Who would get married on February 29th? My grandparents, Shirley and Lewell did just that in 1916. Their decision, which according to good sources was something neither of them ever considered, allowed them an anniversary celebration only every fourth year. When my grandfather Lewell, died in 1971 they had been married 55 years but shared only 13 "Leap Years" together. Neither was terribly sentimental so I'm guessing this didn't create a big problem for them.
Equally odd to me is that February 29, 1916 fell on a Tuesday. Why Tuesday? Aren't most weddings on Friday or Saturday? Curious. I learned today from Mom and Dad that Shirley and Lewell were married in her home in Lisbon, New York. The wedding guests, family, bride and groom and another couple who stood up with them gathered in the parlor of the house and the ceremony was followed by a dinner prepared by her mother, Allie Keyes. Fern, Shirley's younger sister was the flower girl. The young couple boarded a train to Ogdensburg, New York the same day and spent their wedding night at a hotel in the big(er) town ten miles down the road.
The next day they set out on the journey of a lifetime west to Biggar, Saskatchewan, again by train but this time with their hearts and minds set on the mystery and magic of the open wheat fields of western Canada. Lewell and Shirley's dream was to farm the land. How bold to partner together and leave the known behind for the unknown ahead. During their years out west, Shirley was either by Lewell's side, raising the two sons born in 1917 and 1918, or teaching in the local one room schoolhouse in Biggar. Those early years of marriage challenged the young couple; the environment was often harsh and unpredictable. Certainly there were times when they must have questioned their choices. Nonetheless, they persevered until 1924 when they moved back to northern New York state. Dad still remembers life in Biggar, the horses, the rugged weather, and attending school where his mother taught.
Decades later, my grandmother Shirley wrote her memoirs about those years in Saskatchewan. In the late 1980's, almost 10 years after her death, my Dad took these rough drafts of her work, copied them onto the computer, edited and organized the chapters, and then gifted his family with a most wonderful accounting of those years out west. The memoir entitled "A Prairie Wife's Tale: Recollections of Farming in Saskatchewan 1916-1924" is a treasure. My grandmother had moxie, wit, and knew how to pen a story well. Her words make those eight years pop with the raw, brave energy that fueled their early life together; the partnership that started on a chilly February 29, 92 years ago.
Friday, February 29, 2008
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
U Go Girl
All month I've been logging on to the Danskin Triathlon web site in search of the big announcement. Participation in the Seattle Tri is limited to about 3500 women and each year the event fills quickly, so quickly that this year the registration was open for less than a day. I logged on late evening of the day prior to registration, found the site open, and got my name added to the list. I'm in! And, I'm very excited for another chance to participate in what was a major step in my life towards better mental and physical health.
Last year the event itself was a glorious high, pure excitement, and surreal as I watched hundreds and hundreds of women, all ages and all abilities press on towards the finish line. I underestimated the energy that comes from being in a crowd of other participants and the effect of spectators, cheering us on along the route. Someone once said that 20 percent of the performance on race day (maybe even more) comes from the energy of the moment. Even the blustery rain and chill didn't dampen the enthusiasm (maybe for the fans but not the participants).
But, the training was so tough for me that there were many times I wanted to walk away from it all, defeated. Something pulled me back in and I recognize that this was my inner voice saying "you can do it" even on days when every bone and muscle was hurting and my breath lasted but a block or a lap in the pool. I can expect that again this year; my body is not one that has ever been used to pushing hard. I'm hopeful that the memory of sweet success will count for something as I get back on that bike, slip into the pool, and hit the pavement in earnest.
Dealing with this injured knee of mine is the next step before I can get serious about training. I'm a bit leery of elective surgery but have to tell myself this isn't really elective since without it, I won't be able to participate in the event that woke me up to the athletic side of myself. If all goes as planned, three weeks after the knee surgery I should be out there. I will keep a positive attitude and see myself making tracks in Discovery Park over the loop trail, breathing in rhythm with my feet, moving forward into my dream.
Last year the event itself was a glorious high, pure excitement, and surreal as I watched hundreds and hundreds of women, all ages and all abilities press on towards the finish line. I underestimated the energy that comes from being in a crowd of other participants and the effect of spectators, cheering us on along the route. Someone once said that 20 percent of the performance on race day (maybe even more) comes from the energy of the moment. Even the blustery rain and chill didn't dampen the enthusiasm (maybe for the fans but not the participants).
