The prompt for today asks if I live near my family. Depends on the scope of the question. I guess you could say I do - I live a one hour drive from my brother's family, two hours from my sister's and two hours from my parents (in the warm weather - across the country to Tucson in the winter). Technology allows us to call, email, text, Facebook, share photos and videos...yes, I would say we are in close proximity.
What this prompt really raised for me was the concept of "home". It is common to be asked "where are you from?" or "where did you grow up?" and that has always puzzled me a bit, and I use a variety of answers, depending on the source of the question. There's the nickel tour: I was born in one town in IL, moved to another suburb of Chicago where I went to K and half of 1st grade, then to one metro suburb in Minnesota for the other half of 1st grade, then a different 'burb for 2nd grade, then to North Dakota for 3rd-9th grade, then to a small town in Minnesota for 9th-12th grade, then two different colleges (2 years each), then to the metro area in Minnesota for 4 years (2 different places), then Seattle for 5 years (4 different places), then back to the metro area in Minnesota for 3 years (2 different places), then to a small city in Minnesota for 2 years, then a very small town for 1 year, then back to that small city for 4 years, then to our current small city where we've been IN THE SAME HOUSE for over 5 years now. No wonder I feel the itching feet these days, with all that moving around!
With all that moving around, and with my parents having moved away from the home where I last lived with them some 20 years ago, what I learned was that - for me - "home" is where my family is. Particularly my parents. "Home" is the people I want around me on holidays like Christmas Eve and when I need my family - I'm not sure that the physical location matters a whole lot to me. But what I also learned was that I want to give my children what I didn't have, which is the opportunity to grow up in a community and feel like you are "from there". I love that my eldest daughter is now in 3rd grade with folks she knows from kindergarten, and I hope we can maintain that for her. I always felt like an outsider at any of my schools - I hadn't been there long and I wasn't related to anyone in school or in town (for any of you who haven't experienced true small town life, it often feels like a large percentage of the school or town populations is related by blood or marriage).
Showing posts with label NaBloPoMo February. Show all posts
Showing posts with label NaBloPoMo February. Show all posts
Friday, February 10, 2012
Thursday, February 9, 2012
Relatives and Friends - NaBloPoMo 9
The prompt today is to reflect on the following quote: "Fate chooses your relations, you choose your friends."
It is true that you don't get to pick your relatives, but you sure can take a lesson from this quote. As an example, if my brother and I were not related, I think we could have been friends in high school. However, at this stage of our lives, we surely would not interact, absent our being related. Which serves to remind me that I shouldn't let myself judge the goodness or friend-worthiness of others by their outward belief systems - because our sibling relationship keeps me connected to my brother, not always by his choice or mine, I do see the good in him and I think I can accept most of the time that he is trying to live his best life, just as I'm trying to live mine. And if we can just set aside our differences, we can and do enjoy each other's company.
This is an excellent reminder, as I reflect on what I just wrote. It is oh so common to write off certain people or groups of people because of their affiliations, or because a person was a jerk about something, and by doing so, we create a one or two dimensional version of that person and dismiss them without knowing the rest of the story. And like many things in life, if you can raise your sights above your differences and struggles, you will probably find many more positive things in the world - including friends in the unlikeliest of places.
It is true that you don't get to pick your relatives, but you sure can take a lesson from this quote. As an example, if my brother and I were not related, I think we could have been friends in high school. However, at this stage of our lives, we surely would not interact, absent our being related. Which serves to remind me that I shouldn't let myself judge the goodness or friend-worthiness of others by their outward belief systems - because our sibling relationship keeps me connected to my brother, not always by his choice or mine, I do see the good in him and I think I can accept most of the time that he is trying to live his best life, just as I'm trying to live mine. And if we can just set aside our differences, we can and do enjoy each other's company.
This is an excellent reminder, as I reflect on what I just wrote. It is oh so common to write off certain people or groups of people because of their affiliations, or because a person was a jerk about something, and by doing so, we create a one or two dimensional version of that person and dismiss them without knowing the rest of the story. And like many things in life, if you can raise your sights above your differences and struggles, you will probably find many more positive things in the world - including friends in the unlikeliest of places.
