Back so soon?

I feel energized. Sitting in my chair, feeling focused and happy. There is nothing like a plan to make me feel better. The sun the last couple of days hasn't hurt.

And, in a burst of energy, I revamped the blog today. Inertia rules in my world, especially when it comes to technology. I loved the blog header made for me by a friend, but I needed to update, sweep up the cobwebs, freshen it up, and remove some of the old elements.

I am pleased with it -- and more pleased that I actually got it done myself. I looked at Etsy for some digital help, but am as yet unwilling to drop 100 bucks on this little baby. I am not in this for readers, or fame, or ad revenue -- after almost 8 years, it still really is just the place where I sweep out my brain, organize my thoughts, and process the stuff of life.

Let me know what you think of the new look. Drop me a note, send me a challenge, let me know what's up with you.

2013 is looking pretty good. At 42, I have a healthy fear of the unknown, but I've learned all we can do is live today and do the best we can. I think that is best summed up by Andy Dufresne in The Shawshank Redemption: "Get busy livin' or get busy dyin'."

Busy livin'. Messy, imperfect, chaotic, blessed, love-filled ... I've got it all, and I look forward to sharing it with you this year.

Happy 2013!

My most sincere wishes for a wonderful, happy and healthy 2013 to you and yours!

I had a revelatory moment seconds ago -- as I was surfing the web on my laptop, which is now conveniently connected to a docking station at my roll top desk. I love this piece of furniture; it is something I wanted starting at about age 12, and was a gift from my parents the year we bought our house.

Part of my computer routine for many years was settling in at my desk, usually with a cup of coffee or tea, and checking email before I blogged or surfed. I surround this desk with things I love -- there are photos of my husband and children, little souvenirs and gifts from people, and a framed triptych of Bruce postcards from the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame.

This space is part of what's been missing in my blogging. I can feel it; it is physically different for me to sit here and type. I hope that is a good sign that I will be a better, more consistent, and more thoughtful, blogger in 2013.

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I hope your holidays were lovely. December is a difficult month for me -- I was determined to get through it without wallowing, and for the most part, I did. I started shopping early this year and I set reasonable expectations for myself. (That is something I have been working on for several years, and slowly, I am learning.) I also (and this is key) allowed myself to LOWER my expectations for myself on the fly. Therefore, in the midst of the bake sale - holiday concert - gift wrapping - keep smiling! - order cards - etc - craziness, if I couldn't get it done, I let it go. It wasn't always that easy, but I did it, and I just decided that, on the spur of the moment, if I felt like I could add something, I would.

So I let go of some of the baking stress and added an evening of lefse making with friends. What fun. And since I had never made lefse before, and it is a staple of my Norwegian family's holidays, I was thrilled to have a teacher and some company. It was lovely.

I bought books for the nephews and niece on my side of the family; they always get toys, and I love being the auntie who buys books. That trip to the store was nothing short of joyful, as I chose books I love and books that were on wish lists for children I adore. How blessed I am to have an extended family that, despite our collective faults and the ups and downs of life, stays together, loves each other, and works toward a better future for us all.

Rob's extended family gathered (most of us anyway) at his mom's this year. The highlight for me was Saturday evening out with the siblings and spouses. Grandma kept the kids and they watched movies, and we went to the VFW and played Bingo, then to a billiards hall for a few games of pool. I am NOT a pool player, but I made a respectable showing and had the most incredible burger with a strawberry sauce on it. Fun night!

New Year's Eve had middle son Evan off babysitting (an overnight gig) to earn spending money for his trip to Washington, DC and New York this spring. The rest of us stayed home and Garrett threw a party for a few friends. Turns out that basement family room is worth its weight in gold -- just as we hoped, it has become a gathering place for friends, and we love that. We know who is there, what they're doing, and we get to know the kids. This is a good group -- fun, funny, and so dear to us.

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2012 was a good year -- we bought a beautiful new camper, spent lots of time at the seasonal campsite as a family, took a fab vacation to Washington, DC and Monticello, and spent time with friends and family.

And so, 2013 begins. I am not a resolution girl, but I do have plans to learn more about that fancypants camera I got almost a year ago. I will do the Project 365 (a photo a day) thing again, and I hope to muck out my creative space here in the eaves of the house. Right now it is a mess, but I've decided to give it a try for 3 months and see what progress I can make.

All the best to you and yours, with hopes and wishes for joy, laughter, and fun in the new year.

Lifelong learning

I believe in lifelong learning. I believe in intellectual curiosity. I believe in critical thinking.

That's why I chose to homeschool my son this summer to make up a World History credit rather than sending him to summer school. We are covering a semester of work during our summer break. I obtained a teacher's edition of the school district's chosen textbook and we are beginning to work through it, starting with the Byzantine Empire.

 I have always respected teachers for their dedication. My grandmother was a fourth grade teacher. I saw the preparation, the thought, the time that went into organizing a classroom, planning lessons, grading papers ... I thought I understood the level of work that my children's teachers went through. Then I began this project. I want to do the history, but I want to incorporate all the fun stuff -- the personalities, the art, the literature -- and there just is not enough time. We have 16 chapters to cover in 12 weeks. That doesn't account for breaks we may want to take, say, over the 4th of July or when we go on vacation in August.

 The good news is that he is learning. Developing critical thinking skills. Understanding that adding "and other issues" at the end of a sentence is a method of BS that Teacher Mom will not tolerate. Learning that random capitalization is a path to self-destruction in this particular classroom. And I am learning. This lesson of how difficult it is to fit in all the necessary stuff and find a way to fit in the fun and interesting stuff, too. How much time it takes to craft a lesson and then really discuss it so that it is clear the student is taking away something useful. How much I want my kid to succeed, and how far I am willing to go to help make that happen.

