Weekend on the Severn River

 P enjoying view of the Severn River 

from the deck of our rental house

This past weekend, five cousins and two spouses rented a house on the Severn River near Annapolis, MD.  It was the first meeting for some of us.  Although P and I drove just 20 miles, the others flew in to Baltimore from Connecticut, Florida, Illinois, and Wisconsin. 

The five cousins are all women. I am the oldest, at 81. My sister is almost 78. One cousin is 77. I lost contact with her in 1946 when both my parents and hers were divorced. The other two cousins are sisters. The older is 62; the younger, 58.  Three years ago, I had no idea the younger two cousins existed. My husband had been researching his family on Ancestry.com when the youngest contacted him, saying I had turned up as a first cousin on Ancestry and asking how we were related. 

My dad's brother, who died in 1965, turned out to be the father of both my 77-year-old cousin by his first wife and also the two new cousins.  We are all glad we found each other. 

-the 77-year-old, who thought she was an only child all these years, is delighted to have two half sisters. I am also glad to have re-established contact with her.

-the youngest cousin always felt as if she didn't quite belong in the family she grew up with. The man she thought was her father often said, "You don't look like one of us." She was relieved to learn the results of her Ancestry test. Now there was an explanation for all the hurtful comments of adults and the nasty teasing of schoolmates that she endured while growing up. 

--her older sister delayed getting tested because she was afraid the truth would disrupt her family, but she finally took the Ancestry test.  At first, the truth took some getting used to, but

--her two other siblings eventually accepted their new status as half-brother and half-sister and have even said they'd like to be part of the new family. 

P and I met the youngest cousin at my sister's house two years ago.  This past winter all of us began getting together regularly via Zoom sessions. We all wanted to finally meet in person. And that's what we did this weekend. 

The three older cousins are reticent introverts. The new cousins are Forces of Nature: assertive, exuberant, extremely energetic. 

We're going to set up our own blog. 

81st Birthday

On Saturday, we had a porch celebration for Phil's 81st birthday.  Our younger daughter and family, including their beagle, Roscoe, came up from Burke, VA. Our older daughter came over from North Laurel. (Her husband and son were picking up the camper for next weekend's camping trip.) We sang happy birthday, he opened his presents, and we had cake. 

Dilly Dog and Roscoe were happy to see each other. It's a love match. Both refused to wear masks. 

Mothers' Day

On Sunday, we had a surprise visit from our younger daughter and her family. My husband was in on the surprise.  In the late afternoon, he said, "Go to the front door." There stood Nate, Mariel, Becky and Tom beside their home-made "Happy Mother's Day" poster.  They also brought us home-made enchiladas, the first meal we have not cooked ourselves since the pandemic shut everything down. 

We maintained proper social distancing. I would have liked to have gotten closer to take the photo, but of course I was too distracted to use the close-up feature on the camera. (As you can see, I have not yet figured out how to change the date.  I think I might have to remove the battery first.)

Anyway, they drove up from Northern Virginia, about 45 minutes away.  Tom said traffic was light. We haven't seen them since Christmas. Becky mentioned that before I came to the door, they had seen a man walking up our street, wearing a mask and lugging an accordion. He was part of the Mariachi band that was just tuning up for a backyard fiesta across the street.  We could hear joyful yipping.  It was probably a belated Cinco de Mayo celebration. I can only hope that the guests were maintaining social distancing.

Our older daughter, who lives ten miles away, sent flowers and a box of chocolates on Saturday.  She sent them via our son-in-law, Michael. Although at high-risk himself for serious complications if he catches the virus, he nevertheless picks up extra items for us when he does grocery shopping for his family.  He's one of those intrepid types who hates being stuck in the house and is determined to be helpful to others. 

Brief Moments in Hell

We were back at the beach in Lewes, DE the week of June 18th with our daughter, son-in-law and 13-year-old grandson.  The weather was heavenly, but we had some brief moments in hell.