My sister-friend(s) - NaBloPoMo 8
The prompt for Day 8 asks whether I have a friend who is practically a brother or sister to me...it's been rolling around in my head for a full 24 hours now and I'm not sure how to answer.
Looking at the question backwards, I am lucky enough to have a sister who is a best friend to me. That is such a gift.
I always wanted a big family - many siblings and cousins all around and in my business. I have 2 siblings and a total of 8 cousins. But thanks to Facebook and one side of my family's commitment to regular family reunions over the past 20 years, I have really improved my extended family connections and I love it.
I have also collected friends over the years that I would also have loved to call my family. Some of whom remain in my life to this day, and some who didn't feel the connection to me that I felt to them. Unfortunately, none of them are geographically close to me, but when we are able to be together, it is so happy and warm and comfortable.
Looking at the question backwards, I am lucky enough to have a sister who is a best friend to me. That is such a gift.
I always wanted a big family - many siblings and cousins all around and in my business. I have 2 siblings and a total of 8 cousins. But thanks to Facebook and one side of my family's commitment to regular family reunions over the past 20 years, I have really improved my extended family connections and I love it.
I have also collected friends over the years that I would also have loved to call my family. Some of whom remain in my life to this day, and some who didn't feel the connection to me that I felt to them. Unfortunately, none of them are geographically close to me, but when we are able to be together, it is so happy and warm and comfortable.
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
My Uncle Ken - NaBloPoMo 7
Prompt for Day 7 was to tell you about my favorite extended family member - I can fit lots of extended family members into this category, but am going with my longest running favorite, my Uncle Ken. My dad's sister Sylvia is married to Ken. I was the flower girl in their wedding when I was about five. I thought Ken hung the moon and would spend all the time I could on his lap, petting his 1970s sideburns. I planned to marry him when I grew up - to which my aunt would often ask "then what happens to me?" I couldn't quite figure that out at the time, since I certainly didn't want her to go away either. When I got a little older, I thought he looked just like Burt Reynolds.
Ken and Sylvia didn't have kids until I was in junior high or high school, so I enjoyed many summer visits to their farm. Ken would haul me along out into the field to feed the cattle or whatever - either in the back of the pick up or standing on the hitch of his tractor. I remember one time his pick up had stalled out in the field, so he and I went in the tractor to tow it back, and I got to sit in the pick up and steer. I was terrified and exhilarated at this responsibility! I remember another time asking him what the difference between a steer and a bull was...he turned so red! I'm not sure he ever answered me.
Ken is a small town guy, who worked hard at both a job with the phone company and cattle farming. He loves to hunt and fish, and now spends his retirement time doing mostly that. I still adore him. When I took my current job, it was in his hometown and I lived with Ken and Sylvia for the first six weeks, while we found a house and such for Sean and the kids to join me.
And just as I know he's my favorite uncle, I also know I'm his (their) favorite niece.
Ken and Sylvia didn't have kids until I was in junior high or high school, so I enjoyed many summer visits to their farm. Ken would haul me along out into the field to feed the cattle or whatever - either in the back of the pick up or standing on the hitch of his tractor. I remember one time his pick up had stalled out in the field, so he and I went in the tractor to tow it back, and I got to sit in the pick up and steer. I was terrified and exhilarated at this responsibility! I remember another time asking him what the difference between a steer and a bull was...he turned so red! I'm not sure he ever answered me.
Ken is a small town guy, who worked hard at both a job with the phone company and cattle farming. He loves to hunt and fish, and now spends his retirement time doing mostly that. I still adore him. When I took my current job, it was in his hometown and I lived with Ken and Sylvia for the first six weeks, while we found a house and such for Sean and the kids to join me.
And just as I know he's my favorite uncle, I also know I'm his (their) favorite niece.
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
My grandparents - NaBloPoMo 6
The prompt yesterday was to "tell us about your grandparents". Wow that seems like a lot for a single post!
