Some Wonderful Experiences Never Change

Don't you love to find an example of a wonderful dining experience that can be re-lived over and over again? No big changes over time, same friendly and efficient staff, great grub diner style, and the same fabulous view out the large windows.....this would be the Bay Cafe at Fisherman's Terminal in Seattle. We've been 'eating heavy' at this dockside restaurant featuring amazing omelets and other breakfast fare since first moving to the city some 20 years ago.

The only things that have changed in this time are the inevitable; we've gotten older (sigh) and the prices have gone up. I remember many an outing with two young kids in tow for a bust-your-gut breakfast, sitting in a booth looking out on the fishing boats docked just yards away. We still frequent the place, as empty nesters (like today) and with our grown kids. Son Chris takes his bride there regularly even though they live many miles to the south.

Today Denny and I split the California omelet as is our pattern. We rarely order anything else. This is a feast for two; how could one person eat all of this we wonder?  Good thing the staff is accustomed to bringing an extra plate to the table.  We're stuffed and will be just fine until dinner.

Waxing Fall Leaves

I've been collecting fall leaves of different shapes and colors for the last weeks and pressing them beneath a heavy book to keep them from curling up on the edges. Several days ago, I got them out, turned on the stove burner under a pot of paraffin and "waxed" them, a technique I learned from my Mom and she in turn from her mother.

Every November Mom would gather autumn leaves in Discovery Park and wax them for me. I'd use them to decorate the Thanksgiving table. Several years ago, I asked her to teach me. We took an outing to the military cemetery in the park, a site for amazingly large, yellow maple leaves. Then she taught me how to dip them. Properly.

Waxing leaves is quite easy. What's hard is resisting the temptation to get the wax too hot. Mom cautioned against this but mostly from the standpoint of risk..."a real fire hazard", she warned. What I learned is that wax that's a bit too hot burns the leaves; they lose their original color and crinkle up on the edges. Oh well, they still look pretty good and I'll use them this Thanksgiving.

pre-wax

post-wax

 Happy (early) Thanksgiving. My favorite holiday to be sure.

Wanna Know What's Dumb?

Check for 10 (stinkin') cents

Dad received a refund check recently; overpayment on a medical bill. The postage was 44 cents. The cover letter indicated that he had overpaid his account and a refund was due. Hey, that's nice, I thought.

Sigh.  Ten measly cents. What's the point? Makes me wonder if he had overpaid by one cent if he'd get a check back for that too. What is the cut-off?  I guess there isn't one even when postage is 4 plus times the amount.

The Feather Showed Up

When it happened, I was surprised. I stopped what I was doing and said, out loud..."Is that you, Mom?" I wasn't sure; this was not the drama I had hoped for. Somehow I had envisioned walking out my front door into a snowstorm of white feathers. This would be my sign, my message from the beyond sent by Mom saying, "Yes, my darling, I've arrived safely and am doing fine."

This is the actual feather....

Just after noon today, a month to the day of her death, while swiping the dust mop underneath the large sectional sofa in our family room, out popped this feather amidst the dust bunnies. How weird is that? Why would a crow's feather find its way under our couch?

I wanted to deny the significance of this substantial black feather found inside my house. Placing it on the window sill, I rationalized that I'd think about this "find" later. Later.

When Denny saw the feather tonight, he asked about the circumstances and was blown away by my recitation. His confidence in the significance of this find, four weeks to the day after her death and considering that we've never found a feather in our house before, made me weep. Again.

She loved crows and ravens; their savvy ways, their persistence and keen eye. Always watching, ever vigilant. Few people find crows anything more than a nuisance. Not Mom.

This feather is jet black and large. No question that it comes from a crow.

I think I received my message. Thanks Mom.

A Month Ago...

My Mom died on October 12. Even though this is November 9, it's exactly 4 weeks ago today. In a year, I'll use the October 12th date as the one year anniversary but for each month that passes between now and then, I'll always remember the moment by the day of the week. Tuesday.

I'm doing quite well overall. For that admission of well being, I'll give myself a pat on the back. People say the loss of a parent is a big deal and especially the loss of one's mother. Although I grieved for several years before she died, losing her in phases and stages, slowly and relentlessly with her mental and physical deterioration, now I know for "certain sure" I can't pick up the phone and hear her voice, or visit and hold her hand, or wrap my arms around her and feel her warmth against me.

Where is she?
Why do I keep asking?
These are issues I obviously need to move through to find peaceful resolution to questions that (likely) have no answers.

