Anniversaries in September

Today is my 38th birthday, anniversary of my birth.  Also this month is the anniversary of my bad news diagnosis, which has turned instead into a rare gift, one which makes me value each day.  September is also the month Gonzo was hit by a car, but lived to bounce back better than ever.  I always remember where I was September 11th, 2001, as the summer days turn cool and blue.  And, the end of September marks the anniversary of my dad's passing. 

He died of Alzheimer's eight years ago on September 26th, 2003. It was a rainy Friday and I had been at the nursing home nearly non-stop for three days, but had gone to run errands, like cleaning his suit for the funeral and buying him a new tie in goldenrod yellow. Then, I went home for a nap.  I was sleeping when he died. 

For years as his disease progressed and his grasp on reality retreated, I would try to understand where or when in his memory did he think he was?  I watched him turn doorknobs in the center of a smooth wall, where there was no door.  I listened to him use German, reach for something in mid-air which I could not see, and call it, "Schoen."  It was beautiful, whatever he saw. That act of trying to get inside his head and understand my dad is what led to the writing of my book.

When I think too long about anything, I end up writing about it.  My blog usually follows a good lunch conversation or a walk with my girls.  I brooded about my dad's life and death for years, which has turned into a three hundred fifty-ish page novel.  I hope it makes sense to people who didn't live these events themselves.  I like that the timing of my book's release date coincides with September, the month when everything happens.  Because, even though great tragedies occurred this month, like 9/11, and my dad's passing, my bad health news, and Gonzo's accident, it is a beautiful month, too, to be alive and value each day. 

http://www.amazon.com/Lights-Black-Forest-ebook/dp/B005MMB2XU/ref=sr_1_4?ie=UTF8&qid=1316004420&sr=8-4

My Best Birthday Gift

Next week will be my thirty-eighth birthday.  With that many under my belt, I've had some great birthdays, and some craptastic ones. 

The winner for worst, hands down, was my thirty-fifth.  Within twenty four hours of that horrible day, Gonzo was hit by a car, his hip dislocated, some fur and skin missing, and I didn't know if he was going to make it.  That same day, U of I neurology called and told me that best case scenario, there is remission, but no cure.  I don't know how many birthdays I have left, though, I suppose no one ever does.

Birthday runners-up for best include my twentieth, when my co-workers left my birthday gifts for me to find when I came into work that morning, and my thirtieth, when Erik and the kids made me a Gollum cake.  But, the best, hands down, was last year's.  I had dozens of people trek to my house for my Backwards Birthday Party (born in 73, turned 37, so I told my friends to buy themselves a gift.  Brilliant, no?). Even better, on the actual day, my best friend for life, Beck, took me to Devotay in Iowa City, where we drank too much sangria, ate emu, laughed until we cried and wandered around downtown Iowa City, where we met Manny and Dominique.  Best day ever.

I now really love celebrating my birthdays, even if I don't always remember how old I am, until I ask what year this is and do the math.  Sure, it's a crapshoot as to the quality of birthday, but I have a hunch this year will be a good one. Beck and I will once more spend the actual day at Devotay.  That weekend will be a shared birthday party for September birthdays in our pack and I am very excited about how many people can come.  And, after setting up that bash at Capone's, I found out from Becky that there was another party planned, a surprise party for me at Devotay, which I kind of ruined by organizing the Septembers deal. 

Even though I am bummed at wrecking my chance at the first surprise party of my life, I am still really happy, happier than I've ever been.  Three years ago, I was given a real gift, being reminded that life is finite. Every day with the people of my life is a gift: my daughters, my dog (still kicking!), my family, and my second family in my friends.  The best birthday gift doesn't come in a box; it's just knowing I am loved.  I don't want presents for my birthday.  Just presence.

For All Things, Their Season

Last fall, two weeks before the first snowfall, Cathy's friend Jake was still alive.  This spring, when the lilacs were budding, Tyler was alive, and Nathan died the week my tulips bloomed.  Those deaths rocked our small town, made people mindful of everything:  the passage of time, the struggles of being teenagers, and the beauty those boys would not live to see. 

This year, my daughters lost friends and classmates for the first time in their lives in a terribly cruel and permanent way.  I lost people, too, but in more adult and expected ways.  The snow was melting and we  avoided the soft mud when Adam, John Hudson and I helped Abbi and her John load the U Haul and move away.  Abbi, Gabe, Leah, Brandon, and Justin all left my work, replaced by Jennifer, Callista, Emily, Elizabeth and Cassie. 

