older than my mom but in much better health. Lately, though, in the last three years or so, she's had some health issues. She lost an eye when working in her garden and falling on some mud. A small branch from the berry bush she was weeding poked her in the eye and they couldn't save it. She overcame that obstacle and then recently fell again and is using a cane until her knee heals. She falls because she's so active. She's played in a band (banjo) for many, many years, gardens all the time with a huge veggie garden, helps every one out - She just stays very active. Thus, her health is pretty good. They will all love seeing each other, but my siblings called ahead and warned my aunt about my parents condition. They require quite a bit of help and they suggested she have someone come in every day to help out a bit. I have several cousins there and my aunt is well off enough that she may already have someone coming in to help her out, so I don't think it will be an issue.
When I think of my parents, I have many emotions, a large variety of memories and a lot of fear of what the future will bring with them. The range of emotions stem from the simple fact that I had a rough childhood. I would say I was the black sheep of the family - never smart enough, never good enough, never successful enough. When siblings hear these things about you from your parents, they believe them, too. So what was just something I heard from my parents at first became who I was in our family. I don't know - maybe they thought saying those things to me would help push me more. I don't know where I lacked, though. But I know now, despite what I thought growing up, that they love me.
My mother grew up in a very wealthy family. My grandfather owned a Ford dealership and was a friend of Henry Ford's. My mother sat on Henry Ford's lap as a child. My grandfather also had a restaurant and many, many other business dealings/companies. When he became sick with cancer and it spread to his brain, he started making very bad deals and decisions. Some people who lacked decency took advantage of his illness and him and he lost almost all he had. My grandmother was left to live on very little but my grandfather had asked a close family friend to take care of her and he did so until his death many years later. I was a year old when my grandfather died, so I don't remember him. I only know him through my mother's adoring eyes.
My father, on the other hand, grew up dirt poor. His father was a farmer and he worked his son to the bone along side himself. To this day, my dad doesn't like fried chicken because that was what they ate every Sunday his entire life - from their own stock of chickens. When he met my mother, he was 16 years old and she was 15. They were engaged soon after and married at 19 before my dad left for basic training in the Army. Being in the Army, he couldn't provide anything close to the way my mother had grown up, but her father slipped her money frequently. I would think all this - my mother's adoration for her father and the money that he continuously gave to her - would have been hard for my dad. He's never spoken of it, though it must be said that her adoring eyes are all his now. He spent 23 years in the Army. And when he got out, I was about six years old and we'd settled in Colorado. Things just got worse from there. My grandfather was long gone, so no more additional cash coming in. My dad ended up managing a 7-11 - back in the day when they were actually open from 7 a.m. to 11 p.m. He was held up 4 times when my parents decided it was time for a change. By this time, my older sister was in college (and may have been married by then, I don't remember), my oldest brother was in college and my other older brother had dropped out of high school and was working 3 jobs because he wanted the things we'd never had growing up. My older and younger sister's were straight A students. My oldest brother went to college on a full football scholarship. My other brother was not a worry or concern to my parents anymore because he fully supported himself, though he came home now and then, so we kept a bedroom for him until he got married. He became the person who slipped my mom cash and so he became the one she adored. And that's okay, too.
