Headed Home.....Coeur d'Alene, Idaho

Sandy, I'll Miss You!

I want you to meet my friend, Sandy....she's the one on the left.  I miss her. I'm sad that the whole world didn't get to know the amazing woman I came to know and love.  I don't use the word "friend" lightly, for she was the truest of blue.  I knew without a doubt that she loved me. She was the friend that showed me what true strength in the face of adversity really is.  She shaped the last ten years of my life into something more special than it would otherwise have been. I am a different person because of her influence in my life.



For the past 10 years my feet wore a path to first her house across the street, and then for the past 9, my car knew it's way to a little old nursing home called Mountain Manor in Carmichael...."A place of love".  See the lady in the background, just to the left of Sandy's head?  That is Tina....and I love her, too.  Tina is the activities director there, and I never left Mountain Manor without Tina hugging me tightly and telling me she loved me and thanking me so much for coming.  Another amazing woman.  I wish you could meet her, too.  This is a lonnnnnng story....I could write a book.  So much to tell.....so many amazing characters in the story....I have truly been blessed. From what I write, I'm sorry that you will only get a glimpse.



Sandy and I had a connection from the start....back in May of 2000 when she and her mom and dad (Maxine and Bob) moved in across the street.  She was recovering from a major stroke, as was her dad.  They had no car and I noticed that they were hiring a taxi to take them to the grocery store and doctor appointments.  I went to the door to meet them.....Bob knelt down to tie my then 8-year-old Emily's shoe, and said, "If you ever need your shoe tied, you just come over and I'll tie it for you."  With their midwest hospitality (they were from Iowa), they invited me right in, and thus began our journey together. 


Maxine and Bob passed away in 2000 and 2001.....but I haven't forgotten them.  I refer to the corner by Sutter Hospital as "Maxine Corner" because so many times we sat at that light on the way to or from the emergency room. Bob had dementia, and "vacuumed up the dandelions" which he thought were growing in his livingroom, but was a prince of a guy. We went through so much together.....I wish I could tell you it all. They became family to us.  Through the years, so many thought that I was Sandy's daughter, and sometimes I'd let them believe it because her own two children had abandoned her.


I got the call from Mountain Manor on Saturday May 22nd that Sandy had taken a turn, and that I needed to come right away. I had just been there 3 days earlier, the first time ever that Sandy very kindly asked me to leave, because she wasn't feeling well. She was scared.....her doctor had told us recently that her prognosis wasn't good...her lungs were shutting down.


For the past 10 years it had become a ritual of mine as I walked down the hall to her room to glance sideways at the two nameplates outside the door before entering. I had to make sure "Sandy Clark" was still there. To me, her life was always hanging in the balance....every breath was hard work for her, and every step an effort. In the end, I noticed that her upper chest was very muscular from the effort.  Most people would have given up, but she fought for her life every day.  I never knew the healthy Sandy, but I am sure that she was a spitfire....she had the best sense of humor ever, and we had so many great laughs together.  A week before she passed away, Emily and I and Betty Ann (another resident) and Sandy were dying laughing about the time Eric (an aide) had to rescue Pam (an very large old roommate of Sandy's), from the bathtub, and her "girls" were practically smothering him as he tried to lift her out. Good old Eric.....love him, too!



When I got the call, it was surreal. I rushed over, taking the time on the 30 minute drive to remember all of our time together. The tears kept coming.  I was able to reach Frank ...."Hurry, she's dying." When Frank came into the room, she said, barely audibly, "I really like your tie."  After awhile, Frank left to go home. Sandy at this point could barely communicate, but she reached her hand up behind my neck and pulled my ear right down where she could whisper in it....I thought, "She's going to tell me something really important....her last words, maybe". She said, "Tell Frank I really liked his tie." That's Sandy....she is dying, and with her last words, she's paying someone a compliment. I love that about her. I always will.

My oldest 3 girls were in Mesquite, Nevada that night, spending a weekend together in a hotel.  I called to tell them that Sandy was dying.....and relayed to Sandy a message from each of them.  They sent a picture of themselves via the phone of them giving her the "I LOVE YOU" sign in sign language.  It broke my heart to see the tears in their eyes.  They loved her, too.

That night, our friend Jose came shuffling slowly into the room. He placed his hand on her and said, "God Bless You"...tears streaming down his cheeks, shook his head, and shuffled out of the room. He and Sandy came to Mountain Manor about the same time, have always sat at the same table in the dining room. Jose is special to me, too. He was hit by a train when he was four years old, and has spent his life in "facilities"....he is basically blind, and speaks a mixture of Spanish and English that you learn to translate. He also has no family that comes to visit.  He loves Chile Rellenos. That is another story that I hope to write.



I always thought I was all Sandy had....I knew she loved the staff, and that they really liked her, too, but in those final hours I witnessed the great love and affection that the nursing staff and her friends there had for her. There were many I love you's, kisses on the forehead and cheek, squeezing her hand, thanking her for the impact she had on their lives. I could never leave Sandy alone these past ten years, and I would not leave her side while she was dying. I spent the night there at the manor, and Sunday morning when I was alone with her, I told her I loved her one last time, that I would miss her, but it was really OK to let go. And she did. 



Rhoda and Anau were the nurses on duty......both in their late 20's.  They told me that every time they came into the room together, Sandy would make a comment about what they were wearing, like, "You girls are looking sassy today!"  As Sandy's good friend Elaine and I watched, Anua very gently arranged Sandy's body.....straightened her legs, folded her hands, closed her eyes, brushed her hair.....and had to continually wipe her own tears that kept falling on Sandy's face.  She finally put her cheek next to Sandy's and just wept. 



