Category Archives: family

a long tribute to my sweet girl.

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About a million years ago, I walked into the shelter, looking for a chocolate Lab.  We had seen Chet on their website, and thought, well…it’s time.  Actually, my thoughts were to get dogs to save my failing, faltering marriage.  This is not a good plan, by the way.  He left the following February.

We saw Chet jumping, and I told the boys, just let me go look around.  I saw Princess in the back of her kennel.  I asked the girl to let me see this dog.  She opened the gate, and Princess walked over to me, and immediately sat at my feet.  Her eyes begged “Rescue Me”, and she was so sweet and docile, and well…she loved me.  We heard that she had come to the shelter pregnant, and all puppies were euthanized.  The last family that had her had a lot of noisy children, and Princess hid behind their couch, so the family brought her back, and in bringing her back, gave me the biggest gift of all.

This picture is the first night we brought her home in the Spring of 2006.  As I sit here typing, I remember that first night.  She didn’t come in, but sat outside my bedroom door with her head up looking around the yard.  Every time I woke, there she was, surveying her new surroundings.She sat there a lot.

We soon realized that the pink ribbon wasn’t really her.  In fact, she quickly became the dominant dog, and I pictured her name being Ginger or something.  Cigar in paw, glass of wine, ordering people around.

She has neuroses.  The first Fourth of July, I left the dogs home, and when I had come home, the screens were off of my window, and she had taken down my glass to get herself into the house.  She hated wind and weather, climbing into the smallest space by my desk.  She has chewed off door jambs, gotten out of the tiniest places, and literally has been in jail at least 8 times.  There was time I tried to set up one of those electric fence thingys and just as I was teaching her this, she looked at me with the collar on, and jumped right over the fence.  That was a short lived experiment, but I was desperate.  In any case, this $35 shelter dog cost me somewhere in the neighborhood of $1000.  At least.  Even after she is gone, I’m still paying the umpteenth ticket on time.

The last few years, the Police would call my cell, and say…We have Princess.  Who can come and get her.  She simply needed to run free.  Her issues were fireworks, loud noises and cameras.  I have had the iPhone text on silent for so long, because she simply would leave the room in a panic.  This is a dog who did not respond well when the ex husband and I argued.  Still today, loud voices scared her.  Reluctantly at times, I would get in my car and drive down to the shelter to get her AGAIN.  I would be mad at her.  Frustrated.  Get her in the car, to the vet, to the dog groomer.  Again and again.  I stopped trusting that she would stay.  I accepted she was a runner.

Last month, she was diagnosed with an ugly rectal cancer that was starting to invade her pelvis.  Our doctor told us she had about a month.  Well, today it was a month.  The boys told me she couldn’t poop on the walks, and I had been watching her daily.  She still barked at the mailman, the pool man, anyone who came to my door.  Today, she was barking like crazy at someone…This dog howled at fire trucks and in the end, could barely get out a weak growl.

But.  We didn’t want her to suffer.  The tumor was getting bigger, and I knew it was only a matter of time.  The boys and I discussed it last night, and decided that today was the day.  We were to take her to the vet and assess the tumor.  The vet said it was a matter of time, that there was the alternative of stool softeners, etc.  However, I knew my children, my lovely young men who had spent hours walking these dogs, could not take more of saying goodbye.  We had decided as a family that this was the right thing to do.  That we simply did not want her to hurt.  Not one more day.  The inevitable was here.

She was not happy.  Agitated.  I laid on her blanket.  The one where she would take her last breath.  We were all petting her and telling her we loved her.  The shot was quick.  Her eyes simply closed.  We kissed and hugged her and told her we loved her…again and again.  I can’t tell you that that 10 seconds was quick.  It was forever and fast at the same time.

And then she was gone.

In the last days, she let Chet lay with her, and this was unheard of.  He walked around and around, and laid under the table all day…he knew.  He comes by my chair all day today, after she left…his buddy gone.

We talked a lot today how we rescued her from the shelter.  But it was the other way around.  She would go put her head on the boys’ beds and give them comfort when I had no more words for what was happening to their world.  She would lay by my feet while I cried buckets of tears.  She loved her morning walks, and sat by the window precisely at 3:15pm when the bus would deliver her charges from school.  In the morning, she would help me go from door to door getting up the sleepy teenagers, but at night.  At night, she was on her spot right by my bed.

