Category: Mom and Dad

  • trying to understand this new world

    trying to understand this new world

    I think that it is because it all seemed to happen at once.  The dimensions and facets right now are pretty different from this time a year ago.

    I think that everyone is affected, not just us – but we have “extra stuff” that impacts our lives right now.  I wish it were different.  In as much as we try to get through each day, without me coming completely apart, I feel that I am touching the border of what constitutes the seams, and they are showing their wear right now.  If one aspect were more stable, then I think that the whole of it would not feel like impending doom.

    I grasp for hopeful straws, having a foundation of optimism within myself.  Sometimes I wonder if the foundation is cracking a bit.  I believe that I always relied on looking out and finding something else that was a go-to goal – that had promise of “better” whether it was people, situations, places, or whatever, but something that would change the landscape.  I think that “fresh start” is an apt term, or a “reset”, whereby the foundation was still intact, but some of the things that had gone wonky had been removed or stopped.

    Human beings have a great elasticity that most people would have you believe does not exist.  Some of us have a constitution that enables us to stretch beyond the limits that we ever imagined that we possessed within ourselves.  Some of us do not.

    It is evidenced by genetics, likely, as we are learning that this is the “code” of our existence to be cracked to solve mysteries of our evolution, our capabilities, our vulnerabilities, and everything in between.

    I look back at my family members on both sides of my family.  We had some very strong individuals who faced great challenges, as well as great opportunities to better their lives.  Looking back as far as I can reach, we had those who sailed to be in a better place, escaping what they believed to be untenable.  We had those who once they reached this turf, sought to make their way despite the tough environments and tough tasks ahead, just to survive.  We had those who were victimized by diseases and could not escape death from those.  We had the sturdy, who despite great hardships and change out of their control, figured out how to survive and survive well.  I think we had a great combination of thinkers, some strategic, some tactical, and some who were dreamers, who without those dreams would not have been the entrepreneurs that they became.

    One theme that has emerged, percentage wise, is strength and endurance.  Do not get me wrong – this is not 100% – but more than not, we have not been taken down without holding on as long as possible.  Few suicides exist and there are not too many afflicted with known mental illness.  Neuroses?  Yes, for sure.  Cause-effect stress related illnesses?  Definitely.  But all in all, persistence was one of the character traits, along with tenacity, and care for people – genuine, that underlay the other aspects of character that we have developed over time.

    We had artists, lawyers, business people, teachers, and those who did not fall into any particular category of profession, but had tendencies to those named.  For certain, creativity and lateral thinking were there – as well as those who were outfit to analyze and solve problems.  Who are we?  We are people who by and large cared for our families first.  This is the underlying driver of why we have done what we have done.  Yes, we have the need to feel fulfilled and enjoy a happy life, but we were driven by family survival needs.

    My family on the West side – both West branches – were pioneers.  They moved across large expanses of sea, land, across country borders, even, migrating or homesteading for better opportunities.

    Dangerous ventures, likely, as initially, people came across the oceans, and later, some of this was moving into what was called back then, “Indian Territory” – before Oklahoma and New Mexico became states in the USA.  Into Kansas, as well, which was enabled by the building of the railroads west in the 1800’s.

    Some of them fought in the Civil War, some against their will, some proudly fought for the Union, and I have the papers to show that coming from my great-grandfather.  Some came from England to the US in the 1600’s, before the revolutionary war, working in shipping, out of Massachusetts when it was a grimy, cold place.  Imagining that they lived through the witch hunts and the atmosphere was tough then, like we are seeing now.

    Some of them endured epidemics, losing their husbands and children to these outbreaks of disease – one lost her husband and a child the same day.  After losing my son to Cystic Fibrosis, after 17 plus years, I cannot imagine the pain of that loss.  And it happened to more of her children, having lost a few more of her little ones, to scarlet fever, which was a disease that caused my aunt, my Dad’s sister, to lose nearly all of her hearing capabilities, as she had this as a child.  She grew up with the disability and yet, she became a teacher by profession, having obtained that degree, later on with the same determination that was ingrained – it was a West trait, and likely, my grandmother did not let her disability stop her from participating as much as possible in school, and normal activities.  She coped well.

    My grandmothers both did manage their families, but in greatly different ways.  My grandmother West was very well skilled at living off of the land, fishing, and teaching all three of her children how to do the same.

    My dad could grow things, cook, fish, hunt, fix stuff, build houses and furniture and just about anything else.  He understood tools, systems and materials very well.  He understood land, weather, and could figure just about anything out.  He was a great negotiator.  He was friendly, but he was also suspicious of people who appeared untrustworthy.  He had a deep survival instinct.  He was strong, and he was gentle.  He protected us, and served as our foundation of strength.