So much of life is an exercise in finding balance. I struggle with it every day, especially in the summer. Finding my 16 hours of work time in amongst my real life is challenging. I know I am lucky that I only work part time, but I sometimes feel that if my job was more hours and/or less flexible, it would be simpler. I would have fewer choices to make.

So I assign reading and head out the door to the office. I come home, throw in a load of laundry, and read the Section Review and vocab. We talk Byzantine art and architecture while unloading the dishwasher.

My own World History course was taught by the hockey coach, and he was, shall we say, not up to the challenge. I am learning right along with my son, about balance, about the world, about him and about myself. Lifelong learning. We may not always enjoy this experience of homeschooling, but I hope that my example of learning, sticking to it, finding balance, and high expectations will make a difference someday.

And if not, well, then I guess that in itself will provide another learning opportunity.

Enigma

I have talked about it with friends before: there is no way to know what goes on in someone else's marriage. No one but the people involved have the inside perspective, and even if you hear a story from one of them, it is colored with their own biases, dreams, desires, and emotions. What one wants from a marriage is not always what one gets. What one thinks one wants from marriage may not actually be what one wants. And we change as people. We get older, we learn things, we understand ourselves better and sometimes that understanding leads us in different directions.

I am lucky. I am happy in my marriage. I like being married, and I like my husband. Is that always enough? I don't know -- I have only ever been inside my own marriage, and while it is by no means perfect, and I am a difficult woman to live with on my best day, it works. We laugh, I cry, we act silly and we argue and we I snipe and get snarky, and somehow we wake up every day and decide we want to keep going.

When it gets so bad that a couple doesn't want to keep going, or can't, it's a sad thing for them, their family, and their community. I can't know how or why, but it happened to someone in my circle. The decision has been made. And I am just so sad.

I wish all the best to both of you as you find new paths through the world. It sounds like you are already doing better, but be kind to each other and to yourselves. Know that you are loved and that we will be here for you if you need us.

Dammit, sometimes a virtual hug just doesn't do the trick.

Two things:
One, NPR has a story that goes along with my last post.
You're Not Alone

Two, WHY is it that when someone posts on Facebook about having a hard time parenting (not complaining, just acknowledging that it is a tough gig), someone else (or multiple someones) has to immediately jump in with something that sounds like sympathy or empathy but ISN'T? In other words, a response like, "Yes, hard work but ultimately so rewarding!" or "Yes, but they are so worth it." or "Yes, it's a hard job and we are so lucky to be mommies." or whatever.

Yes, I am grateful for my kids. Yes, I understand that many people want them and can't have them or have to go through expensive medical and or legal procedures to get them. Some of those people are in my family. I also understand that many people have them and don't care for them properly and don't deserve to have them (sadly, some of those people were in my family and are now legally not part of it but are still given parenting time by a court system that is really a mess. Wait. I digress.). Yes, it is a blessing to have kids. BUT SOME DAYS IT IS JUST HARD AND ALL YOU WANT IS AN AMEN, SISTA.

I just want people to stop laying guilt trips disguised as sympathy. STOP.

That is all.

The Village

It takes a village, the old saying goes. A village to raise a child. The WHOLE village. And I have experienced that. If I did something wrong while riding my bike around the block Janice was likely to scold me, just as my mom would scold Janice's kids for errant behavior. The block was full of moms -- Joanie, Carol, Janice, Fae, Darlene -- who would hold everyone accountable for their transgressions.

Today people make fun of that saying, maybe because Hillary Clinton used it as a book title, maybe because it just got overused and now seems trite and cliched.

But it is still true, and I was reminded of it in a powerful way this week.

I worked yesterday morning and came home to find Garrett on the sidewalk, waiting for me. This is never a good sign. He 'fessed up to some inappropriate behavior and (of course) laid equal or greater blame on Evan. The what and how of the fight are not important -- they never are, are they? The bottom line is how my children treat each other. And in a word, they treat each other badly.

I posted on Facebook. I was frustrated. I was tired. I was discouraged. I feel like I am in the movie Groundhog Day, where Bill Murray relives the day again and again. The difference is, he makes the most of it and finds ways around the problems of the day (stepping in a puddle) and learning new skills (like playing the piano and learning a foreign language). In my version of the movie we all do the same things but NOTHING EVER CHANGES. I still don't play the piano well, and my Spanish could use some help. LOL

But here is the cool part. The Village kicked in. Nancy "liked" my status. When I objected to "liking" such a thing, she said it was just because she understands. She's been there. She struggles some days, too, with this parenting gig. Soon Tracy piped up, and Jennifer, and Susan, and my sister-in-law Woo. They all gave me encouragement and (this was key for me) showed me compassion. They cared for me. They let me know I was not alone in my struggle, and that having a bad moment or day as a parent doesn't make me a bad parent. Parenting is not a sprint, it's a marathon. One day is not going to make the difference. (Confession: The Jackson Five's "One Bad Apple" is playing in my head right now. You're welcome.)

I don't think I blogged about it (I was too wounded and ashamed to, I think), but our neighbor lit into me one day because I snapped at her dog, which was barking mad (literally), and I was impatient and tired and for god's sake the dog knows me and still will not stop barking.

She basically told me that I should put up with the dog because she listens to me yell at my kids. I know for certain one word she threw at me was berate. And because I already feel guilty for being a yeller, and because it was not long after Kris died and I was so tender inside, and for a million other reasons, I took it. I owned it. I internalized it. I believed it.

And yes, I have confessed here before to my struggles with my kids and the tidiness of their rooms, their personal hygiene, etc. etc. etc. I know I yell at them. But at some point can we not at least make an allowance that I have had the same conversation with them forty times and still they refuse to learn? Can I get an amen here? No, I don't always handle it well, but my anger and frustration are at least justifiable.

