Thank you for Being a Friend

This weekend, William and I met Dorothy and Don, Mae and Liz, a priest (who blessed us), and touched a baseball that Yogi Berra and Whitey Ford signed.

We talked about institutional food, military medals, 100-year-old photos of long-gone, distant relatives, practiced our two-phrase Polish vocabulary, were vigorously hugged and kissed, and ate dinner at 4:30 and got ready for breakfast at 8 sharp. We were stared at, reached out to, and thanked. We were asked to speak up and step closer. A lot.

Above all, we were thanked.

I guess that's not what I expected.

William's grandparents recently moved into an independent senior living complex in South Dakota, not too terribly far from their last home, and the home before that, a sprawling farm. Life has changed a lot for them since the farming days they know and love. It's hard accepting that you don't or can't do the work that you're used to. It's hard to wonder what you do next with your time and feeling like you have limited options.

There are a lot of people in their building who feel that way. Some were nuns, and helped the sick. Some were farmers. Some have kids spread across the country. Some served in WWII and can now talk about their days overseas, while they couldn't as young men. One man told me: "My daughters, they married lawyers. They have money that I could never imagine, while we hang on to whatever we got as hard as we can," clutching his fists in the air for emphasis. He sat close to me, nearly touching my face, because about two years ago, he began rapidly losing his sight. He told us about his medals, but only after we described what they looked like and what they said. THAT he remembered.

Then there was Liz. Liz was a nun who left the convent when her mother was dying. The nuns wouldn't let her leave, so she quit. She was lucky enough to meet the famed Yankees players Whitey Ford and Yogi Berra while working as a nurse in Rochester, Minnesota, with the photo and baseball to prove it. "You can kiss it," she told us, "if you want to." Then she laughed and took us on a tour of her favorite artwork, interrupting herself only long enough to take us to a friends' apartment upstairs, who made lots of beautiful things herself. She was about to get in the shower, but she put her "housecoat" on, and received us like we were old family.

We shook hands with strangers in the chapel, strangers who thanked us later for coming to shake their hands. We heard life stories, life sorrows. But always at the end, "But now you're here. And you just made my day." Or, "I'm so glad you are here. I feel like I know you already."

If you think you can't make a difference without spending a lot of money—If you think you can't do it without spending a lot of time—If you just don't ever get around to it, but you think you want to.

There are lots of seniors out there, who have memories to share and lives not yet fully lived (and they're fascinating). And they love young people, even if they're crotchety or don't see or walk so well. And if you just make eye contact, you have a new friend. A new friend dying to show you a cookie recipe or a ceramic pot or photos of their kids. A new friend who wants to know all about you and your life. A friend who needs a hug and a kiss, and maybe a "peace be with you."

William and I are lucky to have grandparents that are well and with it, even in their eighties and nineties. It's a treasure trove of stories, lessons learned, love, and kindness. And good recipes and laughs and chats about politics or what life was like, or how crazy life is now, or how good communities are built. (Watch a 92-year-old man talk about, and proficiently work, a cell phone. It's a trip.) Old men flirt better than anyone in the world. Grandmas just want to be that—grandmas.

But not all of these people have that. And they're starving for it—whatever it is that you have to offer. Not money, not gifts. Just your conversation and attention. And maybe you'd make a good friend. By just being you, by just being there, by just showing you're interested, you've made a friend for life. And you've made someone's day—someone who maybe feels like they don't have much purpose anymore.

It's a win-win. Because you'll walk away feeling like you have a purpose too, one that isn't an obligatory get-through-the-day, pay-the-bills one. A really important one, even if it's just a genuine five minutes of your time.

Happy Birthday, Baby

Today is my husband's twenty-ninth birthday.




You're a classic, honey.

I love you always and forever.

I will love you forever.

It's not often that you get to meet your childhood-friend's children. Think about it. A lot of times, people don't stay friends that long. From my own pink-corduroy, pigtailed days with Pamcakes to now, when I meet her at her house and meet her beautiful, thriving twins after a long, complications-frought pregnancy and delivery. Post ICU, post-hospital, and now, we are officially post-childhood. She has two absolutely perfect babies of her own.

I'm still in shock even though I've had more than 9 months of knowing this would happen, and was there at the hospital to witness it myself.

One of my oldest, bestest friends in the world has two baby girls. And although we are not related through blood, I love them with the intensity of an auntie. Their mom and I are like chosen sisters, rather than blood relatives. I love them thoroughly and completely, even if I just met them for the first time today, nearly three weeks after their birth. (Hey, that's not bad considering the circumstances.) Trust me, it killed me to wait those nearly 21 days to hold them in my arms and to inhale their baby scent and touch their tiny fingers and feet, and kiss their sweet cheeks.