Unfortunately, my grandparents have all passed away. My mom's dad went first:
Ray S died when I was about six years old. His was the first funeral I ever attended, and I can recall seeing him in the coffin and thinking that was weird. But I don't remember anything else about it. He was only in his 60s when he died, not yet retired. The story of his passing, as I recall it, was that he and Grandma were going to dinner at some friends' home. While driving in a bitter cold winter night, the car stalled, so they were walking up the road or driveway when Grandpa keeled over and died. No autopsy, but the assumption was heart attack. I remember my Grandpa smoked a pipe. He was a county engineer. He met my Grandma when she was a teacher and they married on the last day of school (in those days, female teachers had to quit if they got married), which was also her birthday. Grandpa was also drafted into WWII at something like age 42 and the only story I remember about that is that a sniper shot at him once and he had a overcoat or a cape-like outerwear item with a bullet hole through the hood that was hanging off his back. I don't really remember my Grandpa but there is a story told that he asked me once when I was three or four how I liked my mother, and reportedly, I thought for a moment and then told him sincerely "well, she's not as bad as a wicked stepmother". Nice! This grandpa was 100% Swedish - his parents immigrated to the US in the late 1870s, as far as I know.
My mom's mom went last:
Helen S was a really great person who I enjoyed immensely. She was 100% German, with her parents having been Mennonites (I believe) who first left Germany for Russia, but then immigrated to the U.S. in the 1880s. Grandma was at least six feet tall in her prime, as was one of her sisters. She had 3 sisters who were very close, even though they moved all across the country. I remember looking through an old photo album some years ago, and finding a photo of Grandma, wearing pants and shooting a rifle. She laughed at my surprise - apparently she and her siblings did all kinds of stuff. I always knew I got my height and bone structure from Grandma Helen, but came to learn in my adulthood that I also got a good share of stubbornness and independence from her too. She was only 62 or so when she was widowed. Once, after my first divorce but before I met Sean, she and I happened to get on the subject of dating. She told me that while she might have liked to have been taken out on a date after Grandpa died, she never ever wanted to remarry or share her home again - she liked being alone. Tag that similarity up to me and Grandma too! Helen was smart as a whip and interested in almost anything and everything and she loved to travel. But she had no patience for gossip or judging other people or overt silliness. And emotional moments were very very rare. She has been gone now for nearly eight years ... gosh that's hard to believe. She died just shy of her 95th birthday, having lived alone for over 30 years and independently until the last few months.
My dad's dad was John W. He was born in Norway in 1906 and immigrated with his mother and his 3 siblings in about 1922 after his father died. He ended up in western North Dakota. Grandpa passed away kind of unexpectedly in 1988. He'd been sick though - I got married for the first time that fall and it was uncertain if he'd be able to come. Then he fell a couple weeks later and broke his hip, went to the hospital and ended up with pneumonia...he died just before Christmas 1988 at age 81. I visited him in the ICU shortly before he died - he had a ventilator so he couldn't talk but his eyes were just snapping and alert, and I knew he was so happy to see me. I regret not asking more about his immigration and early adulthood when I had the chance. He was a laborer without a lot of education. He met my Grandma and the story we learned around the time of their 50th anniversary was that they married in January but, as she was a teacher, they kept it secret until the summer. And Grandma's father died before summer, so he'd never known they were married. My Grandma was educated and Grandpa was so very proud of that. He was a terrific Grandpa - never shy about his bald head or his heavy Norwegian accent, and happy to let us tease him about it. He rode a bike all over town and I would spent a week with them every summer, biking around and going to Dairy Queen. He kept pigeons for a number of years. He liked to have lump sugar with his coffee, he poured his coffee into his saucer and then would dip his sugar cubes into it and eat them, and then slurp the coffee. I can still picture his usual cup and saucer, and learned to love coffee flavored sugar! I distinctly remember the year that my sister usurped me as "Grandpa's girl" - as I hit the tweens/teens and she was still a cute little kid. Hated that.
