Thanks a lot, Eric Heiden!

When our family was in Utah last summer for Sam & Mike's graduation from BYU and the birth of Claire, we all went to Barnes & Noble to browse. Each of us came out with a new book. Mine was "The Art of Thank You", Charley's was something about interpreting your dreams, Emily got a planner for school, and Allison bought a book.....can't remember the title. Frank picked up one called "Faster, Better, Stronger", by Eric Heiden, M.D., five-time olympic gold medalist.

When we returned home, Frank dove right into reading, and told me that according to Eric Heiden, I should weigh 114 lbs. Now, in his defense, Frank has never ever told me I was overweight, even when I am. For that, I commend him and am very grateful. Every wife needs a husband like that. But now, with his new book, he told me that the chart said I should weigh 114 lbs. I said, "No Way! That's smaller than Emily!" He said, "You were that skinny when we got married". I was incredulous. When he told me that he was supposed to weigh 140, I grabbed the book and figured out that he was looking at the wrong chart. Whew! Frank at 140 would not be pretty. After looking at the right chart, we determined that we both needed and wanted to lose 25 lbs.

That night we walked a mile (did a "walking test") so we could figure out our V02max (oxygen exchange rate) which is a formula....are you ready? v02max=132.853-(0.0769xweight in pounds or kilos)-(0.3877xAge)+(6.31xGender)-(3.2649xTime)-(0.1565xHeart rate). This will yield your estimated V02max. This took us about half an hour to figure out, even with a calculator. I wasn't sure what this knowledge would do for me, but I was game for trying almost anything that might help me reach my goal.

After the walk, we came home and did the "sit and reach" test. In our family, none of us are very flexible. NONE. It's weird. Frank and the girls are all pretty athletic and active, until it comes to being flexible. So, I put the piece of tape on the floor, with the measuring tape perpendicular to it and Frank went first. Then me. Frank scored 1 out of 5 stars. One star is the LOWEST. I guess I didn't need to explain that. The book said, "Set up a meeting with your health-care provider or a physical therapist and have her assess whether or not you have any musculoskeletal conditions that may be causing this." I actually had 2 stars, barely, and mine just said, "You are definitely stiff". I thought that was funny, but had to concur.

Next we did the recommended stretching exercises for the one star people. We were on the floor contorted in some weird awkward-looking positions when Emily started snapping pictures on her phone camera. Before we could do anything about it, she had already texted them to her friends, girls on Frank's team, etc. I have to admit, they were pretty funny. I can only imagine how hilarious I would have thought it was to see my parents sprawled on the floor twisted like pretzels...and trying to be serious about it. I think our parents had more of a sense of decorum than to do something so humiliating in front of the children. I bet you are wishing that I had posted the pictures Emily took instead of a picture of the book. But she was instructed to delete them...or else!

Well, that was 8 or 9 months ago. We never did a single thing more with that book, and still need to lose the 25 pounds. The other day Frank saw the book on the shelf again, and said,"We need to get back into doing that Eric Heiden stuff". I just said, "Ya....we do!" I'm looking forward to relaxing on the couch for half an hour while we get out the calculator and determine our current V02 max, going for a walk at dusk with my husband, and coming home and having another good laugh at ourselves. That.....and really making some progress this time. So, thanks, Eric Heiden!

afternoon tea at the manor

Thursday I drove out to Mountain Manor to visit my friend Sandy and to attend an "Afternoon Tea". Sandy wasn't feeling up to the trip down the hall with her oxygen tank, so we sat on her bed and had strawberry shortcake and little quiches. Before I left, I took some pictures. The ladies were all so cute in their fancy hats!

the first, and last time ever i saw her face

You might want to get out the Kleenex for this post today. It has taken me nine years to be able to write much of anything about my mom since her passing. I have notes and more notes about the details of my last week with her. I try to write, but it is so emotional for me, that I always end up feeling that I need to take a week alone in a motel by myself in order to do it. Today I want to write something.....as a gift to you, Mom. Every Mother's Day I try to get you something, still. The first Mother's Day without you it was a little music box that plays "Somewhere in Time", the song you requested that Bruce play on the piano at your funeral. You loved that movie, and that song. I felt that it was no coincidence that I picked up a pretty music box in the drug store, thinking of you, and that it played your song. Well, here goes.....I'm going to write about you at last.