    He was good with kids, and he was good with most animals (except for small dogs that chased him when he was approaching land owners in his work).

    Anything that he personally built was strong, and meant to last.  When he passed away, he said, “Take care of your mother”, in some of his last words to me.  At that point, I knew that he was passing the baton to me, because he felt that I could do the job.

    It was interesting and empowering for him to do this.  It was also a great responsibility, and a difficult job, as my mother, who I will discuss later, was strong willed in her own way, and had a complex personality that was difficult to interpret at times, and definitely, taking care of her was a challenge, as she did not want me in that role until much later in the next decade after my dad passed away.

    My dad was reluctant to give up – to lose control.  I saw, as he aged, as he had physical deterioration, that he would approach these with following the doctors’ orders and try to solve and resolve.  The one that eventually got him was congestive heart failure, which has a predicted outcome.  However, he lived to the maximum predicted extent of that outcome, exceeding it by about six months.  That was my dad.

    At the time of his death, he was still refusing to go.  It brings to mind the Dylan Thomas poem, “Do Not Go Gently Into That Good Night”.

    About this present situation, my Dad would have been beside himself – he would likely have been very worried, but he would have also become angry and likely, if this happened to him, it would have caused irreparable damage to the relationship as a result.  Worrying was a character trait that I inherited from him, however, I think that I remain open for a forgiveness process, which I do not believe that my dad embraced.  He did hold grudges, some forever.  He never forgot much at all.  Unlike his mother, dementia in any form did not set in with him – he may have had a little temporal confusion, as you do as you age – but he never forgot people, relationship events, or things that happened.  Ever.

    Our personalities, being unique only to us, as we are unique in the combination of what genetic design we inherit.  Plainly, each of us is unique – but each of us has characteristics that can be similar to our parents, our grandparents, and other relatives.  We can see it, feel it or acknowledge it – and people who know you well say, “you sound like….”  or “you remind me of….” or “your grandmother used to have that twinkle in her smile…”  or “you are scowling like your grandfather…”  You get the point, right?

    But there are times in our lives where we “feel” the ominous coming or we “feel” that something is just not right.  Despite the encouragement of people to “just get over it” and let it be, it screams at you – from the center of your gut – in such a loud way, that you cannot ignore it.  I often think that those who are “super-sensitive” might be those who hear voices or see people who are not apparent to the rest of us.  Who knows the mysteries of this half-in-this-world situation of perception?

    But right here right now we have a situation.  Everyone is on pins and needles waiting… and some of us are suspicious that our attention is being diverted from things that are actually going on right under our noses.  I’m not paranoid.  Now I am reading this in the news.  How about this situation up in Fort Worth, Texas, where the lady was arrested for voter fraud – here is her story from the New York Times.  It makes me want to vomit.  Seriously.  Talk about cruel and unusual punishment… this is extreme.  And these people who are now in leadership roles all over our state, they don’t care about people and the greater good – they see that as being “socialist” or something.  They do not recognize that this is based in core values, in our upbringing where our parents are supposed to help us care about our fellow man – as they knew that if dangerous times came upon them, the factions could be more damaging inside the country when facing an outside enemy.  The McCarthy era, in the end, did not yield positive outcomes.  In fact, the issues that came from that were long lasting, and Martin Luther King became a champion of civil rights and equal rights, which have yet to completely be put into place – we are still struggling.  It becomes an open sore that nearly heals, but never quite does.  It leads us down the road of wondering, “are we going to substantially change as a country?”  “Are we going to be broken apart by this?”

    If you think about it, all sorts of issues are touched upon that send big red flares up – a person who cannot speak English well, nor read well enough to fill out complex forms in order to get to vote, and a person whose family brought her to the USA when she was an infant… she has been here since, is married and has several children, and has been working.  She thought she could vote and did not understand that she was not eligible.  Why is this?  People took her application and no one flagged it as potentially problematic years ago.  The communication issues are screaming here.  She does not understand and cannot read well.  Illiteracy is an issue.  Language is an issue.  Yet, no one recognized it until now – because it was not important to anyone at the time.  This could have been stopped before she got to the point of actually voting.  Yet, it did not because people were not focused on this witch hunt.

    This is appearing to look like that type of situation – having both the “witch hunt” and the “McCarthy Era” aspects together, it becomes expensive, damaging, and sends us backwards in our progress.  Who wins from this?  It’s bullshit.  It is people who are bullies, throwing their weight around.  They do not care.  They just want to be “in control” and “in power” and they probably cannot explain to you why, because the self-righteousness is so deeply ingrained – they profess to be Christian, yet they do not know the first things about the teachings of Christ.  It is incredible, but very true across the broad landscape of Christianity in some of the religious sectors of the United States.  Misinterpretation is a dangerous thing, especially when people become zealots in political office.

