Archives for category: Memories

Manatee Magic

January 24, 2016 //

Lucky me! I got a break from my regular life at a time when it was much appreciated and went south to Florida with friends for a few days. For something different, we left the beauty of St. Petersburg and traveled north to Crystal Springs on the Gulf Coast.

Amazingly, it was predicted to hit a low of 30 degrees the morning we wanted to dive with the manatees in the only place you can do so by law, when they head from the colder Gulf waters into the springs with a constant temperature of around 70 degrees. We almost chickened out, discouraged by reports of visitors only lasting a few minutes before leaving with chattering teeth. At 70 years old, you think you’ve learned to be smart enough to know when it’s not going to work out. We considered a kayak to see them from the surface, but that was a 45 minute paddle, which sounded worse. My friend and I are nothing but game when it comes to a fun experience, so we prepped ourselves by worrying about the cold all night, packing up all kinds of non-Florida like things to keep warm.

It was 30 degrees when we walked to the boat at 7:15 am. I’ll be really honest – I was more worried about squeezing into a wet suit than the cold. Not pretty. I wasn’t shivering and I somehow got into the wet suit as several of us helped each other. Our boat was enclosed which helped.
Their slogan was promising a lot of fun ahead.It was the middle of the week, cold, and we lucked out with the last boat, so there were only 6 of us, my friend and me, two older ladies (maybe our age, but who knows) who are sisters-in-law, and a couple in their 50s celebrating their 30th wedding anniversary. He didn’t end up going in but a few minutes at the end because of heart issues. This was on his wife’s bucket list and he was making sure she got to check it off. Captain Ed has been doing this for 27 years, being a guide for 6. We had an extra photographer and another helper, who stayed on the boat and later served us coffee, hot chocolate or Manatee Mocha (a mix of the two). It was looking good.

We watched a video of rules for approaching manatees before we left and Captain Ed gave us more pointers on how to use the snorkel equipment as our boat approached the location. Everyone had their own dive shoes but us, so the worst cold I felt was taking my shoes and socks off on the boat. The water felt warm, there was no wind, and I climbed down the ladder to be met by a curious manatee.

This was a great start. I’ve been on whale watching trips in Alaska and Oregon and swam with stingrays in the Cayman Islands, but this was different. For one thing, manatees are so cute. When the first one you ever see swims over and rubs against you as you tickle its back, you fall in love instantly. They’re called sea cows, but a cow could rush you. There is absolutely nothing to fear with a manatee. Nothing! They eat plants and their only teeth are at the back of their mouth. We didn’t want to disturb them, not for fear of them frightening us but because we didn’t want to bother this endangered species whose greatest enemy is man. One had great slashes along his body from the blades of boats, even though their skin is tough.

Manatees can be as large as 13 feet long and 1300 pounds, but those were mostly sleeping. Ducking under water in my snorkel and mask, I quickly came face to face with some smaller ones. Oh, those faces.

We had seen manatees mating, thrashing around near us, as we approached our site. As the captain said, they’re trying to keep from becoming extinct. We also were so thrilled to see a baby nursing at its mother’s side below us.

In the springs we visited, there were homes around and the waterway was only 8 feet deep at the deepest. Most of the time, I could stand up if I wanted to stop my floating. We were there almost two hours, petting the cuties we met, watching them roll over in delight with our tickles.

There were some areas we couldn’t enter, full of large manatees resting.

I can’t exaggerate how very peaceful these funny creatures are.

When you have a chance to spend time with creatures who are so innocent and passive, you have to compare them to every other person or animal you’ve encountered in your life. I don’t know what their purpose is in our ecological system, but maybe it’s to remind us that it’s sometimes enough to get along with everyone, accepting them without qualm. These aren’t stupid beasts as they are compared to the very intelligent dolphin in many ways. They are gentle in the best kind of way. I felt so special to be in their presence.

At the end of the trip, I knew I’d had a unique experience. Captain Ed said you’re never going to get as much love as we did that cold January morning in the warm Florida spring water. In the end, we never were cold and had almost missed the adventure of a lifetime over nothing. A friend looked at this picture of me and said my expression was different, the glow of the morning showing in my smile. I know the magic of the manatees had rubbed off on me. I’m very lucky!

Tags Crystal River, Florida, manatees

Categories Entertainment, Friends, Memories, Nature, Places, Reflections, Travel

Losing a child…year five

January 10, 2016 //

Can it be five years already? Is it only five years? I’m trying to process the death of my younger brother last month and the anniversary of my son’s death is here. Too much death means I’ve shared so much life. That’s how I’m choosing to look at it this time around.

I look through photos and my mind tries to latch on to my favorite or how I remember Clayton. Do I remember him at two, a grubby little boy of already legendary impishness and imagination? Do I remember him at five, already well into his Star Wars obsession?Do I remember him with his buddies in grade school? Or as the latest style setter?Is my best memory of him as teenager? Crazy, silly, exasperating as all get out?Do his friends remember him as the funniest guy around? Possibly the most dedicated and goofy class 9th grade president and 10th grade vice-president they could ever hope for?Do I remember him dancing at his sister’s wedding?Do I remember him with his father without a tearful smile for both of them?Or times with his cousins and sisters?Were his college years his best?Or the times with his sisters?Do I remember his battle with cancer? His courage and his ability to bring us all through it with his incredible humor?Do I remember the friends who were there through all those difficult years?Do I remember most when he told me he was smitten?Or their magical wedding?And their joy at becoming parents?

Was he the best uncle ever?Or the best son, brother, friend, husband, father? He was all that and a kind, generous, loving, cantankerous, hilarious man to boot. Ultimately, he was uniquely Clayton.

It’s been a journey through his life today. Five years later…I miss him more, I appreciate him more, I love him even more.