Today I held a baby that shouldn't have even been born yet, not for at least two more weeks, this little negative-aged being. And they are both so, so, so tiny, their heads fitting neatly into the palm of my hand, their body fitting the space between my wrist and my elbow. They are petite, but they are fighters. Like their mom.

One of my nearest and dearest friends is a mom. We are no longer playing hide-and-seek, swimming at the public pool, throwing parties at our college apartment, or meeting for lunch on break from our first real jobs. She is a mother.

I will love you babies, forever and ever. You can always call me Auntie Katie. And I will always be there for you. Always. For every reason. You can call me late at night, ask me the embarrassing questions, and I will always bring you frivolous gifts, and I will always tell you the truth. I will let you chew the flavor of bubble gum that your mom hates the smell of, I will take you shopping and to the movies, and buy you treats you're not supposed to have, and I'll always, always, always love you. Always.

More foto fun

All worky on this northern front, so not much to say. So...look! A foto!


Here's one of my favorite photos of me and my dad.

Forces Pulling from the Center of the Earth Again

Today, I had mindbendingly-long work session in which I feel that my coworker and I should now be awarded a PhD in statistics, even though I can only speak for myself in that I have major issues with simple addition, let alone anything past basic, basic algebra. I feel smart. SMART. We are going to take over the world.

Then: long happy hour to celebrate four (4) people's birthdays. Packed like sardines. Loud people. Frat people. Too loud. Too much.

Then: quick stop at grocery store for NY Strip steaks.

Then: visit with my dad. Pick up my sweet, sweet mutt.

Then: Go home, toasty home, with husband and mutt, cook steaks, asparagus, broiled/toasted cheesy bread. Red wine. Ice water. Candles. Good conversation.

Now: Blogging.

Next: Some administrative stuff surrounding my freelance work. Working a LOT these days. Is good.

Then: Sleep, glorious sleep.

PS: Made major grammatical error and used "that" instead of "who" in last post. Makes my hair stand up on the back of my neck. Promise to avoid those errors in future. What was I thinking? Oh yeah, post-cupcake haze. Mmmmm cupcakes.

Wrap It Up

Tomorrow is William's birthday. I just made his wrapping paper. It's awesome. It's white kraft paper, but then I stamped it with these super sweet robot stamps in light blue, dark blue, and orange.

I am proud of my Martha-ing tonight.

That is all.

Sorry. It's been a hectic few days and I'm just dying to get into bed.

Sundays

Even though sometimes I get the blues on Sundays, thinking about gearing up for a new week, I've really come to enjoy them.

Now that football season is in full swing, William isn't around as much as he used to be on Sundays but I still luck out occasionally and he makes me blueberry or chocolate chip waffles while I wake up. Reading the Sunday paper. Not feeling pressured to get going early for any reason.

Today I woke pretty late (and I still need more sleep I think), and made trips to Trader Joe's and Target, getting groceries in order. I made a homemade mac-and-cheese hot dish (casserole for you non-Minnesotans), and cleaned up. Now I have the evening to read, watch my weekly cryfest (Extreme Makeover: Home Edition), finish the paper, have a snack, and snuggle up with a newly-groomed Mo and a cute husband.

It's getting colder and colder out, which makes me enjoy the comfort food and blankets all the more, even if I resist the idea that my birthday, and thus winter, are right around the corner. I can't believe I'm going to be 28. It's just weird.

That's really all I've got. It's been a nice, quiet day.

The Fight in the Dog, Part II

Sorry for the delay in updates. We had a crazy couple of days over here.

The first vet visit revealed: her heart murmur, diagnosed this spring, is a little worse. It's moved from a 2 to a 3 or 3.5. That's on a scale of 6. X-rays revealed that her heart is enlarged, from the extra work it goes through to make up for the valve that doesn't close properly. It could have led to a fainting episode, the scary episode I detailed in the last post. The vet seemed quite sure that was what happened. The progression of the disease is hard to gauge and hard to treat; it's controversial and none too cheap. Some dogs live years and years; some just live weeks. But, since she's been living with it for at least a few months now, I figured it will be a good long time. I was feeling so-so about the visit, sad that she's getting worse, but reassured she wasn't going to drop dead at our door.