Not to her. She is a teacher. She is unmarried. She has no children. Clearly, she knows how to raise my (and your) children better than we do. I should know, I knew everything about being a good parent until I became one. Turns out, what you know beforehand is bullshit.

So I have been questioning my own parenting skills for a long time, but far more seriously after this incident in early 2010.

And you know what? All those friends coming out of the Facebook ether to tell me they understand, they feel the same way too, that their parents taught them lessons in grace and humility by admitting they were wrong and apologizing, that this was just one day in many, and that I am still a good mom, well, it made a HUGE difference. Huge. And I am grateful every day for that village; not just because I know they will be there for my kids, but because they are there for me. Turns out that it also takes a village to raise a parent.

I still have a lot to learn. I keep trying every day. I love my kids as fiercely and gently as I can. I would do ANYTHING to keep them safe and happy and well. So if my kids read this today, or 5 years from now, or after I'm long gone, I tried my best. I did the best I could. I'm sorry I yelled. I love you.

And to my neighbor, who moved out this summer without having to tell one person in our neighborhood goodbye (which I think speaks volumes about her), well, I hope you have a lot of kids. Twins, even. And I hope you have a village, because this parenting gig? Man, it is SO easy until you wake up one day and you are entirely responsible for providing EVERYTHING another human being needs. You should probably get to work on building that village now.

Milestones

I am a sentimental girl. I get teary pretty easily, much to my own annoyance sometimes.

But I am not a crier at kids' milestones. I didn't cry when Garrett stepped onto the bus the first day of kindergarten; I most certainly did NOT follow the bus to school and believe me, I rolled my eyes at the idiot parents who disobeyed the request of the school district and did follow the bus.

I was (and am) proud of the fact that my kids (all 3) were ready, excited, and perfectly competent to enter into the world of school. (Okay, I cried a tiny bit when Spencer got on the bus, but it was more because he is the last one than that I was sad he was going.)

I LOVE to see the things they learn every day. I love seeing them discover their own strengths. I make them make phone calls; to the eye doctor to see if the new glasses are ready, to the orthodontist to ask if we can pick up more rubber bands. They are capable humans, and I feel like my biggest job is helping them not only BE capable, but to trust themselves and know they can handle things, knowing that I am there to back them up if need be.

So I didn't expect to be suddenly overcome with emotion in the high school cafeteria this evening during schedule pickup.

I didn't anticipate the sudden drop my stomach would take, the overwhelming urge I had to grab my friend Cathy's hand and tell her, "I need someone to hold my hand" (a joke we've been making for a while since she is the parent of a junior at this school). I did NOT expect my eyes to fill with tears at the prospect of my son, this boy I have held for almost 14 years, starting high school.

He was oblivious to it, thank goodness. He was already off with an upperclassman, a captain of the football team, who was going to help him find his locker and figure out where all the classrooms are. We had planned to do that together, he and I. Instead I dried my tears and went to a parent meeting, signed up for the Booster Club, and talked to Student Nutrition Services.

Fourteen years. He has made me laugh, made me cry, filled me with such hopelessness (Is he EVER going to potty train? Is he EVER going to pick up the damn Legos? Is he EVER going to stop fighting with his brothers?), and filled me with such unspeakable pride and joy (his meeting the President of the United States, Barack Obama, earlier this year was certainly a highlight).

He is so smart. Got his dad's aptitude for math. Loves wordplay and puzzles, like me. He is a rockhound. He loves fishing and, when given a book about fly tying and a few supplies, turned out a dozen or more in a weekend. He loves nature, the color green, the feeling of being in the woods. In the quiet. In his head.

He is talkative, but he won't share things that worry or wound him; those I must carefully draw out, or guess, and trust that there are others with whom he will share those things. He is a good friend; he gets along with other kids and has some really close relationships, with boys and girls, that I think I treasure even more than he does.

He is fourteen tomorrow, embarking on a whole new adventure. High school is a place to grow, to learn, to try new things, to discover who you want to be. He is ready to fly.

And when the day comes, I'll be ready to cheer him on. The crying has to be done; this kid? He's gonna conquer the world. This milestone? It's really just the beginning.

And I can't wait to watch it all unfold.

Happy birthday, Garrett. You are an amazing human being and I am so incredibly grateful that I am your mom.

My head itches

On my best day I don't handle bugs well. I have been heard to say, more than once, If it isn't paying rent, that spider\ant\crawly thing is not staying in my house.

Imagine my shock and dismay when we had a case of head lice in the house in February. It was horrifying. Ever since I have (in slightly obsessive fashion) checked my kids' heads, thinking I've seen something moving. Today, I did.

I guess I can be grateful I caught it sooner this time.

And that I have sanitize cycles on my washer and dryer, which are huge capacity and awesome. So I don't have to go to the laundromat.

But grateful, well, it isn't the best adjective to describe me right this minute.

*sigh*

Time flies when ... it's summer?

I guess that's my excuse. I haven't posted on my blog for 2 months because it's summer. Although, to be fair, it really has only felt like summer for a month. It took its own sweet time getting here, then bore down on us last week with temps near 100 and humidity to match. Brutal. I try really hard not to complain about the heat -- I do, after all, live in Minnesota, and, well, we have such cold so much of the year it feels ungrateful to complain when we finally get a warm day. But this? This was ridiculous.

So ... what has been happening since May 11, when I took my little hiatus?

Well, my little brother got married. He and his wife were both married previously and had some sad tales to tell. They had a lovely day and a beautiful ceremony and they are deliriously happy. So that was nice. In an awesome bonus, I did NOT get into a hair pulling, scratching, biting fight with my mom's sister, who hates my everlovin' guts. Ignoring evil relative FTW!

Also, my eldest son graduated from 8th grade. They had a simple ceremony at the end of the school's annual awards ceremony and I did not cry. Perhaps I am unsentimental, but I prefer to think of it as "looking forward to all of the cool stuff my kid will learn and do as he grows." It's all in the spin.