We knew she needed to run away.  Perhaps she needed to know that we would never take her back to the shelter…maybe she tested the waters to see if I would come back for her.  And I always did.   Because that’s how I love.

She saved me.  And I will miss her for a long time.

grandpa eddy

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The story of a little girl.

Coming home with her new album.

Simon & Garfunkle’s

Bridge Over Troubled Water.

I race in and can’t wait to put in on the turntable.

My Grandpa is on the couch. Sick.

So. Very. Sick.

It’s 1970. He has Multiple Myeloma.

Not much longer to live.

But. What do I know?

I’m just excited about this record.

I put it on the player, and the familiar piano chords come out.

My mother, not knowing what this is.

Because we just got out of the 60s.

She comes racing in to tell me not to play it.

It’s too loud!

Grandpa is sick.

He says, “Dee Dee, let her play it.”

And this is the part when I start weeping.

Every time I tell the story.

Because Sail On Silver Girl.

I can see him now. Closed eyes.

Listening to this beautiful music.

It was the last summer he was alive.

And because of his diagnosis, he didn’t see me

graduate high school, college,

He wasn’t at my wedding,

and he never saw my sons.

When I accidentally signed up with TNT the

Summer of 2009, I had no idea

how important this cause would become to me.

I needed a plan. A training plan. I already had a bib.

So, I raised money. I trained.

And. The morning of my first NIKE marathon

The loudspeaker says “Multiple Myeloma”

and my mother looks at me and says,

“That’s what Grandpa had”

His name. Written on my arm.

And now, 4 marathons later,

I run in SLO with his name again.

I am so close. The total at top

does not reflect what I really need.

What I really need.

Is for every little silver girl

To have her Grandpa.

As long as she can and maybe for a lifetime.

If you want to donate to the cause, click here

(This is a post on my fundraising page.  To date, I have raised $2069.80,

and have to raise $2375.  Only $305 to go, if in case you want to help.)

tough times to raise a buck.

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As I go to press with this post that has been looming in my psyche for days, I hear the muffled sighs and rolling of eyes.  Or, maybe that’s me.

Most of my friends and family know that I’m fundraising for the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society.  It’s all over this blog.  I started fundraising accidentally in 2009, and also accidentally found out that my Grandfather also died from a blood cancer.  Thus, my new love for TNT.

It was easier in 2009.  I was fresh.  Fundraising was fun.

Last fall, I definitely wanted to run the Nike Women’s (Half) Marathon for that Tiffany, and didn’t get the lottery draw, so I joined TNT again.  One heel injury, and vertigo spells later, I had to bow out, with $800 to the good.  I definitely wanted to finish what I started for SF, and found out that San Luis Obispo was also a TNT race.  WOW.  Rollover complete!

This is not a lottery race.  It’s fairly cheap, and I could buy my way in.  I don’t have to continue to raise the money.  At $2550, I think of how much MORE I have to raise to run with the team.

It’s tough times.  I am in a forever non-foreclosing house, making near poverty level, hanging on to rickety pickets on my fence, propping up my back fence with 2 by 4s, broken bits and pieces of the house held together with duct tape.  Seriously.  Why would I take on fundraising in times like this?  Why not just pay for the marathon, and be done with it.

Because.

Because I know that kids who have leukemia have a 97% chance of living now.  From the FACTS brochure: (my words…and my stellar chart-reading skills)

  • If you had Myeloma in 1960, you had a 12% survival rate.  Now?  41%
  • A kid with Hodgkins?  In 1960, 40% chance…now…86%
  • Every 4 minutes someone in the US is diagnosed with a blood cancer.  By the time it took me to run my 5 miles today, 14 people were diagnosed.  Every FOUR MINUTES.
  • Myeloma rarely occurs in people under 45.
  • LLS has awarded $814 MILLION in research grants.  MILLION.  That’s a lotta zeroes, people.

So.  I have $900 more to raise.  I have a football pool.  I am trying not to bug you.  It’s a bitch to raise money in these times.  People don’t want to see me coming.  I usually think, why would I want to do this?  I HATE asking people for money.

