"Well, What Do Ya Know, Bud and Henry!"

My Uncle Bud died. Well, Great-Uncle Bud, real name Eugene, but he was always Bud to me. He was my Grandpa Hank's brother. They looked kind of alike with their shiny bald heads and man, could they both rock the old man specs.

Uncle Bud was a complicated person, but who isn't? I wasn't old enough to perfectly understand the complexities of his early years. And I'm thankful for that. To me, Uncle Bud was the cool guy that was born on the Fourth of July. We saw him every year on his birthday, until he no longer could handle all the commotion that company brought. I've felt like something was missing every Fourth of July since then.

Uncle Bud lived on a river with a slow current and a pebbly bottom. Perfect. Kid. Paradise. He liked to invent thing. Although I don't know if it was original to him, he did have a potato cannon launching spuds for us kids one year. He made model replicas of a John Deer tractor with teeny tiny parts. My mom is a proud owner of one of the very few of these. He always had firecrackers and bottle rockets. He used to light the firecrackers in his hand and then toss them in the air. One finger was mysteriously shorter than the others. We kids never knew how he lost the tip, but we suspected it was fireworks related.

On one visit to our house, Uncle Bud and Grandpa Hank were sitting on lawn chairs in the yard. Grandpa's dog and our dog were playing. We'd never really thought much about the dog's names before. Buddy and Henry, were named just because the names fit and we like them. Grandpa tipped back in his chair and said, "Well, what do ya know, Bud and Henry!" And we laughed. Grandpa died when I was fourteen. I'm sure he welcomed Bud into Heaven and I hope they're laughing.

Bud introduced us to the hidden campground pictured above. I thank him every time I'm there and will continue to do so as I pass this treasure on to my son. (And, no, I won't tell you where it is without DNA testing to see if you're family)

The last time I saw Bud, he was in such pain he could hardly bear life. I'm so glad that's over.

Thank you Bud. For your love. You always made me feel like I was just the person you were waiting to see. I'll miss you.

In the End, You Need Nothing But Love

I was able to spend several hours with my grandma while she made her journey out of this life. She was at times coherent and at others, she slept and was unresponsive. During those times, my mind wandered. I remember caring for my dad during the night before he died. I thought about the similarities of dad's and grandma's journeys.

Dad mentioned seeing his mother. Grandma mentioned seeing her first husband. Both did what I call air picking. Both possibly symptoms of the death of the brain, but, I'd rather think that they are working towards and meeting with those that have passed before them. I know, deep in my heart, that our souls are powerful and that they must continue on past the life our bodies can hold. This mysterious transition from life into what's next is fascinating and frightening at the same time.

As Grandma slept, I looked around her small room. In my lifetime, I'd seen Grandma move from a house, to a condo, to a small apartment, and finally to one small room barely big enough for a twin bed, chair, and television. Every move meant that she needed less stuff. Bit by bit it was sent away, given away, donated, sold, or tossed. Her life had become smaller and only the valuable parts remained. Family. Memories. Pictures.

It had come down to the end of her life and what mattered most was not what she owned, but who she knew and who she loved. The precious trappings of life that she had left were so dear. Pictures of her family, her boys, her grandchildren and great-grandchildren were the most prized. She commented to my mom at one point how her family was smiling down on her, surrounding her.

Every time I've been with someone who is dying, I am reminded of what we take with us and what we leave behind. I suppose it's easy to get caught up in the pursuit of stuff and more stuff and more stuff and greater and more expensive things. But, if you have a moment, think about what you'd like to be surrounded by when you die.

Love is really all there is. To cultivate that and the experiences of life, forming memories is really all we have.

I Will Always and Forever Be...Your Duckman

Young One's locker keeps jamming because the girl next to him doesn't clean hers out. The papers from her locker ooze out and cause her neighbor's lockers to jam. Annoying, yes, but not life ending. I told him to talk to her about it. He blushed a ferocious shade of red and said, "Maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhm" and left the room. She's pretty cute, I've seen her. Maybe one day her messiness will be endearing.