In June I made a trip to North Dakota to spend a couple of days with my mom. We attended a lecture by Clay Jenkinson, who portrays my favorite President, Thomas Jefferson, and it was amazing. I highly recommend Clay's Show, The Thomas Jefferson Hour.

And I drove my new car home from North Dakota at the end of that trip. My dad restored it for my mom (who picked the beautiful color) in 1996. They are starting to think about downsizing and moving somewhere warm, and they decided they had better start getting rid of cars. (My dad has a fascination with cars, which I detailed in an album I made for him a few years ago. You can see the inside pages in my gallery at Scrapjazz. Here is a link, but the album starts on page 7 of the gallery just in case the link doesn't work.

And here is the car:

I know.

It is gorgeous. I could not love it more.

Of course, in the interest of full documentation I should also add that the fuel pump died on the doggone thing before I'd had it a week. Fortunately the part was under $25 and my awesome husband did the mechanic work to get me up and running again. Could have been worse.

And of course we have been doing the usual home improvement stuff around here lately -- Evan's room is looking very appropriate for a gearhead, and Garrett's room just got its bamboo wall mural and a new oak door, and will get new bifold closet doors (also oak) as soon as I get them stained. Patience, grasshopper.

We spent a lovely few days at our friends' lake cabin in central Minnesota, where all 3 of the boys learned to waterski. That was a highlight. We had a ball. It is so much fun to give my boys a little chance to experience stuff like that. I took my grandparents' lake cabins for granted, and I wish one of them was still left in the family. Having a week every year to hang at our friends' cabin is really a treat.

And, of course, Potter fever hit our house in July, when Evan and I went to the midnight showing of the final harry Potter movie with our friends Tracy and David. The boys dressed up and we all loved the movie. We all love the books even more.

And, speaking of books, I read The Count of Monte Cristo with a couple of friends over the spring and summer. It is 1,200 pages. It was great fun to read with a group again and we are thinking of doing it with more books, although keeping a looser format than a monthly book group. I read it on my Kindle, and cannot love the Kindle more, either. What a great invention.

So ... it wouldn't be my blog without a list, would it? We still have that doggone storage unit from spring 2010, when we put the house on the market. Since then we have gone through a lot of it and it is less than half full, so we hope to clean it all out soon. Plus there are always a million things to do to get ready for school starting, so here is my list for today:

* clean out storage unit by Sept. 30 (in progress as of 8/22)
* get out for a few days of camping (not so many camping days this summer with the government shutdown)
* get kids to eye doctor before school
* finish staining Garrett's closet doors (in progress as of 8/22)
* stain remaining 3 doors for basement (in progress as of 8/22)
* weed garden
* take out tree/bush in back yard

I think that's good for now. I am well. My kids are doing great -- they are at UU Chalice Camp this week (Vacation Bible School for UUs). My husband is as handsome, patient and kind as ever.

So I am grateful for the things that stay the same, even as the world and my family change every day.

For Brad

My little brother and I had a number of years when we just didn't get along. The whys of it are unimportant -- we both made some mistakes and let some things take more space in our minds than they deserved and it led to us growing apart.

Thankfully we found our way past that, in the midst of his very painful divorce a few years ago. We don't always agree, but he is my brother and I will be there for him if he needs me, no matter what. I know he feels the same way about me.

The last few years have been incredibly painful for him as he has watched his children, who live full time with him, deal with the aftermath of divorce and abandonment.

This post is dedicated to him and is for any parent who is dealing with divorce and/or custody issues. I don't pretend to know how hard this is; I've never experienced it from the inside. All I know is that what I have learned from him, simply by paying attention to the way he has handled things, is good stuff. I wish every parent (including me) could be as patient and selfless as he has been.

So, Brad, this one's for you. I respect and admire the way you've dealt with this situation that was not your choice, and I wish you nothing but happiness and peace all the days of your life. You have definitely earned it.

Promises from a dad to his children:

I will always love you, and I will tell you that as often as you need to hear it. Or more. I love you.

I will not share details of why my marriage to your mom broke up. That is grown-up business. It wasn't your fault. We both still love you. That is all you need to know.

I will not badmouth your mom in front of you, no matter how angry I am with her. She is still your mother, and as much as I disagree with her or dislike the things she does, I will not be disrespectful of her in your presence, nor will I allow anyone else to be.

I will never keep you from your mom. If she calls you and you are not at home, I will give you the message. If she sends mail, I will make sure you receive it.

I will never keep you away from your mom's extended family or friends. There can never be too many people who love you. If they want to be in your life, and they respect me and my rules, I will find a way for them to see you. If they don't make an effort to be in your life, it is their loss.

I will not lie for your mom or make excuses for her. I will not condemn her to you, but I will not be a party to the promises she makes and breaks repeatedly.

I will make sure you understand that you can love someone and still be angry with them. I will validate your feelings as best I can and try to help you through your anger. I will listen to you.

I will surround you with people who will love and support you. You will know my extended family. I will be active in your school, in religious life, in sports or activities, and you will have many people to turn to in times of trouble. If I marry again I will choose a spouse who joins me in supporting and loving you.

If I marry again, I will make you a part of the ceremony so that it is clear we are all making a commitment to each other to be a family.

I will do anything to keep you safe, make you feel loved, and help you grow up to be a happy, healthy person.

Brad and his kids are moving forward in their life and embarking on a new adventure soon. I wish them all the best, and I promise to be there for them, supporting, encouraging and celebrating. It has been a long, dark night.

Here comes the sun.

Why I cried over a bag of salad

I posted a new status on Facebook the other night: Jennifer (Name redacted) "ponders the age old question 'What's for dinner?' and wishes there were another age old question to ponder."