Tags 5 years, cancer, son

Categories Family, Memories, Reflections

A Matter of Respect

January 9, 2016 //

Great teachers never stop teaching.

Last month, I traveled to Kansas City with one of my main purposes to see my high school Latin teacher, who turned 95 that week. Bea Notley was not only one of the best teachers I had in a lifetime of exceptional teachers, she is also a friend and one of the neatest people I’ve ever known. She had come to our high school class’s 50th reunion a few years ago and I had promised myself I would go see her.

One would add that this little Scots woman is also a role model for any of us at her age. She fell a couple of years ago and moved to a retirement home so her children wouldn’t have to worry about her. She told me that was the least she could do for them. When I arrived, she greeted me at the door to the home with a walker, much smaller than I remember, and then sped off so fast I had to catch her. She only needs it for balance evidently. Good grief. She had lost none of her spunk or her enthusiasm for life, which was a delight.

After a tour of her apartment, a one-room studio with bed, living area, bath and kitchenette, we went to lunch with some of the men she likes to eat with. She told me they had lost a couple along the way. I have to say that these guys were absolutely fascinated with her and I thought to myself that they are probably closer to my age than hers. Before I came, she told me on the phone that she pays for three meals, but prefers to cook her own breakfast because there are only so many meals she can eat in a room full of old people who are younger than she is.

Outside her door is a bookshelf full of the Latin textbooks I remembered so well, along with other texts. I told her I still had some of them with my handwritten notes inside, including all the Latin phrases we memorized each year. Her daughter was afraid the books would be stolen, but she said nobody would steal them after reading the titles. There was also a framed cartoon that she had quoted when she spoke at our reunion.

A note on that – at one point while speaking at our reunion, she called all of her former students up to the front and told us all to sing “Gaudeamus Igitur” with her. To say we all started singing, even though most of us hadn’t exactly been humming that every day for fifty years, is an understatement. Something snapped and we all sang out like we practiced every day. It was a showstopper.

One of the places we stopped was a memorial plaque to the veterans who lived in the home. Bea said her nameplate would be ready soon. She served as a WAC in World War II. When the memorial opened in Washington D.C, she attended the ceremony. She said she hadn’t thought too much about it, but standing there with all those women made her so proud to be a part of it.

Bea spends her days in the retirement home reading from the books she has left, especially her Will Durant collection. In the early evening, she turns on PBS and watches television for a bit. That’s all she can stand. She must keep busy around the center since she seemed to know everyone we passed. She told me she should just figure how to lie down and die at her age but she couldn’t do it. That made me laugh. Bea is more alive than many much younger people I know. And sharper. And more fun.

My visit was much too short for both of us so I will have to return soon. I told her the next time we’d get out of there and go someplace fun. I had invited her to do that this time, but she had things to show me. She wants to take me to a cider mill next fall and who knows what in between.

The reason I wrote this was not to tell about my visit but it is so fun to remember that I couldn’t help myself. This woman has taught me so much from the four years of Latin I took with her through our encounters over the past years. She is a treasure of the best kind.

As we were touring her space, I pointed to a photo of President and Mrs. Obama hanging on the wall. She nodded and said there will always be a photo of the President in the Notley home. She said she got some criticism for it around the home, but she said we should always respect the office of the President. I was so taken with the directness with with she told me this, the matter of fact tone she has always had. There is no excuse with her for not having respect.

There are so many things I took away from our visit, mostly her strength and the way she continues to inspire me. But, that photo of the President will stick with me. We have strayed so far in this country from the kind of respect she shows. I haven’t liked every president, but I try to respect the fact that they are in that office because they were elected and are doing a job that is more difficult than we can imagine. She brought it all back home to me. And I remember who helped instill those kind of values in me.

As I said, a teacher never stops teaching. Thank you, Bea!

Tags Bea Notley, Latin teacher, President Obama, WAC

Categories Books, Friends, Memories, Reflections, Uncategorized

My brother Jim

December 31, 2015 //

After my brother died last week, I realized he was the immediate family member I had spent the most time with. He was 67 when he died and I didn’t have that much time with either of our parents and our sister is younger. That’s a sobering thought among all the other mixed emotions that have swarmed me.

I was 2 1/2 when Jim was born and our family soon moved to Tulsa from Oklahoma City. We’ve been here ever since. This picture was taken soon after the move.We tagged around together for a couple of years until we were joined by our little sister, which smashed him between the two girls.I was glad to have a brother because that meant we had baseballs and comic books and all the other boy things of the 1950s. We shared a bedroom for our early years, complete with green chenille Hopalong Cassidy bedspreads. I wouldn’t have had those without having a brother and I loved those bedspreads. As I got older, I moved to my own room and he had to share with our little sister until our parents built a large home and we each had our own bedroom. When our parents would leave us alone, my sister and I would torment him, knocking on his door, irritating him until he chased us to the door of our bedrooms where we pressed against the doors so he couldn’t get to us. Siblings at their most tender.

Jim was uniquely himself, a very smart, polite, handsome boy. At an early age, he began to battle his weight and our parents tried to help him as best they and doctors knew to do back then. It was a life-long battle for him. He played ball, was a cub scout, learned golf as we all did. We swam and played outside and had a great childhood. One of his great loves that continued throughout his life was fishing. I don’t remember exactly where we first fished, but it was a part of our time with our uncle, our father and others. Jim loved it!

Through adolescence, Jim developed an interest in photography and had his own dark room. He was brilliant but not a brilliant student all the time. His rebellion was growing in typical teen fashion. By the time we got to college, he followed me to Oklahoma State University and studied English, further developing his interest in writing. By the end of those years, he left and travelled Europe, living for awhile in the Canary Islands. It was hard to communicate in those days and my parents were worried sick. He came home and opened a record store, but eventually ended up in the family automotive parts warehouse. He learned computers early and took care of that for the business long before the rest of us even understood the potential.

