It's My Mom's Fault...Honest

It all started in the mid 1960's. I believe my dad was president of the Mt. Baker Club House in Seattle and "someone" decided the clubhouse should host a Halloween party for the kids. Since my dad traveled a lot,  my mom let her creativity run rampant and recruited all her relatives in the city to help. I didn't know my mom was the witch or my cousin Doug Frankenstein until I was 17 years old! It was a party to beat all parties! Slightly frightening scenarios, eerie music, ugly creatures, and just enough 'scare' to be fun and create memories.

And thus "it" was started. Mom went batty over Halloween. We hosted haunted houses in our basement in Seattle or in the garage in Issaquah! We decorated with tombstones, creepy medicine, bats, spiders, and all things creepy! Mom would dress up in her witch costume and having soaked her real leather gloves in water all day, she would grasp the trick-or-treaters hands in hers and nearly cause heart attacks in the under ten set!

{Pepto Dismal, Crustex Nail Remover, Sludge, you get the idea}

{This is a new one...each family member has their own!}

{Matilda in all her glory, she's aged well}

Matilda stood in the living room window. She is the dressmaker's dummy mom made in college of herself that is dressed each year with a black skirt, t-neck, gloves, an old fashioned paper mache pumpkin head, wig and hat. She's been a regular for the past 50 years or so during October.

Once all at mom's, I now am the keeper of all Halloween crap. It's been passed down. Is it genetic? I even, as of my last birthday, in October of course, have inherited the original leather gloves. Who else would want them? Mom knows I do.

I have however taken it one step further than my mom. I created a Halloween dinner menu unlike any other. Yummy! Appetizer: Dragon Scales and Booger Dip, Salad: Poison Ivy Leaves with Scabs with a light toss of Runny Mucus, Entree: Maggot Stew with Moldy Bread and for Dessert: Brownies with Orange Pus. Oh yeah!

Now you might think I'm a bit touched in the head, but fear not! I've just been creating memories for my kids, those that dare visit, and looking to the future with darling little cookie monsters, like Ali.

{Granddaughter Ali---so dang cute!!}

50 + 2

Yesterday I turned 52 glorious years old. October 24.

I am half a century plus two. That's five decades plus two. And I'm proud of it.

My mother-in-law always said that age doesn't matter. Perhaps to some it doesn't. It does to me. I had my childhood years, teens (oh dear God thank-you for letting me survive), my twenties (marriage, children, houses, pets, jobs), thirties (children in their teens, oh dear!), my forties (teens in college and out), and now my fifties (empty nest-most of the time, and being a gramma). I'm clapping for myself! You may join if you like.

As I've rolled into my fifties, I am more sure of myself, don't care a lot about...a lot of things, am more patient, if a bit sarcastic, I love more, look for the little things in life that please me: diet coke from the fountain, laughing kids, the color of fall leaves, cotton undies (just sayin'), garden raised tomatoes, my husband's hand in mine--wait, he hates to hold hands, but when he does I appreciate it, slippers, text messages from my kids, the sound of my pond, and I could go on and on...the fact is, I love what's happening in my life (except for my thighs). My family is fabulous, the dogs are good, my husband loves me, and everyday that God lets me wake up I am grateful.


Call me blessed. I do. Happy Birthday Kelly!

More Slaps...

"They" say death comes in threes. I believe this. First, a former student and recently, on October 5th to be exact, my sister's husband, Vince, passed away. We knew he had a limited time left, but this was too soon. It's always too soon. Their boys, 18 and 20, are the best and in looking at old family photos, the pride and joy was so evident in Vince's eyes as he romped or just posed with his sons.

My heart breaks for Susie as she faces each day without her husband. Suddenly, she is a business owner, has her own job at Nords, homeowner, mom and all each 'hat' entails. It's a lot! Susie is very logical and strong, practical and funny, kind and generous, and now, alone. She has her boys, her mom and family, and perhaps the best friends in the world, but I know in her heart of hearts she aches. I ache when she does. The older sister in me comes out and I want to swoop down with hugs and cups of tea. So I do. It's what we do as family; intrude and love.