Last year, when my daughter suggested a trip to one of her favorite shops, "Christmas Tree Hill," I thought she said "Christmas Tree Hell." It was another "fun-with-hearing-loss"moment. The family mascot was then 12 and spent nearly the whole week playing video games (with earphones) with occasional breaks for fishing or swimming. This year, when  his mother asked him to go with us to Christmas Tree Hill, he replied, "Why would I want to go to Christmas Tree Hell?" Did he hear her wrong because of a new testosterone-driven aversion to shopping? He stayed home, but my husband, daughter and I went to "Hell." Actually, my husband didn't venture into the store. He sat on a bench outside, watching the passers-by.

When the week was over, I rode home with Margaret. We stopped at an outlet mall to shop for shoes before getting on the Chesapeake Bay Bridge, because Margaret needed some shoes. As luck would have it, I found two pairs I liked and she found none. Returning to the car, she fished in her bag for her keys.

NO KEYS!

What a heart-stopping moment! Of course she could have called Michael and of course  he would have turned right around, but he would have been grumpy. We returned to the store and asked if anyone had turned in a set of keys. No one had, so we scanned the aisles for the keys. A clerk suggested Margaret had dropped them in a shoebox. The shelves were lined with hundreds of identical shoeboxes. "Uh, I don't think so," said Margaret. The clerk advised her to go to the mall security office, so Margaret took off, half running. As I headed for the parking lot to look for the keys, I heard the clerk calling me. She was waving the keys.  She'd remembered that Margaret had tried on a certain pair of navy-blue sandals. She found the keys in the box. 

So now we joined the bumper-to-bumper traffic headed for the Chesapeake Bay Bridge. On the bridge, Margaret drove in the middle lane. I was impressed with her bravery. I always choose the outer lane because I don't like being tail-gated by drivers who think the posted speed limit is for sissies. I concentrated on the distant sailboats out on the water and tried not to think of the woman whose car was nudged over the railing by an aggressive truck driver last year. Fortunately, the accident happened soon after she got on the bridge, so she didn't fall all that far and she was able to swim to safety. 

At the Library at Monticello

During 8-year-old grandson's Spring Break, daughter and family went to Thomas Jefferson's home, Monticello. The weather was dreary the first two days of the trip. The 2-year-old was cranky from teething, so our daughter, Becky, didn't get to finish the tour of the mansion. Just Tom and Nate joined the group in the library. The guide said that Jefferson owned editions of 19 percent of all the books published in his day. He had the largest private collection in America.

Nate raised his hand.

"Yes?" said the guide.

"I'm going to write a book, " Nate announced.

"That's nice," replied the guide.

Yesterday his Grandpa asked Nate about the title of the forthcoming book.

"I'm not really ready to say," replied Nate.

Hotel Catifornia

His name was Clarence and he came with a sibling called Conan. Their names did not match their personalities. Conan was timid. Clarence--who soon came to be known as "Clance"--was the bold swashbuckler. Our daughter adopted the pair when she was living in a rowhouse on Baltimore's Federal Hill. One day the intrepid Clarence ran away. He swaggered back a few days later with an oil spot on his head and an attitude: "Don't even bother to ask where I've been and what I've been doing."

The cats and the pit bull moved to a crackerbox of a house when our daughter got married. A large sheepherder-type dog belonging to our son-in-law was already in residence. In due time, a baby boy arrived. When the baby was a few weeks old,  Conan suddenly had to be put to sleep. A stray cat turned up the next day, as if an invisible "Vacancy" sign had been hanging in the window. Our daughter was so sad about Conan that our son-in-law briefly considered letting it into the house. Talking it over, we quietly agreed that two big dogs, a cat and a baby were probably enough, so he didn't encourage the stray to hang around. Clance thus became King Cat. 

A few years passed. The family moved to a spacious 4-bedroom house.  The two big dogs died. A beagle joined the family and was made to understand that Clance was In Charge. Clance aged well. He was wiry and energetic.  He had the run of the house until they found out that our grandson was allergic to cats. So Clance was confined to the large Master Bedroom, where he spent much of the day under the quilt, impersonating a loaf of bread. Our daughter even had a screen door installed so that the bedroom door could stay open all day. She didn't want him to feel lonely. He was still very much a part of the family. 