My dad was physically abusive with my oldest brother and I. I think it was partly because of being in the Army and possibly because he was raised in the same manner. My other brother got it sometimes just because he was with my oldest brother. I've always thought he saw something in my oldest brother and I that he didn't like in himself - but that's just part of what I've tried to work out in my own mind. When the boys were gone from home, it was just me. Where my oldest brother had often protected me, taking a beating for it, there was no one. My mother just grew hateful with me. I don't understand that, but she was bitter about a lot of things and always felt a jealousy of her sister when she was young as my aunt was very successful. She was in politics and had my grandfather's business sense (before the cancer reached his brain, of course). I remember not being more than seven when my mother and I were watching a movie where a man and a woman where taking a little girl from her home. The girl was crying and saying, "I'll be good, I promise I'll be good." My mother turned to me and said, "And that's what will happen to you if you don't behave." I remember that triggering nightmares I had well into my teens where my entire family just left me places, never to return. I don't think I was a particularly badly behaved child - that was pretty much beaten out of me. I just think they didn't like who I was. I do remember being emotional - crying when my brothers and older sister teased me (my dad took part in that, too), often running to my room and closing the door. There was so much contention in our house, fostered by my father pushing us all to compete against each other. He once tried to get my younger sister and I to have a fist fight in our yard. My sister was willing, I was not. I didn't want to hurt her. I was much taller and, I suspect, quite a bit stronger even though we were only 15 months apart in age. She was a tomboy. I was all girl. This.....lifestyle just wasn't who I was.
When my dad left 7-ll, we moved to the country. We lived in a trailer. Since we'd been poor our whole lives, we didn't really think much of having to live in a trailer, so we were happy to have new things (trailer's came cheaply furnished back then). I was told I would have to work so I could buy all my own school clothes, make-up, shampoo, etc. I was put to work on a farm and I was just 13 years old. My younger sister worked on the farm a couple of days a week. I worked there 5 days a week. At the end of summer, my sister never worked again until her third or fourth year in college. Sometime after this, our trailer burned to the ground and everything in it was lost - all my parents mementos from their travels when my dad was stationed overseas, all their wedding gifts, everything. A few things were saved, but most of it damaged. I moved from working on the farm when summer ended to working at a small cafe in town. The owner was a completely insane woman, but she paid us under the table and I worked every day after school (and on Saturdays) from the time I could walk there (about 10 minutes) until she closed at 8:30 p.m. I met my best friend there and we were in very much the same situation. After the cafe closed, I went home, did my homework and chores and waited for my dad to get home from work, sometimes as late as 10 p.m. It was my job to put his work clothes in the washer and then the dryer while my mom and sister went on to bed. I would get to bed around 11:00 or so and then be up again at 4:30 a.m. to get into the bathroom before my dad needed to. We only had one bathroom after the trailer was gone and we moved for a few months into a replacement trailer that let snow and rain in a bedroom closet. We quickly moved from there into a farmhouse about 2 miles outside of town. It was an absolute dump. When I first showed it to my then fiance, Jay, he couldn't believe we'd lived in such a place. And he understood why I was uncomfortable in his sister's house when we visited and it was a very old house that had had no improvements made to it. Well, it didn't exactly bring back good memories for me. In the end, when I was 17 years old having taken a night class so I could graduate a year early, my mother told me one day they were moving to the city and I couldn't come with them. I called my older sister who took me in for 2 months until I had a job, first months rent and a deposit for an apartment. I had to board my dog at a vet near the small town we'd lived in until I had my own apartment because of my sister's allergies. And for many years, there was a vast abyss between myself and my parents.
After a few years of off and on counseling, I understood that my father was probably abused as a child and likely suffered from depression all those years and that my mother probably heard many of the same emotionally abusive things she said to me from her own mother. I learned that they were human and had faults and that it wasn't me that was the problem, but they themselves. It took a lot of weight off my shoulders and I slowly began to see myself as worthy. I began to see I wasn't the things I'd been told I was - especially that I wasn't stupid as I'd so often been told I was. Seeing old report cards from my jr. and sr. high school years helped a lot. Despite living on little sleep and working when most kids were enjoying football games, hanging out with each other and sleeping, I pulled in A's and B's except in math. I'd say I wasn't so stupid afterall. I was just tired. I often wonder what those report cards would have looked like if I'd not had to work all those years.
Because of counseling, I also came to understand why I was easily victimized when I was younger, having endured two assaults almost 6 years apart. I was 16 or 17 years old the first time and in my early 20's the second time. Since then - and counseling - I have stood up for myself and never allowed myself to be abused in any way again. It's kept me strong through some tough times and I think every aspect of my life helped me to have the strong work ethic I have and all the success I have had in my careers.