Now don't you wish you had known Sandy, and all of these other people, too?  I do.

When I returned ten days later, I brought a big bouquet of flowers with a letter to the staff.....telling them that the work they do is what the Savior would do if he were here.  We all laughed and cried as we talked about our friend Sandra Jean Clark. 

Her best friend at Mountain Manor was named Elaine.  Elaine and I kept vigil together at Sandy's bedside that night, and became very close.  Sandy kept jokingly telling Elaine that she wanted her to go with her. When I left that day, I promised her my days of visiting Mountain Manor were not over just because Sandy was gone.  This is Elaine, on the right.....


A couple of days ago, I returned, with the express purpose of visiting Elaine and Jose.  I walked in, and saw Tina at the very end of the hall....when she saw me, she stopped short and said, "Jo?"  I walked the length of the hall to her as she just stood there, not moving.  She was crying....and told me that Elaine died unexpectedly.  That when she had heard the news, she literally layed down on the floor in Elaine's room and cried and cried. Elaine is the one that referred to Mountain Manor as "A Place of Love."  I'm so sad that Elaine is gone, but it makes me smile to know that those two are together, probably doing cartwheels or something.

I went down the hall to visit Jose, who is now missing his two best friends.  We had a good talk and I told him I'd bring him some chile rellenos next time, which got me a big smile.


Finally, I stopped by the office to see if I could get copies of some pictures of Sandy.  When I walked in, Carol at the desk said, "Marjorie.....we'd like you to start visiting Marjorie.  She doesn't get any visitors." So Marjorie and I met for the first time, the beginning of what I hope will be a great friendship.


Well......like I said, it's a long story.  I just know one thing.  For the rest of my life, I will be visiting my friends at Mountain Manor.  All because I met Sandy.

what goes up comes crashing down after oral surgery, and sometimes sisters say the darndest things just to make their younger sister feel stupid.

Modern Drug has dredged up a random memory for me today. Please don't think I'm weird, but I'm just going to get it down on paper, for "posterity". And if Barb reads this, I'm curious if she remembers it the same way, or remembers it at all. I think I am the keeper of random, meaningless memories from our growing-up years in the 60's and 70's.
One day when I was 15, I had oral surgery. My younger brother Brad had told me that when he went "under" for the first time, he sang, "Saturday Superstar, Saturday Superstar, Saturday Superstar Mo-vie!" one time, and then it was over. He must've sang it pretty darn slow, I figure. My older brother Bruce had just had oral surgery a week before, and afterward was in so much pain that he stomped his foot really hard on the floor for a couple of hours. I wondered what my own experience would be.

In the waiting room, I was scared ....but thanking my lucky stars at the same time. The girl ahead of me was getting every one of her teeth pulled and getting dentures. I was only getting two upper molars sawed off the bone. Yes, I said SAWED. Not pulled, but sawed off with a saw, I assume. I had braces, and, the orthodontist had recently discovered that my teeth weren't moving because of these two steadfast stubborn old fellows. "They must be removed", he said....and so they were. I now have two bridges in their place, and all other teeth were able to move into their assigned spots.

After I emerged from the fog of the anesthetic, I think I was high. I was joyously happy. About what? I didn't know. I lounged on the recovery couch with a great big smile on my face, and everytime my mom asked me if I was ready to go yet, I'd slur in a sexy-sounding voice, "in a minute....". She'd ask me again in 10 minutes, and I'd say the same thing. Repeatedly for 30 minutes, which to me seemed like three. I thought she was getting really annoying, but I just laughed it off....hahaha. You silly, impatient mother!

On the way to Modern Drug Coffee Shop for a milkshake, which was next door to our dad's hardware store, I, who was normally shy, got on the CB radio and carried on lengthy conversations with truck drivers and anonymous kids around my age. I really enjoyed that. I said "10-4" a lot, and other CB codes I had learned.

When we entered the drugstore, I turned a corner down an aisle, and ran into my sister Barb, a year older than me. When I saw her, I burst into uncontrollable, audible sobbing. I couldn't stop myself. She said, "What's wrong with YOU?"

I sat next to her at the coffee shop counter with my face in my hands, crying about....WELLLLLLL? I just couldn't tell ya!

The old crabby waitress named Bird served up our chocolate milkshakes, and the concerned regulars sitting directly across the narrow formica counter from us kept asking my sister "Is she alright???" To which she replied, "Oh....pfft...she just got a tooth pulled"...and then rolled her eyes.

Claire Jayne & Noble Lee....our grandkids!

Claire...modeling her one-of-a-kind dress that Sam made from a kit Allison put together from her collection of vintage fabric and notions....love it! Claire has been calling us a lot on the phone without her parents' knowledge. We love listening to her messages...my favorite is when she raises her voice an octave to say, "Byyyyyyye, PawPaw!" She calls me JOJOJOJOJO....so funny!

Here she is again, showing off her new swimsuit! My guess is that she'll get up tomorrow morning and want to wear it with Noble's onesie, her red rubber boots, and a bunny hat! That's Claire....!!!! I remember well the day Sammy was two and came out with her tights OVER her pants and proudly exclaimed, "Me dwess mysewf!"








Noble....ohhh....shhhhh! Sleeping. He's not so little anymore...he and Claire are almost the same size! I love his little bald head....can't wait to rub it!

And when he's awake, Sam and Mike say he just smiles and laughs! I always thought that Sam and Mike thought he looked like Frank because of his "bald" head (Frank shaves his)...but close your eyes, and picture Frank laughing....are you seeing what I'm seeing? Twins! Time will tell, but I think he's a Mike/Frank combo, which makes sense, because Sam was always a little Frankie-face.

