Summers' Online

First Port Civitavecchia

2011-10-23T18:37:00.001-06:00

Author's Note: My apologies for the delay in posting more about our summer vacation. I wrote this travel entry right as I was starting a new job, so it has taken me a few months to transition and get back to my blog. This post was originally written in July 2011.

Day 4 -- First Port: Civitavecchia

“Ancient town” – 80 kilometers west-north-west of Rome

The excursion we chose for our first port was a scenic tour of the countryside of Tuscania and to visit an olive farm; Casale Bonaparte. Casale Bonaparte dates back to the 16th century. We learned how olives are harvested and had a sampling of different olive oils and fresh bruschetta, goat cheese, and local jams.

Our second stop of the day was Tuscania which is a charming city that was originally built within high stone walls in 7th century BC.

Day 5 - Second Port: Naples

Naples is the third largest city in Italy. Nestled between the mountains and the coast, it is a steep city. A castle stands next to the docks and Mount Vesuvius looms in the distance. In 79 AD, Mount Vesuvius erupted. Poisonous gases filtered down to Pompeii – approximately 15 miles away; then, 15 ft of ash rained down on Pompeii; a blizzard of gray ash; and buried the people who lie in the streets as they attempted to run, but choked on the gas. The Discovery Website offers visitors a text-based journey of what happened: http://dsc.discovery.com/tv/pompeii/history.html.

As one walks up a ramp into a city, two flat stones mark where guards would have stood in the middle of the entry way. Farther along the main stone passageway, “speed bumps” rise from the other stone. These large stones are set just far enough apart to let wheels of chariots through if they were aligned right. The raised stones also were used as stepping stones if it rained and the streets were flooded as there were no gutters. Raised sidewalks existed on both sides of the street.

Shops intermixed with homes stood next to each other. We walked past the remains of a restaurant where they used large clay pots stuck into the ground to either keep the food hot or cold. Flour mills remain in the bakery. Some archeologists found hardened bread still in the ovens.

A large home contained a message in tiny chips of mosaic tile, “Beware of dog.” Frescos were painted on the wall and a large stone alter was kept near one entrance to the house next to the garden for blessings. A dining room looked out into a garden. Bedrooms were tiny and only meant for one or two people.

We walked past the temple where animal sacrifices were made. I realize that it did not do them any good. An earthquake occurred 17 years before the eruption, but their sacrifices did not keep the eruption from happening.

Archaeologists discovered that if they poured plaster into the ash, they could encase the bodies found buried in the ash. These plaster molds are displayed in glass cases and show how the stranded slaves in the city died. Some covered their eyes; others laid on their stomachs as the poisonous gases choked them. A dog curled up as it suffocated.

My father tells me that there was an eye witness account of exactly what happened from someone in Naples. If the winds had shifted the other way, Naples might have been the destroyed city instead of Pompeii. Herculaneum is another city that is more preserved because of mudslides. Maybe next time I can get there....

Onward to Italy: A Day at Sea

2011-07-11T22:20:00.000-06:00

On the Ship

We had made it! Now, we could relax. Our first impression of Celebrity Solstice was “Wow!” as we entered the Grand Foyer where a host greeted us with champagne to welcome us aboard. The Solstice made its debut in 2008 as the largest ship to be built in a German shipyard. Blogger Amber Bleaker, EEC, LCS, made some really good points in her blog about the ship so I'll direct you to her CruiseResource News Blog for a great description of this upscale, modern and elegant cruise ship. What was nice about our four-out-of-twelve "sea" days is that we could relax and do whatever we wanted on these days. As a family, we would take our time getting up, then go work out in the great gym facility. Our motive was simple. If we worked out every day, we didn't have to worry so much about what we ate. :)

There was always food around. My preference was to eat freshly prepared eggs for breakfast (protein); then, have a salad for lunch so that I could eat what I wanted (and as much as I wanted) at dinner. I loved their salads and loved all the fresh vegetable toppings with a splash of vinaigrette dressing. D discovered the 4 pm tea sandwiches at the Oceanview Cafe and the 5 pm sushi. A variety of Ice cream flavors are served until 9 pm complete with toppings. Though by the end of the cruise, the M&Ms were gone. :) Since my dairy allergy doesn't allow me to eat the ice-cream that my kids enjoy so much, I would treat myself to the fresh sorbets like coconut, strawberry or mango sorbet.

The Grand Epernay dining room is spacious with two stories decorated in tones of gold and white with lots of light, comfortable seating and white linens. The second floor is open to the dining room below as a grand balcony with a curved stairway on one side and glass-balcony style seating overlooking the first floor. Large windows on the two outside walls frame the ocean views so guests can see the ocean on both sides from their table. We chose the early seating for dinner at 6:15 pm which allowed us to go to 9:15 pm show every night. Dinner is a two-hour event so as a family, we just felt like the second seating at 8:45 pm was just a little too late for us to eat.

What I love about dinner on a cruise is how we get to know the waiters and hear stories about their lives. Here is a quirky, funny story about me...
On our first evening I discovered the fresh "homemade" (or should I say "shipmade") breadsticks. Since my family didn't eat them all, I gathered the left-over breadsticks and asked our assistant waiter, Mohammad, for a napkin. Why not? They would throw them away and this way I could enjoy them with my salad at lunch. At first I think he thought I was odd, but from that night on, I had a basket of breadsticks waiting for me at the table. :) How nice was that? It became a little joke with my entire family, but I did share them with my mom. : )

Mohammad, our waiter, was a very tall, lanky, young man who was awaiting his vacation to be home for Ramadan; where Muslims fast from dawn to sunset. He explained that his faith was important and that he wanted to be home where he could observe his faith during Ramadan; which is harder to do with a cruise ship work schedule. This linked "Cruise Ship Job Experience" blog post mentions that the crew's days are usually 12 to 16 hours; sometimes 7 days per week! I commend his commitment in a work-driven world that does not always support spiritual practices.

Some nights after dinner, we would go to a performance in the Solstice Theater. All the shows were excellent, two performers stand out: Comedy Juggler David Deeble and a piano player/singer/song writer whose name escapes me right now, but I keep looking for it.

After the evening show Mike and I would go listen to Karaoke; or go dance at Quasar to a techno-mix of U2, Lady Gaga, even Journey. Who would have guessed that 25+ years after my graduation that Journey's Open Arms would be modernized to suit a younger crowd? : ) Yet the people dancing early (at 11 pm) were in their 40’s; the very group who doesn’t need the techno version of '80's music.

One night my parents, Mike, and I went to a 1950's sock-hop; and another night Mike and I went to a very funny and realistic "Newlywed Not-So-Newlywed" Comedy Game Show. The ship also has a Corning Glass-blowing show next to the Lawn Club; an area on the top deck with real grass for picnics and croquet. The video clip below shows the process (even though it is on a different Celebrity ship).

On Saturday evening (May 28, 2011) we skipped the evening show to watch Barcelona win over Manchester in the 2011 Champions League Final in Soccer. The Sky Observation Lounge was packed with fans cheering for England or Barcelona. The cruise provided free munchies like popcorn, pretzels, and chips with drink specials. The energy was contagious and we enjoyed all the excitement.

Mike, K, D and I spent our afternoons by the central outside pool on the Lido Deck. We listened to the ship's live Party Band Headlines and enjoy their happy hour specials. (This is the first cruise I have been on which offered a happy hour.) There is an over-18 "Serenity" pool and atrium for guests who prefer a quieter experience, but we never went there. I took advantage of my time with my family. Time with my family was the best memory from this trip!

Stay tuned for more about our Mediterranean adventures...

Barcelona, Spain – First Impressions

2011-07-03T18:05:00.005-06:00

“It is a good thing you are going south” said the ticket agent. An unexpected May eruption of another Icelandic volcano threatened flight cancelations for northern European cities. Thus, our fourteen day vacation began with the realization that there wasn’t much I could do about something I have no control over, and I needed to just hope for the best.

Our 12 night Mediterranean Greek Isles Cruise on Celebrity Solstice with my parents and children, D (16) and K (almost 21), had been a grand plan in the works for over a year. My intention was to create a memorable vacation to celebrate our daughter’s upcoming graduation from Boston University and her commissioning as a Naval Officer in May 2012. We needed to plan our big “family" celebration for this summer since next summer our daughter will belong to the Navy and there is no way of knowing when she will report.

The first impressions of a city come from how I feel at the airport: Modern, floor-to-ceiling windows with chrome siding; clean, full of light and spacious! Off to a good start… We had made it!

Transportation from Barcelona Airport:

TAXI ~ Our family decided to take the train/metro to our Novatel in the “City Center” area, whereas my parents took a taxi. Both experiences went fine. A taxi ride from the airport costs between $30-$37 Euro depending on your destination. Keep in mind that there can be subtle charges as we discovered when we took a taxi to the airport for our early morning return flight home. A taxi charges per person and per piece of luggage so as a family of four we spent $18.00 per person.

TRAIN ~ The train is available from Terminal B and there is a free airport shuttle that loops between the two airport terminals. We purchased a T-10 card for ten trips on the train for a reduced fare ($7.95 Euro). This card can be used by multiple people if you don’t need that many individual train or metro trips. As a family, we rated the Barcelona Metro very high because of its cleanliest (for a train/subway system) and for it air-conditioning.

Note about Pickpocketing: Barcelona is unfortunately known as the Pickpocket Capital of the World. We watched on the train as two guys tried to take a passenger’s wallet from his back pocket. A woman pushed the thieves and started yelling at them in Spanish. The victim looked as startles as the thieves as the men quickly left the train. We always keep our wallets and purses in front of us and stand so that nobody jostles us. On one Metro trip, a man attempted to open my dad’s zippered pouch. My dad’s stern and loud “What do you think you’re doing?” caught everybody’s attention and the man quickly left the Metro. Mike had a similar subway experience on a trip to Paris so it really is about being aware of your surrounding and being on the look-out.

Adventures in the City via the Metro
After we were settled in our hotel that first night, we ventured out into the city. We took the Metro to the top of Las Ramblas at Plaça De Catalunya; a central square for five different boulevards and a hub for bus, Metro, and airport shuttles. It is a one-mile walk from the top of Las Ramblas to the Columbus Monument at the bottom; the harbor. Las Ramblas is a bustling tree-lined boulevard with one-way streets on either side of the pedestrian walk-way. It was a Tuesday night and bustling with people. And not everything we saw was tourist-related as squatters live in tents among the statues at Plaça De Catalunya. Handwritten banners of protest were taped on the walls or strung around bronze statues.

One-way car traffic is on either side of a pedestrian center walk-way which reminded us of a mega-Pearl Street Mall in Boulder, CO. We walked past tapa restaurants, Irish pubs, and modern fashion stores that lined both sides of this tree-lined street.

Flower shops whose walls are all glass like a green house, bird kiosks, and tourist shops along the pedestrian walk-way are open until after dark. Umbrella-covered tables under the canopy of trees are perfect for people-walking. Hotels and apartments with painted wooden shutters and window boxes with flowers are above the first-floor shops and restaurants. Smaller streets jut left and right in between stone buildings from the main road.

Time for Dinner
Rick Steve’s Snapshot: Barcelona Guidebook (2011) mentioned a quaint, outdoor restaurant, Café de l’Academia, tucked away in a square in the Barri Gòtic area that neighbors frequent. My family set off to find this restaurant, but after an hour of looking, we gave up. Our mistake was that it was only 8 pm, Barcelona time, which is really too early for dinner in Spain, but we were hungry having not eaten since breakfast on the plane – and you can guess what that was like : ). We figured out later that we had walked right by it because it was closed. When the restaurants or shops are closed, graffiti-covered metal garage doors hide the shops and restaurants.

The picture to the left shows how we are standing in the square right by the café! We found the tables but didn’t see the café’s name above the closed metal door.

My family wandered for a while back towards Las Ramblas and found Plaça Reial tucked in among the medieval buildings where we could choose from several restaurants; sit outside; and people-watch. We chose MariscCO; a fresh seafood restaurant.

Something our family has learned from traveling in Europe is that you may not get what you think you are getting to eat. D ordered “fried fish.” Imagine his surprise when a plate of little, but whole fish arrived on his plate; heads, fins, bones and tail all included! Think “Medusa” and you have a visual of how this plate of fish looked. We were all in such shock that we didn’t take a picture. Mike traded his calamari for D’s fish and while the rest of us enjoyed fresh grilled prawns, salmon, and sea bass.

Stay tuned for more about our Mediterranean adventure…

One Autumn Day in Boston

2010-10-17T14:06:00.005-06:00

My husband, son, and I have just returned from a really quick trip to Boston. When I say quick, I mean 2 flight days and one day to visit. We flew in on Thursday night just in time for K to meet us at the airport, get our rental car, and drive to the original Cheers on Beacon Hill across from the Boston Commons for dinner. Believe it or not, we go there for the food; even though we admit that the first time we went was to say we had been to the tourist attraction. K likes their spicy chili; D likes their clam chowder, nachos and fish-n-chips. The waiter was astonished when D ate all that by himself! :) Cheers, originally named the Bull and Finch Pub prior to the 1982 debut of the TV sitcom, has a great chicken sandwich that M and I always share with lobster artichoke dip for an appetizer; where else can you get a lobster artichoke dip but in New England? Yum! Side note: Sometimes I tease that I am going to write a blog entry on all the different artichoke dips we have tried during our travels. Let me just write that my all-time favorite artichoke dip was in Vancouver: a Crab Artichoke dip! But M reported that last time he was there (for the 2010 Winter Olympics), the crab dip was no longer on the menu.

Anyhow, artichoke dip aside what I like about Cheers is the coziness of this basement pub that doesn't look at all like the set. Which on this last visit made me wonder: What happens when people don't remember Cheers anymore? You know… the TV sitcom from the 1980's? I don't think my children have ever watched an episode; and if they did, I don't think they would find it very funny... and the more I think about it I am not so sure my daughter would even enjoy the romance between Sam and Diane. Will there come a day where the television show, Cheers, will be forgotten and the pub goes back to just being a good neighborhood pub?

You have to go upstairs to see the set bar and there was one trip in the spring where we sat in the "set" area with K. Our memory from that night is that we sat next to six girls who had just arrived from England. They still had their suitcases with them after jumping on the T from the airport and finding Cheers. They asked M to take their picture that night and told us that they had been sitting there for 5 hours laughing from a combination of sleep deprivation and good ale.

On Friday we woke to rain, an early October Nor'easter that we knew was arriving while we slept. I journey out for coffee with my long-time best friend of 33 years, T, while the "boys" slept in and K attended classes. In the afternoon, M, D, and I parked the car at the Alewife station which is on the north end of Boston and took the T in to the Aquarium which is along the Boston waterfront. While waiting for K to join us, we took a brief walk to Faneuil Hall; and then back to the seals that live outside of the aquarium in a glass tank. Our visit to the New England Aquarium was a first for our family and we found ourselves trying to remember the highlights of other aquariums we have visited: Denver's Downtown Aquarium, Monterey Bay Aquarium in northern California, National Aquarium in Inner Harbor, Baltimore, and Seattle's Aquarium. For now, let me just say that we spent a lot of time watching the 80 personable. I also personally enjoyed the leafy dragons, the jelly fish, and Myrtle, the 600 lb turtle, who is 70 years old!

After the Aquarium visit, we ate an early seafood dinner (having skipped lunch then took a windy walk to our favorite Italian after-dinner caffe in the North End: Caffe Paradiso where we talked more about K's year and common interests. For example, K has had an interest in the history of England since she was in middle school so she is watching the same cable channel series that M and I are watching. It was so much fun to discuss the historical facts with K that have been changed for the dramatic benefit of the show.

We also talked about other trips to Boston. Six years ago we visited during a Nor'easter where it poured rain for most of our three-day visit. Yet it was on that rainy trip that K just grinned and talked about how she just might like to attend college in New England. As she said to a Michigan couple who spoke to us on Friday, she came to New England "because it was different than Colorado." After a couple of hours we felt like we should walk on from the caffé, but we still wanted to spend a little more time together before calling it a night. I knew that when we returned to the T, the trip was essentially over so we wanted to extend the evening as much as possible.

On the way back to the Government Center T station, the rain picked up so we walked to The Bell In Hand Tavern; another favorite place where we could wait out the rain for awhile while we stretched out the evening's conversation with K. The oldest section of the tavern is a triangle-shaped with three walls of windows. Our kids are allowed in this "restaurant" section and it is the best place for people-watching. On more than one occasion when M & I are in the area and decide to take a break from walking, we sit at the prime location table for two at the tip or point of the tavern where the two walls of windows meet. From there, we took the T and had to say good-bye to K as she rode a different T line back to her dorm. By the time she awoke on Saturday morning, we were at the airport waiting to get back home.

A Slice of Life: Breakfast Conversation

2010-04-09T07:07:00.000-06:00

My son and I have this great morning routine where we sit and talk at the breakfast table while he eats. This morning's breakfast conversation between us went something like this...

"Well, mom - how are you doing?"
"Okay. I have a paper that needs to be turn in today."
"Is that why you woke up early?"
"Yep, I started thinking."
"Mom, you know your brain needs rest. You should have stayed in bed."
"I couldn't. My brain was awake."
"Oh, mom. that's your brain. You need to learn how to quiet your brain."

How does my son know this already?

An Autistic Visit to the Orthodontist

2010-02-26T08:03:00.003-07:00

The white snow reflects light off of the bare, gray bark trees and pebbled cement sidewalk. I watch my son walk slowly up to the front doors of the high school with his head down. He has just been to the orthodontist’s and the orthodontist explains that if D doesn’t start brushing better, he cannot continue D’s braces. At his morning’s appointment, the hygienist had D come get me in the waiting room to explain how he had plaque left around his brackets. They would rather see him with crooked teeth than with cavity holes where his brackets are. I get it. D hangs his head while the hygienist reports the grim news. He thinks he is in trouble.