I don't like the word Faith. Maybe it's because I seemingly have none.

I want so much to feel her presence and sometimes I can convince myself that I do.....but, if she's with me she's subtle, like a barely heard whisper, a gentle sensation vaguely perceptible. All potentially tricks of the mind.

I have not seen a single feather since she died, not a single one. That in itself is a bit odd. The skies are swarming with Canada geese, crows, gulls, and sparrows. I hear them calling and cawing.

Yesterday I sorted through her jewelry; organizing the small boxes and plastic cases that she'd  used to store  her necklaces, pins, and earrings. Everything now fits into the 1960's style train case that she used for so many years to hold not only jewelry but odd bits and pieces of her life. I found a pencil, un-sharpened, her name engraved into the wood with a piece of paper wrapped around it, secured with a rubber band. A teacher had given it to her in the 4th grade she wrote. There were also several notes tucked into various boxes with a description of the item and who had given it to her. Many were from my brother when he was a young boy. She had saved his gifts, treasured them dearly.

Sitting on the floor of my bedroom, organizing the items in that train case was emotional. For a while, the wall of tears kept me from seeing much of anything but I pushed ahead and the tears dried up. Did I feel her close by? I wish I could say yes.

Maybe I'm just not opening my heart or my ears to listen.

It's so quiet. I miss you Mom.

24 Hours in Vancouver, B.C.

Denny and I drove up to Vancouver, B.C. yesterday and less than 24 hours later, it's time to head home to  Seattle. This was a quick trip; we could have stayed longer but that's not how we planned the mini-outing. Denny had a "Lawyer's Conference" to attend yesterday afternoon and this morning. I came along for the change of scene.

Vancouver is a great city worthy of more than a few hours look-see. We've passed through several times to pick up a cruise ship to Alaska but we've never stayed in a hotel, walked the downtown, or had a meal on the town. Last night we ate at Kirin, a Mandarin style Chinese restaurant. Fabulous. As Caucasians, we were in the minority; that's got to be good. Yesterday afternoon while Denny attended conferences, I walked the streets, checked out the shops and picked up a few things.....like chocolate bars and other candy/goodies that aren't available in the U.S. I'm in love with Crunchie Bars and Maple Leaf cookies.

The weather has been cloudy and rainy, breezy and cool. Lots of fall leaves, many trees entirely bare with blowing leaves everywhere. As the sun was setting in the late afternoon, there was a stunning rainbow lighting up the western sky. Here's what I saw from the hotel window.

 

Vancouver; I'll be back. I'll be back.

The One Left Behind

My Mom has been gone now for just over three weeks. The memorial service a memory, her personal effects removed from the bedroom, the death certificate official, the cremation completed, necessary paperwork that accompanies a death well underway.

I've been watching my Dad carefully through this process, keeping him updated and helping him settle into his new space (Mom's former room). I've visited regularly and called frequently. Dad has shown incredible strength. I know he's hurting inside, often lonely, struggling to accept what may seem like a bad dream that will eventually end but never changes, day after day. He is definitely the one left behind. Despite his seeming acceptance of what is, he will occasionally come out with a remark or two that leaves me speechless.

Many evenings, right around 7 PM, he'll call me on the phone. He's taken over Mom's role, "just checking in" or "just calling to hear your voice". I find this interesting since Dad always left the phone communication to Mom.  Our conversations are brief, to the point and without a lot of fanfare. He's a man of few words but each one counts. No fluff. It feels odd to hear the phone ring and to see his caller I.D. come up."Hi, Dad", I say.

Tonight he gave me the Exxon stock quote and explained he'd been studying the framed picture I gave him earlier this week of his five great grandchildren. "I'm working on naming them all correctly," he told me. He went on to say, "I get pretty lonely. The others here [at the adult family home] are used to being alone but I lost her: [Mom] BOOM ! just like that. I'm having a rough time with it."  I don't doubt it one bit, Dad. You and Mom, together for seven decades and then, it's all over and she's gone. How does he begin to wrap his mind around this new state of normal?

I suppose it's good that he verbalizes his grief. I've tried to be open with mine in his presence. We comfort each other. Just to sit in each others company feels good. I watch him look at Mom's picture. The 8 x 10 sits just to the left of his easy chair. 


"She was so beautiful in those days before she died", he told me earlier this week.

Yes, she was.

I feel so badly for the man left behind, the love of his life gone. Gone where? I wonder if he wonders like I do. We haven't talked about that question yet but we may get to it yet.