Family Memory

Family Memory. It’s a thing.

I’ve been thinking about how the history of this family is dying; it’s getting lost. My father and mother are gone. My three older brothers are gone and just a few weeks ago, my older sister left us. That leaves three of us. I’m the oldest of the three of us that are left.

While that brings a lot of thoughts, fears, and anxiety to the forefront, that’s not all I’ve been thinking about. Actually, even before my sister passed, I had been thinking that the family history is being lost. There are few people to tell the stories. Few remember. I used to be able to call my mom and ask her when I was thinking of things and needed or wanted to know something about the past and she’d tell me. In fact, the last time I saw her, we talked and talked. I asked some of those questions. At that time, I didn’t know it would be my last time seeing her. She was actually visiting me which in itself was rare. I had major surgery and she flew up here to be here for my surgery and stay to try to help me as I recovered. It was a big surgery that actually turned out much better than we anticipated so the recovery consisted of rest and just laying around watching TV and reading, and because Mom was here, we talked a lot. That was a good thing. After she died in 2020, I would sometimes call Sylvia and ask her if she remembered certain things and what she remembered because although she was only one year older than me, I figured she might either have those memories or perhaps my mom had told her over the years as Sylvia lived with my mom. Now they are both gone and there have already been times in the past three weeks when I have thought of calling Sylvia to ask her about a specific time or person until I remember that she’s gone. If I don’t remember things, no one in the family will know them. And if I don’t know them, I guess they are lost.

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The Old Ball Game

Some of you know that I am a fan of the Los Angeles Dodgers and that this year, for the second consecutive year, they made it to the World Series. And yes, for the second consecutive year, they lost. Some of you may think that isn’t smile worthy but it is indeed the topic of my Weekly Smile.

Why would I smile about such a great loss? It was A record setting game, the longest post-season game at seven hours and twenty minutes and eighteen innings! It was a well fought game by both teams. As soon as one team got ahead, the other would tie! The two teams went through a combined eighteen pitchers! To say that the players showed stamina would be an understatement! Ultimately, the Dodgers did win! Yay Dodgers! It was the only game they won, unfortunately!And so I smile when I think about it!

What made you smile this week? Tell us about it! Take A look at the above link and join in this week’s smile!

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I Remember

I remember writing out valentine cards to take to school. That was in the days when they didn’t say you had to take a valentine for everyone in the class. Because there were so many of us kids (7), my mom bought a package for each one of us even though we needed ore than one package if we were going to give to everyone in the class. So we had to choose. My mom would go through the list with us and ask at each name “Is this one your friend?” or “Do you want to give one to this one?” That was  difficult because I mostly wanted to send a card to everyone. I knew what it felt like to sit at your desk and wonder if you would get any cards. There were some kids that didn’t get very many, like Esmeralda who no one played with because she was born with a black spot on the side of her face. I knew who those kids were so I made sure that they got one from me and I always wondered if I would get very many.

I remember  in high school, selling carnations as a fundraiser for California Scholarship Federation (CSF). The carnations were pre-ordered and pre-paid then delivered to recipients during class on Valentine’s Day. They cost one dollar. Of course all of the cheer leaders and other cheer squad girls walked around with lots of carnations that they had gotten. My sister, her friends, and me would pool our money and send them to each other to make sure we each got at least one flower on Valentine’s Day.

In college, during my sophomore year, I met the man I would marry. On a trip from Stanford to Los Angeles to meet his sister, his car was having a lot of trouble. It was leaking oil and we had to keep stopping. It took us about nine hours to get there instead of the six it should have taken. On one of the stops, in the tiny town of Atascadero, we had to get more oil so he parked the car and got out while I waited. When he came back to the car, he had the oil and before popping open the hood to put the oil in, he handed me a little bag with a chocolate covered marshmallow shaped like a heart. It was Valentine’s Day and he hadn’t mentioned it so I though he had forgotten all about it. But he hadn’t. He had bought me a candy at the auto parts store. That was the only valentine I ever got from him in fifteen years of marriage!

 

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PBR

I enjoy beer. I don’t get to drink it much anymore because it can interfere with my medicines and because I don’t have expendable cash.

The other day, when it got cold enough and wet enough to wear a coat, I found a twenty dollar bill in my coat pocket. Score!

While there are a lot of things I could have spent it on,  I was on  my way to the grocery  store and while there, I spotted my bargain beer. It’s not super popular, although after I first discovered it about a year ago I found out that it is the go to beer of college students because of the price and the not so bad taste. Rolling Rock is priced at $8.99 for an eighteen pack. So I spent half of my twenty on Rolling Rock. It will last a long time. My daughter bought me an eighteen pack last year and it lasted me four months.

Tonight, I decided to have a can and as I sipped on it,  it occurred to me that my dad must have felt the same about his go to beer as I feel about Rolling Rock. His was PBR. Pabst Blue Ribbon. It’s cheap and is not bad. My dad had seven kids and was the only bread winner. So he needed cheap beer. It was usually PBR but at times, when he needed even cheaper beer, it was Brown Derby.