But, the training was so tough for me that there were many times I wanted to walk away from it all, defeated. Something pulled me back in and I recognize that this was my inner voice saying "you can do it" even on days when every bone and muscle was hurting and my breath lasted but a block or a lap in the pool. I can expect that again this year; my body is not one that has ever been used to pushing hard. I'm hopeful that the memory of sweet success will count for something as I get back on that bike, slip into the pool, and hit the pavement in earnest.
Dealing with this injured knee of mine is the next step before I can get serious about training. I'm a bit leery of elective surgery but have to tell myself this isn't really elective since without it, I won't be able to participate in the event that woke me up to the athletic side of myself. If all goes as planned, three weeks after the knee surgery I should be out there. I will keep a positive attitude and see myself making tracks in Discovery Park over the loop trail, breathing in rhythm with my feet, moving forward into my dream.
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
The Last Book
When I was in high school, I remember hearing Mom and Dad talk about the "last book" my grandfather, Lewell Thompson read before he died. Apparently he wasn't much of a reader but he seemed to soak up Mario Puzo's The Godfather with zeal. He read the book in Aruba during the spring of 1971, in the weeks before he succumbed to cancer. I've always remembered that bit of trivia and especially so last night as I was driving home from book club.
I've joined a new book club and this was my second meeting. It's tough to start in a new group; to discover who is who and who likes what and to try hard to "fit in" with people who already have history and connection one to another. I'm always the quiet one but made myself offer some comments about this book. The selection was Sarah Gruen's Water for Elephants which I read last summer. The plot line is unforgettable but of course, details fade. We had an interesting discussion over dinner and the book was given a good review overall by the group; concluding that Ms. Gruen had written a nicely crafted "light read".
Water for Elephants, will likely be the last book that Mom reads in her lifetime. She rarely manages anything longer than a newspaper article or a short piece in a magazine. I think her poor memory and concentration, not to mention impaired vision keep her from enjoying books anymore. Last summer one of her caregivers loaned her this book and she absolutely raved about it for weeks afterward. She loved the ending so much and cautioned me to be surprised by a "real twist". She was so taken with this book which features circus life in the Great Depression and has rich descriptions of the animals that she had me buy a copy for my brother for his birthday. When I told her yesterday that this was the book club selection, she had to think for a bit but it came back. She remarked, "that was a great one".
And Dad? Well, he was a great reader for many years just like Mom but difficulty with similar issues keeps him from reading books anymore. I believe the last book he read from cover to cover was a gift he received Christmas 2005, Zadie Smith's On Beauty. He gave the book to me to read after he finished and it certainly was all that; "beautiful".
The tears were flowing on my way home from book club as I thought about so called "last books". We all will have one. It felt sad to think that the once glorious book reading days are over for Mom and Dad but I believe this is true. We should all be so lucky to go out on a high note with an excellent last read.
I've joined a new book club and this was my second meeting. It's tough to start in a new group; to discover who is who and who likes what and to try hard to "fit in" with people who already have history and connection one to another. I'm always the quiet one but made myself offer some comments about this book. The selection was Sarah Gruen's Water for Elephants which I read last summer. The plot line is unforgettable but of course, details fade. We had an interesting discussion over dinner and the book was given a good review overall by the group; concluding that Ms. Gruen had written a nicely crafted "light read".
Water for Elephants, will likely be the last book that Mom reads in her lifetime. She rarely manages anything longer than a newspaper article or a short piece in a magazine. I think her poor memory and concentration, not to mention impaired vision keep her from enjoying books anymore. Last summer one of her caregivers loaned her this book and she absolutely raved about it for weeks afterward. She loved the ending so much and cautioned me to be surprised by a "real twist". She was so taken with this book which features circus life in the Great Depression and has rich descriptions of the animals that she had me buy a copy for my brother for his birthday. When I told her yesterday that this was the book club selection, she had to think for a bit but it came back. She remarked, "that was a great one".
And Dad? Well, he was a great reader for many years just like Mom but difficulty with similar issues keeps him from reading books anymore. I believe the last book he read from cover to cover was a gift he received Christmas 2005, Zadie Smith's On Beauty. He gave the book to me to read after he finished and it certainly was all that; "beautiful".
The tears were flowing on my way home from book club as I thought about so called "last books". We all will have one. It felt sad to think that the once glorious book reading days are over for Mom and Dad but I believe this is true. We should all be so lucky to go out on a high note with an excellent last read.