Yesterday was Mother's Day, and my thoughts turned to my mom. My earliest memory of my life with her is taking an afternoon nap together on the bottom bunk of the old metal bunk bed at the house in Fairway Hills, cuddled close, my face against her cheek. So close that my eyelashes brushed her skin each time I blinked.....as I carefully examined her face. She, already asleep, was surely exhausted from caring for her five children six years and under. In the quiet, dim room, I watched her, and felt love for this person who lay beside me. My mom. My caretaker, my protector, my example, my friend.

I always thought Mom was beautiful. Though she certainly was, as you can see from her picture, she herself never thought so. There were no airs about her...... no conceit, no pride, no vanity. No admiring her reflection as she passed a mirror. Sometimes I wish that she knew and believed and saw what the rest of us did. Maybe, though, her humility was what made her so beautiful. Yes, I think that must be it. That, and all of the selflessness she exhibited throughout her life for her family. Mostly, I think she was a beautiful mom because she was my mom.

The week before she passed away, I came for a visit and to spend Mother's Day with her. Each morning I would help her get ready by putting her makeup on for her. The effects of her disease had made it very difficult for her to do it alone. Sensing that this could possibly be my last visit, as I'd smooth the foundation over her soft skin, I consciously memorized her face.....each contour of her cheek, her nose, her chin. When she was gone, I wanted to be able to see her in detail. After a week of doing this, I felt that if I were a sculptor, I could sculpt her face.

When I'd finish her makeup and hair, I'd tell her how pretty she looked, but she would not look in the mirror. Probably hopeful that she looked good, but fearful that she might look as bad as she felt, she said "no".

Then, on the day before Mother's Day, I insisted. As I held up the mirror, she silently considered her reflection for a moment, and then the corners of her mouth turned up and she said, "I do look pretty good, don't I?" Something wonderful and hopeful was breathed into her, and that night she asked me to help her put on a beautiful pink nightgown that Dad had purchased for her months before, that she had never yet worn. It had hung in her closet, still with the tags, waiting, I suppose, for a special occasion. She decided this was it. She said she wanted to do a "fashion show" for Dad. I wheeled her out into the living room where he sat, and whirled her around the room in the wheelchair. She was radiantly beautiful, and it made me happy to know that for that moment, she felt it. Dad was so happy to see her happy. It was a special moment, one I'll never forget.

On Mother's Day her livingroom was filled with all of 8 of her children and some grandchildren, my brother Bruce "pounding" on the piano as we all sang and laughed, a replica of many nights in our home growing up. It got pretty loud, and Dad reprimanded us, saying, "Don't you know your mother is sick?" But Mom just said, "No......please....I love it." It was a slice of the life she had loved, and she was drinking it all in.

She passed away expectedly/unexpectedly two days later, surrounded by Dad and my brother and sisters and I. You're never prepared to lose someone you love, and it felt like a dream. Mom and Dad and all of us kids had all just spent a week together. Though it was extremely hard to let her go, I have to say that it was a beautiful spiritual experience.

At the viewing on the morning of her funeral, I couldn't stop looking at her face. All the lines of worry and pain were relaxed. My sister Vickie commented that she looked like someone had just told her something funny, and she had the very beginnings of a smile, a familiar favorite look we had all witnessed many times before. We would miss that look, and all of the others that were a part of her. It was hard to watch Dad close the casket. But I knew that one day I would see her again. I just couldn't believe that I had to live the rest of my life without my mom. It would be a long wait, I thought.

It has been nine years, yet I can still just close my eyes and see my mom's face, in detail. Sometimes when I close my eyes, behind my eyelids the light and shadow come together in a perfect black and white painting of my mom. I just sit and stare intently at her, my eyes closed, and she is always smiling.

I was wrong to think that I would have to wait to see her face again. I can see her eyes in the eyes of my daughters and nieces, her smile in the smiles of my sisters, and lately, her face when I look in the mirror. She's not far, and I know that someday I'll again put my cheek against hers in an embrace, and feel my eyelashes brush her skin.

Happy Mother's Day Mom! I love you!