A few more years passed. Clance, now in his late teens, seemed likely to live into his twenties. Alas, he was getting forgetful. "What's this box for?" he asked one day. He used the air duct instead, creating a yellow spot on the living-room ceiling that also showed up on a long list of "Things to Fix Before We Sell the House." The year before, our daughter and husband decided their the house was too big and too far away from the husband's workplace. By this time last year, they were planning to put the house on the market in June.

A realtor came by. She wrinkled her nose at the Master Bedroom. "You've got to do something about that cat," she said.  It didn't look like the Feline Grim Reaper was going to visit anytime soon. Anyway, despite his growing forgetfulness, he was still beloved. Reluctantly, our daughter moved him to the basement bathroom. She felt awful about it.  She gave him a comfy upholstered chair and turned on the electric heater to ward off the chill. 

The family went away for a week. When they got back, our other son-in-law called me. "Do you know when they're going to pick up their aquarium?"

Aquarium?!?

I asked my husband, "Why would they get an aquarium when they're getting ready to move?"

"Oh, it's really just a fishbowl," he said. "It's supposed to give Clarence something to look at."

About a month later, Clarence were berserk. He smashed his water bowl and feeding dish. Our daughter was in the basement at two in the morning sweeping up shards of glass. The cat was no longer himself. Heartbroken, our daughter took him to the vet. The diagnosis was kidney failure.

The day after he was put down, a Professional Organizer (PO) was at the house, helping our daughter get a handle on the monumental job of downsizing and moving. I was there, too, helping to take care of their newly-adopted baby girl. The PO was working in the garage and the rest of us were in the kitchen. Suddenly, we heard the insistent meowing of a cat. Daughter and I looked at each other in disbelief. Was there another invisible "Vacancy" sign in the window? The meowing continued. Where was that cat?  Then the PO appeared and pulled her cellphone out of her purse. "Sorry," she said, "That's my ringtone." 

After the Storm of 2016

Sunday, January 24, 2016

Well, we survived. They're saying we'll be allowed out on the roads by Wednesday. The populace seems to be heeding the official advice. Church was cancelled today for me and many others.

It started snowing around noon on Friday. Schools were closed for the day and the Senior Center closed at noon. Snow continued all night, with a blizzard and hurricane-force winds predicted for Saturday. That didn't happen, but we ended up with over two feet of snow. Friends with ocean-side property watched helplessly as the storm tore away the pier in Ocean City and caused floods in Lewes, DE.

This camellia bloomed by our porch during the warm spell around New Year's.

I scared most of the birds away when I took this picture.

Sometimes more than 40 birds were clustered at the feeders.

It's white and it's pretty. We spent the day shoveling short paths to the bird feeders, keeping them filled and fostering a culture of dependency on our Feathered Friends. Dilly Dog romped to the back fence once and called it a day. She snoozed on the couch while we watched Immortal Beloved, a DVD about Beethoven and his alleged love affair with his brother's wife. I cooked barbecued ground turkey in the crock pot and baked a cherry pie, hoping that the power would stay on. Talked to the kids on the phone. One lives nearby and the other in Northern Virginia. All is well.

Happy to say that the power stayed on!

Now comes the Digging Out. The neighbors across the street spent a lot of time this morning moving their four cars to the street so they could clear the driveway. The black car got stuck in the street and required a lot of back-and-forth rocking and shoveling to get it back in the driveway

We played on-line Scrabble with my sister in Chicago. Her talent at this game is positively demonic. We are drawn into new games again and again. We managed to win yesterday's game, but it was the two of us against the one of her and we barely squeaked by. A new game has started and we will probably go down in flames once more. 

Also started a new jigsaw puzzle, a 300-piece Ravensburger with large pieces. Two months ago, we learned our lesson with a 1000-piece puzzle that soon had us wailing and gnashing our teeth and wanting to cast the puzzle into the Outer Darkness. With great joy we finally tossed the thing in the recycling bin.

The Puzzle We Threw Out

I finished two books--The Burgess Boys by Elizabeth Strout and The Scarlet Letter by Nathaniel Hawthorne. I also did seventh grade math problems on line. I started this project last year when our grandson was in sixth grade and struggling with math. I'd hoped to help him with  his homework. It turns out he didn't want my help and has pulled himself out of his downward spiral on his own. Still, the last time I took math I was a silly girl who often cried and threw her math book across the room. Now that I am an old girl, married to a patient mathematician, I don't get nearly so frustrated. I actually enjoy math. Somewhat. I hope to stay with it until I finish 12th-grade math, if I don't get dementia in the meantime. 