I want to explain to the orthodontist that D hates the electric toothbrush because of the feel of the rough bristles against his gums and how what sounds like a small noise to most children is loud to D’s sensitive ears so brushing is one of those activities that we have to enforce daily because it is physically painful to D. But I’ve never had the sense that the orthodontist gets it; "it" being how autistic children react to the touch and sound of things. While on one hand I feel I should educate this orthodontist, on the other hand, it is just easier to just agree that we will help him brush and leave. Should D be in trouble? I ask myself as we walk to the car. Just this morning when I asked if I should check his teeth, D exclaimed, “No. They are fine.”

I don’t press the issue. I am trying to let him gain more independence. He has been doing really well with the independence of high school for the most part; he is turning in his homework on time; keeping up with his classes; earning a 3.2 grade point average; and reading at grade level. He comes home each time and gets his homework done without being asked. We have this feeling of humming along so it catches us by surprise where is a glitch in the smoothness.

I close my eyes for a minute against the bright winter sunlight. Soon it will be spring and I won’t feel so cold. Spring is coming, right? But this morning I am not feeling like a very good mother because I should have spared D the humiliation in the orthodontist’s office. I knew that I should have checked his brushing, but I didn’t. I let them scold him because I thought it would have more impact. And yes, it did; but instead of feeling better with this incidence of him hearing it from someone else, I feel ashamed. I feel like I let D down because he doesn’t always quite get it.

I spend the day wondering how he is doing in his classes. Did the morning incident distract him from paying attention in school? I call him at lunch to see how he is doing and to tell him that I love him, but his phone goes right to voicemail, which means his phone is off. Finally, after track practice, he calls to have his dad pick him up from school.

“How are you?” I ask him over the phone. I've been waiting for hours to know.

“Fine.” D is the master of one word answers. There is no sign of morning anger or sadness. He is back to his cheerful, “normal” self. When he gets home I ask him again, how he is and how his day went. And he smiles, “Mom, you know I get over things quickly. I am fine. My day was good.”

I smile at him, and shake my head at myself; another perfect example of me worrying too much. “Okay; well, brush your teeth, and I’ll double-check from now on.” And so our new routine begins without an argument. He brushes; I double-check; and we can only hope it will be enough to get him through one more year of braces.

Inspirational Quote

2010-01-09T10:32:00.001-07:00

Just read this quote on the Happiness Project Toolbox Inspiration Board page [http://happinessprojecttoolbox.com/inspiration_boards.html]:

"The path to our destination is not always a straight one. We go down the wrong road, we get lost, we turn back. Maybe it doesn't matter which road we embark on. Maybe what matters is that we embark. - Barbara Hall - Northern Exposure "Rosebud" 1993

Posted via web from L's Snippets

Gratitude List for 2009 with a Travel Theme

2010-01-08T08:51:00.006-07:00

Every year when I make my New Year’s Day list of resolutions, I review what I am grateful for from the past year… This year I wrote my list while I sat on the beach so for the most part our travels came up because that was my current frame of mind but I am positive that I have other thoughts as well, if I took the time to think them through. The key word for me is “time.” I haven’t taken time to keep my blog current because in my current non-tenured state at work, I have had to focus my time on writing articles for an academic audience; peer-reviewed articles. Yet I realized at the beach that I still want to express myself in my blogs so I am working on my schedule so that I make the time to write from my heart.
So here is this is what came to mind on the bright sunny day in Southern California; there is definitely a travel theme:

I began and ended 2009 in Newport Beach, CA… When I am there, it isn’t about anyone else. I don’t even care if I don’t meet the financial or beauty standards of the community. I’m not there to impress anyone or even try to fit in. It is just about me and time to walk and walk and walk; time to just breathe – big deep, fulfilling volumes of sea air. Another location might be just as nice; M and I have enjoyed beaches to the north as well… this one just happens to be easier for us to get to from the airport. I am sure there are other beaches that I could love just as much; this is just one that over the past sixteen years I have come to know. Familiarity and routine eases any travel anxiety when one is as busy as I am and just wants a break from stress. When the children were little, we went to Laguna Beach more and I loved it there too; but over time, we have gravitated to this area since it was so close to our favorite airport. I just have come to know that like many others, I am a beach person ironically living in a mountain state. I love the mountains too and appreciate the scent of pine trees and the sound of water racing over rocks, but it is at the ocean that I feel most at home. It is the sound of the surf that silences my analytical mind which otherwise chatters at me non-stop and the scent of the sea air that I breathe in deep.

2009 was a year with a lot of growth; the kind of harsh, edgy growth that doesn’t always make sense when you’re in the middle of it. Our winter was long and in some ways it felt like it lasted into summer due to a situation we had to work through with D; but when we came out on the other side of the process; I was grateful for two wonderful people who loved D just as he was; didn’t judge him for his autism; and taught us all a lot in the process.

In June, I traveled w/ my family and parents to Rome the week after M officially retired; we dined outside every night and each afternoon M, K, and I would sit in Piazza -- Campo De’ Fiori to people watch and soak up the atmosphere. On the first full day in Rome, my parents wanted to find a restaurant they had eaten at years ago: Osteria Del Gallo just down an alley from Piazza Novana. After about 45 minutes of wandering about cobblestone alleys lost, we finally found it and realized how close it was to the piazza all along. We loved it so much we came back a few more times over the course of our week in Rome. I still miss the homemade risotto, gnocchi, and fresh wine that we had a various places on the trip. For Christmas, I made a photo album of the trip so that our memories could be reviewed as often as we liked; whenever we want a smile.

At the beginning of July, I explored Chicago on my own for the first time during a conference and met up with my aunt and uncle for a great dinner at a fabulous restaurant while I was there. I wish the evening could have lasted longer. It was the highlight of the trip.
An almost highlight of the Chicago conference was meeting a young adult author who said she would be coming to Boulder to do research and would call me to again more insight about the area. Like a naïve teenager, I actually believed her, but in the end, she never called so I felt silly for thinking she really would. I still enjoyed the authors I met at the conference and discovered a lot of great books.

I also traveled w/ M and D to New Orleans for the first time; stayed in an old hotel in the French Quarters and the next morning enjoyed the moment when a jazz saxophone player played a song for D in an open courtyard. I was also grateful to find one of the best crab cake salads I’ve ever had at the Crescent City Brewery. It was wonderful to find food that wasn’t fried!

Spent time extended Summers’ family this summer in Gulf Shores, Alabama for the first time; loved the garden-fresh vegetables and fresh eggs that B brought with her and the fresh gulf shrimp she picked up along the way. Loved getting to just talk and spend time with family.

Even celebrated my birthday in Newport Beach and “crashed” our friends’ summer party while we were there for the weekend.

Traveled to Charlotte, North Carolina for the first time this autumn – there is this quaint park across from the Convention Center: The Green; two bronze book statues mark the entrance and along the brick path are poems written by young adults engraved into metal tablets among other whimsical items.

In 2009, I was also fortunate to spend two weekends with K in Boston – one in the spring at the end of her freshman year; and one weekend in the fall at the beginning of her sophomore year. I am grateful that the ache of missing her has become more manageable over time and that M’s retirement will help us to get there to see her more often. I am grateful for our time together and grateful for the Web 2.0 tools that allow us to commute regularly when we can’t be together. Taught two of my favorite classes this past summer and fall: Qualitative research (online for the first time) and Advanced qualitative research; in both classes I met wonderful students whom I will miss dearly and am grateful that I will continue to work with a few through their dissertations! I loved, loved, loved the teaching experiences in an area that I am passionate about.

I also published two articles with a few more possibilities in the pipeline…which will help me with my job… Then, in December I had the experience of hooding my doctoral student at graduation and remembering my own graduation six years ago when my husband rented a limo for the celebratory ride…

Last but not least, I spent the week after Xmas at a beautiful one-bedroom cottage in NP with M, K, and D. The remodeled 1930’s house was located on one of the harbor canals and just a couple of blocks from the beach. The owners were very personable and we felt like we were staying at their home instead of a rental. Every afternoon I sat in the sun in our backyard court yard listening to the fountain that sat in the corner of the Mediterranean-style patio. Each day we would take a Duffy boat ride sometimes during the day to see the beautiful homes on the harbor and sometimes at night to see the colored Christmas lights on the spectacular homes. Then, every evening we sat by the fire pit and talk and every morning I would run along the beach or take a reflective walk with K. In the end it was such a peaceful way to bring 2009 to a close.

I am grateful for all I learned in 2009 and look forward to the new discoveries of 2010 and hope to share more in the new year and live each day in a state of meaningfulness.

Catching Up is Sometimes Hard to Do

2009-08-22T14:43:00.009-06:00

August is the month where the days can still be wickedly hot, yet after dark, the air becomes chilly; a forewarning of autumn’s approach. In Colorado even for a day or two in August, one may feel the need to pull out a sweater. Just last week we had a record low in the 40’s overnight. As summer passes, I wish I could just freeze-frame some special memories and relish in their wonder for just a bit longer. I guess in a sense that is why we take pictures and write in journals: to capture moments that might otherwise disappear from our memories. I haven’t written near enough this summer and the memories are already fading. My hope is that the memories are actually still there and just need a little prompting so that there is still time to capture their essence.

There have been so many times this summer when I have felt time slipping away; and in turn, I know I have neglected my blog. I am not sure why -- fear of judgment perhaps? This is my space where I try to just write and try not to critique what I say… yet still there are multiple pages I have written about my summer that have never made it to my blog, and now there feels like there is no time to catch up and such a large gap in time with three months passing since my last entry. Can one just pick up and start again? Can I just ignore the gap knowing that the longer I wait to catch up, the harder it will be to start again? So, here I am jumping in with a brief, non-descriptive account of my fly-by summer and where I am at now at the end of summer.

I started August celebrating my birthday in the best way I know: a weekend trip to the beach; it was a weekend where I didn’t take any work with me and felt like the perfect way for me to start a new year. Then, K came home the following weekend from a month in San Diego with the Navy, and we celebrated her birthday with family knowing she would be returning to her life in New England just a few days later. Our summer "emotionally" really felt over at that point, even though as a season we still have exactly a month to go.

I felt blessed to have three of her great grandparents at her simple afternoon birthday party. They are at the age now where I can’t help but wonder at each family event, if that will be the last event one of them attends. My dad and husband now each take a turn driving the hour drive down and back to Denver to pick them all up so that my grandparents can still be at the family parties. I sometimes think it bothers my grandfather that he can’t drive anymore, but I am glad he still agrees to come.

This year I made my one grandmother’s recipe "Hot Milk Cake" for K's birthday. It is a recipe she would make over 60 years ago in Baltimore. It is a vanilla-flavored cake that calls for hot milk & butter as part of the recipe.

“The secret,” Mom Mom said, “is to put the baking powder in last. She went on to tell me, “When your grandfather and I first moved to Denver in 1960, I did not know how to adjust recipes for the altitude to keep my cakes from falling. Over time I just created my own measures.”

What I never realized before this summer’s movie, Julie & Julia (2009) came out is that this was the same time-frame of when Julia Child was writing her cookbook: The Art of French Cooking, which was published in 1961. My grandmother, whom I called Mom Mom, would have been in her late 30’s when Julia Child started hosting her TV cooking show, which started in 1963. I realize now that Mom Mom would have been close to my age, just a little younger. I wonder how similar or different our thoughts are in comparison to our ages, but I will never really know and can only imagine based on the 42 years that I have now known my grandmother.

Mom Mom is a great cook, and I can still remember watching re-runs of the Julia Child show with my grandmother when I stayed over in the 1970’s. Mom Mom baked a lot and the family photo album has several pictures of panda bear cakes, Barbie doll cakes, and an assortment of decorated birthday cakes that Mom Mom would bake for my birthday or my sister's birthday. My favorite remains the Hot Milk Cake with homemade fudge icing.

K left just a few days after her party without she and I even getting time to go have coffee. We had to shrug it off and say, "Next visit." Now K has been back in New England working as a staff member for her university's NROTC freshmen orientation and I am looking forward to seeing her soon when M & I fly out to help her move into her new dorm for the year. This summer I was able to call her on her birthday which felt much better compared to last year’s no-contact requirement as a freshman going through the orientation experience herself. We do adjust, don't we.

In the mean time, D has started his first year at high school. He too is growing up, which I know sounds silly in writing. Of course, he is growing up. But I think he has grown up more now that his sister is at college and has to be more responsible. This week he figured out where his new classes were without getting lost; and has now exclaimed that he likes high school even more than middle school. When I heard this, I let out a deep breath of relief. This is excellent change of heart coming from a boy who openly admitted when asked that he was not looking forward to high school throughout the summer. He has even joined the Cross-Country team and feels connected; a part of the school culture. On registration day, he bought a new baseball hat with the school logo and a school t-shirt to show his spirit. He has also announced that the first football game is next week.

So, as I begin another school year, I am still not sure where summer went. Over the summer, I taught one of my favorite courses: Introduction to Qualitative Inquiry; online and in a seven-week format; it was fabulous -- just kept me on my toes; then, our family traveled to Rome for one week to celebrate my husband’s retirement after 30 years in education and my parents’ 45^th anniversary which needs to be a whole other blog entry; then in July, K left for a month in San Diego for Navy training; and I attended a conference in Chicago on my own. Then, M, D, and I joined M’s brother and family from Indiana at Gulf Shores, Alabama for a wonderful family beach reunion. Summer went fast and in some ways I never really felt like I had a summer for even on our vacations I had work to do. But I did still enjoy our travels and am thankful we had the time together and experienced new places.

Yes, I know I’ve been writing about this “lack of balance” pattern for years, and I am aware of the need to change this pattern. I continue to search for balance… and some New Age writers would tell me that in searching for balance, I will never find it because my focus is on the “search” and not already “being” in balance. So my plan for this fall is to just be aware of times when I do feel balanced/best and see what I can do to change my reaction to the times of imbalance/stress. Everybody has stresses in their lives - it is all relative. I am reading a book called Manage Your Time to Reduce Your Stress by Rita Emmett (2009) in hopes that I will truly figure out how to manage my reactions to stress better.

In closing, let me just say that I wanted to post something before I let any more time sneak away and create a larger gap in a infrequent blog… a short entry to let my friends know that I haven’t completely stopped writing. This fall I am teaching an eLearning course and an Advanced Qualitative Inquiry course so I am not sure how much I will write, but I would like to keep writing. For the most part, I’ve been working on my academic writing since this is the year before my tenure-track 4 year Comprehensive Review, which is due next summer 2010. Ten months may feel like a long time, but with as fast as time goes these days, it will be here before I know it, prepared or not.This too shall be an experience of self-growth.

Living in the Moment: Reflections of May

2009-05-31T13:58:00.002-06:00

May has always been a month of anticipation for our family. For several years while teaching, May has brought the excitement of anticipating summer. In the past, summer has to mean a reprieve from stress; chances to recharge mentally, write for fun, and read any book I wanted. It has been several years now since I’ve had a full summer off; so now I notice I approach the end of this May with more of a gasp; fear of not wanting the summer to go by too fast as I know that every day that goes by is one less day of K being home; every day that goes by is one day closer to D starting a high school; something he openly expresses anxiety about.

A year ago we felt the anticipation of K leaving for college so at first this May held the excitement of flying to Boston to pack up K’s dorm room at the successful completion of her first year. I felt happier than I had in months as K met M and I at Logan Airport on the Friday evening of Mother’s Day weekend. We hugged each other with a sense of knowing that we had each made it through the first year successfully; each of us having learned new things about ourselves. K had learned how to live far-from-home; achieve a high grade point average at a university known for deflating grades; and most of important of all, she expressed to me that she was learning to live in the moment and really enjoy all the experiences that college had to offer.

K's realization cam earlier in the spring when K mentioned in an IM conversation how much “fun” she had missed in high school as she was so focused on obtaining her beyond high school goals. This remark was made after seeing a news clip of a spirited high school student cheering at a basketball game and commenting on how much more spirit this year’s senior class showed. The IM conversation went like this:

km: i sometimes think that i thought too much about the future and not about the present

ls: really? too much about the future and not about the present... what do you mean by that? They say that you have to start planning for college by 9th grade now so I am not so sure you did... I think that is why we are nervous about D.

ls: Maybe it is a bad trait you picked up from me... I knew I was going to be a teacher in 1st grade. :)

km: it just seems like that sometimes i was too focused on where I was going and i didn't think about what i was doing at the time, like in high school i sometimes wish i had gone to more games but then i was worried about what would happen

km: its kind of sad how much planning has to occur

km: what happened to people just going

km: now it feels like it all has to be planned

ls: i'm sorry you have regrets... maybe it is a lesson for now.. you are in college now so focus on today. Your planning got you to a great school... if you hadn't of planned like you did, you would be at CU and not BU. :) How is that for putting a different light on it?

ks: that sounds good

ls: And yes, you have to enjoy the journey... which I think you are for now. I think it is easy to look back and say, I wish I would have gone to game more, etc, but I don't know if you would have... you had nights when you were just here and didn't go even though we mentioned it. :)

ls: Sometimes we need to learn from yesterday for today so I would suggest going to more games at BU... and it seems like you are doing a lot in college...

ls: Oh, I think you will go more next year... you had a lot to get used to this year...You have to remember too that LHS was just LHS - not as exciting as it may seem now in terms of games, etc. The kids wouldn't have been any different... so what is happening this year with the pep rallies wouldn’t have happened last year.

km: you are right about the games not being the same.

ls: I only went to one game my entire 4 years because I hung out with people who didn't go to sporting events. I may have gone to one other game but I don't remember... for you see, at the time, it wasn't a big priority... but now, I wish I would have gone to more… but only because I understand sports a lot more after marrying dad. :)

ls: Just like I now wish I would have swam and played tennis in high school... but the bottom line is that I just didn't know...

km: i see what you mean

ls: We do the best we can and really need to not have regrets... just know that you are really making an effort to do more in college...

ls: Write down everything you have been doing this year and you will see how much you've done... I really think a list in your notebook would be good. I keep a list of all of our trips and it helps keep them in the memory...

ls: You are really wise to be realizing the importance of enjoying "today" while still having goals for "tomorrow." :)

ks: thanks i try

ls: one more thing... I really don't think you missed a lot in high school. I really do think it is better to have what you have in college. :)

ls: because I really wish I would have gone to a better college.

km: i think i am having great experiences in college, and i love being here so it was worth it

ls: Yes... remember that the people would not have been any different... it would have still been the same people there....