Then, I think about my Grandpa.  How I was the first born grand-daughter of the Bon Bon Ice Cream Machine inventor.  How, when I was in 6th grade, and he was so sick, and I had my new Simon & Garfunkle album, my mother rushed in to tell me not to play the Rock and Roll.  And.  He said.  ”Dee Dee, let her play that song…”  He loved Bridge over Troubled Water.  I am the Silver Girl, and I think of him every day.  I like to think that every time I hear it, he’s in heaven, smiling.

Chances are, he never would have seen my sons.  But.  He might have seen me graduate from college, or be the first one in our family to get a Master of Science degree.  He might have been at my wedding.  Or my other wedding.

So.  I raise money in his memory.

Please don’t think I’m playing on your sympathy.  I hate that mushy shit.  However, if it moves you to donate…even $5, then that’s awesome.  I often get hit up for fundraising.  I take my little check and let it roll into a $10 donation.  I’m embarrassed that I can’t give more, but I can’t.

So.  Go to the raffle on the top of the blog, and let your money play a game.  $1000 will be donated to TNT, and the LLS.  I will do the same for you, if you only ask.

 

Open Letter To My Teenagers.

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Christmas, 1999

Dear Sons,

It’s that time again.  You are both awesome.  Yes, I could be more creative in my description, but honestly, I love you both to pieces.  Articulate and bright, funny and friendly.  So many adjectives could describe you.  But.  Because I’m your Mom, you know I love everything about you, even if it drives me nuts at times.  That’s what this letter is about.

  1. Table Manners: These are not optional.  Okay, sometimes when we are rushing around going to Scouts or sports, you can put your elbows on the table…But mostly…Elbows off the table, napkins in lap, no smacking, take a breath, have a conversation.  Ask to have the food passed.  Salt and Pepper are married:  they’re passed together.
  2. Wearing Hats:  Hats are intended to keep your head warm.  If you are at the table, they come off.  Every time.  Not sideways, or backwards.  Oh, and while you’re at it, couldja get all your hats together in one place?
  3. Your Video Stuff:  This morning, I stepped on XBox headsets as I sleepily made my way across the den with a cup of coffee…the only real time I have to sit and collect my thoughts before I start my day.  Sorry if it broke, but not really, because have I asked you to move that stuff?  Yes.  Oh, and I know you’ve worn me down with Modern Warfare.  I seriously hope and pray you don’t become snipers in real life.
  4. Homework:  I know you have it. If you are in Middle School, you certainly have Math and English every night.  I know, because I taught it.  When you do your homework, use the desks that I have provided for you…not your bed, with the TV, iPod and Facebook open on your laptops.  Seriously, your teachers will thank you.
  5. Texting, Facebook, Internet in General:  You may not have cussing or sexual references on your Facebook.  Sorry.  If someone posts something like that, it’s your responsibility to remove it.  Oh, and tell me about it, so some parent doesn’t look sideways at me because I’m the 8% of the divorce rate in our town, and assumes that I’m not raising you correctly.  PS.  Do not EVER pretend to be someone else.  It surely will get back to me, and you’ll be losing said machines.
  6. Punishments, Consequences:  I decide those.  They are not open for negotiation.  I taketh away, and I give back.  Not you.  Also, if you lose your phone, iPod, etc., due to consequences, you will be given an additional chore to do.  It’s the way I roll.
  7. We’re all in this together:  I love you.  You are my world.  I pay the bills, I let you live in the house. I cook for you, I teach you everything I think you need to know.  I’m sorry I’m a single Mom, and don’t have that family structure you used to have.  But, you know what else we don’t have?  We don’t fight and yell.  We have family meetings.  We are not afraid, for the most part.
  8. Support:  You will attend your brother’s awards ceremonies.  You will show up for the championships, and you will clap and support him.  Your job is to be a family member.  I want you to know that you won’t always have each other…that someday your loves and jobs and kids and careers will become the focus.  Meanwhile, suck it up and wear the school colors for your brother.
I love you.  You exceed every expectation that I ever had when I thought about having children.  You’re no longer babies, but you still need parenting.
And.  That’s just what I’m going to keep doing.
Love, Mom

 

Soul Tacos.