Which prompted a discussion with 18 comments. I don't often get 18 comments on anything I post. I guess because that dinner question is a dilemma we all face.

I don't think I've written about it here, but my friend Careless and I were pretty tight in the early years of our marriage and child-rearing time. Quite often we would talk on the phone in the afternoon while our littles were napping.

Often, one or both of us was uninspired, we were both poor, and we craved time together. Fortunately we liked each other's husbands (not in an inappropriate way) and the husbands got along, too. It helped that they are both geeky types who enjoy woodworking and building stuff. And beer.

So we would engage in a conversation about what each of us could theoretically contribute to a meal and whose house was cleaner, and we would come up with a game plan and let the husbands know we were having a dinner party.

(Which, let's be clear, at our house was eating at the coffee table in the living room while seated on the floor with the littles tumbling around at our feet. I have a dining room table now but I shudder to contemplate getting rid of my giant square coffee table. It rocked. Anyway, it was never fancy but the company couldn't be beat.)

All of that explanation to share with you the single post on Facebook which honestly made me tear up:

Careless posted, "I've got a bag of salad ... what do you have?"

In one sentence she invoked all of those toddler/baby stressed days, the simple fun of spending time with friends and sharing food, the fun of listening to 80s music and her husband's commentary, matching every song, it seemed, to a girl he dated. We didn't have a lot of money but we were RICH. That friendship saved my life. That girl was my rock. That family, well, they are MY family.

And that, my dear blog reader, is why I cried over a bag of salad on Tuesday.
And I smiled. In fact, I am still smiling.
Careless, you are one amazing woman, and I am so glad you are my friend.
Oh -- I have chicken breasts and banana bread. And my house is clean. Come on over, anytime.

Infinite possibilities

This house has seen many incarnations since we've owned it. It's been 14 years this week. Currently the upstairs (with the cute sloped ceilings) is my scrapbooking/craft/computer/genealogy room and the "master" bedroom. I use the quotes because in this day and age it doesn't feel like a master without a bathroom, which we do not have. But I digress.

The main floor is where our middle and youngest sons sleep. Spring break was last week and I worked like a dervish to get cleaning/organizing and painting done. Our poor stereotype (often neglected, fades into the background because he is so mellow) of a middle son, Evan, had been waiting patiently for months to get his room painted and personalized.

Monday I painted, with his help. It was a lot of work, and I think at 41 I may have decided painting is a job to be hired out from now on. Maybe.

Evan loves cars and motorcycles and the Indianapolis Colts. Not necessarily in that order. (The Colts move up during football season and move down the rest of the year. Sorry, Peyton.)

The big empty space above Evan's bed is for the 24 x 24 inch canvas we procured over the weekend. It will feature a large Harley-Davidson bar & shield logo and some motorcycle pictures. Soon.

This is Spencer's room.

And Garrett's. Clearly I should have used the flash. Sorry. The loft bed and desk are from Walmart. He wanted a bed from IKEA but it was too tall for the ceilings in the basement. This was the only option we could find that fit. We hope to get a chair in the next few months that will fit where the blue chair is (far left in the shadows) and will fold out into a twin-size bed for guests.

This is my grandma's breakfront. I had to look it up, but it's called a breakfront because the center of the case is set out from the sides. This is curved glass and I was a basket case transporting and unpacking it. Can't imagine having to replace the glass. Yikes. Many of the items in the breakfront were given to me by my grandma over the last 10 years or so. I love having it in the room, but I think it will be quite some time before I stop referring to it as "Sally's furniture."

And I did use the flash here, but it's cloudy and the light is funny so it still looks dim. This is the table and chairs, again from my grandma. I remember sitting here for dozens of holiday and everyday meals with my grandparents and parents. I find myself stopping and staring at it as I move through the house -- it throws me off every time I see it.

I think we are set now, for a few years. (I suspect until Garrett graduates, anyway. (What a freaky thing to type ... it's only 4 years away.)
Our family has grown and changed over the years and the house has managed to shiftshape and morph along with us. It's a pretty amazing house with endless variations. :)

Spring cleaning

I LOVE spring. The crisp scent in the air, the mud, the deceptively sunny days that are surprisingly cold when you step outside.

I made it through this winter, and it is somehow more and less of a surprise than I expected. I wasn't on any medications this year. When my doctor suggested I taper off last fall, I was terrified and told him no. Mere weeks later I discovered that I was suffering from side effects and he changed my medicine and I went crazy. Okay, perhaps that is a little harsh. But the new med, it made me sick. It made me feel like I was wildly careening from sane to batshit crazy and back again in seconds. And, frankly, the withdrawal from that drug was worse than the drug. So bad, in fact, I told the doc I was ready to go it alone.

And it was fine. I felt the normal ups and downs of winter, although I suspect they are more intense than most people. Still, I was ok.

Now it's spring, and I am feeling the sunshine. My mojo is back -- at least until the next cloudy day. I am cleaning, organizing, purging -- eliminating all that excess stuff from my life. The church rummage sale is in 3 weeks and I hope to bring an entire van load. Or two.

Tomorrow Evan and I will paint his bedroom, and Tuesday all 3 boys and I will hit the storage unit to clean things out, find some of our treasures, and begin emptying it, because by the end of June I want to be done paying that ridiculous $100 a month.

What went today? About 4 dozen 3.5 inch floppy disks. A box of photos to be mailed to my aunt. Another box, this time of scrapbooking supplies, to go to a charity I love. About 50 textbooks (Goodwill takes them and nothing goes to waste so if they don't sell them they are recycled). Several cardboard boxes. Rob cleaned up his work room, purging who knows what. It feels good.