I'm flashing forward to prom dates, corsages, first dates...

Now flashing back to my own school locker neighbors. I wonder what happened to the Duck Man that was next to me. He wore white shoes just like Ducky's. He drank vodka mixed with milk from an old Thermos. He told me it kept his ulcers at bay. And, apparently, fed his addiction. I wonder about him from time to time. I was always nice to him. Felt sorry for him. Worried about him.

In a school that held strong boundary lines between groups, I walked over the lines a lot. Our lockers were assigned by alphabetical order. I could have swapped with someone to be closer to my group of friends, but I never did. I preferred to have my own space.

My Ducky made me laugh between classes. We had our inside jokes. Sometimes, looking back on it, I wonder if I was the only person at school that was nice to him. He didn't have a lot of money. He dressed in his own creations of combination thrift store and hand me down. His white shoes were maybe meant to be fun, but my suspicions were that they were his one and only pair.

I wonder what's become of my Duck Man. I guess I need to do a little digging.

Happy Birthday Sesame Street

Sesame Street turns 40 today. I turn 40 next March. We both grew up together.

My son gasped when I told him that Elmo didn't exist when I watched Sesame Street as a kid.

I remember the First Gordon. Well, it was in reruns because I think I was two when he left, but I still remember! I remember when the set was nothing but one little section of the Street. I remember the first versions of the Muppets. I remember when everyone thought that Big Bird's friend Snuffleupagus was his imaginary friend and how frustrated he'd get when they wouldn't believe him.

Anyone else remember Mr. Hooper?

So Happy Birthday Big Bird, Bert, Ernie, Bob, Grover, Oscar, Gordan, Susan, Count, Elmo, Prairie Dawn, Snuffie, and everyone else that I can't remember.

Our Sesame Street years went by so quickly here, but I still love it. If I had the time, I'd probably tune in daily. I once had a goal to work on Sesame Street. The peaceful, loving people that populated it's cast and crew still amaze me.

I'm so sorry for the video, but I heard it on the radio this am and had to share it. It got me giggling. There have been many parodies of Sesame Street. I remember when a group decided to boycott Sesame Street because of it's gay characters--Bert and Ernie. Um. OK. They're Muppets and roommates, not a groundbreaking TV story line. And even if they were, who cares...

Through it all, this show has introduced children to education, to peaceful living, and how to love and care for one another. It has carried on, it's timeless, and I hope it lives forever.

Happy Birthday.

Still Crazy After All These Years

Look what $300 can get you at an arcade!

"Mom, they had these back when you were a kid?"

"I think they had them when Great-Grandma was a kid."

"For real?"

"Yes, even back in Biblical times, these glasses were a comedy main stay."

Silence.

"They must have really needed it back then what with the flood, babies floating down rivers in baskets, and whales eating people."

You can't argue with genius.

A Sad Day

Today was a sad day for Young One. He lost both a teacher and a classmate.

His librarian had been fighting a battle against Leukemia for about a year. She died on Sunday.

His classmate was a handicapped child who suddenly developed pneumonia and died early this morning of complications from pneumonia.

Our hearts are sad and we're trying to understand all of this. We're also remembering all of the lessons that we've learned from Nathan and Kay's lives. They were each wonderful in very different ways!

Somewhere in Heaven, we hope that Nathan is running and leaping and enjoying no more limitations. And that Kay is right along side him. We hope that they're reading together and have been welcomed by all the loved ones who left before them.

So much for such young kids to be hit with and to understand, it's hard as a parent to help navigate some of this. There have been lots of questions and some that I can only answer with that painful honesty that is necessary, but oh so hard to deliver.

My heart breaks every time I think of Nathan's parents and his family. To lose a child, well, there are no words.

The Comb Over

I was a teenager in the eighties. Not a decade that I would recommend going through that awkward stage of life. Big shoulder pads ala Linda Evans on Dynasty, jelly shoes, Duran Duran haircuts, black rubber bracelet by the dozens, acid wash jeans. Well, I suppose all were very fine and good on their own, but when you're thirteen and you decide to combine all of these looks. Um. That's bring the photographic evidence out for the surprise fortieth birthday party good.