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Tea Leaves
Mom used to be a great reader of tea leaves, back in the day when actual tea leaves were brewed in a teapot. Invariably there were tea leaves that coated the bottom and sides of the teacup after we were finished. Mom would get a sparkle in her eye, pick up my cup and tell me what she saw. This happened several times on our trips to Europe when I was in high school and perhaps even in Aruba; I don't remember her ever "reading my tea leaves" after this.
She once told me that she saw a young man in the leaves, a young man with a mustache and glasses and that he was to be someone important in my life.
As it turned out, most of the important men in my life have had a mustache; was it just the style of the day back in the seventies? But, only one had both a mustache and glasses. And, although he wore contacts most of the time, he did put on those glasses too. Turns out I married that young man.
Did Mom have a vision of my future?
She once told me that she saw a young man in the leaves, a young man with a mustache and glasses and that he was to be someone important in my life.
As it turned out, most of the important men in my life have had a mustache; was it just the style of the day back in the seventies? But, only one had both a mustache and glasses. And, although he wore contacts most of the time, he did put on those glasses too. Turns out I married that young man.
Did Mom have a vision of my future?
Saturday, February 23, 2008
Saturday Afternoon
This afternoon offered up the chance to experience the full range of emotions from anger, frustration, and sadness through neutral and on to joy, gratitude, and wonder. I spent about four hours with Mom and Dad today; an outing to Magnolia for Mom's hair appointment with Trina and Dad's trip to the barber coupled with lunch out at Taco Time, and other errands/to-do's around the home front of Merrill Gardens.
I wanted to start this piece with titles varying from "It's OK, Kate", "Forgetting the Hairnet", or "Work Is Never Finished" but decided instead that a simple "Saturday Afternoon" would be best. There is nothing really surprising about this block of time; predictable in it's unpredictability but in some senses striking for the wealth of individual moments; some really good and some so awful, I wanted to run off into the wild blue screaming and cursing.
Pick up time was to be 12:30 PM for the hair appointments; I arrived on the dot. Parking was challenging as usual. Mom and Dad were to have eaten lunch and I thought maybe they would be waiting in the lobby for me. Dad was there but Mom was upstairs, using the phone to call me. Turns out they had not eaten lunch; service was slow in the dining room, they got frustrated and abandoned that plan to sit in the lobby to wait for me. In all this confusion, the pick up time was apparently lost, was it 11:30 or 12:00? Certainly not 12:30 which was verbally confirmed and visually confirmed on the wall board in the apartment. Running smack into this scene made my every synapse zing with adrenaline; what could I have done to clarify this issue and to avoid the chronic occurrence of poor timing and miscommunication? Why does it keep happening again and again? I fled the scene to get the car all the while cursing and ranting at the fates but pulling myself together in the 3 minutes required to get parked at the front door.
I loaded walkers into the back end of the car, got them seated and belted in and we were on our way to Magnolia. A gorgeous day, 55 degrees and crystal clear, the snow capped Olympics lit up by the early afternoon sun like diamonds, the bare trees still in winter's mode despite the unseasonable weather. Twice I was able to park right in front of the barbershop and help Dad into and out of the shop (this is like praying for an open parking space on a busy Saturday afternoon and have it appear both times). And just as delightful was the lack of the typical long cue of people waiting for a spot in one of three chairs; we generally avoid Saturdays for this reason. But people must have been drawn to be outside instead of inside and I was able to leave Dad in the able hands of the Vietnamese ladies who run the shop. They always fawn over him as a respected elder and he seems to enjoy his time there.
Then, on to Trina'a shop a mile down the road where another perfect parking place awaited me right in front of the salon. A customer leaving asked if I need help and as I assisted Mom up the 3 steps, she carried the walker from the sidewalk into the salon for me. Very, very nice. The appointment was a success; quick, easy, and Mom looked great. Back in the car with Trina's able help in getting us back down the steps and then off to pick up Dad at the barbershop. He looked great too, all dapper and trimmed up. He was smiling. He rarely does that these days and I love to see it.
Recall that neither had had lunch because of miscommunication and agitation about the time of the pickup coupled with slow service in the MG dining room. Dad suggested Ivar's and Mom suggested Taco Time; we settled on the latter. This is the moment when I really wished my camera had been on me; there they sat in "their" booth at Taco Time eating their crisp bean burrito meals with mexi-fries and coke. This is where I often found them many a Sunday afternoon as they stopped of for a bite to eat after church. I would drive by on my way home from on-call work, spot the Jetta in the Taco Time lot, and pull in just so I could sit there with them and eat a mexi-fry or two. This was a touching moment to sit with them again, in the same booth and enjoy the same food. Why is it that we all love sameness? This time it felt very different even in its sameness; the passage of time has changed us all, all except Taco Time.