This week, I will find stuff in storage -- shoes I have missed, art from the living and dining rooms, kitchen towels I stuck in storage to free up a drawer but that I need now, the magnet boards we bought the boys to keep their ever-growing collection of travel souvenirs, sheet sets that will immediately go the the rummage pile, an antique settee that I miss and want back in my living room -- but only the stuff I love and need comes back.

I am still in mourning for my grandma and her stuff. Things are not the way she would have wanted them. But they are the way she chose for them to be. I learned a lesson in this. Avoiding difficult decisions does not mean that the decision points won't someday arrive; it just means that someone else makes the decisions.

I decide. Difficult or not, I am the decider. It's started -- I just have to carry it through.

What's really important

She would lift me up just high enough to reach the tiny wooden ball and remind me to pull gently. The sun streamed through the glass front door and the room, with its white carpet and furniture, glowed. I grasped the little golden ball and as the string came out of the box I held my breath.
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A week ago I traveled to my grandmother's home. She is in a nursing home now with no prospect of leaving. Her cognitive function is limited, her mental illness so bad she is on antipsychotic drugs, her physical health failing, too.

I picked up her dining room furniture, pieces that had been promised to me when I was a child. A thousand times, she told me the story of my uncle accidentally etching a map of the Hawaiian islands into the table top. It was funny then -- I suspect it was NOT funny at the time it happened. Now it is a story I tell my children as they trace their fingers over the shapes and the names of the islands. HAWAII, LANAI ... etching themselves into my children`s memories as they are etched in mine.

Things were important to my grandma. She said people were more important to her, but I disagree. Her home was filled with lovely things -- and many times if she liked something she bought it in every color or style. I never saw her give one thing away or donate anything to charity -- people who shop at Goodwill could not possibly care for her items properly. When I would tell her the things she no longer used could be useful to someone else she became angry.

She and my grandpa moved far away from their home of 40 years after a devastating flood. She moved EVERYTHING. The junk drawer. Hundreds of tubes of lipstick, some 40 years old. Clothes that were old, out of style, outgrown, damaged.

And now, her worst nightmare -- HER things, being pawed through by people, trying to clean things out. Vultures. I was one of them. It was awful.

I have a beautiful dining room set now, some lovely pieces of glassware and thousands of family photos. I have thrown away twice as many as I kept -- all those lovely landscapes on vacations? Don't bother, they will only be tossed away by the next generation. I have a few precious items that remind me of her, of my grandpa, of their lake cabin and their homes.

It has inspired me to clean things out. Why do I have all these books? They are just something for someone else to go through later. I donated 350 or more last week to our church book sale.

My genealogy is a puzzle. What to do with it in the event none of my sons want to continue the research? I need to find a place that will welcome the information and make it accessible to other family historians.

The photos. Oh, the photos. How I LOVE them. They are a touchstone, a key to the past, a glimpse of people long gone. But they lived. They breathed. They loved, they laughed, they cried. And they are part of me. Many things will go away to find homes elsewhere. The photos, well, I will try to organize them. Label them. Assemble them into a puzzle that others can understand.

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I pulled the string one last time before I left the house, and the theme from Dr. Zhivago played. The string slowly wound into the music box plaque, and the little shiny ball made its slow journey back to its home. I wanted to take it with me, but it could not be the same in another house.

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When I die, I want those who love me to keep things that make them smile. Things that have happy memories connected to them. Things they love. If my dining room set, so recently deposited here, fails to match in their houses, or if they hate it, or happy memories are absent from it, I want them to let it go. Keep what you want, sell or donate the rest. It is just stuff.

I love my stuff. I have made no secret here that I love stuff. Shiny things, sparkly things, craft supplies, photos ... but there are no words for me to express how I feel about my husband and children, about my parents, my brother, my extended family, my friends. If I love you, you know it. And stuff, no matter how cool or beautiful, is no replacement for the people who are my life.

If you are reading this, you are one of those people. And believe me, I am grateful for you, more than words could ever say.

Arizona

It's been a few days since the awful shooting in Arizona. Rep. Gabrielle Giffords is still in a medically induced coma and people of all political persuasions are praying for her recovery.

There is a lot being made of this shooting. People are saying it's the Republicans' fault. It's the Tea party's fault. This is bullshit.

We all own it. All of us. Republicans, Democrats, Tea Partiers, athiests, fundamental evangelicals, the radical left, the religious right, the apathetic, the disillusioned, the angry, the passionate, the politically obsessed, the willfully ignorant.

We have encouraged the media to ramp things up. Glenn Beck gets ratings because he is dramatic. He cries and whines about the state of his beloved country, blames the liberals, and ignores entirely the facts. Rush Limbaugh inflates and exaggerates and spews vitriol and people listen. Jon Stewart (and if you read this at all you must know I am a fan) uses humor to skewer right-wingers of all stripes. (Though to be fair, he invites people he disagrees with on to his show and treats them respectfully and gives them an opportunity to explain their positions, even those he abhors).

We don't think of "the other side" as human. We dehumanize them daily, and we allow others to do so as well.

I do it, too. I am trying not to. I have been trying not to. I have said it many times before -- Republicans love their country as much as I love it. I believe that they truly want the best things for our nation and its people. I simply believe they are wrong in terms of the things they want and the ways to accomplish their goals. That is my right as an American. I disagree with them. I do not question their patriotism.

Since September 11, 2001 many Republicans have openly questioned my patriotism. People have told me that I am not a patriot because my beliefs differ from theirs. In the media, Republicans have somehow appropriated the American flag as their own and insinuated or worse that liberals are not only NOT patriots, but that we collectively do not deserve the rights and benefits we are guaranteed in the Constitution.

I take issue with that. Yes, I do. I love my country. In fact, I love it so much that I stepped up and took an oath that said I would defend it against all enemies, foreign and domestic, and I offered up my life to do so if necessary. Not a patriot? Bite me.