One of the fads that I never quite got the hang of was the Jordache jeans with the fat handled comb in the pocket. This may have been a trend that bled over from the seventies into the eighties. No matter what the date of it's relativeness, it's still a source of deep and conflicted shame for me. (Not really, but teen angst is so exquisite and hysterical in it's pain, I just can't come up with the words well enough to describe it. Not without waxing on too much or laughing a bit anyway.)

You all know I come from a long line of frugal fanatics. As kids, we always had everything that we needed, but not everything that we wanted (a pretty good balance that makes for good kid rearing if I do say so). The Comb Debacle, as I like to think of it now, is a great example of need vs. want. I wanted the big fat comb that would fit in the back pocket of my deliciously embroidered pocket of my almost close, but not quite Jordache wanna be jeans. I discussed the requirement of this fat comb with great detail with my mom while she cooked dinner. We talked about it in the car on the way to some miscellaneous school activity. For good measure, I talked about it again before bed. On first awakening, I mentioned, yet again, the importance and relevance of a fat handled comb peeking out from one's right cheek pocket. (For some reason, it had to be the right side. I'm a rightie. This worked for me.)

Mom listened intently. Or, as I now know as a mom, she appeared to be listening while nodding, smiling, and agreeing, all the while most likely thinking about how many eggs are left in the fridge and whether the washing machine would make it through just one more year.

She made a trip to the drugstore that day. We lived in a small town, pickings were slim. You had either the Ben Franklin ("Dime Store") or Woll's Pharmacy. When I got home from school, I rushed into the house, eager to see my new. fat. handled. just like the cool kids had. comb.

I'm such a good daughter. I know that now. I know that what took place that evening was an Oscar worthy performance. For mom, in her thriftiness had purchased the cheaper, multi-pack of combs. In it, was a wide variety of combs in many colors. One even was marbled with purple and blue. There was a small fat handled comb, that most certainly would not peek beguilingly out of my right back pocket, but would merely create the outline of a short, fat handled comb in my pocket. Not. Quite. Right.

I smiled. I said a quiet thank you, holding back tears. I knew, money was tight. I couldn't complain, and I most certainly couldn't demand that the combs be returned in exchange for just one comb that would cost more than this entire package. We could use these combs, and, after all, mom had brought home a fat handled comb, right?

And then I saw it. The pink, rat tail comb. Do you know what a rat tail comb is? It's a regular, close toothed comb, with a long, sharp, pointed handle capable of parting hair within an inch of it's life, or poking your eye out.

A light bulb moment long before Oprah coined the phrase: I would start a new trend. I would be the girl with her own individual style. I would put the rat tail comb in my right back pocket and legions of teens would begin to follow ME. There would be a rush on rat tail combs and I'd manufacture my own sparkly brand. I would have a featured article in Seventeen Magazine. Maybe I would even meet Michael Jackson and he would fall madly in love with me and we'd live together on Neverland Ranch and sing Thriller together with our matching white, sequined gloves.

(Insert dream sequence blurry lines here...)

You see where this is going, don't you? Do I really have to talk about sitting down in my first class with Mr. Erhart? That first sit after carefully placing my new trend setting comb in my right back pocket? The one where the rat tail scraped a six inch gash up my back and being too cool for school, I suffered quietly through.

Thankfully, the comb fad faded. I moved on to black fingernail polish on nine inch nails, fluorescent dangly earrings, and leg warmers. I still hold on to the defense that I was a fashion victim when the photos surface.

Funny side story, when I helped my parents move out of their five bedroom farmhouse, I found that pink rat tail comb. I almost kept it.

The Great Snow Escape

Once a year we head out of the frozen North to somewhere sunny. It's an escape we look forward to and scrimp and save for all year.