Jim married, had a daughter, divorced. That was that except that he loved his daughter unconditionally until the day he died. This is a fun photo he kept of them on one of the trips they took together.He had friends and pets, including a parrot he brought to the office with him for many years. In his later years, he adopted a dog, Kelly, from friends who were moving abroad and loved that little girl until she passed on.

His life was his and I’m sure he was lonely, but you never knew. He had fishing buddies and his drinking buddies and his writing groups and his Mensa contacts and other friends. He played poker online, watched football and other sports and followed the stock market. He seemed busy all the time with one thing or another.

What it comes down to is that he’s gone and I’m the one who was with him the most until the end. Those last couple of years were rough as his health had deteriorated and the options were few. It was the ultimate nightmare when your brain is years away from death and you are watching your body make the decisions for you. For the last 17 years of his life, he slept with a machine for sleep apnea, probably setting some kind of record. He had diabetes and was massively overweight and suffered constant pain from arthritis in his hands and knees. I realized the other day that the last time he came to our holiday dinners was 2006. I always packed up Thanksgiving or Christmas dinner to take to him in the next years. How did it get to be that long?

My goal was to help him stay in his house as long as he could since it was paid for and all the care he would need was expensive. I quietly admired his strength of both body and spirit as he conquered the obstacles. He went from a cane to a walker. When he didn’t feel he could drive anymore, he quit. He got a motorized cart and drove himself to the store, the bank, the barber. I was amused because he used to drive a midget racer when he was a kid and he delighted in this machine in much the same way. He never asked me for any help and made all his arrangements himself. He found someone to install poles around his house to help him lift himself up from his recliner, his office chair and his bed. Eventually, he added a second motorized cart for inside the house and had a ramp added to his house so he could drive that cart to his garage and transfer to the other one to make his trips. He took a lot of pride in being able to figure all of this out. Jim was 6’2″ and must have had incredible upper body strength to be able to manage all these things. He hired some nursing service helpers to come over for a couple of hours for small chores, but they weren’t much more help than I was really.

Those last couple of years were painful to watch. I told him I had no idea what to do to help him other than run errands for him or get my kids or grandkids over to help move things or do small chores for him. He appreciated everything so much. Every week he emailed me his grocery list, which he dictated to his voice program on the computer to save his hands, yet another gadget that helped and delighted him. I would deliver the groceries and unpack them for him (he would put them away later, using his handy grabber gadget), then sit for a chat to hear about what was going on with him or to share the escapades of my family. He kept up with everyone on Facebook, a treasure for those who are away from the action. His pain was increasing. He had fallen a few times through the years and the fire department rescued him. He never stopped praising their kindnesses to him. He screamed in pain when he moved and was now going to bed at 3:30 or 4 in the afternoon to get off his cart seat. I could tell other things were starting to go bad as he described his ailments.

The final weekend, I was going to the store and called to see if he needed anything. When I couldn’t reach him, I went to his house and couldn’t get in with my key. I called 911 and they told me they had taken him to the hospital the day before. When I got to the hospital, he was on a respirator and sedated and I was never able to talk to him again. He had made the 911 call himself and had to be put on the machine before they got any information. He fought all the way. His doctor told me he had seen him before and Jim had told him he had no family. I wasn’t surprised. He wouldn’t have wanted me to worry. He always called me after he had been taken care of. I told the doctor I was here, as were other members of the family, and he was very glad. He didn’t want him to be alone at the end.

That last decision I made was per his directive, so it was really his decision. It wasn’t fun or lovely or anything peaceful. It was the right thing to do, to let nature take its course, which was to let him quit suffering. Since then, I’ve been spending time in his house, going through the papers and belongings I need to take care of. I know people don’t want to do this kind of thing, but I find it kind of peaceful and revealing. You relive the person’s life when you have to touch everything.

My brother’s house was and is a mess. I always looked around, dreading the day when I would have to figure out what was necessary around there. His strength those last years all went to breathing and moving, so everything else is left where he put it, in piles all around. I could have offered to help him with it, but he wouldn’t have let me. So I dig through, finding treasures and learning more and more about my brother every day.

He read a lot. A lot. There are some wonderful books there. I haven’t been through his record collection yet and don’t know what shape they are in. And Jim wrote a lot. Quite a lot. I write the stuff you see here and I write reports and emails and other things, but Jim wrote books and plays and poems and letters and letters to the editors. We didn’t always agree on politics and I don’t always have some of the same interests in topics, but I do know he could write. That was his dream actually. I keep finding new things to save for later. I know more about his inner self all the time. Nothing I didn’t expect or know, but I’m finding it all on paper.

I’m remembering more through all my exploring. Our last conversations flash back at me and I realize he was remembering more too. At the end, he was trying to maintain his last shred of dignity, in his words, and he was facing a limited, painful future. But he was facing it bravely with no excuses, no blame and more strength than I can imagine. He told me stories of his travels and people he met, things I had never heard before.

The thing that stands out to me about my brother through all the things I have known about him through the years is that he was always, always there for me. He was non-judgmental when others were. He was supportive and loving at all times. I always, always knew how much he loved me. Always.

The last time I saw him, he described a morning on the White River, fishing in a deep fog in one of the places he considered most beautiful on earth. His tone was reverent while he told me this memory, reliving something very special to him and he told me he had taken a photo. Yesterday, I reached into a random box and found a sack of packages of photos. The first ones I saw jumped out at me. You know that feeling you get when you see something and you know what it is. And I knew that this was where my brother’s heaven would be, the place he requested his ashes be scattered. The White River near Bull Shoals in Arkansas is where I will picture him from now on. Happy Fishing, Little Brother. I love you.