Then this morning happened. I noticed Molly was a little more lethargic than normal, but nothing that immediately concerned me. I mean, dogs get tired, too, right? Then it ame time to leave. She heard my keys jingle and immediately jumped up, but when I realized I had forgotten something and went looking for it, she got confused. When I made it back to the door, she couldn't find me, despite my repeated calls for her to come "bye-bye" with me. I could see her shadow on the floor, her paws going one step to the left, then one to the right, as though she couldn't choose where I was calling from. I thought it strange but she eventually figured it out and I sort of immediately chalked it up to my paranoia.

Then we walked a few more feet. Molly, instead of doing her usual cute prance, was shuffling her feet, floppy, loose. Her head wasn't pointed up, but rather in the down position that usually indicates her dog-guilt over an accident or toilet-paper-eating incident. We turned down the long hallway that leads to the street where I park my car. She stopped at least three times and turned to her left, where she thought the door should be, and bumped her head against the wall, as though I'd opened the door for her. She was several feet away from the door.

When I got her to my parents' house, she was no better. Limp-limbed, uninterested mostly in exploring the house, running into my legs, running into the cabinets. I couldn't stop crying. I tried to hold myself together, but holy hell, it's really hard when someone (something, for you purists) is hurting and you can't help. She was responsive when I called her name and that sort of thing, so I felt at least confident enough to leave her there for a few hours, with a call put in to the vet's office.

The vet called me back around 11. My mom had reported that lil Mo was still pretty despondent. The vet told me that maybe it was something neurological, so Mo should come back for more tests (read: $$). I took her in about an hour ago. When I picked her up at my parents' house, she bounded ot the door, jumped on my legs, wagging her little nub-tail. Like my little Mo.

Mom threw up her hands. "Weirdest thing, in the last two hours, she's sorta revived," she says. (Mom, maybe it was your hamburger-and-rice offerings).

So she bonked into a cabinet at the vet's office but otherwise was sweet and gentle. Maybe not as feisty as I would have liked, but definitely improved. She sat nicely for her exam, and the vet reassured me that at least her heart was sounding stable and her lungs clear. There was perhaps some concern that Molly was having vision problems (she already has cataracts), but the vet also said that her pupils were responding and that Molly could definitely see fine.

They took some blood and did a pee test, and we'll hear about those results tomorrow morning. Think good thoughts!

For now, I can't tell you how happy my heart feels when I hear her bark at the slamming doors out in the hallway. That's my girl.

The Fight in the Dog

About a year and a half ago, a 17-pound, apricot-colored, furry, Muppetish, four-legged, curly-fluffed pal wandered into our life. She walked through the door at the Humane Society, just as we were about to leave, and William and I pointed to her in unison, and breathed out that "ohhhhh" like the Martians in the Crane Game in Toy Story.

She was ours in our hearts from that moment. We didn't buy her that day, but the next day we went back and scooped her up in our arms.

Not a month into owning her, (we think) she ate some of the poisoned dog food--remember that recall that killed so many innocent dogs?--and she had a very scary diarrhea-laden incident, one that led to a trip to the emergency vet and a diagnosis of "possible multiple-organ failure."

But she pulled through the night and continued to get better as the days wore on. After about two weeks of hamburger-and-rice diet, she was back to good as new.

Since then, she has brought us so much joy. So many laughs on a daily basis, so many comforting head-butts and snuggling on the couch. Protecting us from the wind and fellow dog-walkers, blowing trash and scary noises (her own leash unspooling from the handle). She has completed our little family. She is our Momo, like owner, like dog--a little blond anxiety-prone goofball. Like she has always been a part of us.

Last night, I thought Momo was leaving us, permanently. I was lying on the couch, watching a Johnny Cash documentary on PBS, William was at his computer. I looked down, and she was sitting strangely, her head hanging at an odd angle, her stomach heaving in a slow rhythm. I thought perhaps she was going to puke, so I asked her: "Mo, what are you doing?" She turned her head slowly, with a glassy-eyed stare. William also thought she was going to vomit, so he threw on his shoes and coaxed "outside!" to motivate her to go to the door. She managed to drag her little Muppet body over to the door, but while he was hooking her leash, she began to crumple, losing control of her bladder, her front legs stiffening and sticking out in front of her. She fell against the door. I was afraid she was choking, so I tried prying open her jaws, which were tightly clenched. I got my hand in her mouth, searching for something to pull out, anything, goddammit, what the hell is wrong what am I supposed to be doing?