Two years ago, we went to Orlando to escape the stress of our business and to make some very crucial decisions about it. It's hard to be anything, but a big smiling kid in that town! So, when planning our trip and looking at where we could get super cheap flights last fall, we ended up choosing Orlando again. We thought it would be nice to go back without the weight of the world on our shoulders!

We're looking forward to escaping the cold, escaping the stress of day to day life, and watching Young One grin. We take a very relaxed approach when it comes to exploring Disney World or any other theme park. We watch the harried families rush around and we just relax and enjoy whatever we're doing. We also like to escape from the theme parks and explore some of the other things that Florida has to offer. Last time we were there, the highlight of the trip, was watching manatees in their natural habitat.

I've scheduled some posts for when I'm gone.

We'll be home on the 24th!

(Below is one of my manatee friends. I named him Chuck. I would still be there watching if D and Young One hadn't pulled me away! Hope I get to see him again, or maybe his brother Larry and his sister Mabel.)

Bittersweet Halloween

My dad died on Halloween morning, four years ago. I can still remember that morning like it was yesterday. My dad had pancreatic cancer. He lived 11 months after diagnosis, which is a very long time. We had plenty of time to say goodbye, I guess, but that didn't make his death any easier. You always wish for more time.

So, needless to say, Halloween is a bittersweet holiday for me. Quite honestly, the night my dad died, I have no idea where Young One was or who was with him. I'm pretty sure he was with D and some friends trick or treating, but I can't quite be sure. You see, that morning is still clear as crystal to me, but the rest of the day, well, it's a much needed blur. I had been up all night with Dad, helping him die. I guess that's the only way it can be put. My brothers couldn't handle it and my mom was dizzy with grief and emotion. I had to take charge. So, I held him and helped him clear his lungs. I kept him warm and comfortable and increased his oxygen when he needed it. I did loads and loads of laundry, running from his recliner to the washer and dryer.

Hospice was so wonderful, teaching us how to medicate dad to help him peacefully pass. This has always been something that's sort of bothered me. As a nurse, I know what those doses of medications would have done to a healthy person. I know for sure, though, that cancer killed my dad.

I face each Halloween with a brave face. We don't talk too much about what this anniversary means. I don't think it's necessary or healthy for Young One to associate this traditionally fun, kid day with Grandpa's death. I throw myself into the festivities. Dad wouldn't want it any other way.

I'm still struck at how grief will hit me from time to time. It's surprising in its intensity. It might be triggered by the way Young One holds his mouth when he's thinking hard (just like dad did). It might be realizing that I can't remember what his voice sounds like anymore. It may be in the passing of a memory, like how he called everything a finort and told me that I needed to eat something because it would put hair on my chest (this horrified me as a child!). I may think about the mysterious Gazeekerpiper, a bodily organ that dad often referred to. I still don't know what he was talking about!

My dad will always be with me. I know that for sure. I hope I get to be with him again someday. I miss being his little girl. For now, though, it's celebration time.

Happy Halloween, I sure hope I didn't bring you down. Eat lots of candy, enjoy the giggling gaggles of kids, and most importantly, make some memories.

Wanna Date?

My Great-Grandma Nettie had one measuring cup. It really wasn't even a measuring cup, I don't think it had any markings or measurements on it. It was red, faded plastic. For all I know, it was a detergent measuring cap! She didn't have or need a lot of kitchen tools and yet, she was a fantastic baker and wonderful cook.

I was so lucky to have gotten to spend as much time with her as I did. She was always present at Grandma and Grandpa's farm. They had moved a little pink trailer for her to live in right next to their big, white farmhouse. Grandpa would have morning coffee with her every day. She listened to the radio, and sometimes listened in on the party line (Country folk shared a single phone line. You had your own unique ring, so you knew when a call was for you. But, many people listened in on other conversations. Hey, this was before cable!). Great-grandma had an amazing button jar to sort through. She also had a jar of pennies that we could play BINGO with. The local radio station played the game over the air waves. You'd call in if you won. It was a simpler time and our family was always together.