So tonight, as I enjoy one can of Rolling Rock,  I’ll toast my dad and I will be thankful that Rolling Rock isn’t too bad.

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Tuesday–Game Day!

Today is the first game in the World Series! My daughter and I will be watching from her home. We’ve prepared for the event with Dodger Dogs (very long hot dogs), sodas, pretzels, beer, and It’s It (a delicious ice cream cookie confection). We no longer have our Dodger t-shirts but we’ll be cheering them on anyway!

Before the game starts, I’m explaining the simple workings of the game to Anderson. I found a seven minute video on youtube that does a pretty good job of the basics so he’ll know what is going on!

In any case, I’ll be thinking about the old days in Los Angeles and the life I left behind when I left there in 2004. Memories. Lots of them.

Crossing fingers. Sending my Dodgers good mojo. And if you are a Houston fan, I hope you have a great time watching the game. As long as it’s a good, clean game, it should be fun!

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Let It Go; Forget It

The first time was after I was assaulted and held at knife point by a couple of teen thugs. My pants were ripped and the buttons torn off of my shirt. I was mauled. I was scared to death. When it was all over, I knew I was okay but the fright and the panic lasted for days and weeks and months. I tried to get past it. I tried. I really did. But it would come rushing back at me at the most unexpected moment. And instead of holding me or comforting me, I was told to forget it.

Then there were the missed miscarriages. Each time I was devastated. Each time I was broken inside. Each time I was barely hanging on for the sake of my other children. Months later, it was better but it would come flooding back and drag me down. Again, I was told to forget it, let it go. It wasn’t easy but I tried.

I really tried. Now I wonder if I had been allowed to grieve and cry and express my outrage and devastation, would I be better now? Or would these memories come flooding over me forty and twenty-eight years later? I know the memories would still come back but I think I might be better. I guess I won’t ever know.

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Giraffes

Somehow, I got wind of a live feed on Facebook last night…a mama giraffe about to give birth to her calf. I love giraffes and so I clicked on it and spent the better part of the last fourteen hours watching and waiting with thousands of people around the world.

The first time I noticed giraffes was in my twenties. My sister-in-law was visiting for a few weeks in the summer. I took her to the zoo and we spent most of the day there, taking our time watching the animals. When we tired, we went to the snack bar and got hot dogs and sodas and sat down to enjoy them. The area where we were sitting overlooked the giraffe exhibit. We sat and talked then took note of the majestic animals so close to us. They are so graceful and so unique.  From that day forward, giraffes became my favorite animal. Later, when my son was a toddler, we took him to the zoo on a hot summer day in Los Angeles. However, I had recently had knee surgery so I couldn’t do much walking. I would follow them to one area, hobbling along on my crutches then I would “park” myself on a bench and watch the world go by as my son got to explore the other animals in the area with his dad and auntie. When we got near the giraffes, I parked myself in front of the giraffe area and watched them. Again, I was smitten.

When I have taken trips to Winston’s Wildlife Safari, my favorite part is the giraffe area. They walk across the road, blocking cars for ten to fifteen minutes at a time. They get so close to cars that one could reach out the window and touch them. I love that they block the road because it gives me a great excuse to sit there and watch. When my son and I went to Australia, one of the highlights for me was getting to feed the giraffes carrots! We got to do a behind the scenes early morning visit before the Toronga Zoo (in Sydney) opened. Then we were allowed to enter the keeper area to watch them up close and personal. Wow! I was in heaven!

So that’s how I am spending the rest of the day, popping in and out of the live feed to try to catch the birth. I’m on baby watch!

At Wildlife Safari in Winston, Oregon

Tony and giraffes.

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That Girl

There’s a song that was featured in the opening ceremonies of the 2016 Olympics that has a special place in my heart. It’s the classic bossa nova tune, The Girl From Ipanema. While I have loved that song since the first time I heard it in the 60’s, I didn’t know much of the background. I just knew I loved it. When I was a senior in high school, I competed in the Junior Miss Pageant in my home town of San Jose, California. When we entered the auditorium from the back, we sauntered down the aisle to the front of the auditorium and up the stairs to take the stage and we did so to The Girl From Ipanema and so it became even more special to me.

It has been on my mind since the other night, the night it was featured in the opening ceremonies. Today, I decided to write about it and went hunting for the lyrics and instead found some background info on the song. I discovered that it inspired by an actual girl, only 17 at the time the song was written. Quoting Wikipedia, “She would sometimes enter the bar to buy cigarettes for her mother and leave to the sound of wolf-whistles.  In the winter of 1962, the composers saw the girl pass by the bar. Since the song became popular, she has become a celebrity.” The “she” is Helô Pinheiro who is now 71 years old. As I watched a video of her talking about how excited she was that the song was in the opening ceremony, I was somewhat angered because, even at 71 Pinheiro is a beauty. She could have easily been the one that sauntered across the stage while the song played, instead of the young model. In fact, she should have been the one. Instead, she was not even invited to the event. I guess they felt she was too old. That’s unfortunate because it’s another slap in the face of women all over the world who are discarded once they reach a certain age.I guess Americans are not the only ones that do that.