I kept yelling her name. "Molly, Molly, tell me what's wrong, tell me what's wrong!" As if she'd respond. Her eyes rolled around in their sockets. That's when I really lost it, yelling and crying and shaking.

Then, she sort of roused, just as I was convinced she was dying an undignified death, in our hallway, at the hands of her helpless dog-parents. I was shaking like a leaf.

William guided her outside, where she sat in the grass, dazed, head hanging, dead-eyed. I called my sister, in hysterics. She couldn't even understand me at first. Eventually I managed to explain what happened, while William calmly petted Molly and spoke to her softly. Susie thought that she maybe had a seizure. She waited patiently with me on the phone while William and I watched Molly slowly come around.

A few minutes later, William walked her around the block. I stood on the corner, still shaking like crazy, heart pounding, holding a roll of paper towels (to clean up her accidents on the way downstairs) and alternately crying and laughing on the phone with Susie, like a crazy person. Adrenaline was coursing through my body and I felt totally and completely unhinged. Then, finally, William appeared with our Molly, and she looked every bit like the Mo we saw that first day, from that first "Ohhh."

"Is she ok? Is she better?" Molly pranced around my feet, panting.
William says, "Well, she flushed a rabbit out of the bushes and chased it, tried to fight a dog and peed where it was standing, and kicked up the grass afterwards. I think she's fine."

Even then I couldn't calm down, although the words hit me with a wave of gratefulness that I'm unable to properly describe.

She's seemed totally fine in the 24 hours since. As I told my brother on the phone later that night, I think I'm more traumatized than she is. Right now I can see her, splayed out on the wood floor (it's cooler) snoozing away now that snacks are put away, dinner is eaten, and we're just relaxing in front of the TV, like any normal night.

Tuesday afternoon: the Vet. Please don't cost a fortune. Please don't get more bad news about our poor cockapoo, who just deserves to live out her life cushy-style. Please don't let me or William have a nervous breakdown (me really being the please in that one).

I don't know if I've ever felt so desperate, so responsible for a being's life.

What I do know—Molly is our furry baby, she completes our family. I know she won't be here forever, but 9 is too damn young for a small dog. Too little time spent with two people who love her like crazy—plus her grandparents who take her almost every work day and love her too. Plus everyone else. Molly makes people happy. And Molly has a lot more happy-making days in her. I have to think that. There's a lot more fight in the dog, as they say.

Mommy

My mom:

waves goodbye out the window each time I drive away from the house.

loves true crime books and mobster movies/shows.

makes the best spaghetti sauce you will ever eat—truly, I have never had better.

taught me I'm supposed to iron the collar and cuffs on a shirt first. (and that everything i own needs a better pressing. she's a first-rate ironer).

cries when young kids win olympic gold medals.

loves babies and children and has a knack for communicating with even the most difficult ones. When we go to Target, I know when her students are there because they get the same wide-eyed stare I'd give Madonna if I saw her buying toilet paper.

gave me her: exact color of eyes (blue-gray), pale skin, chiclet teeth, thank-god-its-fast metabolism. Even my knees look like my mom's. I am practically a clone of my mom, although my nose is different and my feet look just like my dad's.

worries more than she should.

has started to call Mo her granddoggie, a day I thought I'd never see!

has always said all we kids had to do was our best. If that wasn't an A or first place or taking the obvious path to our goals, that didn't matter. As long as it was our best.

walks quickly, in shorter strides. Her mom said she ran first.

is usually hurrying, but always has time to talk. ALWAYS.

completes, or nearly completes, the New York Times crossword puzzle.

loves flowers and gardening and hates lima beans.

has been right about just about everything that she warned me she was right about.

including one of her common phrases: this too shall pass.

now I use it all the time, too.

still signs her emails to me "love mommy." even though I don't always call her that out loud anymore.

is still my mommy. Always.

never compared her children to each other. Always made us feel loved equally (although we tease her about Chris being her favorite). I think that's a pretty amazing feat.

understands both sides of stories most of the time. She's a true middle child.

is an adventurous eater and taught me to be one, too. (Although I still hate bananas and melon.) we like to go out to eat together.

loves to be included in new adventures, travel, restaurants, or hearing a new CD. Life is learning.

once cut out a photo of George Michael (this was the '80's after all) in his Faith days, and hung it on the inside of a cabinet door in our kitchen. She liked him.

and Cher, and Bon Jovi. And I can remember dancing around to Bruce Springsteen's album Born in the USA in our living room with her.

puts everyone else first.

wears Calyx perfume.