My dad's mom was Signe W. She was born in the US to Norwegian immigrant parents. She had a host of brothers and a pair of sisters. She got her teacher's license and, eventually, got a college degree after she was married. I'm told she was a smart, hard working woman, who ruled with an iron fist and gossiped like a fiend with her sisters in law and other ladies around town. She took good care of us when we visited, was a good cook, and was very kind to her grandkids - though I know I got spanked a few times too. If her hair hadn't recently been "done", she'd let me comb it and put bows in it and such. I know she laughed. By the time Grandpa died, Grandma was pretty weak and dependent, as she had Parkinsons disease. I'm told she was as tall as 5'9" but I only remember a pretty small Grandma, and I can remember in my childhood that she was pretty heavy with an enormous bosom, she wasted away to nearly nothing in the last ten years of her life. She was in a nursing home for the last five or more years - many times not aware of who and what was around her. I was living in Seattle at the time, so only saw her once or twice a year, but she "woke up" every time I was home, and every time someone brought one of her great grandchildren to see her. When I saw her last, she had been asleep, nearly comatose, for several weeks, and yet when I came in she opened her eyes, and when I left she squeezed my hand and said "good luck to you", which was always her form of saying good bye to me. Brings tears to my eyes even now to remember that. I didn't make it home for her funeral, which came just over a month after I saw her, a week after her 90th birthday.
What I know is that I come from a long line of strong women, who partnered with men who recognized and valued that. Apple doesn't fall far from the tree...
Unfortunately, my grandparents have all passed away. My mom's dad went first:
Ray S died when I was about six years old. His was the first funeral I ever attended, and I can recall seeing him in the coffin and thinking that was weird. But I don't remember anything else about it. He was only in his 60s when he died, not yet retired. The story of his passing, as I recall it, was that he and Grandma were going to dinner at some friends' home. While driving in a bitter cold winter night, the car stalled, so they were walking up the road or driveway when Grandpa keeled over and died. No autopsy, but the assumption was heart attack. I remember my Grandpa smoked a pipe. He was a county engineer. He met my Grandma when she was a teacher and they married on the last day of school (in those days, female teachers had to quit if they got married), which was also her birthday. Grandpa was also drafted into WWII at something like age 42 and the only story I remember about that is that a sniper shot at him once and he had a overcoat or a cape-like outerwear item with a bullet hole through the hood that was hanging off his back. I don't really remember my Grandpa but there is a story told that he asked me once when I was three or four how I liked my mother, and reportedly, I thought for a moment and then told him sincerely "well, she's not as bad as a wicked stepmother". Nice! This grandpa was 100% Swedish - his parents immigrated to the US in the late 1870s, as far as I know.
My mom's mom went last:
Helen S was a really great person who I enjoyed immensely. She was 100% German, with her parents having been Mennonites (I believe) who first left Germany for Russia, but then immigrated to the U.S. in the 1880s. Grandma was at least six feet tall in her prime, as was one of her sisters. She had 3 sisters who were very close, even though they moved all across the country. I remember looking through an old photo album some years ago, and finding a photo of Grandma, wearing pants and shooting a rifle. She laughed at my surprise - apparently she and her siblings did all kinds of stuff. I always knew I got my height and bone structure from Grandma Helen, but came to learn in my adulthood that I also got a good share of stubbornness and independence from her too. She was only 62 or so when she was widowed. Once, after my first divorce but before I met Sean, she and I happened to get on the subject of dating. She told me that while she might have liked to have been taken out on a date after Grandpa died, she never ever wanted to remarry or share her home again - she liked being alone. Tag that similarity up to me and Grandma too! Helen was smart as a whip and interested in almost anything and everything and she loved to travel. But she had no patience for gossip or judging other people or overt silliness. And emotional moments were very very rare. She has been gone now for nearly eight years ... gosh that's hard to believe. She died just shy of her 95th birthday, having lived alone for over 30 years and independently until the last few months.