My Music

We're cheap....but some things are worth more than $5.99/person

We were walking down the sidewalk in Old Sac, away from Annabelle's, back to the car. Frank, Charley, Emily, and I. There was no talking, and then I interrupted the silence by thinking aloud: "I think that was the worst meal I have ever had in my whole life!" Frank looked at me thoughtfully and said, "It WAS, wasn't it!" We all started laughing, and the laughter didn't stop for the 5 more blocks to the car and for several more miles in the car ride home. We called Allison and Sam to tell them about it, but no words would come out....just laughter. I know they were jealous....wishing they could have been there to partake of the family laugh-in, if not the food that brought it on.

We are not food snobs. We'll eat almost anything, and on this day, we DID. I can't believe it, now that I think about it. Always ones to get our money's worth, and not ones to rock the boat, we ate the food and didn't ask for our money back, even though at first we thought we had been completely ripped off.

This is how we ended up there in the first place: We had gone to Old Sac to take pictures and walk around. After hitting the candy store that gave out "free" samples, we were on our way back to the car with the intention of stopping to eat on the way home.... until a little girl on the street corner handed us the coupon. Annabelle's. Perfect! It sounded like a good deal, was only a couple of blocks away, and we were really hungry.

The establishment was in a back alley, down some stairs, and it smelled like sewage, dead animals, old trash. We overlooked it. That should have been a big red flag. We walked in the door, and right inside was the cashier. You paid first, which, looking back, was another blazing red flag.


If we had just glanced around before handing over our debit card! Past the sentinel at the cash register, we first noticed the big scruffy camping jug on the end of the salad bar table. Then the paper plates and the salad bar consisting only of a small bowl of wilted iceburg lettuce, some faded and limp broccoli florets...tiny stale croutons...and some unlabeled dressing. Their "pasta" dishes were various noodles floating in colored water, with crumbled dried leaves on top. The pizza wasn't out yet. I know we, and the other patrons, were all thinking the same thing: you can't really ruin pizza. We all anxiously awaited it's arrival out of the oven, while tentatively eating our other "food". Then...one 10" pizza was plopped down on the table. We practically tripped over each other trying to get to it. When I saw it I knew for sure that it was the cheapest frozen pizza you could ever possibly buy at the cheapest store you could find.....back in the 60's...maybe. We still ate, a little, and didn't complain at all.....none of us did, which was weird now that I think about it. I guess we were trying to make the best of it, trying to be polite, trying to get our money's worth, and trying not to throw up, all at the same time. Too much trying. You shouldn't have to try that hard.

FAST FORWARD

Today, a couple of years later, Frank and I passed by Old Sac on our way home from the bay area. We were hungry, and I jokingly said, "Well, we could stop at Annabelle's!" Then I decided it would be fun to google it, and see if there were any reviews. Well, we hit the jackpot! Here are a few:

"Stay Away..."‎

"Run Away‎..."

"E-Coli Heaven‎..."

"I stay near Old Sac as a business person for a month at a time. During my last stay I heard more bad things about this place than any other place by the people at the hotel. I didn't have the cajones to try it myself...."‎

"The mac & cheese stained the plates & our mouths!! YUK!!!"

"The waiter smelled like BO." ‎

"Their pizza is so bland and so dry that it felt like I was eating some sort of thick paper."

"The salad bar can be more properly labeled a lettuce bar."

"Pizza tasted like plain plain plain plain s---."

"Oh, and they give you a cup and if you want water you can get it yourself from one of those cooler jugs that you see at football games. Those big orange coolers, yeah you know what I'm talking about. So serve yourself some water if you get thirsty. And I wouldn't know how the water tastes 'cause I was totally disgusted."

"You dont even have to fill up your glass of water, just drink the mac and cheese and you will be fully hydrated and hungry."

"Super dark in there, kinda scary. The bathroom creeped me out...."

"It was weird.... I walked by the kitchen on my way to the restroom and didn't see any cooking going on in there. It was empty!"

"The macaroni and cheese is watered down and the "ziti" is pasta with a mixture of one part tomato sauce, three parts water. The salad is okay I suppose if you don't like toppings on it."

"Horrible Food...."

"The 'buffet' was a gastronomic disaster. The pizza was horrible. Honestly, if you spread Wonder Bread with catsup and melted a slice of good old American cheese on top it would have been better. Did I mention bland and tasteless? One pizza had a few tiny pieces of sausage (of unknown origin) scattered across some portions of it. Horrible. As for the 'pasta' dishes-- I hope no real Italians ever come to this establishment to dine as they would feel compelled to destroy it as an insult to their culture and national cuisine."

"Pros: Proximity of unclean restroom to dispose of disgusting food. I would eat from a trash can before I ate here again."

"Literally the worst place I have ever eaten. I felt like I was robbed...I think I would commit suicide before eating in this place again."

"It was absolutely positively the most hideous dining experience I've had in years, bar none."

"You take a stairwell down below Old Sacramento to find Annabelle's. They have great lunch specials, and a family-friendly atmosphere. And, there's even a patio!"

WHAT??? OK, that had to be written by the owners....and so must the next two:

"Great Pizza doesn't even describe it‎."
(You're right, that DOESN'T describe it!)

"If there were more stars I could add I would, as its such a great Pizza Parlor. But its not like a 'regular' Pizza Place, it's more of an old school pizza experience. Its very home-oriented. You feel very comfortable at the location."
(Liar!)