always made us the dinner of our choice on our birthdays. Also, we were allowed to choose a cake, and she made it at home.

didn't go to college, but I'd hazard a guess and say she would have majored in architecture or interior design if she had.

is incredibly intelligent. She's a voracious reader and puzzle do-er. She 'gets' people, too.

read to me every night when I was little. Even as the books got longer, we would just read a chapter or two aloud every night. one of our favorites was Island of the Blue Dolphins.

enjoys setting a table. Maybe she wouldn't think so, but the effort she puts in shows. She loves getting the right napkins and cute salad plates and even covers the chairs. She makes events more special because of it.

has completely rocked at being a mom. It's just her nature. She has connected with her children and grandchildren and their significant others and just about everyone around her because she is a good listener, fast with a laugh, and kind. She's engaging and charming and beautiful, too.

As I get older, I realize what a sacrifice being a mother is. On how many days it is a completely thankless job. I realize how not everyone is meant to be a mom. How selfless and giving you'd have to be to become a successful one. How much love you have to give. How lucky I am to have gotten such an amazing mom, who is my friend and mom. Who I respect and adore. I am not even a mom yet, but I feel like I get what she has done for us as a mom, sent us out into the world prepared as well as a mom can, continuing to send us home with leftovers and sometimes calling to make sure we got home safely.

Thank you, Mommy, for the sacrifices you have made for your three kids. I realize now how difficult some of them might have been, but you never making us feel like they were. Thanks for always being proud of my "best." For supporting my decisions and my emotions, and for even telling me when I was completely crazy in a nice way. Thank you for being enthusiastic about all my successes and telling me my failures were just learning experiences. thank you for telling me when I feel down and out that "Mom still loves you, Dad still loves you, Susie and Chris still love you, William still loves you" and on and on until I smile at all the people who love me and realize my troubles aren't so bad. I hope someday, I can repay you. Perhaps one day I will show up at your door with my coat pressed, after all. I love you so much.

blog blah blah

i'm boring, so bullet points today.
*i didn't sleep enough last night.
*it was EIGHT degrees when i got up this morning. i am so not ready for this.
*getting up when it's dark and eight degrees is near impossible.
*registering is underway! (crate & barrel and bed bath and beyond. target to follow)
*it really helped me to have a few days off last week.
*william kept complaining he didn't feel well, then complained of a sore neck.
*i am a little bit of a hypochondriac, so i called my sister, asking if he had meningitis.
*he doesn't.
*she laughed at me.
*his neck feels a bit better today.
*i love my dog.
*also, my hot dish turned out fantastic.
zasq (molly just typed that)
*i am not great with plants. but we have a christmas cactus in full bloom and it's shockingly pink and gorgeous and hibiscus-y looking.
*this pleases me to no end.

grateful day

i'm going to list my gratefulnesses early. so sue me. they are numbered, but not ranked. please don't confuse.

1. i have a darling fiancé that loves me. he also encourages me to be goofy sometimes, and that is such a good thing.

2. i complain a lot about money, but i am grateful that i have a good job that i'm good at.

3. thank you for health insurance.

4. i have been surrounded by strong, empowered women my whole life: my mom, my sister, both my grandmas, various other female influences (thanks to my high school and college teachers, coworkers, etc.)

5. i have not forgotten girlfriends. thank GOD for my girlfriends. i am so lucky to have each and every one of them. they each bring out different parts of me, but still we fit well together.

6. the men in my life: what can i say? i am a daddy's girl through and through. my brother is one of my best friends. he makes me laugh uncontrollably. william already got a mention. my friend fatty--we can talk about anything for hours.

7. i love that my little car, sideswiped as it may have been, is still cute--and most importantly--running! with little maintenance (knock on wood several times).

8. i can turn up the heat when i get cold. i also have a couple winter coats, scarves, and mittens.

9. i graduated from college. i have an education no one can take away from me.

10. i'm not afraid of public speaking.

11. i have a dog that is excited to see me, every time she sees me. even if i was just in the bathroom. god is that a great thing.

12. i haven't traveled extensively but i have traveled. i have been to aruba, new york city (w/william), washington dc, chicago, michigan, iowa (for cherry 7up, thanks to fatty), florida (spring break, cindy!), prague (with my mommy), hawaii, aruba. all my travels have made me a better person.

13. my mom and dad are healthy (again, knock on wood). this is obviously one of my sensitive issues, and i think about it every day. yay healthy!

14. my life isn't perfect, but a lot of it has held happiness for me. today's a day to focus on it. (and tomorrow). and always.