My dad's dad was John W. He was born in Norway in 1906 and immigrated with his mother and his 3 siblings in about 1922 after his father died. He ended up in western North Dakota. Grandpa passed away kind of unexpectedly in 1988. He'd been sick though - I got married for the first time that fall and it was uncertain if he'd be able to come. Then he fell a couple weeks later and broke his hip, went to the hospital and ended up with pneumonia...he died just before Christmas 1988 at age 81. I visited him in the ICU shortly before he died - he had a ventilator so he couldn't talk but his eyes were just snapping and alert, and I knew he was so happy to see me. I regret not asking more about his immigration and early adulthood when I had the chance. He was a laborer without a lot of education. He met my Grandma and the story we learned around the time of their 50th anniversary was that they married in January but, as she was a teacher, they kept it secret until the summer. And Grandma's father died before summer, so he'd never known they were married. My Grandma was educated and Grandpa was so very proud of that. He was a terrific Grandpa - never shy about his bald head or his heavy Norwegian accent, and happy to let us tease him about it. He rode a bike all over town and I would spent a week with them every summer, biking around and going to Dairy Queen. He kept pigeons for a number of years. He liked to have lump sugar with his coffee, he poured his coffee into his saucer and then would dip his sugar cubes into it and eat them, and then slurp the coffee. I can still picture his usual cup and saucer, and learned to love coffee flavored sugar! I distinctly remember the year that my sister usurped me as "Grandpa's girl" - as I hit the tweens/teens and she was still a cute little kid. Hated that.
My dad's mom was Signe W. She was born in the US to Norwegian immigrant parents. She had a host of brothers and a pair of sisters. She got her teacher's license and, eventually, got a college degree after she was married. I'm told she was a smart, hard working woman, who ruled with an iron fist and gossiped like a fiend with her sisters in law and other ladies around town. She took good care of us when we visited, was a good cook, and was very kind to her grandkids - though I know I got spanked a few times too. If her hair hadn't recently been "done", she'd let me comb it and put bows in it and such. I know she laughed. By the time Grandpa died, Grandma was pretty weak and dependent, as she had Parkinsons disease. I'm told she was as tall as 5'9" but I only remember a pretty small Grandma, and I can remember in my childhood that she was pretty heavy with an enormous bosom, she wasted away to nearly nothing in the last ten years of her life. She was in a nursing home for the last five or more years - many times not aware of who and what was around her. I was living in Seattle at the time, so only saw her once or twice a year, but she "woke up" every time I was home, and every time someone brought one of her great grandchildren to see her. When I saw her last, she had been asleep, nearly comatose, for several weeks, and yet when I came in she opened her eyes, and when I left she squeezed my hand and said "good luck to you", which was always her form of saying good bye to me. Brings tears to my eyes even now to remember that. I didn't make it home for her funeral, which came just over a month after I saw her, a week after her 90th birthday.
What I know is that I come from a long line of strong women, who partnered with men who recognized and valued that. Apple doesn't fall far from the tree...
Friday, February 3, 2012
My siblings - NaBloPoMo 3
Prompt 3 - do you have siblings? what are they like?
I have an older brother and a younger sister. My brother and I were two grades apart in school and grew up together. My sister came five years after me, and was six grades behind me, so we were never in school together and I recall very little of her (which feels awful to say).
I would say that my brother and I were very similar in many ways for a lot of years, and we were quite good friends for a long time. Somewhere, probably in our 30s, we underwent a significant divergence in our views. I know this is slanted with my own feelings on the subject, but it seemed that I responded to experiences outside my comfort zone with acceptance and an expanding view of the world as being in shades of gray, while my brother seemed to pull back into a much more conservative, black and white world. We are wildly divided on our religious and political views, though I think we both work hard to avoid those topics and maintain a connection, despite our differences. I enjoy time spent with his family and I hope he would say the same.
My brother is a dentist (and a good one who doesn't inflict pain!), a Harley rider, a hunter (new hobby in the past few years), a card player, a basketball player, and a hell of a Scrabble player. I suspect he'd love to still play Dungeons & Dragons, if he had a group to join him. He is a good singer and a natural musician. Sometimes I think he takes himself too seriously, but he has a good sense of humor when he lets it out.
As I said earlier, I don't have many childhood memories of my sister. She was always there, of course, but just part of the background in many of my memories. She was always a happy kid and I don't recall fighting with her (though my mother might). By the time she was in high school, I was gone to college, so my "memories" of her teen years is filtered through stories I heard from my parents. She was the wild child of the family - breaking curfew and running around with her friends. One summer when she was in college, she went to work in Glacier Park. I had a job with an 800 number, so she started calling me. We got to be friends that summer, and have been best friends ever since. My oldest nephew publicly refers to us as the 'crazy aunts', which we learned when we helped host his graduation party last year. Folks say we talk alike - we know that and are spooked frequently at how we are forever saying the same thing at the same time - but they also say we look alike which is freaky. I think they are nuts but we hear it all the time. We talk most mornings on our way to work and often in the evenings too. I consider her daughters to be nearly mine, and I hope she feels the same about my girls.