After reading the reviews (the REAL ones) written by the customers, Frank and I felt validated, like we had proof. Those we've told this story to gave us that look that said, "You're just exaggerating....it couldn't be THAT bad!" But as you can see, Frank, Charley, Emily, and I are part of a select group of people who have all experienced the same, horrifying dining experience and lived to tell the story.

The review that captures my feelings about Annabelle's best is the following:

"The only good thing that came out of that place was the jokes and laughs we get every time we mention it!"

Yes, it cost $5.99 per person, but I've been thinking....it was worth it. You know, some people pay to go to the movies to laugh. Those cost more than going to Annabelle's. So I think it was a great investment! We will never forget it, and it will provide for laughter repeats for years to come. I love that. Next time you're in Sacramento, you gotta go!

My son-in-law Mike is a writer, and I think we'll take him there the next time they are here...there is a good story there. Maybe after he finishes the one about Manni, the grocer/mortician in our former town of Portola...the man with the long, curled and waxed mustache that roasted chickens at Southside market by day, and embalmed dead bodies in his basement at night.

Love Love Love....Charley and Vito, married!

49....and feeling fine

I read that in Fiji they don't really celebrate birthdays, and so I'm wondering if maybe they don't keep track of them, either. I had one on July 16th. The part about not keeping track of them is sounding kind of appealing to me nowadays. How did I ever get to be 49? Ugh.

Here's a question for you: If you didn't know how old you are, how old are you?

Some days I feel 13...and others 75. Today I feel......29ish. But the calendar tells me that I am..(sigh)... 49. If it weren't for that truthful mirror that I only give a passing glance to these days, and my creaky joints, I might be able to pretend otherwise. I always thought when I was this age that I'd feel mature...wise. I'm still waiting. I feel like an imposter.

How do I feel at 49 years old? I feel fine. At least that's what Allison's birthday card she made for me said, so I'm going to go with it. I like it!

My birthday this year was memorable for me. I didn't jump out of an airplane, just sat comfortably on the purple couch and opened my very thoughtfully chosen and handcrafted gifts from my girls and my husband. It was nice.

Allison, who knows that I love a certain shade of aquamarine blue, color-coordinated her gifts.....vintage earrings, homemade all-occasion cards (as seen in the first and last photos), pretty hairpins, and a vintage photo album with little phrases that mean something to her and me. The things she wrote made me laugh....and made me cry. Below is one of those little phrases. I'll explain. A few years ago when Ali was in college, she decided to dye her hair dark brown. When she emailed me the picture, I flopped down on the bed and cried. I felt like the old Allison was dead and gone....that someone had taken her place. Sammy comforted me by firmly stating, "MOM.....she's still the same person!"


Sam and Mike, who always create the most amazing gifts for a fraction of the price, painted a vintage napkin dispenser for me, which was, incidentally, in the same beautiful robin's egg blue color. I adore it. My girls know that I love things to coordinate. I dislike "matchy-matchy" as we call it, but "clashy" really makes me squirm. On Sundays, I'd always have to ask what each of them were wearing, just to make sure that we didn't clash!

Charley got me her traditional gift: pedicure/foot massage, which I love, and have come to count on and look forward to each year. It's a little piece of heaven for me. And she always makes the cutest homemade cards, as seen below.


Em wrote me the BEST letter...."20 Things I Love About You", and gave me a cream and sage green pinstriped cotton bathrobe that she "picked out" (shhh.....our little secret, Em). And being the only one home, she was there to help me "celebrate", and treated me like a queen for a day.


Frank got me a cool electronic gadget that stores music for my workout and pictures and videos, too. Any excuse to shop at Fry's! He always remembers when I mention that I like something, and he doesn't know it, but it is a known fact that I have ESP, and somehow already know what he got me before I open it. I feign surprise, though, of course! He took me to breakfast, and then to lunch at Plutos for a choose-your-seven-toppings salad with tri-tip steak - my favorite!
Funny story: At breakfast, we had a really good laugh when the stereotypical IHOP waitress asked Frank how everything was, to which he replied, "Fine", to which she replied in her husky-smoker-waitress voice, "Mmmmmm-HMMMMMMMMmmmm". The only thing missing was her slapping him on the butt! Em, Frank, and I all looked at each other, and when she walked away started noiselessly laughing so hard that it was embarrassing! Between chortles, Frank wheezed, "See...hahaha..I'm...hahaha.... still....hahaha... good-lookin'! I guess you had to be there.

So....I'm 49, and feeling fine.....hoping to always stay young at heart. But..... I just might stop counting birthdays this year!

Finally, some words of wisdom, from the song, "Young at Heart":
"And if you should survive to a hundred and five
Look at all you'll derive from just bein' alive!
And here is the best part, you have a head start
If you are among the very young at heart."

claire jayne blakesley....age one....candid photograph by Grandpa Frank

You gotta love that goofy smile! When she wakes up in the morning, the first word out of her mouth is an enthusiastic "Hi!"......and according to Mike, "repeated 50 times". She melts me into a puddle. After our visit in August, Frank said, "I can't believe how much I love her....I almost cried when we said goodbye." Me too.

i'm ruined!

I just finished a really good book, and now I'm ruined.

I know from prior experience that now, for possibly months, no other book will compare. Oh, I'll still read.....I'm the kind that even reads the backs of shampoo bottles and shaving cream cans in the shower, for heavens sake. Beside my bed my small nightstand bears the weight of a haphazard stack of reading material, as well as another stack on the floor most days. Most nights I fall asleep....reading.