A few weeks ago, my friend Jodie referenced a quote about people coming into our lives at different times, sometimes only for a season, but always for a reason.  Today, Laura referenced that quote when we three were having lunch and I was reminded how beautiful a sentiment it is, and how accepting loss is part of life.  People come into your life, people leave it.  A few remain, and I was reminded of that today, too, when talking Darren's ear off; he is one of my oldest friends and my only guy friend to know me through all my adult relationships.  Sometimes, we have no control over who leaves our lives, and if it's sooner than we wish, it can hurt terribly.  Sometimes, we stay connected by love when proximity ends; Gabe is coming home this fall to visit and I see Abbi as often as I can.  And, sometimes... Sometimes, we just have to let people go.  Love can die, just like anything else.  There are seasons to love, too.  Finding the reason is sometimes harder.

But, for those uncomplicated loves in my life, the friendships that sustain me, thank you.  Darren, Becky, Laura and Jodie, and all my friends (is it a bad thing that there are too many to list?) you are amazing, wonderful people and I am so lucky to have you in my life.  I know you aren't going anywhere. 

Cheer Meetings & Twinkie Trees

Yesterday, on my supper break, I received an angry text from Cathy:  "We are out of shampoo. Darn Sarah."  When I called her to tell her I had bought more, I got this response:

"Mom, I can't talk right now.  I'm in a meeting."  What?  I thought she said she was eating, so I continued, "You need to stop blaming your sister for using the last of the shampoo.  She has a right to use it, too, and I just need to know before it's gone so I can buy more."  Cathy whispered, "Okay, Mom.  I really do have to go.  I. Am. In. A. Meeting."  There was lots of teenaged giggling in the background, so I gave up.  "Fine, enjoy your meeting."

On our walk last night, Cathy told me, she really had been in a meeting, of cheerleaders having a cheer-mergency over their upcoming cheer car wash.  They were giggling, because they could hear me scolding her.  Oops.  And then, Cathy went into a long spiel about what did I think she was doing, having a meeting with her stuffed animals, asking Big Bunny to please take minutes, and Walking Talking Elmo to hold all calls?

So, that was yesterday's funny.  Sunday's funny happened after I forced the kids to try a bunch of unfamiliar foods.  We bought prawn crackers, spinach buns, fish balls, egg drop soup, biblinka, shredded squid, and more, from the Oriental Market where the non English fluent cashier whistles Scorpion tunes.  That was an unmitigated disaster.  But, the after-supper party was fun.  A few of Sarah's unsuspecting friends came to join us after they returned home from boating.  As they walked down the sidewalk, Cathy, Sarah, Spencer and Kaitlyn were ready, having tied a twinkie to a ball of yarn and left it on the sidewalk.  As Ashton and Leighton approached, the twinkie slowly moved out of reach.  Then, Ashton sprinted toward it, Spencer took off running down the highway, the twinkie bounced along ("like a gazelle," Ashton later said) and the kids erupted laughing. 

Leighton loved the idea of tricking more kids in that manner, so we set to work trying to string up twinkies in our mulberry tree with low hanging branches, with yarn that could retract into the branches when the kids reached up to grab one.  We then played Pictionary and the story game, and called it a night.

My kids keep me young.  And maybe, I keep them young, too, because I don't want to see them rushing into adulthood, with all its challenges.  Their childhoods will be over soon enough, and then the house will seem very big and very quiet, with no twinkies in our trees, and no stuffed animal meetings.  Cathy can laugh about it now that she has "real" meetings, but those conferences with her toys were not that long ago.

"Take One For The Team, Baby Carrot!!"

Cathy names all her facebook albums according to a comment, heard and worth remembering from that night's conversation.  One album is titled, "Where My Cabin Resigns," and when I pointed out it should be where my cabin resides, she just sighed and said, "You don't get it, Mom. You just don't get it." Ever since she was small, Cathy had an adult's ability to find the funny in any situation.  We went pedal boating the other night with Spencer and Erika, who was remembering our whole, "See that girl over there?" schtick.  We've been laughing over "See that girl over there" jokes (like, "See that girl over there?  She only thinks she's adopted") for several years, meaning Cathy came up with that joke around the age of twelve. 

She is now turning sixteen on Sunday, sharing her sweet sixteen party with her longtime friend, Erika, and here is her birthday blog, replete with old photos and a recent story for which this blog is named.  We were weeding the garden, and Cathy accidentally pulled up a baby carrot along with the weeds.  Rather than replant the tiny, feathery roots, she tossed it aside and said, "Well, now the weeds are gone, its brothers and sisters can get some sun.  Take one for the team, baby carrot!" and we laughed all night over that. 

Happy Birthday, Baby Carrot!  I am proud of you for many reasons: your sense of humor, your kindness, and your ability to deal like an adult, but enjoy life like a kid.  You made me proud when you bought Lexi's homecoming dress, when you wanted to sponsor Binti as yours (and Sarah's) Christmas present, when you opted to spend your time and money when you were given both, by going and buying toys to distribute to the Helen Nassif Pediatric Wing of Saint Luke's Hospital.  You are a great, funny girl and loved by many. 