My sister works in marketing and she is hugely creative. But beyond work, the rest of her time is dedicated to her three kids and their activities. She is the best multi-tasker I have ever met and I'm often exhausted just hearing about what she has going on day in and day out.
I have an older brother and a younger sister. My brother and I were two grades apart in school and grew up together. My sister came five years after me, and was six grades behind me, so we were never in school together and I recall very little of her (which feels awful to say).
I would say that my brother and I were very similar in many ways for a lot of years, and we were quite good friends for a long time. Somewhere, probably in our 30s, we underwent a significant divergence in our views. I know this is slanted with my own feelings on the subject, but it seemed that I responded to experiences outside my comfort zone with acceptance and an expanding view of the world as being in shades of gray, while my brother seemed to pull back into a much more conservative, black and white world. We are wildly divided on our religious and political views, though I think we both work hard to avoid those topics and maintain a connection, despite our differences. I enjoy time spent with his family and I hope he would say the same.
My brother is a dentist (and a good one who doesn't inflict pain!), a Harley rider, a hunter (new hobby in the past few years), a card player, a basketball player, and a hell of a Scrabble player. I suspect he'd love to still play Dungeons & Dragons, if he had a group to join him. He is a good singer and a natural musician. Sometimes I think he takes himself too seriously, but he has a good sense of humor when he lets it out.
As I said earlier, I don't have many childhood memories of my sister. She was always there, of course, but just part of the background in many of my memories. She was always a happy kid and I don't recall fighting with her (though my mother might). By the time she was in high school, I was gone to college, so my "memories" of her teen years is filtered through stories I heard from my parents. She was the wild child of the family - breaking curfew and running around with her friends. One summer when she was in college, she went to work in Glacier Park. I had a job with an 800 number, so she started calling me. We got to be friends that summer, and have been best friends ever since. My oldest nephew publicly refers to us as the 'crazy aunts', which we learned when we helped host his graduation party last year. Folks say we talk alike - we know that and are spooked frequently at how we are forever saying the same thing at the same time - but they also say we look alike which is freaky. I think they are nuts but we hear it all the time. We talk most mornings on our way to work and often in the evenings too. I consider her daughters to be nearly mine, and I hope she feels the same about my girls.
My sister works in marketing and she is hugely creative. But beyond work, the rest of her time is dedicated to her three kids and their activities. She is the best multi-tasker I have ever met and I'm often exhausted just hearing about what she has going on day in and day out.
Thursday, February 2, 2012
My father - NaBloPoMo 2
Prompt 2: Tell us about your father.
My father is Jon. He has a very strong personality, and plenty of opinions, and while he is stubborn as hell, I have also known him to change his opinions on many things over the years and give him a lot of credit for that. Dad will be 76 this year. He is entirely sick of upper Midwestern winters and would prefer to be at their home in Tucson from October until May, but we stubbornly force him to stick around until November and are begging for him to bring Mom home by Easter.
My Dad had a rough childhood and I think there was not a lot of nurturing from his parents but plenty of corporal punishments. He spent 2 years in the Army (stationed in a pineapple field in Hawaii) but he won't talk about it at all and told me over Christmas that he had no photos from Hawaii as he had long ago burned them all. I have no idea what that's about. He then went to college and met my mother. He proposed to her nearly immediately but she wouldn't agree to be engaged for over a year after he first asked her. I used to think the high school and college photos of my Dad looked like "young Elvis" and I have no doubt he was charming and funny and sweet.