I can say that despite all these things, I do have good memories. We had really wonderful family vacations. My parent's goal was to get us to all the states in the mainland and the 30 day vacations my dad had in the military helped us do a lot of driving vactions all over the U.S. We had trips to the mountains that we took almost every weekend and I remember hiking and having picnics around Red Feather Lake and other locations. I remember being taught how to spot wildlife, the feel of putting your barefeet in the roaring river waters (very cold and it hurt at first), chasing each other in a field or feeding chipmunks the peanuts we brought with us (back before they asked you not to feed the wildlife). I remember camping in a huge tent my parents had bought in Germany and my mother obsessivly bathing us all at the end of the day in two large plastic tubs. I remember the smell of breakfasts on those camping mornings which my dad always cooked. I remember the pets we had, the yards we played in, the Christmases we had with a tree overflowing with presents (there were 5 of us kids). I remember singing while my mother played piano or my older sister played her guitar. I remember performing at church almost every Sunday with my younger sister and two other boys that were members of our very small church. I remember playing in the graveyard we lived next to for almost a year. One night, we'd gone there to tell ghost stories and during one, the ground began to sink. We all screamed and ran home. Of course, it was just an old grave, not some hand reaching out from the dead. But we sure thought we were being chased. I remember chasing rabbits behind our house. I remember walking on the rocky shores in Maine, picking up interesting rocks for our collection. One looked like a canoe and one like the head of an indian with a headband on. I remember every time we moved, my mom would have a fit about how many rocks we had, but dad had helped us find them. I remember playing in the street on our block and shooting off firecrackers in our backyard every fourth of July. I remember being excited when my oldest brother came home from college at Christmas and for the summer and jumping into his arms and crying because I'd missed him so much.
A few years ago, before dementia became a part of who my parents are, my dad apologized to me for everything that happened while I was growing up. It made all the difference in the world. I've often wished my mother would do the same, but that's not her. She denies anything that makes her uncomfortable (I've found that several of my siblings are this way, too) and so she denies anything wrong ever happened. That's okay. I know she knows, even if only in her subconscious.
There were at least as many good times as bad. And if you focus on those good times most of all, it's easy to put the rest behind you. I've long since forgiven my parents for their mistakes and just made sure that I never allow those behaviors to be a part of my life again. I'd say I'm doing a darn good job of that.
Saturday, June 21, 2008
The Difference Adults Make
Rachel is thriving on her new swim team. The 3 coaches are all adults - not in their 20's, but full-fledged, gray haired grown-ups. The head coach has coached swimming for 35 years and really focuses on technique. Rachel has improved so much with her strokes that I'm really impressed. They continue the team all year with just December and May off and we plan to stick with them. It's only 2 days a week for practice during the school year, so that should work out well.
We had our first swim meet today. Man, they are exhausting sitting in the heat all day and watching the numbers come up so you can get your child over to the event tent in time. But we are usually done by noon or 1:00 p.m., so that's nice. Warm-ups begin at 7:30 a.m. Rachel never does well for the first meet and came in last in all of her events at this first one. Next Saturday she should do better. One of the coaches told me once the kids really get the techniques down (perfecting their strokes), they usually see a big jump in speed. One week isn't much time for that, but I suspect that by the end of summer, she'll be doing much better than she ever has before.
My parents leave Monday for Indiana to visit extended family there. We'll spend all day Sunday at my brother's visiting with them. It's been nice to see them, but difficult also - something I posted about in the last entry. And the difficult part is that we haven't been to church in several weeks because of when the family get togethers have been planned. So much so that Rachel was quick to want to go to a birthday party next Sunday when she would normally decide not to attend because it's on the Sabbath. I didn't tell her no but I know missing so much church isn't good for any of us. We do have one swim meet on a Sunday, also. On her old team, two of the meets were on Sunday's every year, so I feel lucky this team only has one. But it's times like these I wish I lived in Utah where this kind of stuff is less of an issue because of the high LDS population. But, the world is what it is and we'll have to focus more on our spiritual side to work through this.