    Yet in Texas, today demographic statistics point to the population of the state being Hispanic or Latino, 38.8% percent, July 1, 2015, (V 2015) (b) US Department of Commerce Census Bureau Estimates.  What does this mean?  It means that over 1/3 of the population is under-served.  Well, we all know that.

    Look at the Texas Government elected officials:  Planet of the White Guys are the most outspoken and in control.  We have a bad problem here, especially in the rural counties, now empowered to be as racist as they feel, and stomp on anyone who does not look like them in terms of skin color, or from a country that contains people that look like them.  Its the basic animal instinct to be suspicious of “those which are strange”.  Rollback the clock, folks, we are sliding down the slippery slope.  Hold onto your sleds.

    I suppose that for today, we must try to just tend to health and well-being.  The draw to escape is great.  Looking for hope in wrong places is not on the table.  However, looking for hope in places that are good and better, certainly is.  I am going to have to continue to consider this…

    It is February 12, 2017, and we are expecting another record high, in the warmest year on record, to date, in recorded history.  I guess that eventually the unbelievers will have to believe that things are definitely changing…  The storm destruction will be in their faces, and potentially, they will experience something that will convince them.  Science is data collection, interpretation and observation.  Eventually, they will look at it and say, “Wow, it was here all along.  Maybe we should have paid attention.”  Yup.  Maybe they will, maybe they won’t… time will tell.

  • a day with my dad – and life with him

    a day with my dad – and life with him

    My Dad was mostly a “mellow fellow”.  He was not so much an expressive type, but more he was likely a bit like I am – social, but not overly extroverted.  Sometimes we could sit and not talk, but just have bits of conversations – remarking about this or that, or maybe one of us would ask a question and wait for the answer, then discuss maybe a little, or maybe a lot.Photo_030

    He would try to persuade me when we did not see eye to eye, but he did not ever force me to have his opinion – but there would be times that he would remind me of our differences, especially when we bought a new car, once, when he thought we should not have spent the money on it.  But, it was okay in the end – and we did not spend his money on it, so he lived with it.

    There were those times when I was small, when I disobeyed – and it meant that he had to do something to let me know that I had not done the right thing.  I remember feeling confused because it was clear that he did not want to discipline me – that was my Mom’s job – but she was away, so he had to do this, and later, I thought it was rather comical.  I do remember him saying that he didn’t like this, but it was “for my own good.”  I also remember thinking, “Well, how about not doing anything, because that would be good!”  As I said, I was likely too young to see the bigger picture.

    DadAndLittleMeAge3orSo copyWe were on car trips more than once.  I remember that he gave me a Coca-Cola with peanuts poured down into the liquid – something that my Dad used to have as a quick lunch that he could consume while driving from point A to point B.  That was fun, and of course not very normal – my Mom was a 3 meal a day person – so, my lunch was usually some sort of square meal, not peanuts and pop!

    My Dad bought me my first puppy.  Her name was “Bell”.  She was a cute little bird dog pup, but she ran away.  That taught me a good bit about loss.  The next dog he brought home was a beagle named “Peaches” who was given to my Dad by someone who could not take care of her anymore.  She became my buddy and was for years.  She ran away and came back many times.  My Dad taught me about dogs having puppies, and let us watch the birth of her first litter.  It was all pretty cool.

    He taught me to play golf (sort of).  He tried to teach me to play tennis, but I was hopeless!  He was a tennis and a basketball star in high school and in college.  I still have his medals.

    My Dad could fix almost anything.  He was the dependable one in my life – the source of my strength – the one who could make sure that stuff would be okay.

    It was later, once I was out of the house that those things that went wrong were not always what he could help fix, but he was there, nonetheless, as that solid force on which I could lean, or cry, or that one person to whom I could tell most of my troubles.  He would lift me up and palm me a $50 and say, “Don’t tell your Mother…”, and I would save that for the rainiest of my rainy days, or spend it on my kids… It gave me a sense of security that I could get somewhere if I had to…

    DadAndLittleMe-AboutAgeTwo copyI miss my Dad something terrible some days.  I feel like that his last months of life were more like his being in a state where he could not be himself.  He kept telling me that I needed to come and see them more, but I was busy trying to make a living and raise my kids, and deal with a terrible marriage situation that I kept from my Dad, for whatever reason I had at the time — and that made it worse — I probably should have told him, and he probably knew and suspected that things were not right, but “water under the bridge”.

    My Dad died in July of 2000.  He did not witness some of the extreme horrors that we have had in the world since that time.  In some ways, I am grateful.  In other ways, I wish he had been there to give us perspective.  He was a survivor of The Depression, and lived through World War II.  Likely, he could have said a few things to calm our shock and our fears.  We will not ever know.