He and my mom both had education degrees but Dad didn't manage too well in the school system. He lasted a few years and then switched over to sales. He did quite well in the booming farm industy days of the 1970s but then took a stab at self-employment which ended badly. Now, looking back, I can't imagine how my Dad got through those years when we were economically devastated. He tried a variety of jobs, including some that he hated, to put food on the table. But I can't recall ever worrying or even knowing that things were as bad as I know now that they must have been. Thankfully, in his 50s, he landed a job that allowed him to make up a lot of financial ground so that he and Mom could retire and I have been so grateful for that.
I'm not too surprised, given all that I realize now, that my Dad was very erratic at times in my life. I have my suspicions about the cause(s) of that, but for all that he did a lot of emotional damage, one thing that I always knew and never doubted was was that he loved my Mom and he loved me and my brother and my sister. Unconditionally and without fail.
Last week I wrote a post about a car accident I was in back in 1985...crazily enough, I was home on Christmas break from school and we got to talking about things that were important (like your child's health and well being) and I remember saying to my Dad "are you telling me, that if I smashed up your car, all you'd care about was that I was OK?" and not really believing his assurance that he woudn't give a goddamn about the car. Well, fast forward about one month and I did, in fact, smash up his car, and had to call him from some stranger's house, crying I said 'DDDDDad, I ssss-sss-smashed the car..." and he said "Are you OK?" and "where are you?" and "we're on our way". On our way home that night, he reminded me of our conversation over Christmas and said "couldn't you have just taken my word for it?" Makes me tear up a little, just thinking about that.
Dad has one bad retina, so has only limited vision in that eye. About five years ago that he had macular degeneration in his good eye. We were all terrified because my Dad without the independence of his driving abilities etc. is really really scary. His opthalmologist started giving him SHOTS IN HIS EYEBALL a few times a year, and I'll be damned if it doesn't keep the disease at bay! It is a freakin' miracle.
For all our relationship has had its ups and downs, and for all that we both have a myriad of shortcomings that cause some friction at times, I love my Dad.
My father is Jon. He has a very strong personality, and plenty of opinions, and while he is stubborn as hell, I have also known him to change his opinions on many things over the years and give him a lot of credit for that. Dad will be 76 this year. He is entirely sick of upper Midwestern winters and would prefer to be at their home in Tucson from October until May, but we stubbornly force him to stick around until November and are begging for him to bring Mom home by Easter.
My Dad had a rough childhood and I think there was not a lot of nurturing from his parents but plenty of corporal punishments. He spent 2 years in the Army (stationed in a pineapple field in Hawaii) but he won't talk about it at all and told me over Christmas that he had no photos from Hawaii as he had long ago burned them all. I have no idea what that's about. He then went to college and met my mother. He proposed to her nearly immediately but she wouldn't agree to be engaged for over a year after he first asked her. I used to think the high school and college photos of my Dad looked like "young Elvis" and I have no doubt he was charming and funny and sweet.
He and my mom both had education degrees but Dad didn't manage too well in the school system. He lasted a few years and then switched over to sales. He did quite well in the booming farm industy days of the 1970s but then took a stab at self-employment which ended badly. Now, looking back, I can't imagine how my Dad got through those years when we were economically devastated. He tried a variety of jobs, including some that he hated, to put food on the table. But I can't recall ever worrying or even knowing that things were as bad as I know now that they must have been. Thankfully, in his 50s, he landed a job that allowed him to make up a lot of financial ground so that he and Mom could retire and I have been so grateful for that.
I'm not too surprised, given all that I realize now, that my Dad was very erratic at times in my life. I have my suspicions about the cause(s) of that, but for all that he did a lot of emotional damage, one thing that I always knew and never doubted was was that he loved my Mom and he loved me and my brother and my sister. Unconditionally and without fail.
Last week I wrote a post about a car accident I was in back in 1985...crazily enough, I was home on Christmas break from school and we got to talking about things that were important (like your child's health and well being) and I remember saying to my Dad "are you telling me, that if I smashed up your car, all you'd care about was that I was OK?" and not really believing his assurance that he woudn't give a goddamn about the car. Well, fast forward about one month and I did, in fact, smash up his car, and had to call him from some stranger's house, crying I said 'DDDDDad, I ssss-sss-smashed the car..." and he said "Are you OK?" and "where are you?" and "we're on our way". On our way home that night, he reminded me of our conversation over Christmas and said "couldn't you have just taken my word for it?" Makes me tear up a little, just thinking about that.