My love of reading began on those rainy Saturdays growing up, when Mom would pile all of us kids into the station wagon and drive us to the big two-story brick library on 7th Street, and we could bring home as many books as we wanted. I think I read nearly every autobiography in a series they had for children, every Trixie Belden mystery, every Phyllis Whitney romance novel. We would come home, and my sisters Pam and Barb and I would spend the day in our California King bed, reading our books and eating sliced apples with salt. When we'd finish a book, we'd all sit at the kitchen table and construct shadow boxes from old shoe boxes, depicting scenes from our books, to be displayed on the shelves in the upstairs children's section. I still remember so well the smell of that library, the creaking stairs, the hushed tones.

I was crazy about books. When my siblings fanned out across the family room floor to watch cartoons on Saturday mornings, I would try to do that too, ....but would always end up sneaking away to my room to, well.....read. Kind of nerdy, I'll admit.

And now, after this latest book, I'm "ruined". Every book I pick up starting now will be judged by this last one, and they will all fall short. The last book that really ruined me was titled "Follow the River". I read it in 1998, so you can see why I am concerned. It might be awhile! Don't get me wrong, I've read and enjoyed many books in between, but sometimes a book comes along that does something to you.

The title of this latest ruinous book is "The Girls", by Lori Lansens. I had never heard of this author, or either of her two books. But Emily got a summer job with a lot of down time, so one morning I decided to take her to work, then head over to a nearby thrift shop to find her some good books. Emily also loves to read, and must come by this addiction genetically, I think, since everyone in our family loves a good book. I picked up the book I speak of for a mere 99 cents. I thought, "Well, if it's not good, I'm only out a buck."

After reading it, I would have paid 99 dollars. It was that good, at least for me. I'm picky about what books I read. The writing has to be good. The characters believeable. It has to transport me to another place, and leave me wanting more when I turn the page to find that it is the last. I have to keep thinking about the book for days after I've read it....and start rereading it again in the very same day. And call my sisters, daughters, friends.....and give them an oral book report over the phone.

This novel by Lori Lansens was, for me, nearly perfect. I am amazed by her skill and insight, the research she did, her amazing talent. I usually don't mark up novels, but this one I read with a pencil in hand. The first paragraph pulled me in and all day long I kept dropping projects mid-course to lay on my bed and read some more. Here is that first paragraph:

"I have never looked into my sister's eyes. I have never bathed alone. I have never stood in the grass at night and raised my arms to a beguiling moon. I've never used an airplane bathroom. Or worn a hat. Or been kissed like that. I've never driven a car. Or slept through the night. Never a private talk. Or solo walk. I've never climbed a tree. Or faded into a crowd. So many things I've never done, but oh, how I've been loved. And, if such things were to be, I'd live a thousand lives as me, to be loved so exponentially."

I bought this book for Emily, but she hasn't been able to pry it from my hands quite yet. I'm in the middle of my second time through.


If you google "The Girls" by Lori Lansens, you will find scores of wonderful reviews. I guess you can tell that I want you to read it!


"The Girls is so deeply imagined, so vivid and fresh, by turns funny, by turns astonishing, by turns sad. What wonderful writing! What glorious characters! I found myself weeping when I'd finished not only because of the ending, and not only because the book was done, but because of the pure joy of the whole experience." --Jane Hamilton, author of A Map of the World

If you're a reader, you patiently read through this entire, gushing blog. If not, I guess I could have just said, "I read a good book, and I highly recommend it."

If you think you are not a "reader", I think you're wrong. You've just never found a book that ruined you.

walking on the ceiling

I was four years old, and lived at Route 2 Box 351B1, at the blue-gray house on Wilbur Avenue. It was built by David B. Simon, our dad. That's me in the picture,with the bandaid on my knee. I remember going through a lot of bandaids. I noticed that I don't look that much different today, really. Same hair, pretty much the same figure, too!

I remember an afternoon sometime before we moved in when Mom and Dad showed me two linoleum samples and let me pick which color I wanted in my bedroom....the pink, or the blue. I chose the blue, and shared a room with my younger sister Val.

That house holds many vivid memories for me. To this day I can tell you all of the floor coverings in that house: Mom and Dad's bedroom had a long, wispy lavender carpet, a kind I had never seen before, and never since. The living room (rarely used, as most "living" rooms are) proudly wore a sculptured royal blue. A greenish grooved linoleum (I remember scrubbing those grooves....) covered the floor of the dining room, kitchen, bathrooms, laundry room, office, and family room (whose floor was protected by an enormous, oval, green braided rug). The "little girls" bedroom had light blue linoleum, the "big girls" had pale pink. Then there were the stairs....striped, like Joseph's coat of many colors. Very unusual, and I have wondered why my seemingly conservative parents made that unconventional choice. We rarely walked down the stairs, but rather rode those stripey steps all the way down on our bums, over the years wearing down a path of sorts, to Mom's dismay.

Downstairs, we had the boys' room - once again...linoleum. The vast majority of the basement was plain, cold, cracked cement, and we called it "The Big Room"....a room we biked, rollerskated, and played a dangerous game of tag called "wet rag" in. We even put on plays down there and charged the neighborhood kids a quarter to watch. I loved our new house. As interesting as I found the floors, I found the ceiling just as intriguing.

If I wasn't out in the driveway pedaling my hand-me-down tricycle in circles with a cap gun in my hand, digging in the dirt hills or kicking the ant hills around our newly constructed home, or following a baby bird across the field in my nightgown at sun-up....you might find me lying on the rug on the family room floor, legs crossed, my hands clasped behind my head, gazing up at the ceiling...and in my mind, I would "walk" around the "room"..... on the ceiling. It was blank, white, vast, clean and uncluttered, except for an occasional light fixture, which stuck up like a traffic signal, defying gravity. I envied this interesting space they occupied. It was like another world, one I wanted to explore, one filled with all new possibilities and adventures. It was like turning the house upside down, and having a whole other, very different house to explore. And in my mind, that's what I would do....explore. Boldly going where no man has gone before.....(is that from Star Trek?)