The IMing continued for a few more minutes before our usual back-and-forth close.

km: I’m going to head to bed

ls: Good night. Thanks for talking... love you and sweet dreams!

km: night and love you

What I learned this year from K's first year away for college was how to be a long-distance mom and how to offer support from a distance. IMing, emails, texting, and cell phone calls helped the relationship with my daughter flourish. K knew she could always find me. I even learned how accept the feeling of missing her. I learned to stop looking for her in her room and often would just shut her bedroom door. When I felt the sadness descend like a rain storm, I just told myself that it is part of learning how to let go so that K could grow up to be the independent, happy woman that we want her to be. I would not want her to be living at home, or even living close by, if it meant that she sacrificing her dreams or was living a stifled existence. I want her to achieve her highest goals and reach for her dreams so I knew I had to let go. This first year apart proved that the miles apart did not diminish our love; in fact, I would say we have grown even stronger and I savor the time when we talk or are with each other. I enter the summer knowing now that next year will be easier. We do get used to "change" over time. The yearlong trek to acceptance was a form of grieving; just like it took a year to accept Grandma S’s passing. Eventually, the pain does not seem quite as sharp and the memories are sweeter.

My parents also went to Boston that weekend to help us move K out of her dorm and to get a sense of K’s life away from them. My mom said she felt better after having a mental picture of where K spends her time when she is away from us. We excitedly took my parents sightseeing and to our favorite pubs in Cambridge and Boston. We also enjoyed visiting with my childhood friend, her family, and her mom while eating large, fresh chunks of lobster at an outdoor restaurant & home-made ice cream place where you sit at picnic tables under a canopy outside in a forested area. Our moms had not seen each other for 31 years so they had a chance to visit while my friend's son ran around outside.

On Saturday morning after moving K out of her room, K’s new roommate, a friend from New York City, gave us a tour of K’s dorm room for next year since she already lives there. K's room will be in an old Brownstone on campus. The other girls seems friendly and it helped us all to see where she will be living next year. On our last night, Sunday, we celebrated Mother’s Day and K’s successful first year with an Italian dinner in the North End and dessert at an Italian caffé. We brought K's roommate along and that felt good to get to know her better. They look like sisters. K flew home with us on Monday morning and I couldn't help but mention about how the next three years of K’s college will go really fast and that we all have to live in each moment that we have with each other more without letting the day-to-day responsibilities rob us of the enjoyment of our time together.

May has also brought M to his eternal summer as he celebrates his retirement from a 30-year career of middle science teaching and school administration. In contrast, I catch myself thinking about how fast time goes and how much time I have already let slip by as I attempt to manage my overflowing job responsibilities. The metaphor that I have used too many times these past three weeks, since bringing K home, is that I feel like I am on a playground merry-go-round whirling around and around faster and faster, as I hang on to the middle wondering how to jump off the merry-go-round in order to spend more time with K while she is home and still get enough work done to stay on track for keeping my tenure-track position? I often feel that the academic culture expects one to push family to the side for the sake of research and publication, and that those of us who put family first are seen as less serious, and not as worthy.

Yet, as a qualitative researcher, spending time with my family fuels my ability to write about lived experiences. As Robert Atkinson (1995) writes in The Gift of Stories, “We become fully aware, fully conscious of our lives through story. Reclaiming story is part of our birthright. Telling our own story enables us to speak our truth and to be heard, recognized, and acknowledged by others. It is only through story that our truth can be told, that the meaning of life can be identified” (p. xiii). Atkinson also writes,
“Enough truthful stories – from the heart, of the soul – can stop hatred, prejudice, racism, and this can change the world. By hearing one’s own and another’s truths, we become more in tune with, more sensitive to, and more connected to each other. The more life stories that are shared between people everywhere and from all backgrounds, the closer we will become" (p. xvi).

A Checklist of Life's Rules?

2009-03-16T16:02:00.010-06:00

On Friday I wait for D’s all-day re-evaluation of his autism with a neuropsychologist to be over. Before this winter, I did not know that the profession of a neuropsychologist even existed. After lunch, K & I shop at a book store to pass a little bit of time. I have just told K that I need to read the books I already own and not buy any new ones, but on this visit I find a true story called Miracle Run by Corrine Morgan-Thomas w/ Gary Brozek. The front cover reads, “Watching my autistic sons grow up – and take their first steps into adulthood.” So I buy yet another book with the hope that maybe this book will hold the answers that other books have not held for me.

On page 2, Corrine writes,
“I was tired that evening. Not the usual ‘I worked hard all day and the traffic was bad…’ kind of tired that most working mothers feel. Now, I would have gladly traded my tired for that tired. My tiredness was the kind that put the test the idea that God never gives anyone more than they can handle…. I’d begun to believe that maybe God was using me as a test subject, seeing just how far he could go before one of his creations snapped.”

As soon as I read that page, I want to buy the book because it is as if I am her. Most of the literature I have found so far is written for parents with small children. There is this movement to help the young children before they get worse which is really good, but for those of us with autistic teenagers, we are left wondering, “Now what?”

D is high functioning, but still M and I find ourselves constantly reassuring ourselves that D will be okay. Our mantra goes something like this: He will be okay. He will find his way. He will be okay. He will figure out something he likes to do, and do it well. He will be okay.

Through Friday’s evaluation process, I realize something that M and I have intrinsically known and used for parenting, but have not consciously articulated or taken into account for all situations since hindsight is 20/20. The realization is that D needs to be told what all the rules are for life; he is very concrete in his thinking; and if he is told the rules, then he does not break them. Throughout D's life, we have told him what we expect and he follows through, especially when the rules involve safety. My son's fear of danger... be it an accident or a tornado keeps him grounded in the importance of self-safety and the safety of others. For example, in the past if he has stayed home while I run to the store, he has been told not to answer the door or telephone, which is a concrete rule that he easily follows.

He also knows not to drink, do drugs, or smoke -- all things that translate to "not getting hurt" or seeing the harm it has caused others. I am also confident that D will follow the rules when driving because the consequences are concrete enough. He does not want to get a ticket for driving too fast. He knows there is safety involved, and he has seen accidents which to him are scary. When the time comes, we can go through the rule book, page by page.

The only time he breaks a rule is when he does not know the rule or does not think through the consequences... like on the Friday night when he stayed up past his bedtime to finish playing a computer game. He was wrapped up in the game and lost track of time. Now that he knows the consequence will be losing his game privileges which motivates him to be more responsible and more careful about time. He now knows to follow that rule.

What makes me really tired today is that the realization that I will have to think ahead and think of all possible rules that he should know just in a case he gets himself into a situation we do not anticipate as parents. Is there a life checklist? Everything from No stealing; check. to look both ways before you cross the street; check. But what do we do for the situation where there isn’t a rule book? How many millions of possibilities are out there that we as parents haven’t experienced to know what to tell him yet? I try and think through all the things I knew not to do as a teenager and adult. He is a sweet boy who never means any harm to anyone or anything; yet, we have learned that there can be problems if he breaks a rule that he cognitively just does not understand yet. My head hurts just thinking about it. This is why I related to Corrine’s tiredness. This is why I too sometimes wonder if I am failing God's test as his mother.

Sunday Morning Ramblings

2009-03-15T10:07:00.010-06:00

As a teenager, Sunday mornings meant waking up to the sound of my father’s classical music and the smell of his egg omelets cooking in the iron skillet; omelets full of fresh green peppers, onions, mushrooms and cheese. I did not appreciate either of his Sunday morning rituals until I was older. As an adult, I think about my own Sunday morning rituals. I think about how different I thought being an adult would somehow be than what it has turned out to be. As a child, I had no experiential memory to understand any of the stresses my parents faced and only saw the surface layer: eggs and Sunday drives in the mountains. What has dawned on me this morning is how my favorite Sunday mornings for the past couple of years are having a spinach and shrimp omelet at the Newport Beach Brewery in CA and then taking a day-long walk on the beach which is my equivalent to my dad's Sunday drives in the mountains. Now, I get it! It has taken me over 25 years, but now I have a minor understanding of why my dad insisted on his own Sunday traditions.

When I am not at the beach, Sunday mornings of recent years mean that I can usually sneak in a couple of hours of my own writing before the family is up. I get up first; as our dogs stir and stretch I hear them from my lightening sleep until I feel Maddie’s wet, black nose at my arm. I open my eyes to see her brown eyes at eye level as if to silently ask, “Are you ready to feed me yet?”

I move slowly out of bed giving my muscles a chance to warm up as I notice that the run from yesterday has settled in my feet. I pop my thyroid medication in my mouth and check the clock so that I will know when I can drink my coffee. I have this untested hypothesis that I should wait at least 30 minutes before drinking my morning coffee to allow the hormone to activate. I find my glasses and mentally check how blurry my vision is in my left eye this morning; not too bad this morning. As I walk down the short upstairs hallway, I notice how brightly the sunlight streams into K’s empty room. The labs bound down the stairs to the back sliding door ready to check to see if their buddy, the morning squirrel, is out yet.

While the dogs are outside, I check my phone to see if K has texted and announced that she has arrived safely back at her dorm room. Her spring break is over and she flew back to Boston last night on the red-eye. Her text was sent at 5 am my time which with quick math tells me that she was in her room by 7 am. Good; she can get in a nap before her afternoon drill team practice, I think as a mother. I smile that she has told me that she loves me and I note that I never grow tired of hearing those words from her -- her words make the start to my day. We had such a wonderful visit that it was hard to let her go back last night, even though I know it is the right thing to do; and it is for the best.

This morning I sit at the dining room table writing. The hours dissolve into one another and often before I am ready, it is time to start the day and get moving. I can't spend the whole day writing, can I? (Smile.) Today we are driving down to Denver for a family lunch to celebrate my grandmother's 88th birthday. D comes down the stairs after I have been writing for an hour and a half. He does not stop to greet me this morning. He is on a mission. He didn’t get to play his Sims game last night since we had to take K to the airport so he wants to have his ownself time before we insist on getting his morning chores done.

I think back to last night as D and I watch M and K go through security. M can take K to the gate as an airline employee, and the time gives them a chance to talk while he waits for her plane to board. As they head down the stairs to the trains, D and I wave to them from the viewing window. We are laughing at how smart we think we are to remember the viewing window while K just shakes her head at us as if we are being some silly aliens. Then, D and I head to the airport food court to hang-out with onion rings and Dr. Pepper (his choice). I amuse myself by watching the people walk by and checking what other folks buy for food at 11 pm. I tell myself not to eat just because I am missing K. I remind myself that she will be home for a summer break in just 8 weeks. And as I have learned from the last 8 weeks, a lot can happen while waiting for her to come home....

Limitations: A Winter's Tale

2009-02-13T09:30:00.006-07:00

“Injustice can be eliminated, but human conflicts and natural limitations cannot be removed. The conflicts of social life and the limitations of nature cannot be controlled or transcended. They can, however, be endured and survived. It is possible for there to be a dance with life, a creative response to its intrinsic limits and challenges ...” [Sharon Welch, PhD; A Feminist Ethic of Risk]

My Grandmother G turned 90 a few weeks ago, and we celebrated with a family dinner one evening and a Sunday morning reception at her church where she has been a founding member of since 1962. My grandmother glowed as the members of the church congregation sang, "Happy Birthday!" She looked younger that morning sitting her wheelchair - a permanent limitation of age and injury over the past few years. Her silver hair looked so pretty with it curls and her skin seemed smoother with less wrinkles in her relaxed joy of having her family and friends with her to celebrate.

Her minister talked about limitations and how we need to trust God when we are shown our limitations. Some limitations come with age; some are self-inflicted; and some are beyond one's control. Sometimes things happen that we don't anticipate, and it is at these times that we have to trust that God is with us. The minister talked about her own struggle with accepting lupus at age 28. It changed her whole life and kept her from having children. We all face or battle our limitations in different ways, but she wanted to remind us that we are not alone in our limitations. God is still there with us. It does not always feel this way, but when I start to protest about feeling my faith, I am reminded of what a youth group leader once told me when I was a teenager. She provided the simple metaphor of viewing faith like a train. We can trust faith as the engine of the train knowing that our feelings are just the caboose. The train can still run without a caboose but the train needs the engine: the faith. We are reminded to trust the truth of our faith regardless of how hard it is to believe during difficult times. This image of the train has stayed with me for over 27 years, and I remind myself of this metaphor during times when I feel my human limitations and do not necessarily understand what I am supposed to learn from them. I know that regardless of the difficulties that sometimes come our way that I need to trust in the greater good found through my faith in God. I am not one who has publicly written about my faith, but it I am finding the topic to be an important opportunity for personal growth in what I am calling “my winter of limitations and learning to trust God more.” I continued to ask the question: How does one see limitations as an opportunity for growth and not as a wall to well-being?

This winter I have been struggling against the limitations of my autoimmune hypothyroidism and the resulting weight gain as well as my left eye’s cornea dystrophy which has stabilized with only a small spot of blurriness in my vision. If I shut my left eye, I can see clearly... so I tell myself that maybe I need to approach all my limitations in that way – just shut one eye, I say in jest, and look at the situation differently. I have also been struggling with finding balance between work and home – all working mothers’ dilemma. I find myself asking, “How do I publish enough to earn tenure when I am also directing a program of over 130 students on my own?” While, I've been able to hire some part-time consultants and instructors, it does not always feel like enough help because part-time help usually means they can not help but have other distractions to make ends meet. My husband reassures me that if anybody can get tenure under these conditions, I can. I've always had the drive to succeed regardless of the limitations. I have been struggling with my feelings of loss as a dear mentor of mine experiences cancer. I do not necessarily understand why he must face this limitation; a limitation that many face each day. He is sharing his hopes and fears with friends through his own blog and we are all learning from his journey.

This winter I have been fighting against limitations instead of necessarily accepting them and learning from what they are here to teach me. I keep hoping that I will figure out how not to feel so limited. I keep wishing that I'll awake up one day and won't be wearing my middle-aged body (ha, ha); and I won't feel so tired, a deeper emotion of this winter. One evening as I was struggling with my sense of limitations, my son, D, came up to my bedroom where I sat on the edge of my bed crying about unfairness. I had sought out a quiet place in the house where I would not disturb D as he played with his trucks. I did not want to alarm him by my sadness, but he still somehow heard me with those overly sensitive ears of his and he appeared at my side.

D patted my back and said, “Mom, are you stressed about work? Don’t worry. It will be okay. Just remember to breathe and take one day at a time.”

Take one day at a time.
How many times has he heard me say that? I smiled at his encouragement. D does not view his autism as a limitation because he does not know any different. He is who he is, and he has never known any other way. He makes the most of each day, and carries a naïve sense of joy and youthful innocence with him. (I was actually "stressing" about him and a situation that I find extremely unfair right now in what I am feeling is a black-and-white, one-size-fits- all system; but I can’t blog about until it is settled.) When I peel away the fear, pain, and sadness from the notion of being limited, I have to say that I have been shown how much D's family, friends, and neighbors love, support, and believe in him. As Helen Keller reminds us, “When one door of happiness closes, another opens; but often we look so long at the closed door that we do not see the one which has been opened for us.”

Blessings to all. May we all find the open doors in our lives.

David & the Dogs

2009-01-13T20:46:00.003-07:00

Big D and I decide to go to the movies after dropping K off at the airport. I want something to occupy my mind as I adjust to having my daughter go back to college. I watch as she walks towards security at the airport. I am so very aware that gone are the days when family members or friends can meet loved ones at the gate unless they get special permission ahead of time. We often do not realize how much we will miss a simple act until we cannot do it anymore yet there are so many children who will never know the experience of greeting a grandparent at the gate when they come to visit or hugging a parent as they exit the plane after a business trip.

As D and I walk out to the car, he says, “Don’t worry, mom! K will be back at spring break and that is just 8 weeks away.” True. By the time she gets back for spring break, it will be March. Magical March, I am calling it. There will be signs of spring and life beyond the cold that greets me each January morning making me wish we could still be in Newport Beach living at a beach house like we were the last week of 2008.

Back in our home town, we pick up my mom on our way to watch Marley & Me. The movie is funny and sentimental. Every dog owner in the audience could most likely identify with the yellow Labrador’s antics. I find myself realizing that as much as I grumble about my own two lab’s stunts, they have never caused near as much trouble as Marley did. I scold myself for not walking my own dogs as much as I should. “A New Year’s resolution?” I ask myself.

Towards the end of the movie, I watch my son dab his eyes with a Kleenex; then, I hear the sobs that build as his shoulders shake. I have not heard my son sob since his grandmother died over a year ago so I am struck by the similarity and depth of grief. After the movie ends, we sit for a few more minutes while the credits run so that D can compose himself. He looks down as he walks out of the theatre, holds up his container of soda pop as a shield, and focuses on drinking with his eyes down to hide any trace of tears as we exit in building into the fading afternoon daylight. As we come in the door of the house, D walks right to the back sliding door and opens it for our two Labradors.

“I love you guys,” he whispers as he hugs them both and proceeds to feed them dinner. Hmm, he actually didn’t have to be asked to feed them dinner tonight. Score for the movie! As I make D’s dinner, he recalls the story of Maddie, our Chocolate Lab’s arrival, six years ago in 2003. It is close to Valentine’s Day and I am having dinner with some girl friends when I call home to check on the family.

K whispers to D, “Don’t tell her.”
D keeps pulling at phone receiver, “ I want to talk to mom.”
“Mom, I have a secret.”
“What is your secret, honey?”
“We got you a dog for Valentine’s Day!” Eight-year-old D’s voice bubbles over with excitement. He cannot contain his happiness a second longer. I hear my daughter yell, “Oh, D. You ruined the surprise!”