15. everything is going mostly as planned for the wedding.

16. dr pepper

17. coffee

18. my favorite thai restaurant

19. the nice people at my favorite chinese restaurant.

20. i live in a loft that is all ours. and i'm happy with what's inside it, too.

21. i've gotten to see most of my favorite bands live.

22. oranges, pineapples, tomatoes, cheese. and the money to buy them.

23. i can sleep like a rock any time i need to, mostly.

24. i laugh easily; the downside is that i also cry easily

25. i can call my family my friends; my friends my family.

26. you're still reading! i love all my new internet/blogging friends. i really do.

mostly, i am thankful for good health, loved ones whether they are related or not, and safety and security. when it comes down to it, that's the most important stuff, and i've got that in spades. so what if i don't have the latest designer jeans. right? right?

happy thanksgiving.i hope you have lots to be thankful for, too.

random super fun mix (hope i fool you with the title)

today my mom left my mail (a lot of it still goes to my parents' house) on the kitchen table, as she was gone when i came to pick up molly and she didn't want me to miss it. on top was a ziploc tupperware thing, with a piece of cake tucked inside, with a note on top:
"something for you and william to share. heart, mom"
i pink puffy heart my mom.
mom, i don't know if you read, but you are awesome. it makes my heart bigger that you leave me little notes like that. you are the ultimate mommycakes.


*******

going to sharon jones and the dap kings on friday. thanks, fatty, for finding tickets.


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project runway in 16 minutes! woo hoo!


*******

sorry i'm a little boring today. i had an allday meeting.


*******

sent questions to our lodging place for honeymoon! one little step closer!


*******

i leave you with a funny photo of william and my brother, taken last weekend:

william and my brother:

my veteran

those of you who know my political beliefs (and now the rest of you will know some) know already that i'm pretty opposed to war. i really do think that violence begets more violence. and i'm no genius, but i was pretty sure on 9/12 that war was imminent, and that it would be long and bloody. really, i'm nearly a pacifist. i know that doesn't work in the real world, but whatevs. i'm voting for peace.
that said, today is a special day. it's veteran's day, and my family has soldiers in it (ending with my generation). both my grandfathers served in WWII, one in europe, one in the south pacific. one of my grandpas met a woman with stigmata in germany, and my other grandpa was pictured in. . . crap. . . my memory fails. . . an important national magazine, while carrying out duties none of us should ever have to face. they were kind, decent men who went to war because they had to.
so did my dad. he was drafted when he turned 18 and sent to vietnam.
my dad is a hero.
he will never, ever, EVER tell you that, so don't even ask him. i'm telling you. It’s my opinion. And he’d be super embarrassed to hear it. And I know it conflicts wildly with my politics.
he went to vietnam, carried out his duties under the big red 1--charlie company--was wounded, was honored for his bravery, finished his tour, and was sent home honorably. a newsweek photographer happened to be following his company, and imagine my family's surprise when they saw his face on the cover of newsweek at the grocery store. (my family has a knack for media, i guess.)
he keeps his medals out of sight, and he almost never speaks of his time overseas, unless he’s telling me how I’d never make it in the army because I don’t like my food to touch on my plate, or some other benchmark of toughness I should aspire to.
But despite his relative silence on the topic, his experiences have left an indelible mark on my whole family, and I have a greater appreciation for what soldiers give up and contribute to our world. They are more than the numbers you hear on the news. They are all heroes.
A soldier who lived down the street from my parents was killed just a few months ago. In the paper this Sunday, they had a little profile about him. I didn’t know him, even though he was my parents’ neighbors (down the block), but when he died, a flag was flown outside, and lots of soldiers came to the house to honor him. He loved to make breakfast for his family and sing them songs. He learned how to quilt so he could spend more time with his wife. He gave his life for his calling (whether or not you feel that is just, or fair, or even in defense of our country). He sacrificed, and now his young family has, too.
And even if you don’t agree with the war now, there are all these soldiers—and the people affected by them; family, friends—who are awaiting their arrival home, hopefully whole, both mentally and physically.
I hope someday we get to a point where veteran’s day seems as antiquated as george washington’s birthday. . .some long-ago time, where we can’t even comprehend how people warred. (or, I guess, wore wooden dentures . . . ok, not a good analogy).
But until then, even though I oppose the war, any war, I plan to celebrate these soldiers and their lives. And my dad. Because he’s my dad. And he’s a former army man. And he’s amazing. And, really, he’s all about peace, too.