Tags Brother, death, fishing, White River

Categories Family, Memories, Reflections

70

December 2, 2015 //

Finally! I’ve been waiting my whole life for this day!!! Really, I have. I’m 70 today and my whole life has led me here, like it or not.

I decided to mentally take stock of my years and see where I am.

I’m an educated woman, I’ve been taught and I’ve taught others. I continue to learn because there’s so much to know. So much new stuff to keep up with. And my mind is functioning with a few forgetful moments here and there, probably due to so much being stored in that brain of mine. So much more that needs to be filed away…

My body is still working fairly well, minus a few parts that weren’t in use so much, and I’m lucky for that. I promise to take better care, I promise.

I’ve traveled well, been to several countries and almost all the states. So many more places to go and see…

I’ve given back to my community, hoping to make my little corner a better place, and have received way more than I have given in the life lessons I’ve learned, the friendships I’ve made, the skills I’ve been taught.

There has been sadness and joy, with much much more joy than I ever would have guessed. The sadness has taught me to appreciate the joyful times so much more.

I believe that all faith begins with Love and the Golden Rule and keeping it simple makes life easier in the long run. I believe in living what you believe more than anything.

My friends are there forever, even if we’re not in touch sometimes. It’s fun to reconnect as our lives take different directions.

I’ve been a daughter, granddaughter, wife, mother, and grandmother. Nothing means more. Nothing. Absolutely love my children and grandchildren – absolutely, with all my heart.

So, turning 70 isn’t all that bad. I’m here, after all, to enjoy my friends, watch my children and grandchildren grow into their own lives. Time is going faster and faster and it scares me sometimes to see how little time lies ahead of me at this speed, but what do I know? We only have so much time and we don’t get to know how much, so we live the best we can.

I waited all this time to be 70 and here I am. It’s good. All good.

Categories Family, Friends, Memories, Reflections

Behind the lens…

November 18, 2015 //

I’m a picture taker. I hesitate to call myself a photographer because I don’t really take the time to use all the stops and lens and filters I could use. It’s been something I’ve done since I got my first Kodak Brownie camera when I was 12. I took a class when my kids were little and learned to use the darkroom, which I never used again. I took away from that class an understanding of the way you can manipulate photos to make them better after you’ve snapped the shot, an appreciation of light. Today, I do that with a computer, cropping and fixing as I go.

Mostly, I’m capturing my memories, the pictures of my mind. Maybe I think I’ll lose them otherwise, but I do go through my photos all the time, just as I went through my grandparents’ photos when I was a little girl. Both my maternal grandmother and my paternal grandparents kept all their photos in the top drawer of a dresser. I guess that’s what people did if they didn’t put them in an album. I should have asked them more questions about the people in the pictures. I definitely should have.

Maybe it’s my impatience or my lack of discipline or my trust of the wonder of modern cameras, even on our phones, but I seldom spend too much time using all that I’ve learned in the photography classes I’ve taken. Usually, I have a camera with me and take what I see. And I see pictures all around me. I can’t drive down a street or walk a block without seeing a picture in my mind. I compose all the time, trying to capture the essence of what I’m seeing. That’s impossible sometimes, such as clouds or sunsets, but I can get a little of the wonder of it.

Yesterday, I stepped out my door and was struck by the beauty of the fall leaves in the rain. So, of course, I grabbed my camera and took pictures. For me. Here are a couple so you can see what I’m talking about.I couldn’t let the moment pass. It’s my own memory of that day I walked out my door and saw something so beautiful.

When I travel, I take photos to use in my blog or to remember my trip or to remember where I was. I now take pictures of the restaurants where I eat so I can remember when someone asks me because I would surely forget. I take a lot of photos from the car and it’s amazing what you can get, even through the windshield. It is definitely a problem when I’m the driver because I pull over a lot. A lot. Here’s a photo from Chinatown in San Francisco. I looked up and realized that there were people living lives above the tourists populating their streets. They must be immune to our presence by now.My favorite subjects are the people I love. I’m okay with posed pictures, but I love the candid shots that show me something you can’t see with a pose. My friends are caught in an impromptu dance. She was recently diagnosed with ALS, yet they are marching forward, surrounded by the love of their family and friends. This moment will stay with me for a long time.Here’s a long ago photo of my Daddy, relaxing with his paper on a Sunday morning. Most people knew him as elegant, athletic, handsome and he was. He was also Daddy with his tan line from his golf shoes, his rumpled curly hair, and his daily paper. My youngest granddaughter is in love with all animals and not afraid to get up close. This bird was so patient to let her see how his feathers work.Last summer, my family got together for a swim party and I watched my grandsons play like little kids. The oldest one was leaving for college in a month and I caught him enjoying his cousins. How many more times will I get to see them all together playing?The boys made up game after game in the water in total joy with the familiarity of brothers and cousins.The boys are all athletic and I caught one of the younger ones (at 15 and 6’5″) showing his intensity in a ball game. He is a pitcher and first baseman, by the way.I catch my youngest granddaughter all the time in moments that remind me she is still a little one, our last for awhile. Oh, the sweetness of a sleeping child. Here’s another older one that I caught on the Christmas before my oldest grandson was born. All my children are gathered together in that moment before the grandchildren began to arrive. By the end of the following year, we would have three boys…but we didn’t know that at this moment. So much happened after this. So much.Here’s a picture I took at the OSU Homecoming Parade a few weeks ago, intending to use it in my blog. Little did I know that a horrible tragedy was about to happen about a mile down the street. Little did I know that this would capture the essence of the parade’s innocence and delight before the horror happened.Years ago, I was volunteering with the local domestic violence shelter. We gave a Halloween party for the women and children and I was taking Polaroid pictures for them. We didn’t use film because we wanted to respect their privacy. That event taught me so much about my camera and myself. One woman held a one year old in a body cast, wanting a photo for the father who had caused this pain. I had to stop myself. I lifted the camera to take a photo of one woman and seeing her eyes through a lens made me put the camera down for a moment. There was too much there, too much of her I was seeing. I lifted it back and took the shot, but I’ve never forgotten the power of what you see through a lens, what focusing on something teaches you in that moment.