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The original Taco Bell design.

Image via Wikipedia

“I’m going to write a blog post about my Mother’s tacos,” I announce to my Mom today.

“What? What’s that you said?” 

“Nothing Mom.  Nothing.”

“No.  I want to know what you said.”

I get up to go and get the laptop because this year at Thanksgiving, I realize I’ve written about running my hometown year after year.  This morning, she says, “I think we will have tacos tonight.” And, my food memory started to percolate.  The tacos of my mother’s.  There is a story.

In the 70′s, there was a Taco Bell across the street from our church.  And in that Taco Bell was a menu.  There were weird things like frijoles, burritos, enchiladas.  And, right next to them were the pronunciations:  (free-ho-les, boo-rhee-toes, en-chee-la-das).  We really didn’t know what Mexican food was.  We grew up in the San Fernando Valley, and while the Hispanic population is now very prolific, we just didn’t know any Mexican people.  There were Jews and Mormons and us.  And, that’s about it.

So, the Mexican food restaurants were few and far between, and we never heard of these meals.  There certainly weren’t things like “Meal D2″ that my son yells into the Taco Bell speakers now.  Mexican food was an oddity.

My parents had neighbors Jane and Clarence.  Jane used to fix tacos for her husband in the 60′s, and one night, they fixed them for my mother.  She showed my Mom how to do the taco shells.  The trick, my mother says, is to fold them over in time in the grease.  You must know the exact moment when they will be done, yet not too crispy.  You must have beef, cheese, tomato, onion, lettuce…and a gazillion types of hot sauce.  The weird thing is, as easy as it seems, no one can ever make them like she does.

We even went on a Girl Scout camping trip where my Mom made tacos.  My Dad got an award, that said WOW EIGHT TACOS!  Yeah, the award was shaped like a taco. 

We have rituals about our tacos.  Everything is laid out on the stove in order.  My dad makes one taco.  Eats it.  Rinses and dries his plate before getting another one.  He explains, you must have a clean plate for the next taco.  There are no spoons in the fixings bowls.  You must pick everything up with your fingers.  We don’t have forks.  It’s the way we do it.  My mom has one, then makes a salad out of the rest of the stuff.  They have a beer before the tacos, then wine.  And always, ice water for everyone.

Every Friday for as many years as I can remember, my Mother has made tacos.  Nothing fancy.  No beans.  No salad.  No rice.  No fancy salsas.  Just tacos.  And, as much as the streets and the runs and the schools are all a part of me…these tacos…are the Friday nights of my life.

As I finish with my blog post, I tell my mother “I just wrote a blog post about your tacos.”  She replies:  “Who would want to read about that?”  And in this moment, I realize that the non-special-ness of my mother’s food is what makes it so spectacular.  The regularity.  The comfort. 

The fact that they’re hers.

5 Miles, 2 Weddings & A Funeral

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the day starts off with a 5 mile udder run, in which I get

4th place in my age group.

see steve, an old dear friend, taught with him ’02.  he’s fast, man.

wedding of local girl, who is married in the church where I was married: 

skip this part

reception, check.  quick drive to airport.

redeye to virginia.  beautiful way to start the day. (from airplane seat)

and i look out and wonder

why now?

my uncle’s visitation & funeral.

watching my cousin play swahnee river…on the organ for her daddy.

watching her brother hold in his tears.  seeing him made me melt.

met all their *other* cousins.  we thought we were the only ones.

this sign on a restroom door.  one question: why?

going to a softball game of a cousin.  playing in the red mud.

realizing that you should be taking time to be doing this all the time.

not just when someone dies.

because your family is all you have, really.

learning about this town, this humidity…running, walking.

talking, laughing, giggling like we were girls again.

she wakes me up reading me a story.  my cousin’s granddaughter. 

beautiful, loving child.

watching my cousin parent her…waking her up with giggles & waffles.

she reads me a story when i wake up.  she puts a bell by my bed.  Just in case.

i go to an aa meeting.

atlantic fleet. navy.  I go for one reason, and get a different benefit.

people who want to stay sober.  again, wasn’t about me.