Read the wikipedia article. It’s very interesting. And watch the video for yourself and see if you don’t agree with me that she should have been the one to strut across that stage the other night.

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Spooky Vibes

The other day, while reading this blog post, I was reminded of a similarly creepy instance with my daughter some years ago.

I was taking my three kids on a tour of my alma mater. They were enjoying the tour and seeing the places they had heard about. As we approached Memorial Church, I told them about the mosaics both outside and inside of the church and about the beautiful organ inside. My son and youngest daughter entered the building but my middle child, Tina, held back. Her face grew pale and she started to hyperventilate. I asked what was wrong and she said, “I can’t go in there. I have a feeling something really bad happened in there. I can’t go in.” She paused then added, “I think someone was killed in there. Was someone killed in there, mom? I’m right. I can tell by your face.” I guess my face had gone equally pale to hers. I answered her, “You’re right. I’ll tell you about it later.” I stayed out with her while Tony and Susie went inside.

I had not told my kids about it. I had not spoken of the events of 1974 since they had happened, certainly not in my daughter’s lifetime. But yes, she was right. It is still difficult to talk about and I will only give you the outline here as it still haunts me, and at times through the past forty plus years I have been visited by nightmares of that night and what could have been.

It was my freshman year, the second Saturday night of the school year, with lots of parties going on as people got to know each other in the dorms. I had left the party at my dorm to walk around campus with one of the boys from a neighboring dorm who had been showing some interest in me. We walked all over and about midnight, we found ourselves in the Inner Quad. He had been a little too aggressive for my likes so I distracted him by saying we should go into the church. We walked to the church and tried the door but it was locked. We tried the other doors. No luck, but we did hear some noises  from inside and expected to have someone come open the door from the inside but no one did so we left. Behind the church, he  got very pushy and we got in a fight and I walked back to the dorm alone. The next day I went home to do laundry (my parents lived a half hour away from campus) and heard on the news about a brutal murder inside of Memorial Church; a murder of a young woman who was the new bride of a sophomore student. They had gotten in an argument and she had left to cool off, ending up in Memorial Church where she was murdered then her body violated and left near the altar. When security went to unlock the church the next morning, they found one of the doors to be unlocked then found the body.

When I got back to the dorm on Sunday evening, the police had been there and had left instructions for me to call them back. Their extensive questioning had come across my name and that of the boy I had been with the previous night as people that had been unaccounted for during the probably time of the murder. I spoke to them by phone and they basically wanted me to verify my companion’s statement. I was able to do that as well as give them some more information that he had left out, including the noises from inside the church and the time and a person sleeping on a bench in the quad near the church. I guess I had been a little more observant than he had. The police said that the noises we had heard inside the church the previous night were “the right noises” and that the killer(s) was (were) probably still in there when we were trying to get in.

And to think I had also walked back to the dorm alone after getting in a fight with the guy I was out walking with. I found it ironic that the Arlis Perry  fought with her husband and walked to the church and never left alive. I got in an argument with my companion and left the church alone and lived to tell. Arlis was 19 and just a few months older than I.

So yes, something horrible did happen inside of the most beautiful church I have ever been inside of. And I had been on the other side of the door. But I had never told my kids, or anyone else since it happened in 1974, yet she picked up on the negative vibes of the place and the still unsolved murder of Arlis Perry. It really freaked me out that my daughter, had picked up on that twenty years later.

 

 

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Hopes And Dreams

If we were having coffee, we would be indoors. It’s raining here in Seattle. It’s not cold, just wet. You would have to help yourself to a drink before settling in as I have a baby in my arms! I drove up here on Tuesday morning and was handed a baby as soon as I got in the door. The rest of the time has been filled with holding him, feeding him, and lots of burping! Mati is four weeks old. He’s quite alert for four weeks. I think I’m spoiling him. He’s been attached to me almost all day, every day. I got to be his first babysitter, too. His mommy and daddy had tickets to two soccer games this week so they got a couple of nights out and I got this precious little boy to myself.

This past week has been filled with shock and sadness in the world. Being here with this tiny, innocent little boy has helped me both empathize with that grief and sadness and also get through it without totally falling apart.

As Mati sleeps in my arms, I’m reminded of holding his daddy in my arms when he was this age. I’m reminded of how much simpler the world was; how much less hate, fear, and danger we faced. I am also filled with hope and dreams that Mati’s world will be a better place; that he won’t have to know the hate and intolerance; that he will be in less danger when he grows; that he will live in a world that embraces all mankind.

I’ll be driving home to Portland tomorrow. I’m already missing this little one and wondering when I’ll be back to see him. I’m lucky that he’s only a three hour drive away from me. Hopefully that will translate into frequent visits.

 #WeekendCoffeeShare is a weekly blog linkup hosted by Diana at Part Time Monster Blog. Come join us!

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