Great-grandma moved into a senior living apartment that had a lot of great hallways for silly grandkids to run through. It also had an old fashioned Coke machine where you could get a bottle of soda pop for a dime. It even came with a crabby guy named Charlie who would yell at us and teach us new words while waving his cane in the air. My cousins and I loved to visit her. Her little apartment overlooked the street and she watched the world go by with the ever present background blaring of her TV "programs" (soap operas). I remember once she told me that the high school kids that were walking past her window to the bowling alley for gym class were all going to get Mononucleosis because they kissed all the time. I was young. I was impressionable. I didn't know what Mono was. From that moment on, I feared bowling.

Great-grandma moved her red measuring cup to her apartment with her and she continued to be a great baker and wonderful cook. She measured by proportion and cooked by feel and had many recipes right up inside that white haired head of hers.

I wish I had her recipes. I wish we would have taken the time to have her write them all down. In fact, if you have a wise one in your family that's getting up there in years, have them write things down for you, film them, set down memories!

Grandma made fantastic Date Cookies and Date Bars. I'm sure they involved a pound of butter, another pound of brown sugar, and a pound that goes on your thighs each time you eat one. I created this recipe when I was craving Grandma's date anything. I found a basic recipe online and then lightened it up tremendously.

I hope you enjoy them. I think they're quite delicious and taste ALMOST as good as Grandma's.

Date Bars

Serves 24 at 3 WW Points per serving.

1 package regular yellow cake mix
1/2 cup unpacked brown sugar
2 large bananas
1/2 cup egg substitute or two eggs
1 1/2 cup dried dates
1/4 cup pecan pieces

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Place first four ingredients in your mixer bowl. Mix on low until combined, turn to medium-high and let it whirl until mixture is light and fluffy (approximately 2 minutes). Lower mixer speed and toss in dates and pecans. Mix until combined. Spray a 9x13 inch pan with nonstick cooking spray. Pour batter in pan and bake for 25-35 minutes or until a knife inserted in the center comes out clean. Allow to cool slightly before cutting (if you can wait that long!).

My Favorite Day: Eleven Ten Year Old Boys--the aftermath

I think this was the last big group birthday party. Well at least until there's a milestone celebration, like 16. Perhaps I've said this in years past. When the aftermath of the birthday party is still surrounding me, it's hard to want to host another one. I think there are at least 7,000 little pieces of plastic masquerading as presents floating around our first floor. I just spoke in tongues when I stepped, barefoot, on a Lego on the way to the kitchen.

Here I sit in our family room, blogging and catching up on the happenings on Wisteria Lane. The party was Saturday, but I was too wiped out to write then, plus we had family guests that night too. Young One spiked a 102 fever the night of his party and then again Sunday night. So, I've been pretty busy and pretty tired being up all night. According to the doctor, he has a sinus infection and she's pretty sure he has strep, although he didn't test positive for it the first time around. He has a horrible sore throat and is talking like he has marbles in it. That, and the fever, are pretty sure signs for him. Oh well, regardless of what he has, he's being treated. He's home again today and seems a little better, despite not eating.

What is it about kids not eating that gets us moms all worried? It's not like he's wasting away, it's just a couple days of bomb pops and white grape juice. He'll survive. But, I digress.

Back to the party. The original guest list had about 25 kids, but we had to pare it down. This was such a great group. Of course, there was a clinker or two (but only briefly), and for the most part, they were really well behaved.

Here are some highlights:

• The Red Team demolished the Green Team at laser tag. However, I was informed that there were several malfunctioning guns on the Green Team, so there had to be a rematch. I believe all the subsequent games were ties. I may have the colors wrong, so if I discuss this later with Young One, I'll just play along. I have no idea what team was the supreme ruler of the universe, but I do know, they were sweaty, giggling, and grinning after every game.



• The Darth Vader cake did semi-permanently stain their mouths black. They loved it! Mission accomplished. Thank you Magic Byerly's Cake Ladies



• If you pull hard enough on the ticket dispensers in the arcade, more come out, but to use the word of the week, it's totally "random".



