And All the Bumper Stickers Said "Utah Rocks!'

Yesterday we returned home from our trip around the Grand Circle in Utah.  To be honest, I didn’t know that the “Grand Circle” was a thing until I saw Matt using it as a hashtag on Instagram. It makes sense though, because it did feel like we drove in circles. We drove in and out of three of the four corner states so many times that our phones no longer knew what was up and kept displaying the wrong times.  We arrived for our anniversary dinner at The Grand Canyon Lodge a full hour ahead of our reservations having no idea that we were in the wrong time zone. It didn’t help that it gets dark in Utah almost two full hours later than at home.  We were like little disoriented mole rats, wandering around in the daylight, squinting, bumping into each other and scratching our heads. Where are we? What time is it? 

We had fun though.  The kids did great in the car. We only had to tell them to shut up or stop fighting around twenty times throughout the whole trip. If you’re a parent, you know that’s a low number when you’re talking about several 5-6 hour drives, so we’re grateful.  If you’re not a parent and you just read those lines, I’m pretty sure I just provided plenty of motivation for you to use birth control. 

I only have one complaint about the trip. Matt isn't going to enjoy reading this because he's the one who plans these things and makes out agenda, but I can’t pretend to feel something that I don’t feel, and I'm sorry to say, I don't hold affection for Utah. I do not have any desire to go back to her anytime soon. If you love Utah, I think that’s fantastic. I can even say that I'd see why, because she has some breathtaking qualities. We saw a lot of pretty things, but most of the pretty things we saw were.....rocks.

Big Rocks

Balanced rocks. 

Weeping rocks.

Rocks with holes in them. 

Arched rocks. 

Monumental rocks. 

 Rocks with ancient writing on them.

Inverted rock, also known as canyonlands

Vast amounts of inverted rock, also known as The Grand Canyon

You’ll notice that that’s a lot of rock. At one point I said to Matt, “Don’t take this the wrong way, but is there any part of this trip that does not involve taking pictures of rocks?” And he shook his head and told me to wait for Vegas. 

Rocks do not inspire me. 

We did this trip when I was a kid, and I remember feeling the same way.  Give me an ocean, give me a green forest, give me a huge oak tree with swags of Spanish Moss dripping from it's branches, give me anything but red and orange rocks on a martian landscape.  I do not love it. They do not fulfill me, motivate me, refresh me. In fact, in a weird way, they make me feel empty and a little uneasy. (Although that could be chalked up to the fact that my kids were always climbing high up on the arches and cliff edges.)

If you look close, you'll see the teeny tiny figures of my kids and Matt way up there. There's a cliff behind them with a sheer drop. Whenever they did this, I usually stayed on the ground and tried not to look at how high up they were. And that friends, is how I survived their climbing shenanigans all 12 days of this trip. It was my smart and savvy way of avoiding heart and panic attacks. 

All that is not to say that I didn't enjoy our vacation.  I repeat, I liked our vacation. It was much better camping in a trailer instead of a tent. Like I said, the kids had a great time climbing around on everything in sight.  We saw some amazing skies that I’ll talk about later in the week.  It became a thing to take pictures of J meditating in different spaces, and that was fun. Also, despite the trailer, I did the roughest camping of my life on this trip, which I’ll talk about soon.  But for now, I'm done with rocks. If you see me in the next few weeks, please refrain from using the words "sandstone", "erosion", or "geologic time" when you're around me.  I've had my fill. 

I almost want to end this with a rock pun, like “You guys rock!” or “Rock on”, or, “You can take it for GRANITE that I’ll be back soon”, but I won’t. 

You’re welcome.

P.S- I think it's pretty obvious that the picture of the Grand Canyon isn't mine. It's Matt's.  He's a good photographer. Follow him on Instagram @mcauthron. 

A Little of This, A Little of That

Today we bought a pop-up camper.  And because that is my opening line, you may be thinking that I'm going to make that the focus of my post, but you'd be mistaken.  Today has been one of those days where I've gotten a ton of stuff done and now I'm tired, so all I'm going to say about the trailer is that I am beyond excited to have a real-life kitchen to use while camping. And I'm not complaining about the king-sized mattresses, either.

She'll look better when Matt takes a picture of her.

I'm sure I'll have a lot more to say about the trailer another day- another day when my brain isn't fried from dealing with insurance and financing and hitches, with laundry, cleaning and baking thrown in.

I just have a couple of things I've been meaning to write about, even though they have nothing to do with each other. I'm going to go ahead and stitch these random ideas together and call it a night.

First, last week, we surprised the kids with a trip to Disneyland.  Matt was staying at the Paradise Pier for a creativity conference, so the kids thought we were just going out to see him and hang out at Downtown Disney. Instead, that night, our room had a view of the World of Magic show at California Adventure and while they were watching it, we gave them their tickets for the next day.  They were totally surprised, but probably not as much as I was at myself for not blowing it.  I kept that secret for an unprecedented month and a half, and I can't even count the number of times I almost let it slip.  Now I totally feel qualified for a job in the secret service. Or maybe I could be the person who puts the winning Oscar titles into the envelopes.  That'd be fun.