Please, Mr. Postman

Edward Hopper's "Summertime" (1943)

Our younger daughter spent most of 1994 in Colorado.  She was 28 years old.  She went to Colorado to learn more about life. She had been living with a boyfriend for several years and perhaps she wanted to gain some perspective on their relationship from a distance. I really don't know. 

She spent this past spring sorting through her notebooks and papers, getting ready to a move to northern Virginia with her husband (no, he is not the boyfriend of 1994) and two children. Being a creative soul, she likes to keep things that might prove useful in future collages or stories or who-knows-what. Sorting through her stuff, she found this card she received from me while she was in Colorado. It had a "pome" I wrote for her, inspired by the picture.

I imagined her waiting for a letter from "John", who was then living in Ocean City, on what we Marylanders call "the Eastern Shore." I call it a "pome" because it's kind of silly, with lame plays on words. She and her boyfriend were both fans of Lou Reed. I had to ask her who Lou Reed was and so she played me a recording. Forgive me, but I did not think the man could sing. 

---------

Hope rising like the sun,

She waits by the morning door. 

Perhaps they will come today--

The long-awaited words 

From the Eastern Shore.

She waits

A long, long time,

A long, long longing time.

Perhaps he will come today,

Bringing the long-awaited words

From the Eastern Shore.

A letter not addressed to her,

But promised none the less.

A long, long letter

That she longs to read.

(Lou Reed would like

To read it, too,

But the promise was not

Made to him.)

Doubt stirs the curtains of her mind

Like the morning breeze.

Perhaps they will not come today,

Those long-awaited words,

And so hope dies of a day,

But it will rise again with tomorrow's sun. 

---------------------------------------

Not American

Our daughter takes her dry-cleaning to a shop run by two very friendly Korean ladies in their sixties. They get right to the point, asking such questions as, “How come you not have two baby?”

They asked this question about three years ago, before Becky and her husband adopted a baby girl.  Their son, who would have been about four at the time, might have come in with her that day. Becky said, “I’m 47. I’m not going to have another baby.”

“You think you too old? You not too old. She (pointing to her co-worker) have baby when she 47, so still you can do.”

Becky mumbled something pleasantly non-commital and left.

The next time she went in, the lady said, “Her baby here today. You can see. She fine.”

She called the “baby”, who was in a back room of the shop, to come out. A pretty young woman of about 20 appeared.  She smiled, said hello and returned to the back room.

The lady said, “So now maybe you have baby.” Then she turned to her friend. “She not American,” she remarked.

Hearing this, Becky objected, “But I am American. What else could I be?”

“You not look American,” the shop keeper stated firmly. She turned to her friend. “She not look American you think?”

“Yes, not look American,” agreed the other.

“So what am I then?” asked Becky.

The two considered her for a moment. “Polski,” said one. The other nodded in agreement.

Babe at the Beach

Our family goes to the beach every July for a week. A lot can change in a year. Last July, our younger daughter, Becky, arrived at the beach a little discouraged about a potential adoption. Something just didn't seem right. A young woman in Indiana had contacted her and her husband on the adoption agency website and told them that she was expecting a baby girl in August. A social worker in the agency's Indiana office attempted several times to meet the birth mother at Taco Bell, but the young woman would never show up. There was always some excuse. "I was there. I must have been the restroom when you came in and that's why we missed each other," she explained. After several more no shows like that, the social worker concluded that there was probably no baby.

Becky and Tom were beginning to think that adoption might not happen for them. They had applied to adopt when their natural son, Nate, was about three, and he was about to start kindergarten. They were in their mid-forties. Many birth parents seemed to be looking for younger couples. 