So I’ll go on taking my camera with me, stopping to capture my family and friends, everything beautiful, interesting, funny or memorable around me. I sometimes feel artsy, as anyone can with the sophisticated equipment we have today, but mostly I do it because I can’t help myself.

You get the picture.

Tags camera, lens, memories, OSU

Categories Art, Family, Friends, Memories, Nature, Photography, Reflections

40

November 5, 2015 //

Forty years ago today, our son was born. Forty years ago. Five years ago today, he texted me:

Two months later, he was gone, his 6’2″ frame weakened by the residual effects of intense radiation ten years previously. At least we had those ten years.

Normally, I’m pretty stoic about all of this, able to process his life and keep it in perspective with the ways of nature and the universe. I understand life and death pretty well, knowing we all aren’t given long lives or easy lives. I don’t cry much anymore, having cried myself out with the death of my husband first and then my son. I talk about it, write about it, keep myself surrounded with the people who make me happy. I do ok.

This year has been different, especially the last few months. I’m in a new zone of the grief process, a new layer that I wasn’t expecting. I can’t pinpoint the exact reason for this feeling because I can pinpoint a whole bunch of reasons. Whatever is causing it is real and painful, but I know it will pass. The song, “Forever Young,” goes through my head. Yes, he will be forever young, although I’d like to have watched him get older along with his sisters and all my grandchildren. Not to be.

I try to be angry but it takes so much energy that I need for the living. I should be madder than hell that he isn’t here to watch his daughter grow up. He is missing such fun things with her and her mother. I should be livid that he isn’t here with his wife and daughter and his sisters and their families at our family gatherings. I hate that he’s not here for his 40th birthday, celebrating with his friends. Damn it! That would be easy, I think, to rail against the universe. I don’t really do that too much, although today I will shake my fist once for good measure. I’m not mad at God or nature or any person or event. I’d get mad at cancer, but there are so many diseases equally devastating. It’s part of being a human being, this living and dying.

Mostly, I miss him. I miss him all the time. It creeps up on me at odd moments, as these things tend to do. It’s not the big events in life where the loss is felt the most. It’s the day to day flashes of what was and what might have been.

I defy anyone to think this won’t happen to them if they have enough faith or understanding or people around them or therapy or support groups or exercise or alcohol or drugs or whatever it takes each person to survive loss. It still waits around each corner, ready to disrupt your thoughts or sleep or activities. It can stop you in mid-sentence or mid-thought. If you let it, I guess it can paralyze you. You keep moving, keep moving along.

Don’t feel sorry for me or anyone else grieving. It is what it is and mostly we get through it, some better than others. There are no rules, no timeline, and no way to escape. Maybe that’s ok. Maybe that’s how we measure how much impact our loved one’s life had on us and others. So, don’t feel sorry, just appreciate the power of the love we have lost.

I have a feeling that his birthday will help release me from the pain I’ve felt this year. I hope so. My memories will still make me smile and laugh, his daughter will still do things that remind me of her daddy, my family will remember together. He was part of us from the beginning, forty years ago today, and he will be part of us for eternity. That’s how these things work.

Sharing all of this emotion is debatable but probably a good thing for me and for any of you who ever have to go through this. My heart is with you, whoever and wherever you are. It’s a feeling that you don’t really share with those around you who are going through their own ways of dealing with grief. Even married couples who share the same loss can’t grieve the same way. It’s personal and very very lonely.

I can feel it beginning to shake off because I’m looking forward to being with my family, sharing hugs and laughs. This grief comes and goes, but it will go back into hiding for sure. The sun shines, the seasons pass, the world moves on, and we who feel loss step out and join in the joy that is life, carrying the memories with us all the way.

Images of my son’s forty years pass before me. I don’t have a favorite because each is precious. Today, I can’t summarize his crazy, funny adventure of a life for you, but I can share him, dirty faced in his favorite cowboy hat, at 2 1/2 years old. I can’t help but smile thinking of this baby/boy/man of mine and how much a part of our hearts he will be as long as we can remember.

Tags 40 years old, birthday, cancer

Categories Family, Friends, Memories, Reflections, Uncategorized

Oklahoma State University Homecoming 2015 – my view

October 25, 2015 //

Oklahoma State University bills its Homecoming as “America’s Greatest Homecoming Celebration” with a whole lotta pride and reason to celebrate. As the university celebrates its 125th year, the Homecoming theme for 2015 was “Stillwater…Still Loyal…Still True.” It makes you pause a day later because of the importance of that statement in the aftermath of a year of planning, a week of festivities, a weekend of wonder mixed with unbelievable tragedy.

I’m an alum, was a graduate assistant in the English department back in my day, my first married years were spent in Stillwater, my oldest daughter was born in this town, some of my children and their spouses graduated from OSU, I am now on staff part time, my oldest grandson is a Freshman and I have another grandson coming here next year. I have ties galore. I really hadn’t been back for Homecoming weekend until 2011 when one of my grandsons, who was 13 at the time, and I came up for the weekend. It was such a delight that I couldn’t wait to come back. I only live a little over an hour away, but you have to plan for it. Stillwater is a town of 47,000 population, but there were 85,000 people there on Friday night this year. Yeah!