Dad has one bad retina, so has only limited vision in that eye. About five years ago that he had macular degeneration in his good eye. We were all terrified because my Dad without the independence of his driving abilities etc. is really really scary. His opthalmologist started giving him SHOTS IN HIS EYEBALL a few times a year, and I'll be damned if it doesn't keep the disease at bay! It is a freakin' miracle.
For all our relationship has had its ups and downs, and for all that we both have a myriad of shortcomings that cause some friction at times, I love my Dad.
My mother - NaBloPoMo 1
Having finished the River of Stones Challenge for January, I am undertaking a new one for February. NaBloPoMo caught my attention today...
Prompt 1: Tell us about your mother.
My mother is Mary. She will be 73 this month, she is the mother of three, wife of my dad for the past 51 years, a teacher by trade, and one of the least reactive people I know! Living with my dad, and the three smart-aleck children she raised, someone had to be the "straight man", right? But it is nearly impossible to get a rise out of my mother and God knows, I've tried. She is Swedish and German, she was raised to be very stoic and martyr-ish, and I have never seen her cry. She loves to read - I find it hysterical that she reads all kinds of Danielle Steele and other romances, but won't read anything like Harry Potter because it is so "made up" as if romance novels aren't just as fantasic!
My mother had breast cancer when she was 37. She had a radical mastectomy, weeks of radiation therapy, and months of chemotherapy. An awful couple years for her, I'm sure, but she lived. Never had any recurrence or ongoing cancer scares. I was only in elementary school and I can hardly remember that she was sick. She tells me now that she would be in bed all day, miserable, but would get up and shower before we got home from school and then try to make it through the evening with us. In my lists of things I'm grateful for, I can hardly even get through the part where I list how grateful I am to have had my mother for the last 35 years without crying...I can't even imagine what would have happened to our family without her.
My mother's best friend was always her own mother. My Grandma Helen died a few years ago, at age 95. I hope I get a prompt to write about her. She was awesome. I am heartsick for my mother to have lost her best friend.
In all honesty, I don't know how my mother has put up with my dad all these years. When they were approaching their 50th anniversary, I said (only 75% jokingly) that a person ought to just be able to walk away after 50 years with no strings. But they are devoted to each other and when I think of what they have lived through in those 50 years, I do admire their perseverance and commitment to each other and to our family.
I love my mom.
Prompt 1: Tell us about your mother.
My mother is Mary. She will be 73 this month, she is the mother of three, wife of my dad for the past 51 years, a teacher by trade, and one of the least reactive people I know! Living with my dad, and the three smart-aleck children she raised, someone had to be the "straight man", right? But it is nearly impossible to get a rise out of my mother and God knows, I've tried. She is Swedish and German, she was raised to be very stoic and martyr-ish, and I have never seen her cry. She loves to read - I find it hysterical that she reads all kinds of Danielle Steele and other romances, but won't read anything like Harry Potter because it is so "made up" as if romance novels aren't just as fantasic!
My mother had breast cancer when she was 37. She had a radical mastectomy, weeks of radiation therapy, and months of chemotherapy. An awful couple years for her, I'm sure, but she lived. Never had any recurrence or ongoing cancer scares. I was only in elementary school and I can hardly remember that she was sick. She tells me now that she would be in bed all day, miserable, but would get up and shower before we got home from school and then try to make it through the evening with us. In my lists of things I'm grateful for, I can hardly even get through the part where I list how grateful I am to have had my mother for the last 35 years without crying...I can't even imagine what would have happened to our family without her.
My mother's best friend was always her own mother. My Grandma Helen died a few years ago, at age 95. I hope I get a prompt to write about her. She was awesome. I am heartsick for my mother to have lost her best friend.
In all honesty, I don't know how my mother has put up with my dad all these years. When they were approaching their 50th anniversary, I said (only 75% jokingly) that a person ought to just be able to walk away after 50 years with no strings. But they are devoted to each other and when I think of what they have lived through in those 50 years, I do admire their perseverance and commitment to each other and to our family.
I love my mom.
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