In January, a young couple found them. The woman already had two children by a previous marriage. She and the baby's father felt they could not afford a third child. The paternal grandparents, however,  were adamantly opposed to the adoption. Despite the red flag, Becky and Tom went shopping for their newborn, which was due in early April.  On the morning that they were on their way to the hospital to pick up the baby, the agency called to tell them that the birth parents had decided to keep their baby girl.  Heartbroken, they returned the diapers and bottles to the store and laid aside their dream. "If it happens, it happens, but it probably won't, " they said.  They decided to let their contract with the agency lapse when it came up for renewal in August. 

Toward the end of May, the adoption agency unexpectedly called Becky and Tom with exciting news. A newborn girl was available for adoption. Were they still interested?  They had 24 hours to decide. 

They talked it over. They were almost getting used to the idea of a family of three, plus Roscoe, the beagle. They knew their lives would change forever. They said yes. 

The baby was 3 weeks premature and weighed less than 5 pounds. She had to spend nearly three  weeks in the hospital before being allowed to come home. One parent or the other visited her nearly every day, to feed and cuddle and rock.  Her grandparents and aunt also went to see her.  And then, one day in mid-June, she finally came home. 

Last week, she went on her first beach vacation to Lewes, DE, with her extended family. She mostly slept, gazed around and slurped up milk, little dreaming how much joy she was bringing to the rest of us.

At the beach: Mariel being held by her brother, Nate, 

with cousin, Andrew

Forgiveness Deferred

Dad in 1960

Phil and I got engaged at Christmas, 52 years ago. I was 21; Phil, 22. When Phil told my father that we wanted to get married, tears sprang up in my dad's eyes.

This reaction took me by surprise. Ours was never an easy relationship. I moved back in with him and my new stepmother when I was nine. I didn't like it when he drank.  He insisted that the few drinks  he had each day were not the problem. It was I who was the problem. One night, after he'd had more than a few, he told me he would have been far happier without a family. No worries, no demands. Just freedom to do as he pleased. 

I never bought the idea that his drinking was my fault. The town was awash in booze. Everyone drank. All the time. The adults in my parents' crowd didn't have that much time for their kids. They worked hard and went to parties or to the club on weekends. Kids were expected to go to school, get passable grades and stay out of trouble. Parents didn't want the police or untimely babies showing up at the house.

Dad was a respected lawyer and civic leader in our small town. People liked him. He was kind. One summer I filled in for his vacationing secretary. He had me type some overdue bills. He saw a bill for $40.00 on my desk.  "Don't bother sending this one, " he said, "I know they can't pay it." I loved him for that. 

He had a goofy sense of humor. When telling a joke, he'd often start laughing before he got to the punchline. Then there were the wild and silly games of "Mechanical Man" we played when he first married Mom. In our house, living room, dining room and kitchen formed a circle. Shrieking with laughter, Mom and I would dash through the house, trying to escape the clutches of the Mechanical Man who'd come after us, hands stretched out in front, humming and marching slowly and relentlessly. One time Mom and I slammed the door between the dining room and kitchen and raced into the living room. We could still hear him grinding away, but what was keeping him? We sneaked up from behind and found him stalled at the slammed door, marching in place and humming. As soon as he heard us, he executed a smart 180-degree turn and the chase was on.

So there's that. He could be warm and funny one day and cold and distant the next. The distance between us widened as I grew older. 

After Christmas break, Phil and I got on the train to go back to school. We left my dad standing on snowy platform. As the train pulled out, Phil said, "He really loves you, you know." 

And I loved him, but I never had another chance to tell him.  Before a month had passed, he died in a plane crash.

A Strange Gift

This is a dog from the fifties. 

Mom's sister-in-law, Aunt MaryBelle, was known for sending weird gifts. For Christmas in 1952, she sent this ceramic dachshund to my dad. Mom and I puzzled over it for days. We finally decided it had to be a planter. But why would Aunt MaryBelle send my dad a planter?  He didn't know an African violet from a philodendron. 

Mom couldn't just hide the dog in the closet, because Uncle Cliff and Aunt MaryBelle visited several times a year.  So she gamely stuck a couple houseplants in it and displayed it prominently on the dining-room window sill with her other plants. When Aunt MaryBelle finally saw it, she laughed. This dog was intended for my dad's dresser, she explained. He was supposed to hang his rings on its tail, put his watch around its neck, and use the baskets for his keys and wallet.