Now if my dad is reading this he is waiting for me to get to the gun violence part of the post. Let me be VERY clear: I support responsible gun ownership. (As does Rep. Giffords, for the record). I grew up in a home with firearms. I cringe every time somebody in the media calls a rifle a "gun." They are not the same thing. I have handled firearms since I was tiny. I recall my dad letting me help him clean his firearms when I was 3. He taught me gun safety. He taught dozens of kids firearm safety in my hometown.

My dad is a sportsman -- he hunted upland game when I was a kid, went deer hunting with his dad and brothers, took my brother hunting for deer, geese, and more. He taught me about conservation and stewardship of the land -- that we have to care for the land so that it continues to support wild game. He helped me understand hunting as one means of population control in animal species. He made it clear that when you killed an animal you owed it the dignity of your respect and you used as much of it as you could, eating the meat and donating the hide and whatever other options were available.

I support the second amendment. Period.

I don't know how the alleged gunman acquired his weapon, nor do I know what weapon it was (I have avoided most of the coverage, I confess). I can't speak to gun ownership laws or waiting periods or any of that.

I CAN speak to this: the Constitution (which, apparently the Republicans now own as well, if you infer from their recent grandstanding) gave all the people at the Safeway that day the right to gather peacefully. It gives all of us the right to dissent with each other and our government. It holds all of us accountable in the governance of our nation. That means if you have the right to vote, you should exercise it at EVERY opportunity.

Old documents can make us uncomfortable. They are printing a new edition of The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn that replaces the "N" word with the word slave. The "N" word is key in that story and it will be a lesser story for the loss of the word. The Bible has all manner of uncomfortable scenes -- let's talk about Lot's daughters after the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah, shall we? Or maybe not. Go ahead and look it up yourself. (Pop quiz-- do you know what book you should look in? Just askin'.) The Constitution? Oh yeah. Some REALLY uncomfortable things in there. Did you know the Republicans LEFT OUT the part about slaves being counted 3/5 of a person AND the entire 13th Amendment, which abolished slavery in their dramatic reading? Yes, it is uncomfortable. But it is our HISTORY, and if we do not talk about it and why it was not okay to have slaves, how are we to teach our children right from wrong? Not talking about it does not erase it.

So. We all own the Constitution (much to Mr. Boehner's consternation) and we all own the mess we're in now.

What can we do? I wish I had the answer. Maybe we could start with listening. Maybe we could commit to calling people out in the media when they spread falsehoods, malicious half-truths and incite violence. Maybe we could think of the Sting song from the 80s, Russians. He sang, I hope the Russians love their children, too. Can we just agree that we ALL love our kids and our country and we simply have very different ideas about how to make things better? Can we encourage our representatives to sit down together and work it out? The Constitution has worked for 200 years and now many people are saying the rules of Congress need to be changed. I think the way politicians work needs to be changed.

My thoughts are with the families of those killed and wounded in Tucson on Saturday. All of us are appalled. All of us wish them well.

I don't know if the shooting was politically motivated or not. I do know that regardless of the motivation this incident was a wake-up call for all of us.

The question is, are we going to get up and go to work, or press the Snooze button?

Letting in the Light

We sang "This Little Light of Mine" in church today, and the theme of the sermon was stories. How the stories of our lives make us who we are, how they can help us learn about ourselves, how we can puzzle out their meaning as we tell and re-tell them.

This weekend has been revelatory. I am learning new stories, and I hope in the telling I can somehow begin to make sense of it all.

The relative I wrote about recently continues to be unwell. The secret she hid for so many years has taken its toll and she has lost all quality of life.

Inspired by that, and perhaps looking for further reasons or basic information another family began digging in papers supplied by the ill woman in healthier times. Papers she distributed to the entire extended family with genealogical information, including a copy of her father W's death certificate.

I had seen W's death certificate before. She sent it to me with the same packet, probably 10 years ago.

I hadn't realized it, but he died in a mental hospital in the 1950s. A contributing cause of death was "psychosis." Could it have been Alzheimer's Disease before it was recognized as a disease and not a normal part of aging? He was in the institution for almost 4 years before death. What and who put him there?

None of this has ever been discussed before. The stigma of mental illness, the shame of abuse, the desire to move away from it all and begin fresh -- these must have been the motivations of all involved.

But the perception now, today, in the age of full disclosure and navel-gazing, is that keeping the secrets was wrong. Some people in the family feel betrayed. They wonder why even simple acknowledgments and explanations were not given; why didn't they tell me SOMETHING?

I can't know the reasons, the symptoms, the fear or anguish. Everyone who could shed light on the story is dead or mentally incapacitated.

But this I know for sure: the stories will not die with me. I am opening the closet door and letting the full sun shine on them. The stories of my family's past does not have to define its future. We can acknowledge that our family, like so many others, has had trials and tribulations. We can talk about the pain and suffering of so many people, trying to keep painful secrets locked up. We can have sympathy for the suffering they endured, even the suffering that was self-induced because of fear or ignorance or who knows what.

Today, I shine my light on my whole family. I call upon all those involved with this to face the demons of the past in a fearless manner. The past cannot hurt us unless we fail to acknowledge the lessons that were supposed to be learned.

Deep Thoughts

Okay, really, I don't have any. Nothing to ponder or to make you think. Maybe just a quick recap of the last month:

*my folks and my brother (along with his girlfriend and their 4 kids) were here for Christmas. It was the first time in 13 years that we'd all been together. A long gap that was mostly inspired by his ex-wife, who, in addition to being an absolute pig at home, would trash my house every time she came. She was a human tornado without the benefit of the rainbow at the end. At any rate, she is gone, and I enjoyed having everyone here (mostly LOL). I am ME, after all.