Oh yeah, I almost forgot! I'm so excited. This is the first year I've tried to grow anything - a garden item - and I picked out 2 container tomato plants. Well, I've got three good sized tomatoes on one plant and about 5 or 6 smaller ones split between the two plants! I can hardly wait to sink my teeth into fresh grown tomatoes in another couple of weeks. Yummy! If I'm totally successful with these this summer, next year I'll try more tomatoes and some lettuce which can also be grown in a container. With as much salad as I eat, that could have the potential to save an awful lot of money!
We had our first swim meet today. Man, they are exhausting sitting in the heat all day and watching the numbers come up so you can get your child over to the event tent in time. But we are usually done by noon or 1:00 p.m., so that's nice. Warm-ups begin at 7:30 a.m. Rachel never does well for the first meet and came in last in all of her events at this first one. Next Saturday she should do better. One of the coaches told me once the kids really get the techniques down (perfecting their strokes), they usually see a big jump in speed. One week isn't much time for that, but I suspect that by the end of summer, she'll be doing much better than she ever has before.
My parents leave Monday for Indiana to visit extended family there. We'll spend all day Sunday at my brother's visiting with them. It's been nice to see them, but difficult also - something I posted about in the last entry. And the difficult part is that we haven't been to church in several weeks because of when the family get togethers have been planned. So much so that Rachel was quick to want to go to a birthday party next Sunday when she would normally decide not to attend because it's on the Sabbath. I didn't tell her no but I know missing so much church isn't good for any of us. We do have one swim meet on a Sunday, also. On her old team, two of the meets were on Sunday's every year, so I feel lucky this team only has one. But it's times like these I wish I lived in Utah where this kind of stuff is less of an issue because of the high LDS population. But, the world is what it is and we'll have to focus more on our spiritual side to work through this.
Oh yeah, I almost forgot! I'm so excited. This is the first year I've tried to grow anything - a garden item - and I picked out 2 container tomato plants. Well, I've got three good sized tomatoes on one plant and about 5 or 6 smaller ones split between the two plants! I can hardly wait to sink my teeth into fresh grown tomatoes in another couple of weeks. Yummy! If I'm totally successful with these this summer, next year I'll try more tomatoes and some lettuce which can also be grown in a container. With as much salad as I eat, that could have the potential to save an awful lot of money!
Monday, June 16, 2008
My Visiting Parents
One of my friends had a lovely post to her dad in her blog for Father's Day. It was so sweet and endearing. Her dad had a wonderful comment back to her about it, too. And I thought, what a blessing it is to have the ability to tell our parents what they mean to us - especially as we age - and know that even despite some faults, we love them and having them means something to us.
My own post on her blog was, I guess, a reminder to keep doing that now, while she can and while he can understand what she is saying to him.
My parents suffer from dementia. It's much worse when they are sick and my dad's has flared a bit during their visit here, probably complicated by the high altitude. Father's Day was spent at my brother's house, where my parents are staying right now. We passed around cards and my dad was very thrilled with his, especially the one Rachel wrote to him, creating it from the computer with a picture of a comet (shooting star) and a poem about the shooting star he was in her eyes. My card, store bought with lots of words in it, was appreciated but probably not followed. It was too much for his mind to process. My dad sleeps a lot. He smiles at you when you speak but only part of the time responds and those responses sometimes have nothing to do with the conversation. Both of them speak of times long past, but not much current. My mom thinks Rachel visited their home in the small eastern Colorado town I grew up in and that we left when I was 17 years old. She thinks Rachel visited them as much more than a toddler when they lived in the northern Colorado town my oldest sister lives in. They moved to Texas when Rachel was 2 1/2. It takes them 3 to 4 hours every morning after getting out of bed to shower and dress. They both use walkers and I can't allow myself to think about the vision of them walking feebly from place to place on the rare occasions they even attempt to walk around. My dad, who read a book constantly or worked crossword puzzles, can't focus enough to do either anymore.