You walk on the ceiling when you step into another person's life and see the world from their unique perspective, and come to a realization of why they are the way they are, and understand why they do what they do.

You walk on the ceiling when you push yourself to do something you never thought you'd have the courage to do....and a whole new wonderful world is opened up to you.

You walk on the ceiling when your whole life changes and you must discover a "new" life.

One by one our older three daughters have left home, and on August 26th Emily will follow suit. As I think about my life so far, it has been like my home on Wilbur Avenue.....colorful, varied, and full. The experiences I've had raising my children run the gamut of the ordinary "linoleum" day-to- day stuff, through the tender "wispy lavender" moments, to the fun and funny "striped" ones where we laughed until we were speechless and spent. I have loved my life as a mother, more than I can tell you. Not always easy, but I'd do it all again....and how I wish I could!

Though I know that my life will be turned upside down when we leave Emily at the dorms in August, and return to a home devoid of children, my hope is that I can "walk on the ceiling".... and even though it is bare, and different than the floor I am accustomed to, that I will have the wisdom and the courage to view it as I did the ceiling in my childhood home 45 years ago....as a new adventure. Definitely different, certainly new and a little frightening, but wonderful in it's own unique way, full of possibility and promise.

(But first, I'm going to be depressed and cry for a few days, if you don't mind).

it isn't good to be alone, it isn't good

Meet Chuck (Norris), our new Betta Siamese fighting fish, a gift from Emily to her dad this Father's Day. This isn't actually Chuck, but a picture that looks quite like him.

Bettas are native to the rice paddies of Thailand and Cambodia. The aggression of bettas has been studied by ethologists and comparative psychologists (got that from Wikipedia). Bettas usually must be in a tank by themselves, because they will fight to the death. This excludes mating, of course! Bettas will even respond aggressively to their own reflections in a mirror (haven't we all?). Interestingly, though,they are quite curious and will watch humans going about their business nearby. I often catch him eyeing me while I wash the dishes or wipe the counters.

When I fed Chuck his 3 flakes of fish food this morning, I felt sorry for him, all alone in there. I can't stand for anyone, man or animal, to be alone. I think that is pretty much how we all react.

When Ryan (good family friend) and the girls brought home a bunny for Frank for his birthday one year (gosh, it seems like we always give him animals on holidays, doesn't it!), we were home only a few minutes when we rushed back to get bunny #1 a buddy. We had been through the "one bunny" scenario, and it didn't work out too well....lots of hissing, growling, biting. Sidenote: That Bunny's name was Bun-Bun, and was given to Allison her freshman year of college by a suitor, who asked her to the spring formal by giving her a baby bunny in a cage with a note that said, "We'll have a hopping good time!" So cute....but somehow, we ended up with that bunny!! One day he escaped. Frank was devastated ("GIRLS.....two of you go that way, two of you THAT way...and find him!") We never did find him, so that's why everyone wanted to get Frank a replacement(s). Sorry for the long explanation, back to my point....

If I see someone alone, my heart goes out. That sentiment has really propelled me into trying my hand at matchmaking at times, and to collecting elderly friends who don't seem to have anyone else. I'm always introducing my menagerie of independent study students to each other, hoping they will find something in common and become friends.

As I mentioned, bettas cannot coexist with another fish, they will fight to the death. I guess there are some people like that. They won't let anyone get close, and guard their hearts a little too well. It's sad to see what they miss.

So, being the betta that he is, why does Chuck look so lonely? Why does he seem to watch our every move through the plastic walls of his mini-aquarium? I have to wonder what this fish is thinking. I know he has to want company, someone to tell about his day...what he saw, heard, how many laps he did around the pool, all the day-to-day stuff.

I remember one night I was visiting in Provo, all by myself, and spent the night at my brother's house. He and his wife had prepared a really nice, cozy room for me to sleep in, but when I was in bed, with the lights out, I felt an odd, unfamiliar feeling. It was lonliness. I truly felt like a fish out of water, so to speak. No one to talk to til I fell asleep, no hand on my shoulder, not even any snoring. I missed the familiarity and closeness of my family. I distinctly remember thinking, "Is this how it feels to live alone?" I suddenly had so much compassion for anyone who does....the widows, the single moms, anyone with no one.

I suppose there are some who are used to it, who relish it, who actually enjoy the solitude. Not me. It's nice to have a little alone time occasionally, to sit back and think, evaluate, and dream. But I have to have my connections. My family and friends make my life what it is.

Chuck, Chuck, Chuck....I want you to have a friend, a playmate, someone.....anyone! I'm going to start looking for a little fish friend for you....because it isn't good to be alone. It just isn't good!

losing it

I was getting my hair cut the other day, and somehow the circuitous path of our conversation found me telling my hairdresser a funny story. In short, it was the time that I went to the doctor and as is customary, after waiting in the waiting room for about half an hour, they put me in the examination room to wait again for the doctor. I consider myself to be a pretty patient person, but after waiting there for almost two hours (I know, I know....), I thought THIS IS RIDICULOUS! I cracked opened the door, and found that all of the lights were out, everyone was gone, and the janitor was sweeping the floor. They had forgotten me.

I finished the story, and we were both laughing. Then she said, "That is SO funny!" As soon as she said that, I suddenly could not even remember what I had just told her. I had no inkling whatsover. I was too embarrassed to admit that to her, and just laughed along with her, mentally scratching my head. Oh dear.

I'm not the only one.