I sit on the porch with her neighbors.

night after night.  breeze through the trees.  taking time.

making time when there is no time.

and we try to fix the problems of the neighbors, of my uncle’s wife.

and realize, if it isn’t happening NOW, it’s not happening.

so, we sit, and talk, and laugh.

and she says hey, you know who would be perfect for her?

and again, we are all school girls, and they tell me about this guy.

…and i think nothing more of it. and i smile because really.

my cousin has to go back.  he and his sister.  on the porch.  my favorite people.

in the world.

and, I finally finally finally let go of a man who has been telling me half truths.

for three months.

and i’m happy to let him go…one less bell to answer.

and she graduates from 1st to 2nd grade.

her teacher is a first year, tight lemon faced teacher

who forgets that she is most DEFINITELY a member of the step up club

and she didn’t get mentioned, so I do it here.

my favorite picture.  the love. give me a hug.

and we walk. and we talk. and we sweat. and we figure out the family,

and the reasons for our moms’ lives

and we put together the puzzle pieces and we share

our sides of the family secrets

and realize we’ve not done this since we were 10 years old

spend a whole week together

and it was just like that. being little. listening to music

playing rummy in which she puts down a card for discard

takes it back.

thus the score. and she writes ME and YOU just like when we were girls.

 with the same handwriting i saw 100 times

a close game.  of five points.  that i could have won.

lightning bugs

virginia beach and lunch on the sidewalk and realizing that there is no way

we could have done this.

but for the beautiful gift of a friend from Twitter.

2 cousins on the beach

bridging the miles and 40 years and montana and marriages and coming back

to my very favorite cousin. ever.

and her beautiful daughter and husband

going to the corpsman ball

the man who wore his dress navy uniform to her grandfather’s funeral

and she looks so happy. and i give her a load of grief

that i couldn’t do on monday

but by wednesday, my place in this family is secure,

and i can be that aunt that you avoid.

but she’s happy. and i’m happy. and she is beautiful.

and these cats. who really really i’ve grown attached to by the end of the week.

and the hamster that runs on his wheel the last night

because sweet neighbor gal removes the wheel every night

except the last one.

and i meet the man, who on paper i have no connection to

but then i see him and like him and he is a gentleman

and i’m not sure what to do about that.

and i text him like a teenager, and he texts me back and we have dinner

and walk on the beach… feet in the ocean.

and i like him. naturally.

geography.

but this week is not about him. it’s about my cousin.

it’s about meeting her again. and liking her the same way i did as a kid.

except now i can teach her about 30 minutes of exercise, water, fruits & veggies

and please unplug your blowdryer

and i write her a letter the last day that i’m there.  i’m up at 5am

and i am only hearing one song over and over in my head.

and i am crying because i don’t want to leave her.

she got a do-over with her dad, with her granddaughter

and with me.

and i go across the street before we drive away, and i am crying

and the cats wrap themselves around my legs.

and i am thankful.

and i look at the beach at norfolk, at the endless possibilities.

and i become the mayor of the golf course,

the chesapeake bay, the atlantic ocean

and i have to leave.

i play this song that had wrapped itself around my brain all morning.

because it’s the story of my love for this cousin.

how do you thank someone who has taken from you from crayons to perfume?

i have no idea.

but the universe cracked open for this one.

and i say thank you.

]

*note: i tried to get to the second wedding. plane landed too late.

and life goes on…

Uncle Benny

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I had this uncle.  A long time ago.  He was married to my Mom’s sister, and is the father of my two cousins.  These two cousins were my only two cousins who lived in California, and my Mom was close with her sister, so we saw them frequently.  Ever summer at Bass Lake, as much holiday as we could stand.  And we wrote letters the old fashioned way. And we colored in coloring books.  And we fooled around.  And smoked cigarettes.  A lot.

Uncle Benny was married to my Aunt Pat sometime in the 50′s, and they were married until sometime in the 60s.  The dates are hazy, because I was a 10 year old you see.  I remember the day that my Mom and Dad sat us on the piano bench, and told us that Aunt Pat and Uncle Benny were getting a divorce.  I didn’t even know what a divorce was, but I knew that it meant they wouldn’t be together any more.  And, I remember feeling nothing about it really.  But, I remember in the years that followed, he always said to me, “I’m your Uncle Benny.  For always.”  That even though they divorced he still considered me his niece.