OSU Homecoming takes a year of planning, thousands of hours of work by student groups, and lasts for a week. There is something for everyone. The festivities kick off on Sunday with a ceremony to dye the water in the fountain in front of the iconic library orange. America’s Brightest Orange is everywhere!Every day is a new activity, with opportunities for any student group to participate. There is the Sign Contest on the library lawn, which shows off the creativity and spirit of the students…There’s a chili contest, a carnival for children, and a Paint the Street night open to anyone. A late week rain washed away some of the work, but the remnants were under our feet walking to the stadium on Saturday.Friday night is the WalkAround, a night where the streets in front of the university are closed and people walk around to see the massive house decorations designed and created by Greek Students. These were here when I was in school, but it’s beyond my imagination to see how these are built. When I arrived in Stillwater for meetings early Friday, it had rained overnight and students were hustling, working with huge equipment and lifts to finish the decorations before the judges arrived at 1:00. These structures are beautiful, inspiring, have moving parts, and are great fun. It was my grandson’s first time to work on one, so I was sharing his pride.

He’s in this photo in the white shirt. He’s 6’4″ to give you an idea of the size.Before one of my meetings on Friday, Pistol Pete arrived in the building. I’ve shared my love of our mascot, the only college mascot based on a real person. He was in our department to greet alums and I caught this shot of him walking with one of the little fans, who was just learning to say “Pistol Pete.” He had on cowboy boots with the image of Pete and his grandfather was showing him the picture on the boots and then pointing to the real Pete. I don’t know if this little one understood, but he walked off with Pete, to his mom and grandparents’ delight.While I waited for some of my family to arrive in Stillwater for the WalkAround, I took pictures, as I always do, of things that caught my eye. Here’s Old Central, the original building and the oldest on campus, all spiffed up to greet alums.Everything was in place to greet the OSU family.I walked across campus, catching the moon over the #1 Student Union in the country.As the crowd began to build, the strip was ready with its familiar shops, restaurants and bars.The crowds were building, the streets were closed.When I came in 2011, it was harder to find food if you didn’t want to stand in line for an hour at a restaurant. Now there are food trucks everywhere, tents with OSU clothes and gifts, activities for all ages. The lights came on at Theta Pond, way more beautiful than when I was in school.Five of my grandsons did the WalkAround. Four of them, including the Freshman, had never seen it before and it was fun to share it with them. With bands playing, people of all ages filling every street, sightings of campus celebrities, members of the OSU band doing impromptu songs, dancing on the Student Union terrace, alums running into old friends, the memories flooding, the pride swelling, it’s the greatest street party ever.

By 9:00, the major activities are winding down and the crowd can move towards famous Gallagher-Iba Arena for Homecoming & Hoops, the perfect ending to the evening. This is basically a free pep rally for students and anyone else who enjoys the noise. The arena is famous for the noisy atmosphere during basketball season and this pep rally is perfect in that space. As I entered, the students were seated in groups, waving lighted sticks and screaming. The noise level is intense and my friend had ear plugs. I loved it!

The evening begins with the football coach, Mike Gundy, thanking the students for their hard work and inviting them all to the game the next day. I watched the coach while the music was leading up to him talking. He moved with the music, shooting his hand in the air with the spirit of the evening. On the sidelines, he has to watch the game. Here, he’s a Cowboy all the way – former stat breaking quarterback to coach. Here, he gets to be a fan for a few minutes before he leaves to prepare for the game.Pistol Pete is walking the sidelines, the band is playing. The OSU Women’s Basketball team gives a 10 minute preview of their skills, followed by the pom squad, a skit by the OSU Wrestling Team, a lip sync competition, announcement of winners of various contests during the week, t-shirts are shot and dropped into the student sections, small footballs are thrown to the crowds, a big demonstration by the cheerleaders, ending with a preview of the OSU Men’s Basketball Team. It’s a wild and crazy finish to the day.As we left, by luck of who I know and was with, I got to stand on the field, imagining what a young player must think and imagining what would take place the next day. Those goal posts look very narrow and that goal line is far away from the 50 yard line. Wow! By Friday night, for those of you who are into these things, I had walked over 18,000 steps. And, I still felt good. My head was full of so many years of memories and pride in what was going on in this wonderful place.

Saturday morning, I was ready to go to the Sea of Orange Parade. I remember taking my oldest daughter to it when she was a baby and I loved it the last time I was here. This isn’t really something the student body attends unless they’re in it because many of them have been up all night all week getting ready for Homecoming. This parade is more about families, generations. Stillwater is still a small town and this is the best of what a small town brings to a university experience. I almost didn’t go and visited with my friend I was staying with, but decided I didn’t want to miss any of this great experience and headed downtown alone. I stood near the beginning of the parade so I missed probably the first 1/3 to 1/2 of it, including the OSU Marching Band, all the OSU dignitaries, state politicians, Pistol Pete, the cheerleaders, etc. That’s ok because I got the feeling I was looking for. I’m sharing more photos with you than I planned because it really means more now.

Right after the Stillwater High School band, where I came in, was the OSU Polo Team. I bet you didn’t know we had a team, did you? We also have a Rodeo Team. We do horses here.And there were other horse riding groups…and dogs…and trucks and tractors and motorcycles and cars.

Note the crowds along the street. There were decorated flatbeds and walking politicians and others throwing candy to the kids with nobody acting like they were in any danger of poison candy. I moved down the street and stood beside pick up trucks owned by people who came early to park along the street and use the truck for parade watching. There were generations of families, waving to the parade participants, neighbors knowing everybody who walked by. I overheard people telling each other things like, “she does my hair sometimes,” “that’s my former student,” “he lives in Perkins now.” It’s a small town atmosphere, a family setting at its best.