It's difficult to watch this change come over them, watch the deterioration. My childhood wasn't an easy one but I love my parents and there were good times in my life that I can reflect on and remember well. I have long ago forgiven them for their mistakes.
What they reflect on most is each other, which is beautiful and sweet. They have been married for more than 60 years. My dad gave a little speech at the dining room table on Father's Day, not about being a father, but about being blessed to have my mother for over 60 years as his wife and wishing he could have given her all she deserved. She in turn gave one about how he'd given her all she ever needed and loving him more than anything else in her life. They don't cope well when separated and, in fact, were so distressed when they were both ill and in different hospitals last year that their doctor made arrangements for them to have a room together in one because he believed they would not get well separated.
All in all, things were much happier once we picked Jay up from work that evening and came home to spend the remainder of Father's Day in our own home with him. Happier because he does hear and understand what is said to him and there is so much sadness watching the deterioration in my parents and knowing when they look at you that they are forgetting. My dad said to me that he couldn't remember my name when I walked in Kevin's door their first day here. That is the future of this situation. And it's a hard one to take.
My own post on her blog was, I guess, a reminder to keep doing that now, while she can and while he can understand what she is saying to him.
My parents suffer from dementia. It's much worse when they are sick and my dad's has flared a bit during their visit here, probably complicated by the high altitude. Father's Day was spent at my brother's house, where my parents are staying right now. We passed around cards and my dad was very thrilled with his, especially the one Rachel wrote to him, creating it from the computer with a picture of a comet (shooting star) and a poem about the shooting star he was in her eyes. My card, store bought with lots of words in it, was appreciated but probably not followed. It was too much for his mind to process. My dad sleeps a lot. He smiles at you when you speak but only part of the time responds and those responses sometimes have nothing to do with the conversation. Both of them speak of times long past, but not much current. My mom thinks Rachel visited their home in the small eastern Colorado town I grew up in and that we left when I was 17 years old. She thinks Rachel visited them as much more than a toddler when they lived in the northern Colorado town my oldest sister lives in. They moved to Texas when Rachel was 2 1/2. It takes them 3 to 4 hours every morning after getting out of bed to shower and dress. They both use walkers and I can't allow myself to think about the vision of them walking feebly from place to place on the rare occasions they even attempt to walk around. My dad, who read a book constantly or worked crossword puzzles, can't focus enough to do either anymore.
It's difficult to watch this change come over them, watch the deterioration. My childhood wasn't an easy one but I love my parents and there were good times in my life that I can reflect on and remember well. I have long ago forgiven them for their mistakes.
What they reflect on most is each other, which is beautiful and sweet. They have been married for more than 60 years. My dad gave a little speech at the dining room table on Father's Day, not about being a father, but about being blessed to have my mother for over 60 years as his wife and wishing he could have given her all she deserved. She in turn gave one about how he'd given her all she ever needed and loving him more than anything else in her life. They don't cope well when separated and, in fact, were so distressed when they were both ill and in different hospitals last year that their doctor made arrangements for them to have a room together in one because he believed they would not get well separated.
All in all, things were much happier once we picked Jay up from work that evening and came home to spend the remainder of Father's Day in our own home with him. Happier because he does hear and understand what is said to him and there is so much sadness watching the deterioration in my parents and knowing when they look at you that they are forgetting. My dad said to me that he couldn't remember my name when I walked in Kevin's door their first day here. That is the future of this situation. And it's a hard one to take.