Uncle Benny died yesterday. At 80 years old.  My cousin moved back to Virginia to be near him, and they forged a wonderful relationship, which goes to prove that you can have a crap relationship with your parent, but in the end…you get to re-do it and change it and make it into something new…with forgiveness and love.

I was sad when I heard the news.  I am currently trying to get back there to be with my cousin.  This is the older cousin who gave me my first drink, who taught me about all things 60s.  Who I watched drop acid on Christmas, who told me there was no Santa Claus.  I loved her to death, and wanted to be her.  She was the coolest, and still is.  And I would walk to the ends of the earth for her…And, she’s a grownup now.  With grandchildren…having just barely survived the 60s.  Barely. 

So, here’s what I remember about Uncle Benny.  Duro-Dyne shirts.  Virginia.  Red headed.  Boxer.  But, the real deal is this.  The man let us eat chocolate ice cream…right out of the box (box? we had tubs)…for dinner.  Now, whatever you do for a kid, this lives on in infamy.  That’s my biggest and best memory.  Because when I was 10, it was about doing something I couldn’t do on home territory.

I know there is more to a man’s life than this, but I hope when he gets to the gates that there is chocolate ice cream for Uncle Benny…and he can know that however small it may seem, that this gesture told me it was okay… once in a while…to do what you want…to break the rules.

Peace & love,

Your niece, Linda

Left its seeds while I was sleeping*

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Morning Glories open themselves up to the world, in the morning,
in all of their glory, hence the name Morning Glory.
And if you look closely at them, you will see how extraordinary
they are both in colour and texture and that in their centre is
a kind of golden light that shines from within.

But here is the hard part…
At the end of the day, they turn a most beautiful shade of lavender,
and then close up, wither and die. They live for only one day
and then they are gone.

(from The Lesson of the Morning Glory, by Veronica Hay)

This may mean nothing to anyone else but me.  This is my house.  This looks like trash in front of my house.  I assure you, it’s not.  Just when I think I’m ready to start again, or move on or whatever people say you should do, something else in my house breaks…or something reminds me of my past life…and while most people by now have made big changes, I seem stuck in mourning yet another part of my previous existence.  Today was one of those days.

A few weeks ago, my fence blew down during that big storm, and with it, the very vine you are looking at.  Twelve ago, we put up morning glory on an 8 foot piece of lattice, all the way around our pool area.  We put in 3 vines.  Within a year, the whole fence and yard was covered in morning glory.  The vine went everywhere…into neighbors’ yards, over fences.  I could see the morning glory three houses down.

Last week when it fell down, and the dogs went out of the yard, and the pool was a mess and the cement was a nightmare, I could not deal with this morning glory.  I finally got someone to come and take down the lattice, and the morning glory with it.  In the winter, it looks like this…always…but in the summer, it is glorious.

So I came up to my house last night, and saw the pile in front of my house, and because I tend to look at everything in terms of endings, I immediately fell sorrow.  Because this is the protection my yard has from the outside world, from the neighbors’ eyes, from noises everywhere.

Again with the maudlin review of everything in my house, but the death of this plant surely must signify something.  We planted it before there were children.  Before we thought we could.  Three plants, took over.  I swam in front of the moon and the plant, and cried and laughed.  I gave my kids countless popsicles, pondered my life in love with someone else, crying out in the black night for God or whoever is running the universe to hear me.  The Purple Hood, shielding me and giving me comfort and anonymity.

And now.

Now, my fence stands naked and broken.  Propped up with some metal stakes, 2 feet shorter, blonded wood that I haven’t seen for a long time.  Just one side of it. 

So, there must be some sort of requiem for the Morning Glory.  To anyone else, it looks like refuse that the city will pick up in a few days.  To me, it’s yet another piece of the history of my family, and oh.  If it could talk…

*Lyric from Sounds of Silence

10 Miles & Cousin Jimmy

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Date: 7/25/2009 7:00 AM
Type: Easy
Course: Mr. T’s 10 mile loop
Distance: 10 miles
Duration: 2:02:17
Pace: 12:14 / mile
Shoe: Mizuno Alchemy Lime
Weight: 181 lb
Statistics: Calories: 1369
VO2 Max: 25.2

The main thing I have to say about this run, is that it was a strong, good run.  Only stopped one unscheduled time, 9 miles in.  I like how I finished strong, and for me, this time is completely acceptable.