D often mentions this story and how he regretfully told the secret. But the truth of story is that none of us really minded. I remember being so happy about this unexpected surprise. Our Malamute had died a year and a half earlier, and I had been bugging my husband to get another dog. My husband also had been told that Maddie was the runt of the litter, but the joke was on us as she grew to be a tall, lean 95 lbs. We call her a "horse" as she can easily edge her nose on the counter looking for her favorite: butter! We have been surprised a few times by an empty plate where a fresh stick of butter had just been.

Then the following autumn, I bring home, Annie (already named), a yellow Lab, from the Lab Rescue to keep Maddie company while we are at work. For some reason, I think this is good. (I actually still do even though there are times when I wonder what I was thinking!) Both dogs are a year old at the time and immediately become close "sisters" -- which now means we can never separate them for any reason -- grooming, kennel, etc. The only time they are a part is when Annie sleeps on K’s bed since Maddie sleeps on the floor next to our bed.

So here we are in January 2009 as Maddie & Annie search the house for K. They saw the suitcase yesterday so they know something is up, but they do not know where she has gone. D reassures Annie who is always a little more nervous-acting because of past abuse as a puppy before we adopted her that K will be home again.

For rest of the evening, D watches “Beethoven” movies on the Disney Channel as I watch him laugh with sweet joy as he recaps some moments for me from the movies. I am once again reminded that he is not the typical 14-year-old teenager. His autism has kept him younger sometimes in frustrating ways and other times in such dear, sweet ways such as responding to a movie with compassion and feeling. And this afternoon a day after the movie in a moment of pure sweet love and spontaneity , D and I take the dogs for a walk which means as much to us as it does to our dogs.

Christmas Carols and Late Night Stars

2008-11-27T10:30:00.005-07:00

D discovers that Christmas carols have started playing on a local radio station. He grins and turns up the volume. “But it isn’t even Thanksgiving yet,” I say in half-protest. We are on our way to pick K at the airport for her Thanksgiving break. It is just me and Big D as M has to work at the airport at 6 am. I know he has to stay behind to get a decent night’s sleep, but I find myself fretting over the hour drive in the late night darkness. K’s flight time was changed, and not only is she is coming in much later than originally planned; her flight is now delayed.

After being diagnosed with keratoconus in my left eye, I am more cautious driving after dark. The vision in my left eye is distorted and blurry unless I have a hard contact lens in which I can only wear for a few hours a day without feeling like glass is scratching my eye. Before we leave for the airport, I grimace at M, “I know I said it was OK for you to work tomorrow, but why didn't I realize the complications that could occur?” I understand that there is nothing he can do about it, but I still grump over having to face my fears alone. LOL. My mom calls before I leave saying that my dad has offered to drive me. I am thankful for his thoughtfulness; but it will probably be after midnight before we are home so I reassure her that I will be okay driving and that D has promised to keep me company.

D pats my shoulder and says, “I will help see for you.” I laugh knowing there wouldn’t be much he could do. “I will carry K’s bag; that is what a man does. He carries the girl’s bags.” I smile, “You are a true gentleman, D. Your dad and I appreciate that.” I think about a segment on the Today show where the question is brought up about whether or not gentlemen exist. They still do in my home. Manners are etched in D’s public behavior every time we are out in public with statements from his father like “Hold the door open for your mother, D.” His sister repeats, “Ladies first, D.” Some people might find our expectations to be too much, but I know D has a kind heart and a beautiful soul.

We are humming along with the Christmas music, and D leans forward in his seat to get a better view of the stars. It is a dark, clear Tuesday night out as we drive out east towards DIA. As we get close to the airport, I exclaim, “There is K’s plane! She’ll be on the ground by the time we get there!” I have no idea which moving blip of light in the sky is K’s plane, but as I check the clock I know she is close.

We park just as K calls and we agree to meet her at baggage claim. D and I wait, and wait, and wait for what feels like hours, but it is only fifteen minutes. We are at the farthest baggage claim. I watch as slowly passengers from what I assume to be K’s plane start getting closer to us. And there she is in her red BU sweatshirt. She is home! D hugs her and we laugh at how he is almost as tall as she is. Wow, I guess he really has had a growth spurt this fall. I hadn’t realized how much until I see him standing next to his sister. Cool. D waits for K's cue on which bag is hers as he pulls it off and carries it to the car grinning from ear to ear.

Christmas carols fill the car as we ride home and talk. At that moment, everything is right in our own little world. The drive goes fast just as the next few days will. But for the moment, I am thankful for the peaceful, warm contentedness that fills my heart knowing my family is all with me for Thanksgiving. We won't think about next week's reality after K goes back to college until then. :)

From Fire to Planets: An Autumn Beach Day

2008-11-22T07:43:00.006-07:00

On the Saturday evening of November 15, I meet M at the airport and after his shift ends, we fly to Orange County. As we fly over LA, we see the fires burning along the hillside of east Orange County. It is alarming to see, and I am sad to know that so many families are without homes. I feel self-indulgent flying into OC for a weekend get-away in the midst of their state of emergency. But I so need the stress break, even though I know that in the midst of their crisis, nobody would even begin to understand my rationale/ my need. I am sorry. I have no excuses. We do all have our own stresses; and I am aware of the irony in this. I do just need a day away to walk the beach and be away from work. I work 7 days a week and at times I feel like I can never get ahead. As I say this, I am so aware that I need to be so careful in my wording. I love my job. I have a great job. I am grateful for my job. There are people without jobs right now like my dad who came back from a great trip and was laid off on his birthday. Still, I am seeking balance and if walking on the beach helps to restore my balance than all I can say is that I am grateful and thankful that I have this opportunity. This place, as busy as it, does wonders for me because it is the beach.

I’ve been waiting for our weekend for weeks now and am ready to temporarily forget about responsibilities as much as is possible for one day. M and I have a Saturday night OC routine that works for us. We arrive at the last terminal; quickly walk to the car rental place before it closes because we are the last flight to land for the evening; I find the air surprisingly warm for a November evening; M drives us to check in at a near-by hotel, and then we drive south on the 55, known as my favorite highway, to the Newport Brewery before being ready to call it a night. M is remarkably awake for being up for 23 hours simply because of the enjoyment of being in our favorite weekend place. We love our Saturday nights near the ocean where we can just focus on our relationship.

On Sunday morning we wake up late to warm sun and blue sky except for a thick line of brown smoke across the east and down to the coast. I calculate and am pleased to realize that I have still had 7 hours of sleep so that I won’t be too tired for our day-long walking. The sun streams through the curtain edge, and I know it is already a beautiful, sunny day without the typical morning haze that in the summer may not burn off until late morning. I turn on my cell phone just in case… and within minutes, K phones as she prepares to register for classes and discovers that yet another class she wanted is now full because her registration time is one of the last. We talk about how this too will get easier each year. We also acknowledge how fast four years will go. It is already noon in Boston and I am glad K can still reach me even away from home. Owning a cell phone has become so much an important part of our communication and has helped me adjust to K’s distance from home. Soon she will be home for Thanksgiving.

As we drive back to Newport Beach for the day, I am aware of the scent of smoke lingering. I talk about the news reports from the morning and how one firefighter had to leave his own home to burn so that he could save other people's homes. I am thankful that the winds have calmed and the fire is more contained, but I am still aware of how devastating the fires have been for thousands of families. M and I take our 45 minute walk along the beach from the parking lot to our usual Sunday brunch at Newport Brewery where we can sit outside on the patio. We laugh at our rut, and joke about finding some place new as we walk by other popular and full restaurants, but each time we go, we try a new breakfast item at the NB anticipating that we’ll bring family or friends back to enjoy the day with us. This time I try the Shrimp and fresh Spinach Omelet which is my favorite so far because of all the fresh tomatoes and spinach.

After brunch, we walk back along the east side of Balboa peninsula on W. Bay Ave where sailboats and yachts are docked behind the houses. It is a different look at the homes that are on the quieter side of Balboa Peninsula. Along the quieter neighborhood streets we discovered some quiet beach parks that we didn’t even know existed and a two block section of trailer homes with nice yards and double-wide picture windows overlooking the water. I doubt we could even afford these in such a prime location! At 9th and Buena Vista, the public sidewalk shifts to behind the homes along the water which their private docks and picnic areas separated from the houses by the sidewalk in-between. This sidewalk leads us to the carnival and souvenir shop area. This is my least favorite area as I think about how hard it is to pull D away from the video arcade, and how when he comes here, we have to be strict about the amount of time and the amount of money he spends. I want the beach to be untouched by this touristy side, but I also know this is not possible. On the bright side, I think of my own niece and nephew who will enjoy the merry-go-round and small ferris wheel.

Here is where we take the ferry across the bay over to Balboa Island for a dollar each way so that we can walk around the little island and amaze ourselves with the site of these beautiful houses. On the ferry ride over to Balboa Island, we talk to a woman who used to live in Boulder and now lives in Arizona. Like us, she thinks going between Boulder and Newport is the best of both two worlds: Mountains and Beach. After two hours of walking, we sit along the sea wall back at the beach for a while before going to “happy hour” at Cabo Catina to have a snack of fresh guacamole, chips, and salsa (no calorie counting today) while watching the end of some of the football games on the east coast. We watch as a team wins at 11 to 10 for the first time in NFL history. (I enjoy the game even though a week later I will need to ask M who was playing.) The sun sets early (4:45 or so) reminding us it is really late autumn even if the temperature doesn’t feel like it. As one last beach remembrance, we decide to take a walk along the boardwalk and then out on the sand to the edge of the waves where we can look up at Venus and Jupiter along what M tells me is an eclipse line. He tells me that as a boy he would often look at this early evening line of stars, and that we will see the same line in Colorado and smile at the memory of being at the beach. It is a perfect way to end our beach trip. It is time to go home and get back to reality, but we will be back and in the meantime, we have this snapshot of the stars to remind me of a gorgeous, relaxing day that I could spend with my best friend.

On Friday as we are driving to Boulder for our Sushi date night when we look up and see the same line of planets, and all M has to say, “Is remember how last Sunday evening when we were standing on the beach…”

Family Weekend

2008-10-16T07:54:00.003-06:00

I woke up on Tuesday morning, and for a minute, forgot where I was. I was thinking about our family all being together over the weekend. Then as I became more awake, I realized that there were only three of us in the house again. We were back in Colorado and back to our new reality….

As I took a walk today around one of our local lakes, I looked at the yellow and green trees a little bit more closely and wished for the bright orange, red, and yellow colors that burst from the trees this past weekend in New England. The trees would have been gorgeous regardless because I was getting to see my daughter. But I noticed that upon my return, I am missing the reds and the volume of trees.

Visiting my daughter is obviously a more personal and interesting memory for me that may not be as interesting to read about so I thought I'd just provide highlights and my own thoughts that may bring up your own memories of special places or times...

Pre-flight
The moment at the check-in counter where we are told that we are the only ones on the stand-by list and that there was a good chance that we would make it on the direct flight to Boston. “Yes!” I sent a million prayers of thanks. The direct flight was the only way to get to K early enough to see her that evening. The four other routes that we had mapped out would have had us getting to Boston after midnight. In preparation for the unknown, M kept saying all week, “We have to look at this as an adventure.” I kept telling myself that if someone was visiting a loved one who had just returned from Iraq, or if someone was going to visit a sick loved one, I would want them to have our seats and I would understand. I was trying to think of examples that were more important than my own desire to see my daughter after a six-week absence. I had to find a way to be okay with it if we didn’t get on. At the same time, I kept visualizing that we were taking her to dinner in hopes that positive thinking would win out.

Experiencing Italian
On Saturday evening we sat in a small family-owned Italian restaurant on Hanover Street in the North End talking like it was a normal family outing. The conversation did not stand out as much as the feeling of being together again. I also realized that six weeks had produced more growth in K because of her new experiences of having to figure out college and a new city far from home, where as the six weeks did not produce as much of a change in D because his life continued pretty much in the same way.

The North End has a neighborhood feel even if it is in the middle of a large city. There are fancier restaurants within the North End, but this one had a family-oriented appeal. The written specials on construction paper outside the little restaurant even had appeal; though, don't let the low-key appearance fool you - prices are still higher in the North End compared to other non-touristy designations within the city.

The owner, Joe* stood in the doorway in his white t-shirt looking up and down the street talking to locals as they walked by. I couldn’t help but think of Sopranos and wondered how much of a stereo-type that television series created for Italians. I wonder how Italians, in general, feel about that show; if it bothers them as much as shows about African-Americans might bother them because of stereo-type assumptions? Then, I wondered how different it was to live in an Italian neighborhood in Boston compared to New York City remembering our visit to NYC in December 2001 where we ate at a similar family-oriented restaurant while on a holiday trip.

Several times while we were eating dinner, Joe would yell his wife’s name, “Julia*!”from the front of the restaurant as they decided where to seat families. Their voices were loud and passionate as they worked together. M spent the rest of the evening chucking and yelling "Julia" at me in his attempted accent. I have a feeling we will hear this expression again when talking about this trip since he was tickled by the exchange. Somehow eating at these tiny, family-oriented restaurants produce the same nostalgic feeling of being together as a family. It isn’t about the food as much as it is about the companionship. (Though, I would highly recommend the spinach ravioli!) I am still attached to the memories at a little Italian restaurant, Romanos, that my dad's family still loves to visit in Littleton for their pizza and bread sticks. The restaurant opened the year I was born, and we still feel like it is part of our own family memories. I can easily say that it was the first restaurant my parents took me as a baby and now, 41 years later, we occasionally still take my own children there with their great grandparents.

*names are changed.

Caffe - not café
After dinner at Joe's, :) we went right across the street to the same dessert “caffe” that T & P took us to last time we were in Boston, Caffe Paradiso. It is common in the North End that dessert is not served at a restaurant so that folks visit the pastry shops and dessert caffes (note that the Italian version of the word is caffe and not the French version, café). M & I had “dessert” coffee while D had chocolate mousse and K had gelato. Last spring, K and I started having our Saturday afternoon chats over gelato at a local ice-cream shop. I miss those hours together. This caffe felt more like a contemporary adult audience, but D loved the dessert. We’ve decided we like this place a lot and will go back as often as possible. K reminded D that she had asked him to go get ice-cream with me and to talk with me after she left, which he hadn't mentioned.

"Smile; life is good": Visiting Portsmouth
On Sunday morning, we picked K up and drove up to Portsmouth, NH, which is about an hour and a half north-east of Boston. Our plan was to take the kids to lunch at the Portsmouth Brewery again (I love their Chicken Pesto sandwich) and walk around the town for the afternoon. We immediately fell back into the family car routine: D playing a video game, K reading a book, M driving, and me… well I didn’t fall asleep until the way back so I did pretty well since usually I fall asleep which an hour on any lengthy car drive. :)

While we walked around the town, I kept looking for a friend of mine, L, that I had taught with who had recently moved to Portsmouth. I thought by chance I might see her, even though over 25,000 people live there. Well, of course, I didn’t, but one never knows. :) Our afternoon in Portsmouth will be remembered through a mug that I bought for K. On one side it reads, “Life is good” and on the other side it reads, “Smile.” The sentimental fool that I am wanted her to have something to remember our weekend by.

Sunday afternoon in Boston
After a couple of hours of walking and talking, we drove back to the T station and rode the T back into Boston to walk around. We came out of the T at Park Place where one walks up into the to public park: the Boston Commons. We took D through the cemetery where Ben Franklin’s family is buried as well as the supposed real Mother Goose. The cemetery is surrounded by three building walls – some of the headstones are even built into the buildings. Then, we walked along a portion of the Freedom Trail. K took me by the Borders where she had called me one Sunday afternoon as she was out exploring. We stopped at the Bell in the Hand and sat in our favorite corner window table looking out at the people walking by. While D watched the football game, K and I talked about her experiences so far and speculating about what was ahead in her next four years.

After our afternoon walk, we met up with T, P, and their son for dinner in Harvard at John Harvard’s. We chose this restaurant because we met T and P here for lunch in October 2006 and had such a good time that we thought it would be a kid-friendly place to revisit. The evening went far too fast, but it is nice to know we can see them more often and that they are there for K when we can't be.

In closing
That evening as we went to sleep, I felt the complete satisfaction that my family was with me. We were all together as K had decided to spend the night at the hotel with us. On Monday morning we had just enough time to shop for a television and winter boots for K, set up the TV in her room, eat lunch, and drop her off as M, D, and I headed back to the airport for our flight home. It was pretty basic day, but it was just nice to be together.

Serendipity
But one last story… as we were almost to the end of the wait to see if we would get on the flight home, M looks up and says, “Hey, isn’t that your friend, L?”
Sure enough, L was flying back on the same flight to visit family and friends. Better yet, we ended up sitting next to each other for the four hour flight allowing us to catch up. How is that for serendipity?

Just 5 more weeks...
After seeing K this weekend, I now know I can make it until Thanksgiving… now, just 5 and a half weeks away! Then, my family will be under one roof again even if it is just for 5 days. My reminder this autumn has been to treasure these family moments knowing that they are few and far between. We can never take time together for granted, even though it is easy to slip into old routines and let time swiftly go by as we get caught up in our daily routines.

One More Season of Basketball

2008-10-15T20:32:00.003-06:00

D announces at breakfast, “Mom, I know this is my last year of basketball. But I want to play anyway.” As an eighth grader this year, D will be on the traveling team and play at different middle schools in the district. Well, at least he hopes to play some. There is no guarantee now as most of the eighth graders are preparing for high school basketball and the coaches want to put their best players out on the court.

We’ve been encouraging D to play sports since he was four, and he started playing recreational soccer, T-ball, and basketball. As parents, M & I felt like the physical activity would help him develop his muscles, coordination, and motor skills. For years he was afraid of any ball flying at him and would do everything he could to avoid contact with the ball; now, he is showing more courage and has made baskets, scored touchdowns, and has hit a baseball strong enough to run to base. His favorite subject in school is PE because his teachers grade on effort and participation, not on ability. They teach skills, but they don't compare one student to the next. The last three years in middle school have been a wonderful relief from elementary school where they graded on development. He has gone from "Unsatisfactory" in PE with comments about his weaker muscles and motor skills to an "A" because he is out there daily showing that he cares about what he is learning, even if his throws aren’t as far, etc. His middle school teachers get it and I am grateful! I have admired D’s persistence over the years with something he doesn’t really quite understand what is wrong. He loves sports. This is the boy who can tell you any baseball player's statistics. He watches sports all the time and even analyzes the baseball players' hits. He wants to play well and I don't think he really understands why he can't play as well.