There were beauty queens…and dance schools, and karate students, and little baton twirlers…There was pride in America…pride in our school and pride in our lives.There were local celebrities…and the ever popular marching lawnmower team, doing its routines along the way.And, bands, small town bands. I’m so very impressed with the number of kids who play all these instruments in the very very small towns. That’s a tribute to some teachers, some tradition, some pride.I walked up to the beginning of the parade in time to see the last of it, the mounted sheriffs turning the corner onto Main, to be followed by the Stillwater Fire Trucks. I walked to my car a little after 10:00, drove to McDonald’s to use the restroom and grab something to eat before I drove to the other side of campus to find a parking place for the game, planning to find some students and meet my friends later. I turned onto Hall of Fame and headed towards the stadium, not realizing what was going on or about to happen a couple of blocks from me. By the time I parked my car on a side street north of campus, I was starting to get messages that someone had driven a car into the parade crowds and people were killed. I was totally ignorant of where the parade ended, so I couldn’t place anything. Dear friends and family were contacting me to see if I was ok. What in the world? I walked the few blocks to the stadium, taking my phone charger with me because it was going down fast. This was becoming a strange day quickly.

The campus was crowded with tailgate parties. I can’t begin to tell you how crowded it gets and how many parties are going on. Here was an elaborate set up near the stadium. Families and friends were gathered to eat and hug and share the day. The smells of grills and barbecue were filling the air. I realized most of these people, thousands of them didn’t know anything or much more than I did about what was happening. But there was a subdued feeling beginning to hover over us. I found one of my student friends and plugged my phone into their trailer (Gad – there is so much to tailgating now!) and heard the first rumors, all of which proved to be false. I had heard a few sirens and saw some helicopters that I assumed were news media. As I left to walk around, I lost cell coverage, maybe due to the stadium, maybe due to the mass of people using all these devices. I saw televisions in tailgate tents turned to the news, but most people probably didn’t know unless they were being contacted. I was getting messages on Facebook, texts, etc. I was using power fast trying to reassure everyone. For some reason, this orange colored dog made me smile in the middle of this strange time.

Mostly the campus was Homecoming as usual, maybe quieter when I think back. It was a day of celebration and of shock. It was time for The Walk, the parade of the band, cheerleaders, pom squad, coaches and players walking across campus to the stadium through a line of fans and well wishers. Usually this is noisy and boisterous. Today was quiet. The band wasn’t playing, other than a few drummers with a somber march. They were followed by quiet, respectful cheerleaders and pom squad. Pete arrived, cheering the crowd as always, somehow reassuring that our world is still there, living and breathing.The team walked by, huge kids. One stopped to give hugs to the people next to me. I’m sure they wanted reassurance, too. They may be big, but they’re somebody’s kid. Coach walked by, slapping the hand of the woman next to me who reached out to him.There was no noise at the end, the parade filtered into the stadium in silence. Game Day was here.

I decided to go into the stadium early because it’s fun to watch it get set up and I knew my friends were somewhere on their way. Besides, I was still having trouble with texts and messages getting through. Walking into the stadium early, the first thing that smacked me in my heart was the great flag at half mast. It’s really true and happening to these families so close by. You couldn’t shake that image all day long.So I filled the next hour watching the crowd build, the team practicing with different units, the school fight songs filling the air. The team came out and warmed up in formation, which I think is so coolThey went back to the locker room, preparing to make their entrance. The KU and OSU bands played and everyone got in place to welcome the team to the field. I felt curiosity, waiting to see how this was going to be handled. As seen on television, there was a moment of silence, appropriate for all. The game was played, OSU won in a lopsided victory that made it easy for fans to slip out after the half-time. I stayed to the end, holding my friend as we sang and swayed to the alma mater along with the tradition of the team singing it with the students after the game. I stopped at a friend’s house after the game, welcoming the chance to get dinner and talk a little before I drove home. It was nice to be with good people, Stillwater residents, though there is no sense to be made of the tragedy of the day. Someone said this was not just an OSU tragedy, this was a Stillwater tragedy. I’ve been through senseless things before, I’ve lost loved ones. I watched video of the crash, horrified to see how close the children on a parade truck and walking came to being hit. I’m horrified they had to see this, horrified that it will haunt them forever. My love goes out to those who were there because the rest of us can only hold them in our hearts and hope for their physical and mental recovery.

The one thing I do know is that the irony of having something like this happen in the middle of such a great traditional weekend of Homecoming is offset just a little knowing how strong the ties are in the community of Stillwater and OSU. This is a strong family with shared memories and a lot of pride and love. It will help. It will.

Tags football, Homecoming, Homecoming Parade, Oklahoma, Oklahoma State University, OSU, Stillwater, tragedy, WalkAround

Categories Events, Family, Friends, Memories, Places, Reflections, Sports

A Grandmother’s Emotions

August 16, 2015 //

My oldest grandchild left for college yesterday. Another milestone for the family, for this cute guy. It’s not like he’s going that far away and I’ll even see him next week since I work on campus part-time, but it’s still a milestone. For me, the grandmother, the emotions run across many decades.

Watching him packing, I saw his mother and father helping him with everything from checking the car to doing his laundry. It’s amazing how much he’s taken for granted and I know this because I was the same way when I left. I’d never really been away from home other than to stay with relatives, so college was a cultural and environmental shock. I graduated with 650 students and my new roommate was from a class of 6. Wow!

My grandson went to visit the campus a couple of weeks ago just to walk around and see where his classes were so he didn’t have to stumble around the first week. I bet he still does some of that because Freshmen tend to stand out, no matter how sophisticated they think they are. Everything is new and your parents aren’t there to ask for help. Of course, now the kids all have cell phones where we had to get change and wait for the pay phone and make a long distance call, which was through the operator in those long gone days. It doesn’t really matter what the differences are in technology because the emotions are all the same.