*Evan's big Christmas gift this year was plane tickets for him and me to go to Indianapolis to see the fabulous Teresa and her son Mike. She is truly an incredible and generous host. We went because Evan (inspired by Teresa and Mike) has become quite a Colts football fan, and Teresa has season tickets. January 2 saw the 4 of us at Lucas Oil Stadium, wearing Colts jerseys (even me!) and cheering Peyton Manning and the guys to victory. The stadium is awesome and we had a lot of fun.

*In a week (a WEEK!) my baby will turn 9. How did that happen?

*In just over a month I will celebrate my 15th wedding anniversary with my amazing husband. He has frequent flier miles and I am itching to get away with him for a couple of days, I just need to find someone who can take my kids. Cross your fingers!

*My job is going well. I love the flexibility and the fact that I can log in from home whenever I want. I got the laptop a few weeks ago and it is so convenient. I often log in for an hour or so at night to get through email, and I am doing a fair amount of reading about Time Banking in general and learning a lot.

*Minnesota has a Democrat in the Governor's office for the first time in 20 years. Mark Dayton was my candidate all along, and I am very pleased he was elected.

*The great bedroom remodel of 2010 is almost complete. We got the room painted Wednesday the 22 and furniture moved in the 23rd. We still need to get new carpet, add trim and closet doors, and put the closet organizer in, but it is a room, it is warm, and it is functional. Garrett is pretty chuffed.

*I am still reading Anna Karenina. It isn't boring, but it requires some concentration. And a cheat sheet delineating names and relationships. I need to finish it, though, because I just added several books to my library request list: Room, An Exact Replica of a Figment of My Imagination, My Reading Life and Port Mortuary.

How delicious -- to start off the new year with books by 2 of my most favorite authors, Pat Conroy and Patricia Cornwell. I will let you know what I think.

In which one wishes one had been wrong

For a long time I have suspected that a member of my extended family was abused as a child.

Her memories of her nuclear family were so vastly different than the memories her siblings shared I just figured she had made up her happy memories to cover up (at best) a relationship where an adult shared too much of his or her adult ... errr, issues or (at worst) a sexually abusive relationship.

She has been unwell ... a disintegrating memory, a move to a facility (which was necessary but incredibly difficult and painful), and a lack of contact with a number of extended family and friends (again, painful but necessary for her adjustment to her new surroundings, according to her doc). All of this has combined with her natural tendency to be a drama queen and attention whore (to borrow a phrase), and the result was she took to her bed, refused food and drink, and waited, I guess, to die.

She was moved to a psych ward. Given intravenous fluids. Made as comfortable as possible.

A psychiatrist visited her. I don't know what or how it happened, but it finally came out: sexually abused as a child.

In a life that has been so goddamn full of sadness, pain, anger, misery, guilt, recrimination, accusations, rage, venom and pathos in the last few years, those are the 5 saddest words I can imagine typing about that life.

I don't know the stories, the details. I'm a former reporter -- I want the who, what, when, how and WHY. Who was it? Who knew about it? Who didn't protect her? Who let a little girl be so broken that in her eighties she is still done in by it?

I am not much of a believer in Heaven or Hell or an afterlife, but if there is a Heaven for me it will look like the Main Reading Room of the Library of Congress and every question left unanswered in my life will be answered there, by the person best suited to answering it.

In Heaven, I will ask Thomas Jefferson if he loved Sally Hemings. I will ask Jesus Himself if He really is the Son of God. I will ask JonBenet Ramsey who did it. I will ask Amelia Earhart what happened.

And I will ask the people who knew about this if they understand the damage that was done to a little girl who deserved to remain innocent longer than she did.

I'm pretty sure THAT answer will still be inadequate, even in Heaven.

A light went out in the world today

Our family (and by this I mean my husband's family specifically, but they are truly my family as well) lost a beloved father, brother, uncle and grandpa today.

Marvin was the most unfailingly cheerful soul I have ever met. This was a man who always had a smile, who saw the positive side of things regardless of how dim things looked to the rest of the world.

He loved his family beyond reason. His kids and grandkids, and great-grandkids, too, his nieces and nephews; his wife, who died in 2005, his brothers and baby sister, now a grandma herself. He was proud of his heritage and sought out connections to his distant relatives all of his life. He was interested in people, he cared about them, he listened to them.

He had a great sense of humor and was always ready with a joke, always the guy in the picture with the impish grin, always up for an adventure or a challenge.

In the summer of 2007 we took a family trip to Ohio, to visit distant cousins and see where his ancestors (several generations of them) lived and died. I didn't really ever post here about the trip because of the whole DVT episode, but it was a wonderful trip with Marvin and his little sister JoAnn (Rob's mom) and the 5 of us. We cruised the highway in our minivan and stopped to stay with Teresa one night. We walked cemeteries, went to a family reunion, saw the houses and land that were owned by Marvin's great-great grandfather, and Marvin made friends everywhere he went.

We also went to Point Pleasant, West Virginia, and saw the statue of the Mothman. In a moment of pure hilarity, Marvin posed near the statue and I snapped a photo. We stopped at the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame, too, and he thoroughly enjoyed himself.

Of course, that's the kind of man he was -- he thoroughly enjoyed himself almost everywhere. He lived life well -- every minute. I never saw him angry, or bitter, or hopeless.

And now that I think about it, my title today is wrong. His light didn't go out today; he may not be here with us any more, but the way he lived his life will stay with me, and with his kids and grandkids, his friends and neighbors, the countless people he met in the years he worked, the people at church, the many community members who all have a story about "This one time Marvin ...".

It was a life well lived, and his light will shine on through the rest of us for generations to come. I know he would like that.

Please raise a glass sometime soon and drink (even if it's water or soda) to Marvin, and wish him Godspeed.

Some things never change

That's my dad in about 1968, looking under the hood of a car with grease on his face. I love this picture because this is where he is happiest.

Happy birthday, Dad. I love you.