I have also admired how well his peers have accepted him. Throughout grade school and middle school, his peers have never teased him or told him he can’t play well. Even in middle school, the better players have protected D and made it a little easier for him to make a basket by not crowding him when he attempted a basket. Even when the coach would tell the students to treat D the same as everybody else, the other players still tended to be nice to him knowing he was uncertain on the court. Even during the school's championship game during his 6th grade year, the kids sat in the bleacher shouting D’s name! Last year his team made it to the championship game again, but D had to miss for his grandmother's funeral. I've prepared him that it would really remarkable to be part of the championship game three years and not to be disappointed if it doesn't happen this year. :) (I'll let you all know if it happens.)

I'm very aware that visiting school players probably won’t give him the space he has had previous to this season, but I admire the encouragement and sportsmanship the other students have shown as they have cheered him on over the past several years. When we hear so much about bullying and teasing; it is wonderful to report how nice kids can be to each other.

Recently I discovered a chiropractor, Dr. John, who works with kids who have neurological processing problems. So I decided we’d give it a try because by now, M knows that I have to try anything that shows promise. I feel like we are picking up where we left off with last summer's sensory work. D is okay with it because he saw it as a way to improve his basketball skills (large motor skills) for his last season of intramural basketball.

We meet with Dr. John once a week and then I work with D at home on different exercises. The hope is that we can strengthen his motor skills and increase his neurological processing skills. Dr. John has requested that D listen to music, the TV, etc. through his right ear to balance his brain since he tends to process more from left to right. Though, I have to say I’ve had a difficult time convincing my almost 14-year-old that he can only keep the right headphone on in the plane. In the car, we put the speaker all the way over to the right speaker. At home we use activities created by the Children’s Vision Information Network who has created an informational site on vision problems as well as a several visual information processing skills (perception, tracking, focusing, and eye teaming) exercises. The site states that the activities are a fun way to help sharpen learning-related visual skills but are not in any way meant to replace vision therapy. The URL is: http://www.eyecanlearn.com/.

We’ve just started these activities so we’ll see where this practice leads us; meanwhile, D is getting to bed early tonight so that he is ready for the early morning basketball practice at 6:45 tomorrow morning. We have the clothes out and have already discussed breakfast. Now, M and I have to decide who is going to drive him to school that early. Meanwhile, I hear the basketball hitting the closet over and over again as I write this.

Part III: Long Distance Transition

2008-09-18T07:21:00.008-06:00

Sunday, August 17th: As M drives us home from the airport late on Sunday evening after leaving Boston, I ask M if he thinks there is something that I could have done differently as a mother. Yeah, I know. It is a little too late to want to make up for eighteen years of motherhood.

I take a deep breath and recognize that my relationship with K is now changing because of physical location. I have to accept the distance as part of the change, but know that we still love each other just as much; that our relationship hasn’t changed at the core of being mother and daughter. She knows that I would drop anything and fly to her in an instant, if needed. I also have to give her the space to be on her own. Thank goodness for email, texting, and cell phones. Now- a -days, the dorms do not even have phones. Students are expected to have cell phones. I think back to the long distance calls I made from a rotary dial in my dorm room to my own parents once a week in 1985 when I left for college. I was only 90 minutes away from home, yet I felt just as far away from home as Boston does now.

***
I ask M if he was aware of his mother’s feelings when he left for college. He went in-state just 90 minutes away, but didn’t go home until Thanksgiving. He explains that he was ready for college and that it was normal to want to be away from home. He never looked back. He was the baby of the family so I am sure it was hard on Helen, his mom, to have him leave. He remembers that she tried to get him to stay; that she didn’t want him to leave. She didn’t have the most loving marriage, yet M thinks that eventually, his leaving home did help his father and mother grow closer. His parents started doing more together; taking walks, going to estate sales, etc. M never did go back home. After college, he moved to Colorado. And somehow his mother got used to having her family in different places; though, she never talked it how it felt at first; how she dealt with the change. It wasn’t until she was 73, just three years after her husband died that she moved out to Colorado and lived just 30 minutes from two of her sons. Yet, as much as she had hoped to live near her children again, it was a hard move for her after living 50 years in the same house and her whole life in the same town.

***
During the first week K is gone, we all have to adjust to the fact she isn’t going to walk through the door at any minute from a Civil Air Patrol meeting or swim practice. D has to have 6 baby teeth pulled the first morning back so as I drive him to the dentist, he exclaims, “It isn’t fair that we can’t talk to K this week.” D’s adult teeth weren’t dissolving the roots of his baby teeth as they came up to the side of his baby teeth so we have to remove the baby teeth in order to prepare for braces. After the teeth are pulled, I drive home trying to watch the road and keep an eye on the bloody drool that leaks out of his still-numb mouth. He is pale and still in shock. When I first see him in the dentist’s chair, he is shaking.
He mumbles, “When will I feel my face again?”
“In a few hours; here hold this tissue to your mouth. We can’t change the gauze until we get home.” The 20-minute drive feels slow. “Do you want a milkshake?” I calculate the time and hope that the bleeding will stop soon before the gauze soaks through.
He nods and states, “You didn’t tell me the Novocain was a shot.”
“Well, no.” I look over at him to see if he is upset. “I decided it would hurt less if I only told you it would feel like a pinch. Was I right?”
“Yeah. It was just a pinch,” he confirms. He falls into silence.
“See, you have now had a shot that didn’t hurt. You can no longer say you are afraid of all needles.”When D was seven, we were trying to rule out various conditions beyond Autism so his doctor requested blood work for “Fragile X Syndrome”. In hind sight, I should have protested such an out-of-the-norm test, but at the time, we wanted to rule out any causes for his learning and social challenges. My husband and I didn’t know that the nurse would take at least six vials of blood, if not more; I can no longer remember how many beyond remembering having to hold D down as he screamed. As a result, we now have a son who is terrified of needles, and I really can’t blame him. D spends the rest of the afternoon resting and that night he sleeps in K’s room. The day after D’s teeth are pulled, he starts eighth grade, and we start our new school routine for autumn without K in the house.

****
I continue on with my busy week at work because if I completely honest I know that nobody will understand if my “emotions” of missing K disrupts my productivity. I am expected to maintain my work ethic regardless of how I feel about my daughter being gone. Sometimes in life, it seems that there is no room for emotions in our society; that we are told to dismiss our feelings or put them aside until a better time. Does a better time ever really come? How does one prepare for loss? Some things just have to be experienced. Growth happens through experience. I felt this same frustration of having to put my emotions aside when my mother-in-law, Helen, passed away last December. The timing was the worst. She passed away at the end of the semester right before finals so after a few days away at the funeral in Indiana, I had to ignore my emotions and bunker down to get grades done. It is just the way things are. Work continues; grades continue; life continues on around you, even if you want a temporary break to gather yourself together; to figure out how to live with such a permanent change. It is expected that as a professional, that one will not let one’s life get in the way of work. It begins to my mind the vision of compartmentalizing – putting each facet of my life into separate rooms and being careful when I open the door to examine what I am experiencing in each of the areas of my life.
As time goes on, some things are easier to compartmentalize. With Helen, my adjustment to her absence has had to be permanent, but after 10 months, I am doing better most of the time. My weepiness now only seems to appear when we try to go to church because taking Helen to Mass most Saturday evenings was part of our family routine.

I really didn’t think I was linking my feelings of loss at K’s “leaving” home with my feelings of loss of Helen’s passing, but as I write, I am aware of the similarity in theme. I am aware that I wish I could talk to Helen about how she let her children go off to college knowing they would never be home in the same way again. At least with K, I am thankful that my feelings of loss are not permanent – we are just experiencing a temporary relocation and will adjust to this change. I can still experience life with her near or far. There are still phone calls, emails, text messages, and yet-to-come visits.

And let me exclaim, I honestly wouldn’t want her to stay at home and would be angry with her for limiting her opportunities by staying close. I love the fact that she is in Boston experiencing a big city at this time in her life. I love the adventures she has in store for herself. If she had stayed at home or even stayed in the state, I would have been disappointed because I know she needs to spread her wings. I know she is capable of so much. I want her to share her extraordinary specialness with the world. I will learn so much from her.

I know she will read this entry so while I don’t want to hide my emotions from her, I don’t want the expression my “missing her” to make her feel bad. I am so very happy for her. I know that I will adjust and that my relationship with her will be even stronger and we will grow even closer. She knows that regardless of where she lives, I’ll still be close in thought and will come to her if she needs me. We will just keep growing closer and what is occurring is a natural part of life.

***
On K’s birthday we each call her and wish her a happy birthday. She will not get the messages until a week later, but at least she will know we are thinking of her. I spend her birthday in meetings with thoughts of her birth creeping into my thoughts once in awhile. K’s birth is a story in itself. She was born 8 weeks early. So every year of her birthday, I thank God for her survival at a time when the hospital would not even take her newborn picture because she was in the neonatal intensive care unit and they didn’t take pictures of babies who might not live. Even then, as a newborn, I knew she was strong. The doctors kept warning me that she might have to stay in the hospital for at least 8 weeks, if not more. The doctors didn’t want me getting my hopes up. After I was released, I would wake up at 5 and drive downtown to the hospital to spend the day with her. At least I could only watch her in her incubator; then, I would hold all 4 lbs of her for hours. She learned how to eat, gained and maintained the necessary weight she needed to show them she was ready to go home, and came home after just 2 weeks. While she doesn’t remember her first couple of weeks, I know as a mother, she is tough. She is a survivor. She has survived far worse than what she is going through at In-Doc. Perhaps that unconscious memory will provide the strength she needs at this time.

***
Finally on Sunday, August 24th, M drives me to the airport at 5:30 in the morning for my return flight to Boston. He is working that day at the airport and he agrees to come get me when I return on Thursday evening. He knows that I will want his company when I get back. I talk about how I wish he were coming with me and how as much as I like to travel with him, I don’t enjoy traveling alone as much.
He jokes, “I think it is because you like me.”
“Yeah, I might even love you,” I tease back.
I was never prepared for what it would feel like to have my child go off to college. Even my mom couldn’t help with this one as I didn’t go out-of-state. Yet, I wrote in my journal that first month of college about how homesick I was. We adjusted. Just like I know next year at this time, the feeling won’t be as raw. We will both be used to our new arrangement by then.

***
I spend the first few days in Boston with my friend, T because I can’t see K until noon on Wednesday. I try not to rush the time while I anxiously wait to talk to K again. T and I take walks, and I imagine what it would be like to live in New England. On Wednesday, T and I arrive on campus just short of noon and hurriedly look for a parking spot on a busy move-in day. As I quickly walk towards the building, I see K walking down Bay Street with her NROTC group. She doesn’t see me because she is looking straight ahead. She looks so different in her uniform; older; more serious that I am stunned. My eyes well up with tears. She looks changed. This is not a negative statement. It is just a realization. She has obviously been through a lot these past 10 days and looks more mature. T and I proceed to the backyard of the Navy Brownstone to wait with the other parents for our children to march up.

As soon as they finish their march, I make eye contact and hug her close; my emotions are on the surface. She stands straighter. Her voice is horse from shouting commands. She sits at the picnic table and starts to tell us about the experience. She explains that she called the first night and left a message at home because she didn’t want to talk to me. It would have been too hard.

The Day of Departure: Thursday, August 28th
Today T, K, and I eat lunch at Charlie’s on Newberry St. We eat outside on a shaded front patio enjoying the perfect summer day of sun, blue skies, temperatures in the 70’s and a light breeze to whisk away the humidity.

K comments, “This is like Pearl Street on steroids.” Pearl Street is an outside mall in Boulder lined with shops and outside restaurant patios.
I joke with K that I have decided to follow her; that I too want to live In Boston.
“Mom, when I knew I was leaving home, I never knew home would be coming with me.”
Okay; point taken. She wants her space, and I want her to love her new home. It is time for me to go. I say good-bye to her and watch her wave from the yard of her dorm. I am rushing to the airport to see if I can get an earlier flight home so that I can arrive home before midnight.
“You can cry, if you want to…” T says as she drives me towards the airport.
“No. I’m okay.” I don’t want to start crying now. I might not stop, and I have over seven hours of travel ahead of me as I prepare for my lay-over in Chicago. The tears wait until the next evening. On the way home I see 3 people dressed in different Navy attire. I want to go up to them and tell them about K, but I just stay in my seat not even sure what I would say. I would babble on like a mom about how proud I am of her. I’m returning home to my husband and son without K. We all have to accept transition… the process of getting older and letting the next stage of life begin. Now, I just have to figure out this new stage… as K writes, “the next chapter.”

Author Note: I've debated for the past week whether or not to post this entry. I even talked to K about it. This entry felt extremely personal and rough, and I am not sure if anybody will really understand so I started to feel really subconscious about what I had said. But once again, for better or worse, I'm putting my thoughts out there because I have reached a point in my life where I feel like I have to acknowledge who I am and what I feel regardless of what others think. This is my journey - rough drafts and all. :)

Part II: Letting Go

2008-09-07T09:59:00.006-06:00

August 15-17, 2008: As K has written about in her blog, the return trip to drop K off at her Navy In-Doc starts out poorly as a tornado warning creates weather problems at JFK airport, our one-stop before we land in Boston on Friday evening. Our two-hour lay-over becomes an eight hour lay-over as Friday evening turns to early Saturday morning before we finally land in Boston at 3:30 am EST. The advantage (as I try to find something positive about the experience) is that I was able to work on my online class which was starting on Monday while M & K watched the Olympics. We will always remember the cheer heard throughout the airport terminal when Phelps won his 7th Gold Medal.

After getting some sleep at our hotel on Saturday morning, we walk along Beacon Street to find a sandwich for lunch; and then to campus to navigate K’s course schedule. We meet T & P back at the hotel so that we can take the T to the North End for a pre-birthday/celebration dinner for K. We talk about how she is no longer a tourist. We start at The Bell In Hand so that K knows what we have been talking about when we mention this favorite hang-out. T and P introduced us to this place back in 1999 when we came to Boston for their wedding. Afterwards, we walk to the 5 North Square Italian restaurant where T & P have made reservations for dinner. This restaurant is located at the oldest town square in Boston. If you look at the web site, you can see the second floor bay window where our table was located as we enjoyed our great dinner while looking out over the street. K good naturedly endures stories as T & I talk about our school experiences during our 5th grade year in the small town of Miami, Oklahoma. In September 1977, we had met when we both found ourselves as the new kids in a class….a whole other blog entry, if I choose to go there. :)

After a great dinner, we walk to a dessert café which is a common practice in the North End as part of the complete dinner experience. I can’t wait to go back. It is then time to get K back to the hotel so that she can have a good night’s sleep before the early arrival at the Navy Office Sunday morning. We know that she won’t be sleeping as well for the next 10 days. Back in the hotel room, after M, K, and I watch Phelps win his 8th gold medal, I tuck K into bed knowing it will be months before I can again. I kiss her forehead and out of habit breathe in the scent of her long, naturally curly hair. K has always had the lingering, fresh scent of chlorine in her hair after swim practice. For me, this is like a warm, childhood memory of breathing in the scent of freshly washed linens on my great grandmother’s clothes line; something lost to us in 21st century suburbia.

In what feels too soon and too early, we are awake with the alarm and get ready to let our daughter go off to her Navy “In-Doc,” which is the NROTC’s version of boot camp. I am less nervous as K starts talking to another candidate from Ohio. K appears confident and self-assured. After a few presentations by the leaders, the candidates are sworn in. The Commanding Officer mentions that the candidates are saying the same oath that the civilian soldiers of the Revolutionary War took just miles away. Then, we are told we have a few minutes to say good-bye. Caught up in pride and anticipation, there are no tears when we say our good-byes. M and I know she will be okay. We tell her we love her and are proud of her. We will keep her in our thoughts and prayers all week. We have been preparing for this departure for the past five years. I remind myself that 6 years ago in middle school, K went to Costa Rica with her Spanish class for 10 days and never called home. Last summer, she experienced two different, challenging military experiences away from home for a week each and she did well.

After our suddenly grown-up children file out to begin their new experience, the parents return to the auditorium to view a video of the upcoming week. M chuckles and repeats, “K will be fine. She can do it. She has been through similar challenges and she will know what to do.” A mother behind us whispers to her husband, “I don’t like this. I think he should change his mind.” M and I reassure ourselves that she will be fine. We are told our children will get one, one-minute scripted phone call that evening and that when we talk to them, we need to be encouraging. The phone call never comes. I find out later that K thought she left a message on our home phone (which we never got) and she didn’t want to talk to me that night. It would have been too hard on her.

M and I check out the hotel and drive to New Hampshire for the afternoon before our flight leaves. We end up in Portsmouth at the Portsmouth Brewery for lunch and talk about how we will bring the kids back here for lunch someday. I am wishing I had more time to walk through the old streets of this coastal town, but we have to get back to reality. I still don’t cry; I think, "If K can be brave, I will be brave too." I keep telling myself that K will be fine and that she will find her way through the challenge. She is strong, and she has been dreaming of this experience and going away to college for the past six years. It helps to know that I will be back to see her in just 10 days. I also begin writing her letters that I will share with her when I see her again.

Part I: Summer Journey to Boston

2008-09-07T08:19:00.012-06:00

Thursday, August 27, 2008: As I rode away from K’s dorm house on Thursday, I watched her waving good-bye with a grin on her face. I joked that she was thinking, “Free at last. Free at last.” The journey to Boston has been a summer-long process.

July 2008: We started with the BU Orientation visit in mid-July where K became acquainted with the university. I kept thinking, “Wow; I want to go back to college and have this opportunity. I had no idea. I want to be a professor here.” All normal responses considering how well they treated us as we listened to different representatives talk about college in the 21st Century. BU accepts and integrates diversity within their university’s academic culture which I appreciate as a professor at an urban-based university.