on grandparents

on the way home from the grocery store, i got to thinking. . . and this is the total word-nerd in me. . . why do we call grandparents, grandparents? after all, usually, someone who comes before or above another is "super". . .supervisor, for example. then i started thinking of how funny it would be if we called our grandparents "superparents" instead. it's like they are comic book heroes with extra-special parenting skillz! i had a good giggle, picturing my grandma with a cape with a big capital J on it. yes, i know. big nerd.
but i got around to thinking that i never wrote about my grandparent-filled weekend when we went to south dakota for william's grandma's funeral. i never knew his grandpa on that side; and it'd be a big stretch to say i knew his grandma. but i have gotten to know his mom's parents, and his grandpa makes my heart ache for the ones that i haven't had since childhood.
there is something about grandpas. i want to bake them cookies and make them flirt with me and have them teach me everything there is to know.
william's grandpa's name is ernest, let's start there. perfect grandpa name, right? he's 90 years old, has nine children, and farmed his whole life. i think he still would if he could. but 90 ain't got nothin' on this guy. his mind. . . i actually don't even know any 26-year-olds with a memory like his. he remembers being three years old and sneaking into his dad's sled under the blanket to try to steal a ride into town for candy. that was EIGHTY-SEVEN years ago, in case you need the math. he remembers his dad selling a car in 1925 for $50 and a bad cow. he can tell you all about all about the destruction and aftermath of leaving nine teenager-aged childen home alone on the farm when he finally took his first vacation with his beloved wife, betty. (". . .and the snowmobile, it was up by ted henning's house. . .") he loves baseball and bingo--although he says "that's not gambling, that's recreation!" and he loves his family. he drags out large photo albums and details all their accomplishments and relatives and goings-on over the years in his fargo-like accent (tinged with a kind of stoutness that must be the polish he can also speak). he's a master of the wink. he loves the ladies. the love that he has for his wife (and she has for him) brings tears to my eyes. they have been married for sixty-something years (i hope that's right) and it's like they're still seeing each other for the first time. they live each day trying to outdo each other in acts of kindness. it's the kind of marriage that i think everyone dreams of, once they realize that they too will get old, and hopefully they will still be with that person they fell in love with before they got wrinkles and arthritis, when they still danced on friday nights.
betty tells me, "you know, ernest tells me every day that he loves me. and sometimes he forgets if he said it or not, so he'll ask, 'did i tell you i loved you yet today? well, i love you.' " her eyes twinkle when she tells me this. "i guess that's why he had nine kids."
we had a good laugh over that. but i made this little wish that william and i could still be that in love that far down the road.
it's amazing, the marks that our grandparents leave on our hearts and minds, the ghosty way that i'm still tethered to mine after so many years of them being gone. i can remember sitting at my grandma jeanne's kitchen table with grandpa bill, before we knew he was sick, and him singing 'the three little kittens' to me. and me carrying on, 'no, grandpa, no! not again!' because he knew it drove me crazy. he loved to drive kids crazy. i can remember him showing me the cookie jar and telling me that cookies were not worth eating if they weren't double-stuf oreos. i can remember him taking me to the park with my cousins, and opening up the trunk of his car, and inside it, a cooler. filled with pop. . . grape, orange, you name it. and telling me, "you can have as much of this as you want today." it was like we'd struck gold. he also bought me pink minnetonka moccasins and a care bears necklace for christmas. he really seemed to know a girl's heart.
my other grandpa was very different from my grandpa bill, from what i recall. he was quieter, a bit gentler. he loved golf. he once had a heart attack on the green. . . but finished his game before going to the hospital. (so i heard once). he loved mountain dew and doublemint gum, which he kept on a shelf above his desk. he taped shows for me off the disney channel. . .he came to regret that. annie and the secret of nimh. . . required watching every time i visited. he had a beautiful little rose garden in his backyard, which he meticulously maintained. i can remember climbing the apple tree, he putzing around in the yard. i can remember what his giggle sounded like, and that he always was jingling the change in his pocket. i loved going to their house, there was something so safe and warm there, and like there was so much to get my hands into. i don't remember my grandpas telling me many stories about growing up or any of those things, yet i still feel like i carry them around with me.
and if i'm marrying into this family, then they are kind of my grandparents too, right? i'm going to soak up as much of it as i can. tell me your stories, so that i know what it was like. and how i can live a life as decently, as love-filled, as miraculously, as you have yours.