    My Mom was heartbroken and never fully recovered from his death.  Me, I had to be strong for everyone else.  I probably did not give it a proper “grievin’” until the year 2013, when I quit my job and had two months off to think, and to unpack the boxes that revealed many things to me about my Dad and his later years.

    He was absolutely resistant to losing control – and it was apparent, that he felt that he could keep everything in order for the both of them, especially since my Mom was constantly changing her mind, chasing her happy place that I believe she never found.  In reality, the “unhappyness” was inside, not in some illusive place that they would ever find.

    The Dylan Thomas poem, Do Not Go Gently Into That Good Night was my Dad’s approach to letting go of life.  He did not want to go, and he wouldn’t as long as he was consciously able to resist.  He held on as long as he could.  It was not pretty.

    His dying words to me were, “Take care of your Mother.”.  Mom never was the rock – yet she tried to be one of sorts, much later.  She provided a different type of support to most of us – but this was not always a good thing for some.  We cannot turn back the pages to reset the course of our lives.  This is fact.

    SonnyAndRobBW1989As I get older, I understand more about what Dad was going through at the time, the last years of his life.  I understand how much I am like him in some ways, and yet in some ways, I likely have some Mom in me, too, naturally.  That is genetics.

    But I can say for sure that my Dad was the best Dad ever – he was devoted, protective, and loyal – and he loved me and took great care of me from the day I was conceived to the maximum extent that he could for the rest of his life.

    Dad came from good folks with solid roots, and he gave that to me.  It was a wonderful gift.  It is my point of reference – in essence my “bearing point” for all that I encounter.  It is a “what would Sonny have done?” question that I ask myself when difficult things happen where I must contemplate what to do.

  • an eight-pound sledgehammer for Mother’s Day – who said that I’m typical?

    an eight-pound sledgehammer for Mother’s Day – who said that I’m typical?

    The call from my grandson started me out today – waking up suddenly, realizing that the phone was going off – but always, I love these FaceTime visits – just watching him, amazed at his rapid growth, and how fast he moves around – his saying “da-da-da-da-da” plus a thousand other sounds that are his baby babble – the baby language – understandable to themselves and other babies (my theory) – the cacophony of developing language within the baby human’s skill set at age 9 months… delightful!

    He has discovered cars and blocks, already playing with these little toy cars, knowing that they roll – his skills at doing this are not quite there yet, but he gets it – what they are going to do – and blocks – exploring every shape – picking them up, then delightedly throwing them down!  How wonderful to watch – I long to be there with him, but recognize that life is complicated for everyone and the daily routines consume everyone’s interests and priorities over seeing grandma who lives in another place at a distance.  Thank goodness for technology!

    My sweet husband cooked a beautiful brunch, and he plus our big fuzzy dog got me cards to open – we drank bubbly and enjoyed the time – making a plan for the rest of the afternoon, my husband suggested visiting my younger son’s resting place after grabbing a Starbucks coffee – the routine we do – I have done – since Rob passed on in 2005.  It does not really get easier, but it changes in character, this visiting.

    We took a tour of Wal-Mart and two big-box hardware stores in search of a big hammer (we ended up with an 8 pounder!) – and another steel plate, plus some alligator clips to mount onto some cable to mount onto a block which I can use to hold things while soldering or working on them – my husband is a clever craftsman and knows some tricks!

    I proudly told the check-out guy that my Mother’s Day gift was an eight-pound sledge hammer!  He looked at me and said something like “how sad!”  Well, I didn’t think it was sad… I wanted that big hammer for making my mixed media wearables – some aspects of which do require pounding!

    We met a young artist in the garden section who complimented my necklace – I told her I made these – and she asked about the constituents… We conversed, and when my husband asked her how much she would pay for one of those, she said, “I’m a bargain hunter.  I’d try to pay about $15-$20 bucks…”  OUCH!  The time and sweat that goes into these is probably worth about five times that; sad to see things so cheaply discounted because of wide availability over the Internet – it sounds like you have to really understand marketing online to be any measure successful in this – which I am not sure I really want to pursue.  But one day, I will have to move these out –

    Right now, I am building inventory – making gifts for friends, and also for potential showing – and learning new things – and it beats the heck out of working on the same things all the time!

    But back to Mother’s Day – I miss my Mom, and my Grandma Ellen – they were those people that my natural inclination was to honor and buy gifts and of course, they were those mothers in my life – then there were other mothers that had a lot of influence, too…  I can’t forget them… Too many to mention here…  I love you all.

    For now, Barbie, Caroline Howard, and my other mothers are those who come to my mind…  I’m just on that boat of looking out there on the sea of life – Today, I pay special tribute to my friend in Canada who recently lost her daughter – and is now even more of a mother to her grand-children than ever…  Bless her for her strength and courage…