The Orientation also brought up the realization of how much has changed in a generation. When I was a senior in high school, I had no idea how to apply for scholarships or what my college options really were. I applied to three state universities and even though I was accepted at all three, I never went to visit any of them. In spite of 23 years, I still wonder if I would have chosen a different university if I had visited the campuses, or would I have still made the same decision because I choose the university that was known for teaching but this also happened to be the university that my boyfriend was attending. It is what it is, and we can’t change the past. I can only learn from my decisions and use my own experience to help my own children. I am noting at the same time though that their paths are different and they will make their own choices and decisions based on who they are.

So it was really important to me that K visited the campus, and our July visit confirmed that K was in the right place for her. Before Orientation started, M, K, and I spent the morning locating K’s dorm and dropping her paperwork off at the Navy Office which is located in a brownstone on Bay Street. While K went on a T-tour around the city with a group of students in the afternoon, M & I went to a wine & cheese reception at the bookstore (Nice!). When we picked K back up at the student center, we rode the T to John Harvard’s in Harvard Square for dinner. Harvard Square is still one of my favorite places to visit. At Harvard Square there is hmm in the air as twenty-something graduate students scurry about to meet with friends or attend classes.
On Thursday morning, K checked into a dorm for the next 28 hours and good-heartedly “ran away” from us. We watched her walk with a group of students who she had met from the previous day’s city tour to the Opening Ceremony at the university’s sports arena. For the Opening Ceremony, the parents sat in the bleachers while the Class of 2012 sat in chairs on the main arena floor in front of a stage. The band played the BU song and representatives from the university welcomed us to the BU community. I felt my eyes start to water and fanned my face with the paper schedule to try and keep the tears at bay. M asked me if I was too warm not realizing my emotions were taking over for the moment. I was so proud, happy, and excited for her that the moment overwhelmed me.

For the rest of the day, K attended her meetings while we attended ours. Knowing we had the evening to ourselves, M and I took the T to the Government Center T-stop where we can walk to our favorite tavern, The Bell-in-Hand. The Bell is the oldest tavern in the United States (1795). Supposedly even Paul Revere often came to this tavern. Our favorite seats are in the front point of the tavern in front of the windows where we can look out and people-watch. From there, we walked to the North End – the Italian area, and stumbled upon Ristorante Fiore where I noticed their sign for a roof-top patio that was packed. We enjoyed the rest of evening listening and visiting with local patrons. People would ask us where we were from and we would explain that we were bringing our daughter to Boston, her new home for the next for years. They would congratulate us and mention how surprised they were that a couple from Colorado had actually found the rooftop. We enjoyed our good luck that evening and talked about how we love to find locally treasured places on our travels.

During our visit, we were also able to visit with our friends, T, P, and their four-year-old son seeing their new home and going out for a seafood dinner with them. M, K, and I also drove up to Portland, Maine on our last day there. This was a new stop for us. It is a beautiful city and we enjoyed our lunch at Gritty’s sitting on an outside patio that was located in on an old cobblestone street. We drove back to Boston along the coast admiring the beautiful scenery ending another great visit to New England. We knew this visit was our "family vacation" and we were having fun; whereas, the next short weekend visit would be to drop K off as she began her new adventure for the next four years. Stay tuned for Part II....

A Monday at the Beach... and other beach excursions

2008-08-03T10:13:00.011-06:00

[Warning Note: This is a long entry at 2,691 words written over the course of the week.]

“Hey, kids, I can sing every song that comes on the radio to the words Hwy 55!” M teases as we drive towards Newport mid-morning last Monday.

K & D groan from the backseat. “No, Dad. That’s okay. You DON’T have to do that.”

“But it’s your mom’s favorite highway,” M jokes. Hwy 55 takes us to the Newport Beach from the SNA airport so my family is right. It is my favorite highway.

I LOVE the beach…for me it is about living in the “moment.” On Hwy 55 I can catch the first hint of damp air with the mixed scent of salt and sand as we roll our windows down. “Smell that air, kids,” I inhale. “We are here!”

Even as a writer, I am not sure how to express how revived I feel at the beach. Normally, an “on-the-go” kind of person, the beach offers me an excuse to just sit, walk, and meditate on the water indulging in soul time. It doesn’t matter how stressed I am at the start of the trip, I always come home with the experience of “Okay, so that is what calm is; that is what contentment is.” I look out over the sparkling water at the sailboats or watch as dolphins tease us as they jump through the waves. It doesn’t matter if there are several other families around us; I can forget they exist and just be. Everybody needs some type of activity or experience where they can experience such a feeling. For some it may be driving in the mountains or for others running around a lake. It is this feeling that I can pull up in the middle of a stressful moment and know that everything will be okay. “Everything will be okay,” I repeat to myself knowing in the back of mind sit the worries of the approaching semester and my daughter’s departure to college across the country.

We joke that we go to beach more in a year than we go to the mountains just 20 minutes away. We’ve been to the mountains once this summer but have traveled to the coast 6 times in the past three months (5 trips to CA and 1 to New England). How can this be? As much as I love living in Colorado and know logically it is the best place for us to live, we gravitate to the ocean regardless of temperature. Even though on a daily basis, I still appreciate driving home from work and seeing the beautiful, snow-capped-even-in-August, Rocky Mountains in front of me. And I love landing at the airport and knowing I am home as I look at the jagged ridge of secure, gray mountains to the west. There is a sense of familiarity to me as a Colorado Native. I also know that I very much appreciate the view of the Boulder Flatirons when I’m sitting on the rooftop of a Boulder restaurant enjoying a summer evening people-watching. As we sit on The Foundry’s rooftop on Thursday night celebrating my pre-birthday, M and I still agree that Colorado is still meant to be our home.

Still, so many life memories involve beach excursions…
I loved Sandbridge, Virginia with I was around 12 – our first family experience renting a beach home for a week with cousins; it was such a simple beach house on a simple, quiet beach, but I loved how relaxed my parents were; how I spent time with my dad talking some or just reading together, and we didn’t have to be doing anything. Up until that point, our family car trips had been great, but were always “pack-everything-in” kind of trips where we drove from one site to the next to get as much in as possible on the allotted vacation time. And as much as I still talk about the across-country amusement parks, the historical sites of the New England, and even a World’s Fair, the beach offered a relaxing alternative. I can still hear the sound of the waves in the quiet of the night as I fell asleep. I was so happy because I had what I wanted most: my family close and to know my parents better. I realize as I write this that M and I still take whirlwind, “see as much as possible” kind of trips, and often with my parents, as we travel to great cities like Boston, Washington DC, London, or Paris. But since that first stay-at-the-beach trip when I was 13, we now sprinkle in extended family beach trips once in awhile.

I also have distant memories of walking with my grandmother on the New Jersey faded, grease and salt stained wood boardwalk while visiting my great aunt and uncle in Trenton. The boardwalk had all the lights and sounds of carnival games and rides; we never played the games or rode the rides, but the lights & sounds contained the same feeling of excited as watching fireworks on 4th of July. I don’t remember the beach but still treasure a rare picture of my paternal grandmother, Princess Mom Mom (nicknamed after her white German Sheppard as a term of endearment), and me jumping in the waves when I was about seven. The saddest part of this memory for me is that I haven’t been back to Trenton for over 22 years and even if I went back, it would not hold the same wonder as it did as a child.

In 1999, M & I took the kids to the most north-west beach in Kauai where one has to drive on dirt roads through cane fields to walk on the hidden soft sands where we watched the sunset. We were staying in a beach home on Kauai for my parent’s 35th wedding anniversary and out of all the great beach memories on that trip, our “hidden” beach is the captured photo moment that is still taped on our frig door.

A few years ago, we went to North Padre Island for spring break where K and I would walk and have what we came to call our “beach talks.” Other beach memories include walking the beach in Santa Cruz, CA on Christmas Day 1997 before we went back to my parent’s CA home for a non-traditional shrimp dinner. They only lived in CA for a few years but that was the only Christmas spent in CA. We have also loved our Mexican beach vacations, and most recently our Jamaica and Grand Cayman beach excursions. There have also been trips to Torrey Pines, Coronado, or Del Mar beach in 2007 when my dad lived in San Diego for a year. I’ve also loved our walks along beaches in Maine, Massachusetts, and North Carolina as well. Each beach trip leaves an imprint that I can easily call back and breathe in.

My first weekend trip with M was to a wedding in CA and it is probably our memories of our first trip together that has attracted us to going back to southern California year after year. When the kids were little, M would drive 16 hours through the deserts of Utah and Nevada to get us to the beach in time for dinner on Father’s Day weekend. We would start in the early morning hours so that we could be across the mountains of Colorado by breakfast. The kids and I would sleep, and he would drive. On our last Summer 2006 CA car trip, we met up with M’s brother and sister-in-law for a few days while they were visiting their son who had just taken a job in CA. We would joke that we had to come all the way to CA to see them. Fortunately, we have seen them more since, and I will admit that their house in Indiana actually gives me the same relaxed feeling I get at the beach. Life doesn’t have to all take place at the beach even if I make it sound that way in this blog entry.

Last summer we rented a beach home for a week in July at Newport with friends. There is this great feeling of freedom when you can go into a house right off the beach to use the bathroom or eat lunch. Each evening as families pack up and load their cars, you can just smile and relax knowing that you have only minutes to walk back to your “house.” We could stay a little later and watch as the orange rays of sunlight slip beneath the horizon of where ocean meets sky.

So here we are at the end of July 2008 having another end-of-our summer break beach excursion as M and I both report back to work on Monday. We decide that since K started her summer with a graduation beach trip, she should end her summer in the same fashion. We take her to college in just a couple of weeks and time is slipping away so quickly. Mostly M and I spend our time walking the cement boardwalk admiring the nice homes while D plays in the waves and K reads. M & I start at the Balboa Pier and walk west to 36th Street which takes an hour or we walk north a few blocks and take the dollar ferry across to Balboa Island and walk around the 3 mile island before coming back across on the ferry. We don’t take walks at home together but we do at the beach so it is a time set aside for reconnecting. After our walk, we’ll usually sit with the kids on the beach in the camping chairs that we picked up at Target for less than we pay for parking. During this trip, M brought the sand toys and built elaborate sand castles. One little girl who looked about four came by and stood watching as he built. She was holding a small doll figure, and I could tell she just wanted to play. Sometimes a woman will come by and compliment the builder, my husband. I just smile and nod at the stranger in a bikini until she moves on.

K usually spends most of her time reading, but she’ll occasionally say something before going back to her second or third book. One summer Harry Potter came out on the night before we were heading to Laguna Beach for the day so we took K to the book store on Hwy 55 as soon as the store opened, so she had the HP book for the day. The rule that day was that she had to stop at the end of each chapter and talk with me for fifteen minutes before going onto the next chapter. We all laughed at the rule and I gave up on enforcing the rule as she became more and more wrapped up in the story to even think about the end of a chapter. I can’t say that I blamed her knowing that there was a time when I was growing up when I would have done the same thing.

On this trip we knew we had two days at the beach so at 5 pm on Monday afternoon, M & I took another little walk; this time with his wallet. K smiles knowing that our walk is only across the parking lot to the Cabo Cantina for a happy hour beverage. Then, we come back and watch the sun set together as a family before going back to the hotel to clean up for dinner.

On Tuesday when we have to be to the airport by 6 pm, our day feels shorter and we always wish we were staying longer, but we take our time getting up because in LA the morning haze doesn’t burn off until after 11 am. We are still eating breakfast when M interrupts my conversation with K as a small rumbling movement goes through the restaurant. “Did you feel that?” He knows what is happening before I do.

Seconds later, a large tremor shakes the building, and we watch each other lean involuntarily to the side. Patrons gasp; sparks fly from the kitchen, and the chandeliers swing wildly back and forth. Has a truck just hit the building? I look around for damage. We’ve just been in our first earthquake which we find out later registered at 5.4 on the Richter scale. Anxious thoughts rev up in my mind: Is it going to happen again? What do we do? Do we go outside? The shaking is over before we even have time to leave the booth so I am not sure how anybody would even think fast enough to get somewhere else.

I look at M surprised and immediately say, “Go check on D.” D had made his way to the restroom right before the quake. I’m imagining that D will be scared by himself in a bathroom stall while the floor shakes beneath him. Instead, my son comes back to the table with a huge grin on his face. “Did you feel that, mom? I was starting to sit down when the floor moved. That was so COOL!” I look at him amazed at his excitement. My weather boy who watches severe weather shows on TV; vows never to live in “Tornado Alley;” and hates thunderstorms is actually okay with this experience. I have noticed some changes in D this summer that I attribute to growing up. For example, he spent most of Monday in the waves, which even he will admit scared him last summer. K shakes her head, “Why did he have to wait until I am leaving for college to become brave?” She has been waiting for years to have a brother who liked to be in the waves. I remind her that she will be seeing her brother again. For years, we tried to coax him into the ocean, but he had to be ready. As with everything else in his life, he has to decide on his own when he is ready to try something. We can’t rush him and once he is ready, he embraces the activity without fear and with a full sense of enjoyment. It is our lesson to learn, not his.

Back in the car after breakfast, the radio is full of reports as listeners call in with their stories. The drama unfolds since this was the largest earthquake since 1994 and was felt as far south as San Diego and as far east as Las Vegas (which is a 4 hour drive from east LA). One caller exclaims that she was in the wine aisle with the glass bottles start falling off the shelves. Later as M & I are walking along the beach, a man asks us if we felt the quake. He sighs and explains, “Man, I slept through it.”

On Tuesday afternoon, we leave our chairs by the fire pits for other families who will sit together by a bonfire later that night. Our sandcastle marks where we sat and we all walk to the parking lot wishing we could stay for just another day.

Over a Mexican dinner on our way to the airport, we watch the news reports about the earthquake aware of the media dramatization effect. The focus is on fear and when the “big one” will hit. M is wearing his Bolder Boulder T-shirt and we notice a man at the next table is wearing a Boulder T-shirt as well. The man strikes up a conversation with M, and we find out that the two CA couples at the table have been coming to Newport with their children for the past 20 years. Their sons are now students at CU-Boulder because they wanted to go some place different and see a change in seasons. We laugh and say, “Yep. You’ll get the snow in CO.” M and I smile and comment on how nice people are (heck, we’re all relaxed and not fighting our ways on the highways) and what a small world it is to come to CA and still find a connection to home.

A Day By the Bay

2008-07-19T14:42:00.009-06:00

As soon as I board the plane, my fatigue from getting up at 4 am lifts and I am excited to start our day’s adventure. M and I are going to take the Bart to Fisherman’s Wharf and from there walk along a six mile coastal path to the Golden Gate Bridge and walk across the bridge.

We have our routine set thanks to a daybook about San Francisco and based on a one-day experience last summer we know to catch the Bart right at the airport across the terminal bridge and down the escalator to the underground subway system. The Bart is like our magic coach waiting for our arrival. After about 45 minutes, we get off at the Powell St. stop and buy our day-long bus and trolley pass at the Tourist Information Center. I loved coming up the stairs from the underground station to see the familiar city attractions. Powell Station is also a place to catch a cable car which we decide to pass on since there is already a long line at ten in the morning. I remind myself that it is summer and the height of tourist season.

The morning fog hides the blue sky so I decide I really need a fleece jacket to keep me warm as we walk along the bay. Wow, I think how amazing it is that it is 95 in Colorado while only 65 in San Fran! It is kind of fun buying something touristy since I rarely do so I now have a $12.00 black fleece jacket with San Francisco embroidered in gold thread over my heart. The jacket does the trick and by the time we find a place for a bowl of clam chowder I feel much warmer. We laugh about how a week ago we had just been in Boston where we felt it was too warm to have New England clam chowder and now we were on the Pacific coast enjoying our missed New England clam chowder. I guess it is the San Francisco sourdough bread bowl that made chowder popular at Fisherman’s Wharf.

Our walk from the Wharf to the Golden Gate Bridge takes approximately an hour and a half. Along the way we observe the multi-million dollar homes with large windows facing a view of the Golden Gate Bridge and the bay. We look for the ones with rooftop decks and imagine what the residents do for a living. “Wow, can you imagine?” We smile and enjoy imagining. We talk and walk asking each other why we didn’t bring our good camera for pictures. I take off my fleece jacket about half way along the path. I'm warmed up now.

I am happy I have decided to take the day for a trip in spite of worrying about all the work I need to accomplish before classes start in August. A couple of days before I had talked to my best friend in Boston, T, over the phone about the upcoming trip and how conflicted I felt about "taking the day." She listened to me toss back and forth in my ambivalent argument with my self, finally sharing with me that it sounded like I really did want to go. Yep, she was right so I made my decision. My rationale is that if I only had one day left to live, I would to say that I took time for my marriage. Okay, so maybe I sound dramatic, but too often I put my own enjoyment aside and work too much. If I had stayed home, I would have been grumpy all day wondering what M was doing in SF and wishing I had flown with him. I know that I have to take advantage of this time with M because in just a couple of weeks he will be back at work full-time. July was supposed to be my month off so it really should be okay. I give myself permission to enjoy the day. The work will still be there tomorrow. Our time together is a gift. Our relationship flourishes when we take the time to connect. And lately, we connect better when we are away from home and can focus on each other instead of the household chores, yard work, and kids’ needs. At home there are always things to catch up on since M is working his two jobs and I often feel like I’m working a job that is equivalent to at least two jobs. If I don’t make myself take the break, I work seven days a week twelve to fourteen hours a day.