Saturday, June 14, 2008
Just One Is Just Right....For Us
When I was young, I wanted many, many children. Literally, I thought about having 12 kids. As I got older and, apparently, more rational, I wanted maybe 8. Okay, so still not all that rational for you, eh? In my mid 20's, I figured 4 to 6 a good range and I was really hoping for that for most of the rest of my life. As I got older and was still unmarried, I hoped to at least have 3, but would still have liked to have 4 or more. I finally married at 33 and then we spent two long, uncomfortable, invasive years working through infertility issues. At 35, my precious angel, my sweet, loving and kind daughter was born. She is the light of my life. She is my whole world. She makes me laugh, cry, ache with love for her, dream of the brightest of futures, gives me a reason to live and be a better person. We got so lucky because she is an amazing child. She is spiritual, smart, beautiful, confident, kindhearted, thoughtful, creative and a little bit of an airhead sometimes - like her dad ;). She makes me smile every day. She loves books and telling and writing stories. She likes school and always likes her teachers, even the one I didn't like very much. She sees the best in people almost all the time.
When I think back to when she was inside me, moving and growing, my heart fills up. When I remember holding her when she was small, I can still close my eyes and smell that baby smell she held. I love who she is, who she has become and is becoming and I love every moment of my life with her in it. You might say my heart is full.
For a long time after she was born, we tired for another child. I had 5 miscarriages and mourned some of them more than others, but all of them badly. Finally, it was all I could bear and we stopped treatments, stopped trying. Everyone said, "Now you'll probably get pregnant!" But we didn't and I was sad about that for a long time. Rachel asked for a sibling all the time when she was little. I prayed some miracle would happen and we could give her one. She asked if we could just go buy one at Wal-mart. I wished we could. But after a while, she came to understand there wouldn't be a sibling and my heart started to not mind so much. I think my resignation with the situation probably helped her come to terms with it. That dull ache I had every time I saw a pregnant woman, or a friend said she was expecting (usually again), or I watched a baby born in a movie or TV show, that ache finally started to go away. After a while I realized I hadn't even thought about it in a long time. The last time it crossed my mind, I actually thought how much it would stink to have a baby this late in the game. I totally don't want to go there again. Rachel is moving on to middle school and the thought of heading back to elementary with another is not appealing at all. Doing the diaper routine, up in the middle of the night, having someone who just needs so much has lost its appeal. I'm old now, too old, and maybe that's a part of the acceptance, too. Or maybe I just know we got it so perfect, did it so well the first time, why mess it up. It wouldn't happen now, after all these years, but of course I would accept it fine if it did. It's just not something I have to worry about anymore. And for the first time in a long time, I'm totally comfortable with that. It's a good feeling and a truly honest one.
When I think back to when she was inside me, moving and growing, my heart fills up. When I remember holding her when she was small, I can still close my eyes and smell that baby smell she held. I love who she is, who she has become and is becoming and I love every moment of my life with her in it. You might say my heart is full.
For a long time after she was born, we tired for another child. I had 5 miscarriages and mourned some of them more than others, but all of them badly. Finally, it was all I could bear and we stopped treatments, stopped trying. Everyone said, "Now you'll probably get pregnant!" But we didn't and I was sad about that for a long time. Rachel asked for a sibling all the time when she was little. I prayed some miracle would happen and we could give her one. She asked if we could just go buy one at Wal-mart. I wished we could. But after a while, she came to understand there wouldn't be a sibling and my heart started to not mind so much. I think my resignation with the situation probably helped her come to terms with it. That dull ache I had every time I saw a pregnant woman, or a friend said she was expecting (usually again), or I watched a baby born in a movie or TV show, that ache finally started to go away. After a while I realized I hadn't even thought about it in a long time. The last time it crossed my mind, I actually thought how much it would stink to have a baby this late in the game. I totally don't want to go there again. Rachel is moving on to middle school and the thought of heading back to elementary with another is not appealing at all. Doing the diaper routine, up in the middle of the night, having someone who just needs so much has lost its appeal. I'm old now, too old, and maybe that's a part of the acceptance, too. Or maybe I just know we got it so perfect, did it so well the first time, why mess it up. It wouldn't happen now, after all these years, but of course I would accept it fine if it did. It's just not something I have to worry about anymore. And for the first time in a long time, I'm totally comfortable with that. It's a good feeling and a truly honest one.