I have one beef:  There is a mentor who treats the runners like children.  She came by me in the beginning with her wagging finger that I should not be wearing headphones.  I ignored her.  Later, as I looked up, she was running double on a street, and crossing (!) against the lights!  As I came in, she says in her oh-so-sarcastic-passive-aggressive way, “Look, there’s Linda, my inspiration with the head phones…” and on and on.  Trying to make a joke of it.  I ignored her.

Cousin Jimmy:

My mom’s last remaining relative in her generation died today.  He was 90 years old.  A great OB/GYN and a physician at the Huntington Memorial Hospital in Pasadena,  in his prime.  He always made me laugh.  Was so warm and loving, and loved my mother dearly.

On her 6th birthday, on December 7, 1941, her  party was cancelled, because all her male relatives had to go to war.  Jimmy was in the Army at Fort Ord in Monterey…He and a friend were spending the weekend visiting my Mom’s family in Selma. (You may remember the story of the hobos, here.) He was awakened from a nap by My Grandfather , telling him, “Jim, you have to go now, and report to Fort Ord.  The Japanese have bombed Pearl Harbor.”   My cousin was reported to say, “Where the hell is Pearl Harbor??”

I remember him as smiling, cracking jokes, always kind, a warm home.  His youngest son Kim has cerebral palsy, and he and his wife Jerrie cared for him their whole life, until very recently.  Their home always seemed to have an American Flag, and it’s decor was immaculate and beautiful. 

He died today, leaving my Mom as the oldest in her family.  I guess the reason he is so special, is that my Mom always turned to him when she had things on her mind.   He helped her when my grandmother was dying.  They were very close, and she loved him immensely.  He leaves behind his wife, and three sons.  I bought flowers.  We will lift our glasses to him tonight.  Hug the ones you’re with.  This life is not a dress rehearsal.

Pearl_Harbor_Flag

Getting it Done…

by
Date: 7/16/2009 6:00 AM
Type: Easy
Course: To Sophia’s House
Distance: 5.23 miles
Duration: 1:01:02
Pace: 11:41 / mile
Shoe: Mizuno Alchemy Lime
Weight: 181 lb
Statistics: Calories: 716
VO2 Max: 25.4

Today, Kim had strep throat, so I had to go out by myself.  I started at 6…took forever to get going…At Mile 2, I stopped, but then I just started pounding the pavement.  Mile 4 was over the Fulton Overpass, and it’s a LONG decline, so I didn’t want to stop there.  I just kept running.

I kept running right to Sophia’s door. We had Week 4, Day 2 of Couch to 5K to complete today.  She came outside, and we started our walk.  Today she had to run 3-5-3-5 with breaks in between.  She was barely moving, and I had to run around behind her to get her going.  On the first 5 minute run, she started crying.  Her arches hurt, her incision from surgery hurt.  I just kept saying…keep running.  She had a tough 3…then on the last 5, I knew she wouldn’t do it.  I held her hand, and we ran 3 minutes of it together.  She stopped crying. 

I was excited for her.  Fist bumps, hugging.  She has now puked AND cried…which in my mind, makes her a runner.  I tricked her, and didn’t loop, so I made her walk ALL the way home.  She texted me when she got in.

The boys and I had breakfast in the spa, they swam, I read my magazine, we watered the plants and played with the dogs.  At this writing, I’m waiting to secure a bib for the Wine Country Half Marathon this morning.  I talked with CharlieBob about the training if I do it this weekend.  I asked him about my walk breaks, and his response was that I need to do them, and BRISKLY walk through, so I can finish strong.  At the end of our conversation, he says “You’re going to shatter that PR this weekend”…I hope I can go!!  I will be looking around for a Half anyway, because I’m in race mindset.

Life is good.

PS-Princess is home, and fine!!  Thanks for the support!