This grandson is the oldest of the three boys who were born before my husband died, all born in an 8 month period before and during the time he was battling cancer. This oldest one had his first birthday exactly one week before his grandfather died. And here we are at our next chapter. My mind spins with memories of my own college days, his mother’s, and now the new images of him leaving. And then my mind takes many turns as it goes through memories of his mother as a child and this one’s birth and all the years in-between. Is it a wonder we get emotional with all of those images flying around?

My eyes get teary from happiness for him mixed with the ever-present concern based on the years of knowledge of all the things that can go wrong. I expect his parents will experience what we did, going from waiting up for him to come home to wondering where he is and what he’s doing in a new, wilder environment where we aren’t minutes away. What I can tell them is that parenting never stops, never ever. I still worry about them and feel a rush of relief when they are all home, safe and sound. It’s an uncontrollable component of parenting for me. I know there are people who let go and that’s fine, but I don’t seem to be able to do it. My kids are grown, accomplished, wonderful adults and I love and trust them, but they’re always going to be my kids. I’m a sentimental idiot about them. Nothing they do is too mundane for me to enjoy hearing about, good or bad. But, my mind wonders again.

That’s the problem with this college thing. It’s releasing all the old emotions and memories again, giving them new places to roam. Next year, my next two grandsons leave for college, so this is just the beginning of letting these kids go ahead and live their grown up lives. I have two grandsons in tenth grade this year and a grandson and granddaughter in 8th grade. I’ll be going to graduations and seeing them off to college a lot in the next few years. And then, there’s the one who’s heading into kindergarten. Will I be here to see her off to college and launching her new life?

The average person now starts having kids in their late twenties or thirties. I’ve commented many times about the danger of edging out grandparents along the way. My own grandparents were such an important part of my life that it makes me sad to think of generations of kids without grandparent. I hope I’ve been an important part of my grandchildren’s experiences and memories and I hope their parents can do the same for them. It’s one of the greatest gifts you get in life.

I’m imagining my grandson waking up in his room in the fraternity house with a new roommate from Texas, probably getting up late after staying up all night talking and getting to know each other and the other guys or finding his high school friends on other parts of the campus. It’s a heady time in life with all your dreams ahead of you and all the realities right in front of you. It’s a giant step. Working with college kids, I envy them the experience but not all the challenges that lie ahead as they study for exams, look for jobs, build relationships.

This will be an interesting week and I can’t wait to hear from my grandson. I’m proud of him and all my family and I’m so very grateful to be here to watch all of them in these next steps, step by step really, through life.

Tags college, Freshman, grandmother

Categories Family, Memories, Places, Reflections

My Five Fears

August 11, 2015 //

As I very rapidly approach 70 in the next few months, I can’t help but be aware that this age seems really really old to most of the world. What kicks me about it is the fact that you can’t ignore you have more years behind you than ahead of you. But that’s been true for a long time, so this is awareness that I have even less time today than I did yesterday. There are things that scare me to varying degrees as I approach yet another milestone, so I’ve narrowed it down to five. These are kind of in order and I know they’re pretty universal from conversations I have with friends.

5. Fear of the earth not lasting. This is a new one but I sometimes wonder if any of us will survive as our planet goes through its own aging process, exacerbated by our own mishandling of our natural resources. Will the west coast fall off into the sea, will a giant split drop middle America into the earth, will global warming burn us all up, will the toxic pit in Butte, Montana, pollute the waters of the west? This one goes on and on and there’s not much I can do. My fear here is more for future generations because I’ve been able to enjoy earth’s beauty in my lifetime. I guess dying in some kind of global shift won’t be any worse at my age than dying in a hospital bed. I’d probably be smarter to be afraid of being shot since that seems to be just as likely in our country these days.

4. Fear of outliving my money. I’m ok, thanks to Social Security, investments and a part time job. I own my home and am relatively healthy, so how long will what I have last and will I still have some to leave to my kids? I have Medicare and supplemental insurance to help with health costs. But still, how much is enough? You can read all the charts and listen to the experts and you’re still not sure.

3. Fear of either my mind going before my body or my body going before my mind. Nobody wants either of these and it’s not a random thing to wonder about. Even if you exercise your body and your mind, you’re still wearing out. Which part will go first – or next? I find myself walking much more carefully to avoid injuries to bones and parts that many of my friends are having replaced. We’re a generation of bionic elderlies, thanks to modern medicine. Our minds are full, overflowing, with information, so full it takes longer to access those mental files. The wear and tear on our bodies is inevitable. We work with what we’ve got.

2. Fear of not getting everything done. Sigh. There are so so very many things I want to do. Places to go, people to see, books to read, things to organize for my children. Some days I seem to be on frenzy trying to finish all that I’ve planned. As long as I can still go and do and move, I can work on this, but the list is endless. So many beautiful places to visit, so many people I want to see. The Bucket List only seems to get longer. And my checklists are never-ending. Moving along…

1. Fear of losing those I love. I’ve lost my parents, my husband and my son. I’ve lost other family and friends. I can’t control this, but I don’t want to lose any more. I’m pretty stoic about it most of the time, but there are times this becomes the most palpable fear I have. I don’t want to lose any more family or close friends. That’s it. Damn it! And I know this is unrealistic, but it’s there for me to worry about.

Whew! OK, I got those out there in public for all to see. That always makes it easier, especially since I know that others share these same concerns and we can even laugh about it when we’re together. When we’re alone, these thoughts creep in. My cure for the worries to remember how much time I’ve had, how many wonderful memories of places I’ve been and people I’ve known and loved. Most of these worries are because my life is good and I want it to continue. I’m grateful that I have a past worth remembering. I’m grateful for every day I have with my family and friends on this beautiful planet. That’s not a worry. That’s something to smile about.

Tags aging, fears, worry

Categories Family, Friends, Memories, Nature, Reflections

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