Mom removed the plants and Dad pretended to use it for awhile. Then it quietly found its way to the closet. 

ParentSpeak

This is Roscoe, our younger daughter's new dog. He's spending the night with us while his family is away.

Our extended family lost three dogs over the past ten months. The first was Sophie, who belonged to our younger daughter Becky, her husband, Tom and their son, Nate.  Sophie died unexpectedly in October. The second was Violet, who belonged to our older daughter Margaret, her husband, Michael and their son, Andrew. She died in November at age 15.  Last to go was Ramsey, who died in May. He also belonged to Becky, but lived with us, as I explained in an earlier post.

All this dying raised questions for five-year-old Nate. He's been asking his parents if people die too. His mother and father have been trying to explain.

The other day he announced, "I don't want to live to be 100."
"Why not?" his mother asked, surprised.
"It's too old. I don't want to be that old. How old was Grandma Dott?"
"She was 99."
"Well, that's too old."

Since Nate was just a baby when she died, he must have picked up the idea of "too old" from listening to what we adults have been saying whenever we talk about Grandma Dott's last few years.

Recently, Nate listened as his mother read a book to him in which objects fall overboard and sink. He asked, "Do people sink when they fall overboard?"

"Well, no, " his mother said. "People can swim."

Nate was silent for a moment as he remembered a frightening wave that swept over him and his mother last year at the beach. "The wave came and we went down. Another wave came and we went up. I was scared."

"Yes, I know you were."

"You made a mistake," he said sternly.  This wasn't the first time he'd told her that she'd made a mistake by taking him into the ocean that day.

"Yes, I know."

"I  am not mad at you, but I am disappointed in you," he said.

She laughed. This is something she and Tom would never say to him, so it's an expression he's picked it up somewhere else. Sounds like early 21st-century ParentSpeak to me.

Divorce Decree for Army Nurse

My husband found this old clipping among his mother's papers. The mother-in-law appears to have been my husband's mother's cousin. The newspaper notice dates from around 1900.

Mary P. Kerr, who served as a trained nurse in the army hospitals of Tampa and the South during the Spanish-American War, was granted a divorce by Judge Dellenbaugh yesterday from Albert A. Kerr on the grounds of gross neglect of duty.  Mrs. Kerr complained that her domestic unhappiness was directly due to her mother-in-law, whom her husband declared he preferred to her. She said that he told her to go and support herself as he wanted to work for his mother, who runs a grocery store. In her efforts to support herself, she became a nurse and went into the army hospital service at the outbreak of the war. 

Twelfth Night

Yesterday was Twelfth Night, the finale to the Twelve Days of Christmas and the day to take down Christmas decorations.  

We didn't need more than an hour or so. We never made a big deal out of decorating and nowadays we do even less. Phil set aside about seven minutes before the start of the Redskins' playoff to take down the two strings of lights on the porch. I removed the artificial garland from the mantle,  the cards from the louvered doors, and the ornaments from the chandelier and the table-top tree. The tree went into the closet with the lights and tinsel still on it. I packed away the ceramic Victorian  house and the figures from the manger set.  I am LAZY. 

The tree holds fewer than two dozen ornaments, but each has a story. We have tiny photos of the two grandsons in their Baby's-First-Christmas ornaments. Other ornaments recall trips to the Outer Banks and Chincoteague, our grandson's passion for fishing, a Sunday School project, lifelong interests (old houses, Japanese culture) and pets we used to have. We have ornaments given to us by friends who've gone on. One of our neighbors was a man born in Japan in 1926. In heavily-accented English, he once confided that, as a teen-ager, he was "preparing to die for Emperor." You hardly know how to reply to something like that. He and his wife had a shaggy mutt named "Whiskers." When he heard that a friend's pet had died, he said to his dog, "Whiska, I'm glad you're still a little boy." So he loved his dog, but he also got a tremendous kick out of Cruella Deville, the fur-loving villain of One Hundred and One Dalmatians.  Years ago, we somehow acquired a tiny plastic statue of Cruella. Every Christmas I remember Tatsuo when I place her beside our snow-covered ceramic house.