turn the wheel

sorry for the absence. it's been a strange week.
william's grandma passed away this morning. she had been sick for a while, and it was her time. we heard last week that she was not going to be in this world for much longer, so last weekend we drove to brookings, the small town in south dakota where she's been living, to see her. she was mostly asleep. we talked to her about getting married, and william told her he loved her. it reminded me of when i visited my grandma for the last time, which still brings tears to my eyes, so of course i felt deeply sad, knowing what he was feeling in those moments. i didn't know his grandma at all, but i feel the pain of that loss nonetheless.
william's aunt, who is a wonderful lady with a beautiful smile, found out she has breast cancer. please think some happy, healthy thoughts for her as she embarks on her treatment. since william and i have met, and i met her, she has always been very welcoming and sweet to me, which meant a lot to me. i think very highly of her, and i'm thinking all kinds of anti-cancer thoughts. i know that she can beat it.
and hten there's that whole other new life that's come into our world, and it's very happy news! william's sister had her baby, and it is a boy, and he is darling and perfect in every way. i got to hold him the day he was born and the day after, and there is just something so incredibly special about brand new babies. i know i'm going to sound cheesy here, but it's so miraculous. that baby was just inside someone, and now they are here, and ready to learn and be loved and all this good stuff and it always gives you such hope for the future. he opened his eyes and looked around the room and it was like. . . no child had opened its eyes before or something. and oh, the yummy new baby smell. can't replicate that anywhere.
so that's been the last week (and most of that last weekend), and so there's been a lot going on here, so sorry for the absence. i'm still in a blocky area where the words just aren't coming the way they should, which is frustrating and hard, especially at a time like this, when writing can soothe me so much.
rise and fall, turn the wheel, all life is, is a circle. ("circle", big head todd and the monsters)

every woman loves a deal

i am constantly on the lookout for good shoes. i'm really picky, and i can't really wear heels (too much pain, people!), and, well, i hate a lot of things. i love ballet flats--thank god they are in style right now--but a lot of them are clunky or matronly, so i'm picky about those, too. i have lots of shoes i lust after, but i just can't have. i can't deal with heels. kitten heels, cool, up to about 2 1/2 inches, but after that, i'm done. i have one pair of super high stilettos. they're dark purple mock croc mary-jane style, and they are hot. me lying in bed the next day, moaning about my sore back? not so hot. they don't get a lot of wear.
so today, i found two pairs of flats--on sale! exciting. i'm looking for some colored shoes, because most of what i own now is black, gray, or brown in various styles. now that my wardrobe is mostly black and gray (am i a new yorker at heart? i never get sick of either color), i feel like i need some color somewhere, and shoes seem like agood place to start.

here was what i really wanted:


and



but as you can see, imposing heels. 4 1/4 inches? out of control. do you know, for one thing, how tall that makes me? about five-eleven. no, not necessary. cameron diaz i am not. for my balance and my back health.

ok, so then i found these:



and these, which i got in that same dark purple as the toe on the other one (there were none left on the website):



so i think i did pretty well.
it was an unplanned shopping trip with my mom. one second i was helping her with her computer, and the next my car was driving itself to the mall with her in the passenger seat. this happens, sometimes, when we get together, and i have to say, it is some of the best free time i spend. i love that my mom and i are such good friends.

my mom is an awesome lady. she is funny, smart, helpful, generous, beautiful, and very kind. she has always put everyone else first, her whole life. she loves being a mom and it shows. i often think to myself that my mom is a far better mother than i will ever be. she always let my siblings and i do our own thing, encouraging us every step of the way. she always loved us, without reserve or condition. she's imaginative and resourceful. she is a great listener and loyal. she has taught me so many things about being a good person and living a good life. she cries with you and laughs with you. and sometimes tells you to laugh when you want to cry. if i grow into half the woman she is, i'd consider my life to be pretty successful.

i'm lucky because i'm entering into a family where i get a mother-in-law who is great, too. she has accepted me into the family, including me and making me feel comfortable. she shares cooking tips with me and shows me her latest crafty projects (you name the craft, this woman has done it). she is always telling me about the bargains she gets--talk about resourceful! one of the best parts about her is her giggle. she has a really funny sense of humor, almost bordering on an impish way--like she's been naughty, but she's one of the least naughty people i know. she is a good person, inside and out, very devout, but also loves to have a good time. she has really supported william and i in our endeavors, which means a lot to us. i look forward to getting to know her even better as time wears on; i know that eventually i will have even more nice things to say of her. i feel extremely lucky to be gaining another strong woman in my life. you can never have too many of those.

i got a good deal.