When we left the restaurant, a man eating at a table close by offered "an extra pair of hands". He could see I was struggling with my purse, a coke, the leftover fries, and some small tubs of hot sauce plus Mom and Dad with walkers and a journey ahead to the car. I didn't need his help but was pleased that someone noticed and wanted to be of service. I thanked him. The second person to offer help in one day struck me. People can be very thoughtful.
Back at MG, I had to park along the curb as all places were taken in the lot and several cars were parked in the open area dropping off others with walkers and the like. The challenge here was the uneven ground of grass, potholes, and soft earth between car and sidewalk. Walkers don't move well on terrain like this but we persevered.
Back at the apartment there were things to do; mail to open, bills to pay, clean-up and preparation of a shopping list. No paper products this time but edibles, including candy. I think the caregivers must eat a lot of this sweet stuff; the bags and bags of Hershey's kisses, mini chocolate bars, mint patties that get eaten every week is phenomenal (even for a chocolate lover). I can't imagine Mom is eating all of that. Dad has some but he's into beer, cashews and chocolate Ensure more than candy.
Out I went to Bartell's and Metropolitan Market. Eighty-five dollars later I arrived back with the loot and put it all away, delighting Mom with the array of candy, including the cheap as dirt Valentine's Heart Box of Russell Stover's chocolates. I felt really good about where I was; the pink tulips in a vase on top of the TV, the incredible light and warmth in the apartment and a sense that my work was coming to a close. Mom lay back in her new power lift recliner looking relaxed. Dad sat with a can of Heineken sipping from a blue straw. "All is well", I breathed in quietly.
As I gathered my things to leave, Mom says to me, "You didn't happen to see any grey hairnets while you were at Bartells, did you?" Speechless. Me. She had asked me to look for those hairnets; they must have been on her mind since she'd been at Trina's and wanted to preserve the nice hairdo overnight. I had told her I would get them for her. And I didn't because I forgot; they never made it to my list.
I let it go. I took a deep breath in and said, "I'm sorry, Mom. I completely forgot". She said, "That's ok, I can use what I have here."
Lessons learned:
1. There will always be something in the "in box".
2. Ordering in bulk will never cure the endless need for things (like hairnets)
3. The most stressful situations carry threads of beauty and tenderness.
4. I will never (ever) use a hairnet.
I wanted to start this piece with titles varying from "It's OK, Kate", "Forgetting the Hairnet", or "Work Is Never Finished" but decided instead that a simple "Saturday Afternoon" would be best. There is nothing really surprising about this block of time; predictable in it's unpredictability but in some senses striking for the wealth of individual moments; some really good and some so awful, I wanted to run off into the wild blue screaming and cursing.
Pick up time was to be 12:30 PM for the hair appointments; I arrived on the dot. Parking was challenging as usual. Mom and Dad were to have eaten lunch and I thought maybe they would be waiting in the lobby for me. Dad was there but Mom was upstairs, using the phone to call me. Turns out they had not eaten lunch; service was slow in the dining room, they got frustrated and abandoned that plan to sit in the lobby to wait for me. In all this confusion, the pick up time was apparently lost, was it 11:30 or 12:00? Certainly not 12:30 which was verbally confirmed and visually confirmed on the wall board in the apartment. Running smack into this scene made my every synapse zing with adrenaline; what could I have done to clarify this issue and to avoid the chronic occurrence of poor timing and miscommunication? Why does it keep happening again and again? I fled the scene to get the car all the while cursing and ranting at the fates but pulling myself together in the 3 minutes required to get parked at the front door.
I loaded walkers into the back end of the car, got them seated and belted in and we were on our way to Magnolia. A gorgeous day, 55 degrees and crystal clear, the snow capped Olympics lit up by the early afternoon sun like diamonds, the bare trees still in winter's mode despite the unseasonable weather. Twice I was able to park right in front of the barbershop and help Dad into and out of the shop (this is like praying for an open parking space on a busy Saturday afternoon and have it appear both times). And just as delightful was the lack of the typical long cue of people waiting for a spot in one of three chairs; we generally avoid Saturdays for this reason. But people must have been drawn to be outside instead of inside and I was able to leave Dad in the able hands of the Vietnamese ladies who run the shop. They always fawn over him as a respected elder and he seems to enjoy his time there.