• The automatic climbing wall thingie was driven by body weight. Most could make it go, but of course we had one that couldn't get it to move and one who's body weight kept it at warp speed.



• If you pull on the controls of the bumper cars a certain way, it makes an extremely horrendous sound. If you all do it at once, the odd dude running the ride will call you all Asswipes. Well, not so the kids can hear it, but I heard it enough to find it extremely funny. Poor guy. That job must be hell.



• Eleven boys and not even one armpit fart noise the entire time. I think this is a record.



• Eleven boys and only one slight injury--a couple of skinned knees.



• Eleven boys can go through an 18 whole miniature golf game in less than 10 minutes. I think I owe the poor little girl and her awestruck parents that were ahead of us a pony and a couple of t-bone steaks. They were relatively good sports and were seriously stunned by the force and speed with which our group played.



• Eleven boys with marshmallow guns will make your front yard look like a snow storm passed through. I bought the guns wholesale on ebay. Cost was about a buck a piece, so much cheaper than making them.



• Birds don't like marshmallows. Bummer. I think the squirrels do though!



• My van smells like feet, I can't get the song I Like to Move It out of my head (it's required birthday party cd play), and I'm still smiling at the kid who told me he hasn't had this much fun since Christmas.

Apparently, according to some of the other moms, I've been voted the cool mom. I've never felt more honored. I do enjoy them all and have always loved to hang with the kids. They're so honest and kind and don't carry all that stuff that adults do.

Young One has awesome friends. They're a great mix and his best friends are just amazing. These kids! I can see them several years from now as big guys, wearing Axe cologne and going to the prom. I actually can envision them driving (shudder) and going through teen angst together. I can see the men they're going to be. What a great bunch. Polite, fun and funny, cute, and kind. I hope they never change.

I'm off to Google "how to get feet smell out of your van". Oy.

In Gratitude

Paul Newman died last night. I'll forever remember him for this quote:

"I have steak at home, why go out for hamburger?" Newman told Playboy magazine when asked if he was tempted to stray.

That's what I was looking for and that's what I found. A steak man. You won't see my guy hanging around the bars looking for a stray.

Thank you Paul for giving me this quote to base my search for a husband on. It didn't steer me wrong!

We'll miss you Paul. Thank you for your legacy. Peace and blessings to your family.

A Doings

My Grandma speaks another language sometimes. No, it's not Swedish, I don't think she knows much of that to speak of, even though she is of that nationality. This is another language altogether. I think I'll call it Old Timers. She moves in and out of it in every conversation I've ever had. It's just one of the many reasons why I adore her.

Today she's at a "doings". That's a party, a gathering, or an event. It can be used in any number of ways. Could be a church event or a funeral. It could be a graduation or birthday party. This "doings" just happens to be a Fourth of July holiday picnic at a cousin's house.

Mom and I were talking last night about this Old Timer's language. It includes phrases such as, "We were going neighboring" and closing each phone conversation with, "Talk to ya." And it got us thinking about the slower pace of life that Grandma had when she was my age. Sunday afternoons might mean attending a "doings" or going "neighboring", which meant dropping in to visit your neighbors. It conjures up images of the men discussing farming and the women talking about the garden and speculating on local gossip while the children played. I would imagine there may be a simple meal or a bit of pie and coffee to converse over.

When someone is sick, Grandma always asks if they've been "doctoring." Or if someone is struggling with their health, they've been "doctoring" for a long time. She will say someone is "sicky" if they have a virus or ask if we've been "sicky" if the flu is going around. And if someone is not looking as good as they used to or getting around as well as they used to, they're "failing." One time, she said that someone seemed "kind of punk" when they weren't feeling quite themselves. I've heard this from a neighbor as well, so I guess this is common Old Timer talk.

I'm sure I'll think of more examples as time goes on and I'll try to write them down. I'd love to hear from others that know a bit of this Old Timer language. I think it's important that we keep it alive, remember it, and reminisce about our loved ones.