On the way up the path to the Bridge are signs with the names of ground cover, poison oak, and bee bushes. The fog lifts across the bridge revealing blue sky that doesn’t quite make it across the bay. Sailboats skirt under the bridge, and we press as close to the right side of the walkway as possible to avoid collisions with the bikes that skirt by us. People are everywhere on bikes, and I am reminded that it is summer and that we, like them, are tourists. Why didn't we think of a bike tourist business, M, back in the 70's before it was popular? Well, for starters, I was a kid and M had never been to San Fran at that point. In 1978 when I was eleven, both sets of grandparents, my Aunt W, my parents, sister and I rode across the West in two station wagons on a summer road trip. I can still remember sitting in the backseat of our yellow station wagon as we drove across the bridge looking up and out the window at the large burnt-red painted beams. Today, the experience of walking across the bridge is even better. We stop in the middle of the bridge for a picture. As we look down at the water below, we note how sad it is that people jump from here. It is a sobering thought. There is a near-by sign over a phone encouraging the unknown jumper that there is help available and to call. We also listen to all the different languages that float through the air as families smile and gather close for scenic photos. A couple from England on the trolley talk about how nice the bus driver is. We talk about Grandma's trip to San Fran in 1940 for the World's Fair as we walk by the Observatory that was built for the fair. Grandma/Helen came out with family on road trip from Indiana. She loved San Fran, and we imagine how long the trip must have taken before there were highways.

I look across at Alcatraz and think about how ironic it is that the prisoners had the best view of the bridge, yet they would also have always been damp and cold living in the fog. Our walk is 13 miles round trip so our reward is an early dinner at the San Francisco Brewing Company located at the corner of Columbus and Pacific Avenues near the financial district. My visual for the location is seeing the large pyramid building in front of us as we walk closer and closer to the pub. On our way we walk through an Italian neighborhood known as North Beach where “ristorantes” have sidewalk tables along the busy streets. I like how the Italian colors are painted on each flagpole letting us know that we are in San Francisco’s “Little Italy." We talk about how just a week ago we were walking in the North End of Boston where the Italians live. We also talk about our trip to Winnipeg two summers ago for our best friends' J & K's wedding when the Italian team won the World Cup Soccer tournament and there was a huge party in the streets of their Little Italy neighborhood. We are tempted to stop, but decide to stick with our original plan. I can also look down some side streets and see the edge of China Town as well.

There is a history behind the SF Brewing Company which started out as a Barbary Coast saloon in 1907. We relax our tired feet over a Hefeweizen, split a good burger and salad which sounds really healthy until we throw in the basket of delicious spicy fries while talking about our trip and how glad I am that I took the day off.

The day is about over for us, and reluctantly we make our way back to the airport talking about how we really need to come and spend the night sometime. As tired as I am thinking about how it will be after midnight when we get home, I am so glad that I took the day to add to my memories; and believe or not, I end up working more efficiently over the next two days knowing I had a wonderful day playing.

Fourth of July

2008-07-05T10:24:00.004-06:00

Small yellow, pink, blue, white, and red water balloon pieces sprinkle the front and back yard like confetti. Another annual neighborhood 4th of July party is over. Deb and Tom have been hosting the party for over twelve years. We chuckle over the memory of chasing after the kids when they were little. Yesterday the children ranged in age from 4 to 17. Friends gathered on Deb & Tom's backyard deck and under the yard canopy talking and catching up about our summer vacations and life in general. We call ourselves the Friends on Frontier group since we gather together for several occasions each year. Twenty-six of us even took a vacation together two summers ago to an all-inclusive resort in Mexico and came back patting ourselves on the back at how well we all traveled together. We have experienced the birth of babies, a wedding, graduations, unexpected trips to the emergency room, and sadly even a funeral. We feel blessed to have a neighborhood where we can honestly say that we care about each other in a time when many talk about how distant communities have become and how most people don’t even talk to their neighbors.

Sometime after a late afternoon meal of hot dogs and burgers, the kids start the annual water balloon (wb) fight. A single balloon sails over the side-yard fence and lands on the porch. Then, another balloon flies over the house. As the boys have gotten older, the throwing distance has improved beyond most of the adults’ range. Yesterday a bucket of water came pouring out of the bedroom window onto the dry people below. There is no mercy with teenage boys. I heard rumors that my own D started the wb fight by bringing out his new water gun bought just for the occasion. As the balloons flying, the adults debate over where the safest place in the yard is to stand. My parents had just made their exit home and others scurry inside for cover. Yesterday there was one dry zone outside under a blue canopy at the back of the yard. I marvel at how the kids just instinctively figure out where not to throw. When Grandma Summers came to the party, the kids were respectful and never got her wet. She would sit at the table on the porch while balloons were tossed around her and just laughed enjoying the fun around her.

When the kids were little, Deb and I would be the ones filling up the water balloons, but now the kids plan ahead and hide their ammo behind fences or in their garages until the big event. Even the little 4-year-olds get involved by throwing balloons at their parents who will be gentler in their response. Usually anybody who is dry for too long ends up getting thrown in the pool. Some make their way to the pool and stay there for the duration of the game. Even Deb, the hostess, is not safe and ends up in the pool when her own 17-year-old son dumps her in. The only year I was thrown into the pool was in 2006 when Christopher threw me in; little did we know at the time that this would be the last 4th of July with Christopher. I brought my camera that year to record the memory of a 4th of July, and there are pictures of Christopher and his younger but just as tall brother, Kyle talking with Grandma. (They were so kind to her.) Christopher was the big brother to all the children, and they clamored around him giggling as he chased after the younger kids with the water balloons. Christopher was killed on December 4, 2006 in Iraq where he was serving as a Navy medic. The event changed our whole neighborhood family and our realization of how war hits home.

Nobody in our neighborhood family wants to miss a 4th of July and the question yesterday was, “Is this K’s last 4th of July at home?” As K leaves for college next month, we are all wondering how our neighborhood will start to change as “the kids” start their own lives elsewhere. Will they find a neighborhood like ours? Will they plan their trips home around the 4th, or will the memory be enough as they carry forth their own traditions? Do the memories mean more to me as a parent, knowing I gave my children a sense of community, something I never had as a child? Not all the kids hang out together anymore so neighborhood gatherings have become more about the adults wanting to get together than the kids actually playing together. At some point in teenhood, we saw a division between the boys and girls. Yesterday, the boys circled around their friends in the pool or on the basketball court and the girls sat around the adults listening and chatting about not coming home on the weekends when they go away to college. To them, time goes too slowly as they wait to embark on their own adventures.

Yet K talks about how important the neighborhood family has been to her growing up. Sometimes Deb still mentions how she met K, this cute, little three-year-old with curly blonde hair, on our first Frontier Street Halloween when M walked K around the block trick-or-treating. Deb has been like a mom to her, someone to talk to and gain a different perspective from me. Deb is the kind of person everybody loves. She hosts most of the parties and always welcomes anybody who stops by. I’ve always envied her ease with people and wish I had that informal friendliness trait without worrying so much what other people think. I don’t host very many gatherings because of my own insecurities about whether or not people will have fun at my house. I often wonder if I am becoming shyer, the older I get.

In May, M & I "group-hosted" the graduation block party for four neighborhood girls who decided the only way to have a party in the neighborhood was to have it together. K still talks about how she loved the party because everybody gathered on the street in front of our houses. After the official block party ended, the movable fire pits came out; hot dogs were grilled, and most of the neighbors sat around talking until a cop drove by at 10 pm and asked us to move the party into a yard. For K it was the perfect way to celebrate graduation. She didn’t end up going to any of the other parties that evening because she was doing just want she wanted – listening and talking with the adults who have loved her and supported her for the past 15 of her 18 years.

Overnight in Jackson

2008-07-03T15:14:00.007-06:00

For one overnighter in June we flew to Jackson Hole to see the Grand Tetons and drive north to Old Faithful in Yellowstone. As I walked down the steps of the propeller plane at the airport I stared at the tall, angled peaks of snow covered mountains… like sharp shards of white frosted gray steel in the background with Lake Jackson at their base. Wow – was I impressed! Having lived most of my life near the Rocky Mountains, I was surprised to find the Tetons even more spectacular with their jagged points.

It was dinner time so off we drove into town to find our destination before dark. Thanks to M’s pre-trip Internet search, he had printed a map to the local Snake River Brewery where I would recommend their Hoback Hefe with a pulled pork sandwich or pesto pizza. It is off the main route and not something we would have seen as passing-through tourists. It was a busy place with a separate dining section for “families” in front of the kitchen where we could see the brick oven used to bake their pizzas. Yum, I’d love to fly back just for dinner!

I wasn’t prepared for the expensive lodging… our hotel was clean so I am grateful, but I was disappointed that I can stay in some nice “beach” areas for less expense. While I know businesses can increase their pricing based on seasonal demand, I feel bad for the families who can’t afford trips because of the price of hotels. Is it really that necessary to double the price of a hotel in the summer? On the flip side, I suppose that tourist pricing makes up for the lack in-between months. So while D and I settled in to our hotel room, M drove 30 minutes to the Idaho state line so that he could say he has now been in Idaho (only three states to go before he can say he has been in every state). We would have gone with him, but we didn't believe him when he said it was just right over the pass. When I heard the word "pass," I envisioned miles and miles of uphill driving. Oops... so I guess I'm saying Idaho for another stop.

We woke up early (M’s request) to drive two hours to Yellowstone and beat some of the traffic. M was excited because he had been wanting to drive to Yellowstone for the past sixteen years of our relationship. Did you know that Yellowstone was the first designated national park in the country? The last time I was in Yellowstone, I was almost one. My parents drove up and decided not to stay long with a one-year-old on the car trip. :)

Obviously, I don’t remember my first trip, so here I was again at 9:30 am on a Tuesday morning checking out the geysers in Yellowstone. We walked around a circular wooden boardwalk of several differently named small geysers waiting for the next cycle. We laughed as elk walked through the bubbling mud without any hesitancy even though spectators watched from just a few feet away. The second burst of Old Faithful came at around 11:30 am. The eruptions usually occur approximately every 90 minutes but on this particular clear blue morning, Old Faithful teased and taunted us making the growing crowd wait. Old Faithful's water blasts up between 106 – 185 feet for up to 5 minutes according to Wikipedia.

I didn’t fall asleep in the car like I usually do on “car trips.” I focused on staying awake so I could spend time talking with M since the whole point of our one-day wonder trip was to reconnect. Even though I had a trillion things to do at home, I knew I needed to spend time with M & D. Before we left, D said, “Mom, half of my body wants to go and the other half wants to stay home.” D knew K was staying home because of her own responsibilities with Civil Air Patrol so he was tempted to stay home with her so he could play video games endlessly without supervision.

“Nah, D. You have to come with us. We want you to have this experience.” In the end, D seemed glad he came and it was a good trial run for when K is at college this year. After our drive to Yellowstone, we returned to Jackson Hole and walked around the town. I felt like I was back in Estes Park – shops, crowds, shops, and more crowds. Then, we ate dinner at the Snake River Brewery before we had to catch our flight home. We sat outside this time on the wooden deck where I could see the ski slope and imagine what it was like to be in Jackson Hole in the winter.

A group of people sat down at the picnic table behind us and started talking about a professional development class they had just sat through that day.

I didn't turn around to see the man, but I could hear him clearly say, “Gosh, that guy was really boring. Those professors don’t know what it is like in the classroom. When was the last time you had a professional development class that really made a difference in your classroom?”

I hissed to M, “We’re not all like that.”

I bit into my pesto pizza resisting the urge to turn around and tell this guy what I thought of his statement knowing how hard I work to make my lessons applicable. I know there were times as a teacher when I didn’t think the university professors did understand my middle school world, but I resented the blanket statement.

“Gosh, we’re not even respected by teachers anymore,” I frowned totally baffled by this feeling of never quite being enough. When we got up to leave, I just looked at the man and shrugged. But I made a point in my brain to really, really make sure my next presentation could be linked back to school: http://caslworkshops.pbwiki.com/Blogs+and+Nings which in hindsight, I think it was based on attendee feedback at the CASL pre-conference for the Technology in Education Conference 2008 in Copper Mountain, CO.

A Tossed Salad of Experience

2008-05-01T18:39:00.010-06:00

Four months have passed since I last wrote in my blog and spring arrived like a tossed salad of experiences. Over spring break our family (along with Grammy & PopPop) went on our first Caribbean cruise to celebrate K’s acceptance into a Boston university; D participated in the school musical and track; our friends’ son was born; another friend was diagnosed with cancer; and I sat out of life with a respiratory virus for three weeks. I even missed hosting my friend’s baby shower which left me full of disappointment and despair. I so wanted to be a part of the big event. Can anybody relate to that feeling of despair when you know there is nothing you can do and that you just have to wait it out? Each day I waited to feel better as I canceled meeting after meeting; I waited to stop coughing and to get my voice back. I felt like my body had abruptly shut down without warning and decided I had worked too much for too long. I felt like it was expected that I keep going, but I couldn't. Even if folks didn't understand, I had no choice but to just rest and give myself time.

May greets us with anticipation. Anticipation of the summer to come… the last days of school… the first days of warm sunshine… another Boulder Bolder… weekend opportunities for cook-outs and evenings out back under the porch’s white twinkle lights. In 24 days K graduates and D becomes an 8th grader.

Cartoon Novel
Tonight D came bounding in with the book from his Thursday lunch-time book club, Diary of a Wimpy Kid: A novel in Cartoons by Jeff Kinney (2007) and said, “Mom, I’m really in to this book. I can’t put it down.” M confirmed that he had read the whole way home.

I thought about how wonderful these words sounded in my love-of reading ears. It makes sense as well that he likes this book that is written in a handwritten typeset with pictures on each page. This is okay, you know. We shouldn't be so critical of cartoons. There is purpose behind pulling a child into a book of interest.

At dinner, D continued, “The main character, Greg, likes to play video games, just like me, Mom. I could relate to him. And his dad is always telling him to go out and play sports.”
We laugh and I think, "Wow -- D is talking about a book at the dinner table." I make a mental note to email his librarian and thank her for finding D this book. I catch my own regret that I have not taken the time to find more books that D would be interested in.

D continues, "Tomorrow I get to go out to lunch with Mrs. O because I kept my eyes up during the play. We are going for Chinese." He is so matter-of-fact; so sure of his performance in the musical.

Playing Catch
And yesterday when I called to say I was on my way home from work, D announced over the phone, “I’m just waiting for Dad to play catch with me.” M tried for years to get D to play catch with him, and now it is happening. I think about how everyday I get quizzed on a baseball player or a baseball team.

Rules
Last month I was listening to an audio book titled Rules – a Newbury Honor book by Cynthia Lord (2006), a story told from the perspective of a 12-year-old sister whose brother has Autism. I keep telling K that she should read this book because she might as well have written it when she was younger. I also keep telling her that she will miss D when she is gone next year. She says, she knows. I know it isn't always easy for her. D will miss K more than he admits even though he keeps asking if he can take over her bedroom once she leaves. D shows his support of his sister’s college choice by watching Red Sox games now and asking about tickets to a baseball game at Fenway Park. I am excited for K and know that she is getting ready to embark on such a great adventure.

So here we are, May. Ready or not…

The Last of Something

2007-12-28T22:21:00.000-07:00

You never know when the last of something will occur. How often do we realize when it is the last moment of something? When M stopped teaching to become a school administrator, he did not know until summer that he had taught his last science lesson. Just as we did not know that last Christmas would be Grandma's last Christmas with us.

I am aware that this is K's last year at home before college. We greet 2008 with the excitement of waiting to see where she will go for college. She will mark off the last days of senior high knowing that graduation brings a beginning for her beyond this town, this home.

Meanwhile, I think about how holidays blend together and we do not think about when the last time is that we do something. What do we choose to remember? What I don't write down, I often forget so I am attempting to keep a "record of everyday life" through my entries in a researcher's notebook.

As Goodall (2003) writes, "Nothing we can know about... ourselves is free from interpretation... [I] write what [I am] attracted to and convinced by. [I] write what [I] have read as meaningful.... The story [I] write will be part of the larger story of who [I am], where [I've] been, what I've read and talked about and argued over, what [I] believe in and value, what [I] feel compelled to name as significant" (p. 87).

Today I found significance in the amount of papers I purged from my basement office. I threw out articles and newspapers clippings that I thought I would read some day, or had read only to forget over time. I have two more large filing crates to go through with papers that cover my whole graduate education span. Even though I haven't looked at many of the papers for over the 4 years, I kept them just in case. The problem is that in keeping them, I did not remember what was there which proved the papers to be worthless in memory. It is still difficult to throw them away just in case I need them. For what I do not know.

This morning we went to the Titanic Exhibit at the Denver Natural History and Science Museum, and I could not help but think about how the families went to dinner that night not knowing how their lives were about to change. Today I learned of families who went back to their rooms and waited for their death; or husbands who could not join their wives in the life boats; as well as the Captain who was planning to retire after that the maiden journey of the Titanic; or the musicians who played until the end to calm the passengers.

I have been reminded repeatedly this month to live each day to the fullest through various movies. My daughter shakes her head as each movie I have watched over the holiday break has entertained the theme of death. I rebutted that I have not consciously rented movies (Evening, Griffin & Phoenix, and A Message in a Bottle) for this reason, but I do take notice of the messages around me. The Titanic seems to be a grand finale this month: Take time for family... take time to live... enjoy the dance just in case it is the last one....

In Memory...

2007-12-21T20:01:00.000-07:00

I was abruptly reminded of what a gift “time” is when Grandma passed away on December 1st after unexpectedly having a stroke the day after Thanksgiving. After a nice Thanksgiving together, we had no idea what the next day would bring. M and I have talked about how glad we are that Thanksgiving was a week early this year. Otherwise, we would not have had such a special last memory with her. Yet, what I remember most about Thanksgiving is how aware of the clock I was....

11:45 am -- we sit in the car waiting for the restaurant to open. Then, over dinner, I watch D and K as they laugh with Grandma. I am at the other end of the table holding my eight-month-old nephew but I am aware of how far away I feel from their conversation.
I think, "I'll talk to her later."
They are having a good time so I don't worry. We don't know it is our last dinner with her.

2:15 pm: We are in the car checking to see how soon before the next movie starts.

2:45: We make it to the movie. Grandma sits next to D. This is our tradition. M falls asleep because it is not a very good movie. (I wish it hadn't been her last movie -- what did she think of it? She never said. I wish now we would have gone to see a different movie, which I did with D on Saturday... not knowing that Grandma was alone in her house alone waiting for someone to find her.) So many thoughts go through my head... all the "what ifs..."