Sunday, June 8, 2008
And Then It Was Done
Ahhhhh, Monday was 5th grade continuation or graduation - which ever you're inclined to call it. I worked the morning in my usual spot - greeting kids and sending them on to breakfast or back outside to line up. Then I hung around and got most of the graduation parents signed in, badges on them and sent them to get seated in the gym with Jay holding our seats. I got a lot of compliments from kids and parents because I was in a dress for the first time ever at school. My feet were especially painful from shoes other than tennis shoes until my friend, T, brought me a chair. It was really nice of her and my feet felt better. After the graduation, when my camcorder which is older than the hills decided to die during, we said good-bye to the office women and lunch ladies and Rachel gave them gifts with sweet poems attached that she had written. And we walked away with promises to come back to visit which may never happen, but everyone says, "sure we will". Rachel got a little sentimental. I will miss all the people I worked with but two - one who was a pill and caused me great stress and pain and one who was/is a phony if I ever met one and I don't care to see again. I'll miss all the kids the most, though. I really did love that job and had it not been so rough on my feet and the worst of the worst circumstances hadn't occurred because of a jealous, hateful burned out co-worker, I would have stayed another year. But, it is behind me now.
We started the new swim team Monday night after graduation. Wouldn't you know it, though it's quite far from our home, walking in the gate I heard, "Hi, Mrs. J!" It was one of my 3rd graders. Go figure. Rachel was nervous but that passed once she was in the water and she immediately made 2 friends and a 3rd one on Wednesday. She is happy there and I am releived that she is on this team that seems so good at training kids to swim well and excites them to go fast. They use fins to practice and Rachel LOVES the speed those fins give her. It will help encourage her to swim faster for the meets, I believe. We have her own fins, team swim cap and tee shirt, the team swimsuit for the meets and 2 swimsuits to wear for practice. So, we're all set. Her first meet is in Greeley, where my oldest sister and her husband live and my parents will still be here visiting, so I am trying to work it out so we can all go see her swim. None of them has EVER seen her in any of the sports she has played in except my brother, Kevin, who saw her play soccer when she was little and my parents saw her at swim lessons once when she was very young. I'm hoping no one backs out and disappoints her - though it wouldn't be the first time.
Yes, lots of different emotions for me when I'm around my family, though we do a lot of laughing and I avoid any arguments by just not having an opinion about much of anything. Wish it could be different, but it is what it is.
Anyway, enough for now. I'm off to bed.
We started the new swim team Monday night after graduation. Wouldn't you know it, though it's quite far from our home, walking in the gate I heard, "Hi, Mrs. J!" It was one of my 3rd graders. Go figure. Rachel was nervous but that passed once she was in the water and she immediately made 2 friends and a 3rd one on Wednesday. She is happy there and I am releived that she is on this team that seems so good at training kids to swim well and excites them to go fast. They use fins to practice and Rachel LOVES the speed those fins give her. It will help encourage her to swim faster for the meets, I believe. We have her own fins, team swim cap and tee shirt, the team swimsuit for the meets and 2 swimsuits to wear for practice. So, we're all set. Her first meet is in Greeley, where my oldest sister and her husband live and my parents will still be here visiting, so I am trying to work it out so we can all go see her swim. None of them has EVER seen her in any of the sports she has played in except my brother, Kevin, who saw her play soccer when she was little and my parents saw her at swim lessons once when she was very young. I'm hoping no one backs out and disappoints her - though it wouldn't be the first time.
Yes, lots of different emotions for me when I'm around my family, though we do a lot of laughing and I avoid any arguments by just not having an opinion about much of anything. Wish it could be different, but it is what it is.
Anyway, enough for now. I'm off to bed.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)