The few fragile Christmas tree ornaments that manage to survive Christmas with Kids get passed down from generation to generation. I was surprised to hear our older daughter say, "I'm glad I have at least one of Grandma's ornaments." I know that Phil's mother had two treasured antique ornaments, a teapot and a coffeepot painted with flowers. She gave them to his sister.  The ornament our daughter was talking about is a cheap, shiny red reindeer with a missing hoof.  I don't know where it came from, but I'm pretty sure it didn't come from my mother-in-law. Who really knows? Many a trinket probably owes its origin as a treasured keepsake to faulty memories. 

My Sister, the Artist

Some of my sister's pastels will be shown at the Old  Town Art Center in Chicago from early December through mid-January. I saw some of her work last summer. She's good.

Clicking on the picture will enlarge it and give you the gallery address and hours. Winter is a great time for "chasing light."

Happy Birthday, Baby Girl

She turned 49 yesterday, our baby girl. How can our child be 49?

She was born in Pasadena, CA on November 19, 1963. Her dad and I walked into Huntington Memorial Hospital on a sunny Tuesday morning, giddy with anticipation. Three days later, the sky darkened.

Back then, new mothers stayed in the hospital longer. On Friday morning, those of us who were going home on Saturday, gathered in a small conference room to watch a movie on bathing the baby. We waited, but no one came. Finally, we  heard a commotion in the hall. The President had just been shot in Dallas.

The hospital staff continued to function, but a stunned silence settled over the hospital. Toward evening, an aide shuffled absently into our room and changed the sheets for the second time that day. She seemed to be sleepwalking. Before lights out, the nurse tried to comfort my roommate and me.   "Now I don't want you girls to worry," she said, " the Kennedys have plenty of money." 

Finally, a Normal Christmas

In 2008, Mom died on December 20th. Last year, I was hobbling around with a walker at Christmas, recovering from a fractured femur. 

Things didn't look too promising for this year's Christmas. After two months of worrisome abdominal pain, our daughter had surgery yesterday at 4:30 PM. It was no emergency, but the doctor wanted to get it over with before Christmas.  She was able to come home last night and says she is "happy as a clam" today. 

Our grandson's two-month-old health problem has also resolved itself. After an ultrasound and a visit to a pediatric urologist, he's been told to drink more water and pee more than twice a day. 

I missed choir practice last night, because we didn't leave the hospital until 7 PM. I'm going to sing at both the early and midnight services anyway. I think I know the music well enough.

Tomorrow everyone's coming to our house for dinner.

"Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night."

Life in an Extended Family Commune

Welcome to the Commune. There is no guru here, just four quasi-adults, one two-year-old, three dogs  and two cats.

Tom, Becky, our daughter, and Nathaniel, our grandson,  moved in over the weekend. That is to say, they brought their three dressers, clothes on hangers, and a half ton of food. Our freezer is crammed full. Ditto the refrigerator, and there is still food in their College Park refrigerator. We are going to consume all this in the next three weeks. I am having frozen organic samosas for lunch.

Two loads of laundry will be done today. We will dine on a $14 organic chicken tonight  (Becky was afraid it would be "spoiled" because she started thawing it on Friday.)

Tom leaves on Wednesday for a 4-day concert tour. In early June, the army band will go to Hawaii for 10 days. Tom will be gone on June 7th, the day they are moving into their new house.  Becky is a bit frazzled. She just called to ask me if the blue plastic container containing Nathaniel's breakfast was in the driveway or the street. She had put it on top of the car and driven off.

It wasn't.

Yesterday the two cats had a chance encounter before being properly introduced. It wasn't pretty. Somehow Clarence (their cat)  got out on the screened porch where Georgie was holding court from the penthouse of  her cat condo. The next thing you know, she stretched her neck over the side of her perch to get a better view of the stranger. Then she flew at him and grabbed him viciously around his middle. Clarence fled into the "apartment" in terror and later threw up on the bed.

Off to Mexico

We're going to Mexico for a week (not Jaurez). We're meeting three of my sisters and their husbands. We're all sharing a villa--the former vacation home of President Santa Ana, who led the Mexican troops at the Battle of the Alamo.