Then, just a week later, a dear dear friend of my mom and a former neighbor of 41 years passed away. This was too much for my mom. To watch her youngest daughter lose her husband and then to lose a dear friend she's known for half her life was difficult. Mom called me nearly coming apart and I just hurt for her. This woman was a pillar, a steadfast friend (she's the first call I made when my dad died so mom wouldn't be alone...funny how phone numbers you haven't called in years come back lickety-split), and one wicked seamstress.

I read somewhere that in the United States we don't talk about death much and it's true. It's mysterious and to some, frightful. What would happen if we talked about dying like we do birth, a celebration of one's life? I don't know the answer, just askin'.

                                                                   

A Slap in the Life

Sometimes our lives just move along merrily without hills or valleys. It may even seem mundane and we take it for granted that we'll have a tomorrow. Why wouldn't we? Then, SLAP...right in the cheek of life,  we find ourselves holding a hand up to our slapped life to check how much we're hurt, or soothe, or protect it from it happening again, so soon. Each minute of our hours, our days are worth something to someone, even if we don't see it. The effect we have on not only our family and immediate friends, but acquaintances, co-workers, our favorite barista, or the clerks at QFC is long reaching like tentacles spread out to the farthest reach, we collect people as our years go by.

I was 'slapped' last weekend. A former student, a wonderful young man in his prime, wanted to take his own life and yes, he completed the task. Little did he know the effect this had on his school, former schools, past teachers, current teachers, friends, buddies, brothers and sisters of friends, parents of friends, neighbors, his community, and of course, the amazing family he left behind.

Unfortunately, we lose loved ones to accidents and illness which while sorrowful, we have some understanding, but rarely do we truly discern the taking of one's own life. A selfish act to be sure. Yes, the darkness can seem like the invisible black hole that sucks in anything within it's radius, never to be seen again, and yet, there can be light. Feeble and wavering, but someone, always there is someone,  holding a torch letting a pinpoint of hope, of possibility, of truth out wanting to penetrate the shield.

Is it really the end of life that's desired? Or is it a longing for rest, peace from inner chaos, a sabbatical from the choices we've made, an opportunity for a do-over? Is it a hole in our hearts that just won't heal?

Perhaps I feel more than slapped. Perhaps I needed to be. Am I giving my all to relationships around me? Am I paying enough attention? Do I try to reach out to make someone else's day a bit better? Do I need to pray more attentively for those in my life? Do I need to listen to what's not being said? Perhaps. Maybe I feel this way because this was a young man on the precipice of his future lacking knowledge of available opportunities he could have reached for or knowing how much he mattered.

Everyone matters. Everyone. I can't take for granted that everyone knows this. Perhaps this is the lesson I need to push forward in my life with...to make sure those in my life, near or far, know they matter.

Gramma Loses Time in Class

Today Annie and Josh brought Ali to room 17 at North Bend Elementary. My classroom. Her first day in school. I introduced them all to my class who 'oohed' and 'ahhed' over Ali. A proper response. They will all pass fourth grade!

An interesting thing happened in class.  As I held my little grand-baby time seemed to stop. As I stared at her all peripheral noise was gone. No one else was in my sight lines. Just her.  I could see her faint little eyebrows, the few eyelashes she has, the perfect bow of her lip, and the hint of red-blond highlights in the tips of her hair. The perfect canvas of her skin. I was hyper-focused on Ali. I'm not sure how many seconds or minutes passed. I"m not sure I care, but is this normal? The 21 kids in my class could have made a giant pig pile or all ran out screaming and I'm not sure I would have noticed. Don't tell my principal!

Just before I led them up to lunch, one darling little boy asked if Ali was a girl or boy. Out loud, and with a smile on my face,  I asked him if he noticed the totally pink outfit Ali was wearing. I'm sure he didn't notice it was Juicy Couture! Now while it's true that not all baby girls wear pink and some wear blue, few boy babies are dressed in pink with frills on their fanny! He laughed too when he realized what he asked!

I didn't want my lunch time to end (what teacher does?).  I did shove some food into my mouth while Ali ate too, but I really wanted to just continue being Gramma. But, poof, I had to turn back into Mrs. Billington. Dang it.