A few days ago, Frank dropped me off at JoAnn's Fabric store, while he went to a sporting goods store, instructing me to call him as soon as I was ready, which I did. I waited out front for quite some time, then gave him another call. He said, "I can't remember the code to get into my truck!" He was in the process of calling Emily to ask her what it was. Reminds me of the time a couple of years ago that he was paying for groceries at Costco, and couldn't remember his debit card pin number, and was calling all of our girls at BYU, asking them for his number. That took some time, while everyone in line waited. It was a stressful experience for him, but hilarious to the rest of us. Thank heavens our girls still have THEIR marbles.

This morning as we were walking into the gym, he said, "What's my membership number again?" I told him, and then said, "Just picture the number in your mind, typed...that's what I do." He replied, "No, that's overload". I said, "Huh?" He said he'd explain it to me later. He'll probably forget to tell me, and I'll probably forget to ask....or I'll remember to ask, and he'll have no recollection of ever saying that. That seems to be how it goes these days.

My friend Danelle texted me, "I agree"....and I had no idea what I had said that she was agreeing with. When I asked her, she couldn't remember.

At the Rocklin Jubilee a few years ago, after the parade, I was navigating my way through the traffic in old Rocklin in 100 degree weather, when I saw an elderly man looking lost, hot, and tired. I pulled over and asked if he needed a ride. His name was Blackie (a nickname because his last name is Black), and he sheepishly said, "I can't remember where I parked my car." Blackie politely insisted on riding in the back of the truck because he was a "stranger". We drove all around the streets of Rocklin that way, looking for his car, which we eventually found. Poor Blackie.

Now I'm wondering....is that what's next? Are Frank and I going to come out of a store, and have no idea where our car is? (OK, fine....it happens all the time, OK?)

We're losing it. I'd be sad if it wasn't so darn funny! I just hope that the next time I'm laughing, I can remember what I'm laughing about...:)

oh, the joys of fatherhood

I was looking for a picture of our girls to post for this Fathers Day post, and came across this one....one of Frank's favorites. It captures the side of them they sometimes keep hidden from the general public. They would rather this photo be destroyed than posted on my blog, and I'll have to pay for this, but....I think it's worth it. I think! Having a photographer father does have its downsides, girls. Everything gets documented.

The girls love their dad. REALLY just adore him. Sometimes they think he can on occasion be unreasonable, but even then they think that makes him all the more loveable. Every little thing he does is so "cute" and "funny". I love hearing them talk about their dad....with so much affection.

They respect him and his opinion and advice. It carries a weight and wisdom that mine does not, and I have always appreciated that. It's because of him that they have become who they are. The development of their character and values comes largely from him. They never want to disappoint their dad, and that helps guide their actions. They know he loves them, would do anything for them. And they for him.

Frank has always found joy in being a father. He has a special and unique relationship with each of the girls. He loves each one for who they are. Their dad has had the rare opportunity of spending more time with his girls than most fathers get to. He's been their coach, their teacher, and had a lifetime of summers to spend working and playing with them. He has taught them to fish, to play golf, made them watch all his favorite old movies (Casa Blanca for one)....taught them how to work hard...to hammer, paint, and hand him that "whatchamacallit". They have always been his carpenter's assistants, his boat backer-upper guides, his carwash buddies, and has taught them all the proper way to eat Chips Ahoy cookies with milk.... They carry in their memories volumes of experiences with their dad....some funny, some life-changing, all unforgettable and cherished.

We all love his laugh, how he dances when he hears a favorite song. He has a tender heart. He prays for his children's success and happiness. He is a great example for them and a blueprint of what they are looking for in a husband and father. They are so proud of him.

As his wife, today I am so thankful to have been his partner in raising our girls. I love him like they do, and he has made me a better person. Happy Father's Day, Honey!

what almost wasn't

Photo: Danville Apartment #3, Provo, Utah.

February 1980. I had just scrawled in my journal the night before (after a bad date) that I was sick of dating, it was a waste of my time, their money, that every guy was weird, and on and on.....and that the only guy I would even consider going out with was Frank Shields. I had only admired him casually from afar, seeing him washing his "corvette yellow" MG midget convertible in running shorts....his straight, longish (by BYU standards) hair that bounced when he walked.....not even entertaining the possibility that he might be interested in me. I saw him as a "jock", out of my league, and myself as the shy-around-guys "band nerd". I barely knew him, and most of what I knew came from my roommate who liked him with a capital "L". She would visit him at Toad Hall (next door) sometimes, and came home one day and announced that he reminded her of me.

Then, the night after my ominous journal entry, the phone rang. I answered, and a male voice said, "This is Frank Shields...I was wondering if you would go out with me." Because of my very recent journal entry, I was positive that one of my roommates had read my journal and was playing a trick on me. Just as the words, "Who is this...?" almost escaped my lips, I realized that the voice sounded nervous. Hmmmm......could it be? Then.....my roommate who had a crush on him could tell that I was being asked out, and quickly appeared right at my shoulder excitedly asking, "Who is it? Who is it?" That she liked him and had first "dibs" certainly did not escape me, and my immediate instinct was to say no. I was not the kind of girl to steal another's love interest. BUT... I also didn't have the heart to say no to someone who apparently had to work up the courage to ask me out. That, and I felt like "fate" had knocked on my door. So, after a brief, silent debate within.....should I? shouldn't I....I said yes.

When I hung up, my roommate wanted to know who it was.....so I bravely told her. It was Frank Shields. I fearfully waited for her reaction. Expecting her wrath, for that "excited for you" smile to turn to a vengeful frown, I was surprised and relieved when she told me that it was OK, because that very day she had redirected her affections to a darling young man named Marty. Whew!