In Lieu of Sugarbottom

Twenty four years ago, Rebecca Hanson moved with her dad and sister to Mount Vernon.  At first, I was scared of her.  Becky was strong and outspoken, confident enough to make jokes at her own expense and to call out people who took themselves waaay too seriously.  For someone like me, scared of her own shadow and opinions, Becky was something new.  We had friends in common, started hanging out more and more.  I made her laugh, and Becky's laugh is like no one else's.  She can make an entire movie theatre crack up, just at the sound of it.  We became friends.

Weekends were spent at house parties with friends, or at rural dance halls like Dance Mor in Swisher, the Loop in Monticello, and Prairie Moon in Prairieburg.  One of the best nights of my life was spent with Becky, New Year's Eve 1990, and a bunch of friends we met dancing on tables at Dance Mor, then followed to the SW side Denny's.  Becky spent Christmas Day 1990 with my family, and we cut apart all the boxed chocolates and smushed together the icky ones to leave for others, til we discovered there was a map. We smoked candy cigarettes to mock the teen smokers around us. We invented the stupefyingly hilarious game of holding a toilet paper tube to our eye, and watching objects like troll dolls dropped, while listening to Depeche Mode. No, we were not high. 

We went to prom together, graduated together.  When Cathy was born, Becky videotaped it, and the tape gets all shaky when she started to cry.  I was in the waiting room for Mitchell's birth and in the room to see Kennedy born.  One of the first things Becky said after I called her with the news my dad had died was, "How can I help?" I call Beck first, with all good news and bad news. 

The Prairie Moon Ballroom has burned down, many years ago now.  You can't buy candy cigarettes in stores anymore.  The Denny's on the southwest side of CR is long gone. And, still, we are friends, better now than we were back in the days we spent every weekend together.  Even if I don't see Becky for weeks or even months, I know we can pick up where we left off and I know that she understands every backstory to every new story I tell her.  I know her family and their stories as well as my own.  I have faith in her goodness as a human being, and with her ability to empathize, because she understands bad luck, too.

So, tonight when my truck started flashing the oil and battery "Danger, Will Robinson!" lights on its dashboard, while I was on my way to her birthday campout at Sugarbottom Campgrounds, fully stocked with tent, sleeping bag, potato chips, Bacardis, and her silly birthday card, I couldn't believe my bad luck.  Of all the things I would never want to miss, it would be Becky's birthday weekend, at a time in her life when experiences and good times with friends is what she values most.  But, here I sit, at home with my truck in the garage, waiting for morning when Karl can look it over. 

So, Becky, here is your birthday blog, in lieu of my presence at the campout tonight.  You are my best friend, and have been for more than half my life.  I think of you as a sister now, and my whole family loves you.  You are incredibly funny and make everyone around you laugh. You are kind.  I've seen you many times hold your tongue when you knew something and wanted to say it, but didn't.  You are generous, with your time and your talents and praise of others. You give more than you get back, time and again.  I'm sorry I'm not there tonight.  But, I hope you know that I am always there in spirit.  Happy Birthday.

What My Girls Put Me Through

Last Saturday, Sarah sent me the following message:

"OH, MY GOB!  Baby raccoon!"  And this:



I started to panic.  On the tiny screen of my phone, the background appeared to be the back porch where her grandparents live.  Could a baby raccoon have crawled up there to die and Sarah was petting a rabid animal?  I remembered all the times the girls had liberated tadpoles from the pond, to keep in ice cream buckets under their beds, until I returned them to the pond from whence they came. 

I texted back, "Oh, MY Gob, is that a raccoon?  Has it bitten you?"

To which Sarah replied, "Oh, the minx bit me, but twas only a scratch."

Oh, no.  I was one hundred miles away and Sarah had been bitten by a raccoon.  Then, I get this from Cathy:

"Don't worry about Sarah, I was the one who got bit, but it wasn't the raccoon.  It was the bobcat."

WTF was going on?  I didn't get the full story, just tantalizing, "Oh, Mom, stop worrying.  The skunk left us mostly alone,"

until last night, when Cathy told me they had been at a fair and played with the animals (under supervision) at the wildlife preserve area.  She actually was bitten by the bobcat, whose baby teeth were so tiny and inoffensive, they didn't even break the skin. 

My girls love to tease me.  It was a great weekend for all of us, they had a nice time with their dad, I had a good time with friends at Leah's going away party, but the best part is that they included me in their good times.  And that they didn't die from rabies or death by bobcat.

This last photo is not from their time at the fair, it's one I took a month ago, when we were out walking on the gravel road behind our house.  The girls decided to share a dandelion and each try to blow the fluff off it, into the face of the other.  Such moments were made to last, even just on film:

 All my girls put me through... is worth it.  Every moment.