Then, on to Trina'a shop a mile down the road where another perfect parking place awaited me right in front of the salon. A customer leaving asked if I need help and as I assisted Mom up the 3 steps, she carried the walker from the sidewalk into the salon for me. Very, very nice. The appointment was a success; quick, easy, and Mom looked great. Back in the car with Trina's able help in getting us back down the steps and then off to pick up Dad at the barbershop. He looked great too, all dapper and trimmed up. He was smiling. He rarely does that these days and I love to see it.
Recall that neither had had lunch because of miscommunication and agitation about the time of the pickup coupled with slow service in the MG dining room. Dad suggested Ivar's and Mom suggested Taco Time; we settled on the latter. This is the moment when I really wished my camera had been on me; there they sat in "their" booth at Taco Time eating their crisp bean burrito meals with mexi-fries and coke. This is where I often found them many a Sunday afternoon as they stopped of for a bite to eat after church. I would drive by on my way home from on-call work, spot the Jetta in the Taco Time lot, and pull in just so I could sit there with them and eat a mexi-fry or two. This was a touching moment to sit with them again, in the same booth and enjoy the same food. Why is it that we all love sameness? This time it felt very different even in its sameness; the passage of time has changed us all, all except Taco Time.
When we left the restaurant, a man eating at a table close by offered "an extra pair of hands". He could see I was struggling with my purse, a coke, the leftover fries, and some small tubs of hot sauce plus Mom and Dad with walkers and a journey ahead to the car. I didn't need his help but was pleased that someone noticed and wanted to be of service. I thanked him. The second person to offer help in one day struck me. People can be very thoughtful.
Back at MG, I had to park along the curb as all places were taken in the lot and several cars were parked in the open area dropping off others with walkers and the like. The challenge here was the uneven ground of grass, potholes, and soft earth between car and sidewalk. Walkers don't move well on terrain like this but we persevered.
Back at the apartment there were things to do; mail to open, bills to pay, clean-up and preparation of a shopping list. No paper products this time but edibles, including candy. I think the caregivers must eat a lot of this sweet stuff; the bags and bags of Hershey's kisses, mini chocolate bars, mint patties that get eaten every week is phenomenal (even for a chocolate lover). I can't imagine Mom is eating all of that. Dad has some but he's into beer, cashews and chocolate Ensure more than candy.
Out I went to Bartell's and Metropolitan Market. Eighty-five dollars later I arrived back with the loot and put it all away, delighting Mom with the array of candy, including the cheap as dirt Valentine's Heart Box of Russell Stover's chocolates. I felt really good about where I was; the pink tulips in a vase on top of the TV, the incredible light and warmth in the apartment and a sense that my work was coming to a close. Mom lay back in her new power lift recliner looking relaxed. Dad sat with a can of Heineken sipping from a blue straw. "All is well", I breathed in quietly.
As I gathered my things to leave, Mom says to me, "You didn't happen to see any grey hairnets while you were at Bartells, did you?" Speechless. Me. She had asked me to look for those hairnets; they must have been on her mind since she'd been at Trina's and wanted to preserve the nice hairdo overnight. I had told her I would get them for her. And I didn't because I forgot; they never made it to my list.
I let it go. I took a deep breath in and said, "I'm sorry, Mom. I completely forgot". She said, "That's ok, I can use what I have here."
Lessons learned:
1. There will always be something in the "in box".
2. Ordering in bulk will never cure the endless need for things (like hairnets)
3. The most stressful situations carry threads of beauty and tenderness.
4. I will never (ever) use a hairnet.
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Shopping List
Need to buy (aka all out of....)
Toilet paper
Kleenex
Ensure chocolate drinks
Milk
Folger's coffee (individual bags)
Beer (no bottles, only cans)
Why do I bristle when I get this call?
Why are there so many paper products? No matter how many I purchase, they never last more than a week. I try so hard to stay "ahead of the wave" but it never seems to work. There is always something needed.
Always.
I should not complain but I do. It helps me cope.
Toilet paper
Kleenex
Ensure chocolate drinks
Milk
Folger's coffee (individual bags)
Beer (no bottles, only cans)
Why do I bristle when I get this call?
Why are there so many paper products? No matter how many I purchase, they never last more than a week. I try so hard to stay "ahead of the wave" but it never seems to work. There is always something needed.
Always.
I should not complain but I do. It helps me cope.
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