5:15 pm: M takes her to the door, and she hurries in because it is windy, winter dark, and cold. When M comes out to the car, I mention my surprise,"She didn't come to the door."
I watch her through the window walk into the kitchen. Normally when we leave her house, we open the car window and at the count of three, all shout in unison, "Bye, Grandma."

She seems tired.
M said, "I told her not to come out because of the cold."
I think about how we should stay and play cards; talk for awhile, but I am tired too, and we go home.

K calls on Saturday evening to see if Grandma wants to go to church on Sunday morning since M has to work, and I have a work project to finish. On several occasions when M and I are busy, K takes Grandma to church and visits with her over a Taco Bell lunch. Nobody answers so K leaves a message thinking Grandma is just asleep already because gets dark so early in the winter.

On early Sunday morning, son G calls grandma, but thinks she is with us; I am home working on my project. M calls from work at the airport, "Hey, call Grandma in a little bit and see if she answers. If she doesn't answer, call St."

11:45. I call and leave another message before calling St, who only lives about 15 minutes away from her. "Hey, your mom isn't answering. I'll go over, St, if you don't want to, but we've called a few times and think someone should check..."

"No, I'll go over. I called on Friday, but when she didn't answer, I thought she was with you."

12:45 pm. The phone rings. "The ambulance is here. It is real bad. Come to the hospital. Call M." Oh, my. I scramble to find my coat.

"Don't worry mom, Grandma is fine," reassures D.
"Do you want us to come with you, Mom?" asks, K.
"No, stay here; wait and see. Can't do anything right now. Work on your homework. Let me see what is happening. I'll call you."

1:00: I drive to the wrong hospital branch - the new branch which is primarily used for maternity. Then, I drive across town through traffic to the older building; the same one where D was born; he is comforted by this for some reason - in his mind it is some place familiar. I realize that the people in the cars in front of me don't know why I want them to hurry. I rush through the emergency doors. St. stops me before I get to her room. I want to see her, but he has other ideas. Go to her house and get her prescriptions. They need to know what she medications she takes.

1:40: Back in the car trying to think of the best route -- which route has the least number of lights? I realize I haven't seen her yet.

The house is empty. I find her purse next to her chair in the living room with her list of medications in it. The sheets are off the bed. There is a pillow on the living room floor. I notice half a cup of coffee on the counter, a spoon in the sink, and a piece of toast in the toaster. When did this all happen? The back door is locked. A vase is knocked under the window by the living room table. I find out later that St had to break in through the window.

1:45: Rush back to the hospital.... 15 minutes... finally, I see her. She is cold. Wrapped in a bubbled plastic - a type of heated blanket. She mumbles and wants water. St finds the nurse and gives her all the prescriptions. "This is what I found,"he says. No, I want to say, I found them. But I don't say this. I know he is just worried and not thinking about what he is saying.

3:00: M calls. He is on his way from work.

3:30: They move Grandma from emergency to ICU. "You can go home when M gets here. " St says.

"I don't want to go home." Doesn't he get it? She has been my mom too. I am frustrated already by dynamics but say nothing.

Evening. I lose track of the time. I go home to the kids to make them dinner and get them ready for school the next day. We still don't know what will come next.

****

In the end, we had six days to say good-bye. The stroke covered her right hemisphere leaving her with no eye sight in her left eye and no gasp reflex so she can't swallow. On Sunday night, the doctor shares the cat scan results with M and S, "Call your brother and have him come." On Monday morning, I call our church and ask for an "Anoitment of the Sick." I am told that because of the holiday, it will be tomorrow before one of the priests come.

Monday - 1 pm: A visting priest comes by and gives her an "Anointment of the Sick." We explain that her own is coming tomorrow but that she won't mind the extra prayer. For the first time in two days, she clearly and strongly recites the Lord's Prayer. I think, She knows, doesn't she. I've never experienced this before. I should write more down.

7 pm: I am sitting in the waiting room to talk with the kids before they go see her; I don't want D to be scared. He comes in with his chicken nuggets ready to see Grandma. He doesn't know yet.
"D, I have to tell you something. This is really hard, but Grandma is not going to get better."
"Is she going to die?" He stares at me and then, starts to sob as he puts his head into my shoulder. He hasn't cried like this since Great Grandpa G died two and a half years ago.

K, D, and I go in to see Grandma together. He takes her hand and talks to her.
"I love you, Grandma" he says as he holds her hand.
"I love you too." she mumbles.

M picks up G after midnight. All three sons are now there. Everything is going to be okay.
2:40 am. M is home for a few hours of sleep.

Tuesday: D stays home from school and goes with me to the hospital. Later in the afternoon, he explains to his Grammy why he couldn't go to school as they took her dogs for a walk, "I was afraid I would cry in front of the kids."

On Wednesday, November 28th, her 89th birthday, the boys agree to move her to Hospice. They want her comfortable and the hospital can not keep her if we are going to let her go. I leave the hospital mid-afternoon as they prepare to move her. My plan is to pick D up from school, fix them dinner, and bring them back to the Hospice.

The Hospice center is welcoming -- comfortable, real, and warm. I like it there. I decide this is where I come if I have to when the time comes. Time starts to blur together. D leads us in singing, "Happy Birthday" before we leave for the night. We had planned to go to the Rio, her favorite Mexican restaurant, to celebrate her birthday. She loved their margaritas. I cry all the way home. I don't remember exactly what set me off - was it the singing; was it the finality of Hospice?

For the remaining two days, and three nights, she has her three sons by her side and they tell stories about growing up in Indiana which is just what she would have wanted. They talk about how much she loved digging for old bottles. I write the stories down as much as possible. I need to remember the stories. They also talk to her and tell her it is okay to go since the nurse at Hospice explains that sons have to tell their moms it is okay to move on because moms always think her sons need her.

December 1st: 2:30 am - My cell phone beeps as a sign of being completely charged. I roll over, check the clock, and think, I should go back over now. The boys are all sleeping. I should let them sleep. I'm sure they aren't getting much sleep. I don't want to interrupt. M said morning. I have time. I'll drive back over in a little bit.

4 am - the phone rings. I know before I answer. M whispers, "She's gone."
[3:50. Time stopped.]

"Oh, no." I didn't make it. I should have gone when I woke up the first time. "I'll be right over." "D, I'm going over now. Grandma has died. You don't have to go, if you don't want to go." But he comes. K has a swim meet in the morning so I don't wake her, but I hear later that she did hear the phone. Why didn't I just go in and ask her if she wanted to come? Needless to say, she didn't swim well that day.

The lights are blinking yellow down the main north-south road through town. 17 minutes from garage to the door of the Hospice Center. Still warm, but already gone.

5:30 am - I drive D home to get more sleep passing the white van from the funeral home. On Monday we will leave for Indiana.

[to be continued...]

2007-11-15T12:29:00.000-07:00

It has been a month since I’ve written on this Blog. Within the past month, I have finished an article about portraiture and have presented at two conferences on culturally responsive school librarians in the 21st Century as well as about Web. 2.0 technology for school librarians working with “millennial” students.

I've decided to separate my qualitative research, culturally responsive librarians, and personal blog. When we are conducting our research, should we be aware of the different facets of ourselves that we bring to our research, writing, and teaching? We ask questions based exposure and experience, but if my students want to read my notes on qualitative research I don't think they really want to wade through my other entries about my life outside of academia so I've created: http://qualitativeinquiry.edublogs.org/.

We’ll see how things evolve. Meanwhile, on the home front, K has finished her Academy nomination interviews last weekend – so now we wait to see where she will go to college. I have set aside at least an hour each Saturday to spend time with just K away from distractions either over “coffee” or “ice-cream.” I know an hour is not enough time, but it has become our “checking in” time for uninterrupted, conversations between the two of us as we begin her transition to being away from home. I do not want to regret the loss of time when she is away at college next year; I already feel a tug of emotion over lost years while I was working on my doctorate. She has been gracious about that time in our history saying she wouldn't trade what I have taught her about going after her own dreams. We thought I would have more "time" when I finished, but that never happened. Now, K is a senior in high school.

In Unequal Childhoods, Annette Lareau writes about how middle-class children are organized by adult-directed activities and family relationships have to be scheduled in among organized practices. Grandparents were still important to these participants, but they had to be scheduled in among sports, piano practice, etc. I sigh and think about how I have to plan for conversation time with both my daughter and my husband. We schedule dinners together; worked around basketball, swim practice, and evening classes. Otherwise, my family often finds me working at the computer where they will slip in comments in-between sentences until I realize what I am distracted, pull myself away from my work, make eye contact, and focus on what they are saying. It is not that I am uncaring or self-absorbed; it is that my current reality as always about feeling like there is more to do to keep up…

What is Awareness?

2007-09-30T09:09:00.000-06:00

I attended a retreat yesterday at Willow Tree Healing Arts Center where my homeopath, Susan, has expanded her practice to create a healing center. Jennifer, who facilitates sacred circles for women - a place to talk and discuss spirit, facilitated yesterday’s discussion on how stay conscious in an unconscious world. She used the analogy that we often think we are an individual wave racing towards the shore – thoughts like: “Will I be the best?” and “look how special I am” enter each wave’s mind. We think we are the ones in control; we think we are special; unique; and separate from the other waves; when in reality, we are all part of the same ocean. It is the Ocean (the Source/the Spirit) that is really pushing the waves forward towards the shore.

Another simple “thought” is just that – thoughts are like ripples on the surface of a lake. Are we going to hang on to the ripple or are we going to let it pass along changing as it does?

Pain is real but suffering is the illusion. It is a story that the mind makes up. A practice of awareness is to be aware of our thoughts – to be a witness; to watch our thoughts without trying to analyze them or dwell on them. Recognize thoughts as thoughts, not really who you are. You don’t have to do anything about the thoughts, let them come and go just like one practices through meditation. It is in the stillness where we will find peace. For example, if you are angry, acknowledge that you are angry, but let it flow through you. Watch it, but don’t feel like you have to do something about the feeling. The feeling will pass just like a cloud passes through the sky. Sit and bear the feeling without feeling like you have to react to the feeling.

It is the ego – the “little me” that tries to make us always do something. If we just watch it, we will recognize that the feeling passes. It is possible to love someone just as he or she is without getting wrapped up in someone’s problems. The problem becomes a story; but is not the true self. Unconditional love is seeing another’s gifts beyond the human flaws, and even what our ego calls “a flaw” is really just an illusion, a perception of ego. And while it sounds like I am criticizing my ego, it is important to recognize our ego’s voice and how well the ego has served each of us throughout life. One participant mentioned that when she is asking her ego to be quiet, she does so acknowledging the ego like a child whom she loves and doesn’t know any better. The ego is a survivor and the ego’s role is to struggle; to self-protect one’s personality. As a child, each person needs the ego to learn how to survive in the world; but as we grow, the idea is to “re-member” we are all connected – we are all waves in the same ocean.

When I look at the world in this way, it does change my perception. I have to acknowledge that this perception connects me to people that in my current "story," my personality may not even like. Which brings up my final thought, "We are not our stories. We have just become so good at living them, that we forget who we really are."

The Money Tree

2007-09-20T07:27:00.000-06:00

The tree glistens with silver. As D steps closer, he sees quarters, dimes and nickels wedged in the deep grooves of the fifty-year-old cottonwood tree. For the next hour, D uses needle-nosed pliers and a butter knife to pull out the coins that are wedged tightly in the grooves of the bark. As the sun sets, he uses the kitchen flashlight to find the last pieces of silver.

He counts out his treasure with grandma.
“Three dollars and eighty-six cents!” he exclaims.
“Better get those coins now, D, before the squirrels take them,” D’s uncle teases.
“Now, stop that! He’ll believe you,” Grandma interjects. She pats his back, "Don't worry, D, the coins will still be there another day."

Every time Uncle Greg comes to visit Grandma from Indiana, the cottonwood tree in Grandma’s backyard becomes a money tree. When D was six, he planted a dollar in the backyard and waited for money to grow. Every day he would go look at the paper marker in the garden. I tried to explain that money can’t grow on trees. D did not like my truth and refused to believe me. When his uncle heard this story, he just smiled, but on the next visit there was suddenly a money tree in Grandma’s backyard. The tradition has continued every year since.

In my first posting, I mentioned my son’s autism and haven’t said anything since. For now, I wanted to explain that this summer D went through sensory integration therapy at the Sensory Learning Institute near Boulder. It was a decision his father and I made cautiously because of the financial costs, but the results have been priceless!

It has been a month since he finished the intensive therapy, and we continue to see improvements in D's abilities. For example, he now maintains eye contact in conversations with others. He also isn't as frightened by loud noises. This is the boy who cowered, covering his ears on 5th grade field day when the starter gun went off or couldn't enjoy the fireworks because of the booming sounds. Now, there is a chance he will try out for track this spring and we have already talked about enjoying the fireworks at our last Rockies game of the season.

Academically, there are improvements as well. His math teacher emailed me to tell me that last week in math class (his most challenging subject) he raised his hand to answer a "tricky" question. His class assertion was monumental because first, he was taking a chance by raising his hand; and second, when he had the right answer the kids around him wanted his help. I am so happy with these little positive stories along this journey.

It is a life-time journey. The therapy hasn't and won't change everything. I watched last night as D "twittered" his hands back and forth in front of his face while he talking to his uncle excitedly. We all do different things to show our excitement and pure joy. Though as an adult, I ask myself, "When was the last time I expressed joy in such a visual, obvious way?"

D's expression is his own and as a family, we rarely notice it anymore -- which does make it harder to fix, but I question sometimes, if we should even be trying to "fix" this mannerism. I don't want D to feel like he is doing something wrong; something that has to be "fixed." It is a harmless expression of his joy. The hard part for us, as parents, is that other kids do notice his twittering and they ask us or others, "What is wrong with him?"

This question breaks my heart, and I have been known to angrily snap, "There is nothing wrong with him. He is just excited!" Maybe in time, his expression of joy will become more subtle...more mature, but the key point here is that I don't want his joy to diminish so I would rather accept his twittering hands and quit trying to make him stop regardless of what others think. He is happy so let him show us all how simple and delightful happiness can be.

Starting Again

2007-09-15T08:22:00.000-06:00

I created this blog in June, yet I let it sit empty all summer too "shy" to speak after my first bold entry. The usual ego thoughts went through my mind, "What if someone thinks my writing is stupid?"

My other self replies, "Well, then so they will. It isn't about what other people think. This space is about what you think. Folks can choose not to read it if it wastes their time."

Then, I decided that I wanted to write, to voice my thoughts, even if it is only to document my own journey through my inquiry process. I need to be writing about what I am reading, thinking, and learning during the 40th year of my life; my first official year as a tenure-track assistant professor; the last year my daughter is living at home before going away to college; and the first year my son is a teenager.

Inquiry means to "seek truth, information, or knowledge." In qualitative, constructivist inquiry there are multiple truths so as a qualitative writer/researcher, I must state that this is my truth. Two people can go to the same event, or experience, and will have two different versions because of the previous experiences and knowledge s/he brings into the experience.

My disclaimer is that I am just learning... there is so much to read and discover that this space will change and grow as I do.

Saying it out loud...

2007-06-05T19:30:00.000-06:00

My son is high-functioning autistic. There I said it out loud. D was diagnosed at 4 with Sensory Integration Disorder, and then at 7, with Autistic Spectrum Disorder. Our one-day-at-a-time journey began. School has never been easy, but we have encouraged the love of learning each year. Some years work better than others depending on the personalities at work. D entered middle school this year and loved it as much as an autistic boy can. The team aspect worked well for him, and next year he will be taught by two of the same three teachers again. At his middle school, the teachers stay with the students for three years before they continue on to high school.

Summer is usually better because Big D (his nickname because in reality he is small for his age) is on his own schedule. Our pace is slower. He can play games and get away from most of the stress of school. Though, there is still reading, math practice, summer band, and typing to add to his daily activities.

D is outside right now walking in front of our house waiting for someone to come out to play. The street is quiet. None of the children are out on our usually busy neighborhood block. His five year old buddy left today for a month-long vacation so D is a little lost tonight. I watch him walking back and forth fluttering his hands in front of his face as he tells himself a story.

The truth is that nobody wants to play with him. D doesn't know how to be friends with boys his own age. He can play a competitive video game and can play a neighborhood game of baseball, but for the most part, he isn't competitive enough for other boys his age. Nobody thinks to call him. I can count the number of times he has spent the night at a friend's house on one hand. The social gap is getting larger. He fits in less and less each year, even though the kids continue to say nice things about him. They don't tease him; thank goodness. He sits at lunch with a group who talk around him while he sits there and listens. I am so thankful to see how nice and encouraging everybody is to him. Kids always have a "good job, D" comment ready. But on the last day of the year picnic, I cry when I see how alone he is. He sits alone next to me.

On our walk today, he told me that he isn't going to try out for wrestling this next year. We were so proud of him for trying. I've always loved middle school intramural sports because everybody is still allowed to play regardless of skill level. His dad and I were happy that D kept going to practice and to each meet even if he was pinned in less than 30 seconds. He kept trying all season with a big smile on his face. He told me today, "Mom, I stink."
"But hon, all that matters is that you are trying," I remind him.
"I'll try track instead, mom."
"What about basketball?" I ask.
"Yeah. I'll do basketball too because I am good. I made all those baskets last year. Remember, mom?"

Yes, I remember. I remember that he was protected; that the older eighth grade boys let him get a basket in before stealing the ball. I know that life and people are not always that nice. But oh, how I appreciated it. I was so thankful when I saw his smile. He loved being part of the team.

For today the discussion is over. All sports have ended this way. Years of baseball stopped with last summer; soccer stopped at the end of 5th grade. He gave up drawing last year as well; something he loved but at some point he figured out that he wasn't that good. I can still hear his voice say, "I stink, Mom." How does a mom prepare her son for the world? Every day I say, "He is a gift. He will find his way." This is my prayer.