Even though our first date started off rocky (Frank was an hour late because he didn't wake up from a nap....must have been excited, eh?), all's well that ends well, right? We went out for Mexican food, Frank ran a red light, we watched the movie "Windwalker", caroused around at BYU's Friday Night Live (I still have the blue plastic snail that we won that night in the geography booth), then polka-ed at the dance.....all in one night. And, believe it or not, he gave me a handshake at the door you see in the picture. I knew he was a keeper. Twenty-seven happy, adventurous years, 4 spectacular daughters, 1 perfect grandchild and one on the way later.....I'm so glad I said YES! What almost wasn't, IS.....and this shy-around-guys gal ended up with everything she always wanted.

philosophy: if it makes for a good story, you really can't complain

My college roommate, Nancy, sent me the link to this amazing youtube video (see above) and the backstory. Watch the video, then read the story below. Even though I know that this is already spreading far and wide across the internet, I included this story in my blog because it reminded me that in this life we all have different journeys, but have similar experiences and feelings. It made me laugh and cry at the same time. Her experience with her mom reminded me so much of some of my own. Here is is:

"When I think about my family’s history with the Mayo Clinic, I immediately think of the kitchen ceiling in my childhood home, where a pale orange circle about the size of a basketball is forever stained into the plaster. Most people probably wouldn’t even notice it’s there, but we do. It has a story, of course. Not an entirely cheery one, but we have a family philosophy that if it makes for a good story… you really can’t complain.

My mother, Sharon, had her first tumor in her jaw just after my birth in 1973, and it cost her four teeth and a large chunk of jawbone. 1977 brought the birth of my younger sister, Britney, and another tumor. This one took a deeper, “U” shaped piece of the bone. A year later, a third tumor took the entire lower left quadrant of her jawbone, which was replaced with a metal rod. Winter always meant thick scarves wrapped around her head because the rod would get cold and radiate a monster ice-cream headache.

When she began having pain in her front left teeth, my grandfather intervened. His search led us to the Mayo Clinic and Dr. Keller, who had personally treated hundreds of such cases. The plan was to stabilize the front teeth and eliminate the painful bar by rebuilding her jawbone with a section of her hipbone. But instead, awoke to find the remaining five teeth and exactly half of her lower jawbone missing because of additional tumors discovered during the surgery. She was devastated, but six months later returned for her reconstructive surgery and returned home with her teeth wired shut.

For the next two months, virtually everything she ate was either sucked through a straw, or squirted into her mouth with a giant syringe (minus the needle). By about week three, she had dropped an alarming amount of weight and was desperate for something resembling real food. So my endlessly patient father pureed some spaghetti and spooned it into the syringe. Despite his efforts, the food still clogged the syringe, and we looked on with helpless unease as my mother faced yet another defeat.

In a flood of frustration and disappointment she slammed the syringe onto the counter — spraying the entire contents straight upward to form drippy orange stalactites on our pristine white plaster ceiling. Tears quickly turned to laughter, and the stain and story remain vivid for us.

For the next 25 years, my mother struggled with eating. Her new jawbone was a wonderful improvement, but she could still only chew on the right side. The long term effects included joint and bone erosion and the painful atrophy of her salivary glands and the left side of her tongue. But the daily struggle to eat was much harder to watch. My mealtime memories of my mother are all the same… she rarely finished her plate because she would stop either when her mouth was aching with fatigue, or when everyone else was finished with their meals.

Finally in 2008, her medical complications were extensive enough that the insurance would assist with the implantation of a prosthesis to restore a full mouth of teeth. After more surgeries to implant posts into her jaw, we returned in September for her permanent prosthesis. I watched as Dr. Koka secured it in place, and then something happened that no one had anticipated. Since the earliest surgeries, she has been troubled by the slight droop of her left cheek. Much like our spaghetti stain, no one else would notice, but she did… and it showed in her eyes in every picture I’ve ever seen of her. As he finished the installation, she sat up and looked at herself in the mirror, and what I saw in her eyes brings a tear to mine even now…

She liked what she saw.

We knew the functional implications this final visit to the Mayo Clinic would bring, but we never anticipated the more subtle — but no less powerful — impact it might have. The prosthesis filled out her jaw and cheek and smoothed the contour of her face. She beamed, and I cried.

Needless to say, we floated through the clinic that day on our way out to her first meal. We giggled, we laughed and as we approached the atrium the sun was shining through the glass and the flowers were blooming. It was as close to a perfect day as we could imagine.

And then we heard the piano and the laughter. From the balcony we could see an older couple sitting side by side at the piano playing together and entertaining a host of people. Some were in wheelchairs, others were sitting with canes beside them or standing. Everyone was smiling with all burdens forgotten for the moment. The joy was absolutely indescribable. When we asked them to play one more for us, Fran and Marlow Cowan, who have been married for more than 62 years, treated us to an exceptional performance that is now a “youtube” sensation.

We walked to a nearby restaurant and she ordered a sandwich she would not have tried eating just hours earlier, and I snapped a few shots as she took her first full ½ circle bite out of a chicken sandwich in 25 years! You don’t have to know my mom to clearly see in her face what that meant to her… first the disbelief, then the tears, then raw pride and pure joy. AND… she liked the pictures!!! She was a new woman.

That piano captures just one part of what makes the Mayo Clinic so remarkable. It’s a place where people come not only to be healed and made whole physically, but spiritually as well. Around that piano we come together as an ad hoc family — a community of people on different, but similar journeys – to heal together and share what brings us hope and joy.

And that makes for great stories..."

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!