Anyway, it's been a while since I felt the "magic" at Disneyland. But this last visit- it was perfect.  We took our time, and while we got to all the rides we wanted to go on, we also took our time going through the park and stopped to have a lot of experiences, too.  Jake got to fight Darth Maul in Tomorrowland, I had my first Dolewhip, we had lunch inside The Golden Horseshoe and watched the show, (which we had never done before), and we rafted over to Tom Sawyers Island Pirates Lair to spend a good time.  My favorite part of the day was when Roo, who upon entering Toon Town for her very first time, gasped and said, "I LOVE it! It looks so FAKE!" Which is probably exactly what the Imagineers want you to feel when you are there.  Also, is there any other place to be at dusk than in New Orleans Square with the Jazz band playing? Disney Magic, man.  It was there on that day, in full force.

Here's the other thing I wanted to mention: at the beginning of June I made a pact with myself to read only non-fiction books this summer.  I'm not in love with that decision, mainly because I didn't realize how much I rely on fiction stories to relax.  Non-Fiction stories require a lot more thinking, and to be honest, I've already cheated on my pact.  I miss escaping into my stories.

Anyway, because I know you want to see it, here is my nightstand with all the books I've been reading this summer.  There's some fiction in there, but please notice, it's heavily outnumbered by the non.  I'm only one-third cheating.

I was going to give y'all a summary of each book, but I'm practically asleep already, so how could I expect you to stay awake through all that? I may come back later and talk to you guys about them, but for now I'll just say that the one I'm currently reading is the one on top; In Cold Blood, by Truman Capote.  I'm really liking it, even though a few nights ago I was reading it during a lightning storm and because I was right in the middle of the part where the Clutter family was found bound and murdered in their beds, I mistook the lightning for flashlights outside my bedroom slider.  I almost woke Matt up, but fortunately freezing in fear while my blood ran cold gave me enough time to come to my senses.

Anyway, I've never read anything by Capote before and he really is an outstanding writer.  What is confusing is that on the first page of the book he states that "All the material in this book not derived from my own observation is either taken from official records or is the result of interviews with the person directly involved." However, his writing, like I said, is so well-done and thoroughly detailed that he is telling this tale, not like a journalist, but like a story teller.  I kept wondering, "Well, how does he know what bird Perry Smith (One of the killers) was watching while out on a boat in Mexico after the murders?" I know Capote spent huge amounts of time speaking to all the people involved in the case, including the accused- but I can't imagine that something so obscure and minute would even come up in conversation. He had to have colored in some of the detail.

At any rate, all of that is just nitpicking.  It's a great story, and my most enjoyable read of any non-fiction stories so far this summer. That's probably because it reads like fiction, (it's only creepy when you stop think about the fact that it's not).

And that's it.  That's all the stuff that was floating around that in my head I wanted to talk to you about.  Matt is watching SuperMensh: The Legend of Shep Gordon, which is a much better documentary than I thought it would be.  (Initially, the title made me think that it was a Will Farrell movie.)  I think I'll turn my computer off and join him.

Happy Fourth of July, and have a good night!

Open

You guys.  The internet has been driving me NUTS since last Friday.  But it’s been my fault.  I purposefully go on comments of controversial postings and read AAALLLL the opinions, most especially the ones I don’t agree with. WHY DO I DO THAT? It’s not like I enjoy feeling antagonized.  I don’t.  I lived through all my kids' twos and threes.  I definitely know that I don't enjoy antagonization.

The truth is, I do it because I have this nosey side of me that is really interested in humanity, even when it’s despicable. 

Do you want to know how I got that way? 

It started in college at Sonoma State. I was in the Hutchins School of Liberal Studies.  It was a school within a school with a lot of soon-to-be-teachers in the program, as the purpose was to “learn to learn”.  It was a completely new experience for me. No more sitting in the back of a lecture hall, hiding. In this program, I had to use my voice, which I initially hated, because like I said, back then my MO in class was to quietly do my work and always, always, find a larger person to sit and hide behind.  In this program, there was no choice- you participated or you failed. Honestly, this was never something I would have chosen for myself, but because I was transferring from another school, my counselor had said, “Oh, you want to be a teacher.  Well, this is the program most of our teachers graduate from.” So, plop.  That’s how I landed in Hutchins.  

Every class was small, no more than 13 students.  We sat around a circular table and would seminar. That meant that every week we showed up to class with our professor as facilitator, prepared to discuss the ideas and concepts from whichever book or books we had been assigned that week.  Sounds totally hippy dippy, right? That was the reputation the school had on the larger campus.  Other students scorned it as a cop-out from doing the typical “lecture/ note taking/exam” course of study.  I can tell you for sure, that the workload was more intense than the other student’s- more reading, WAY more writing, and much more critical thinking and analyzing than memorizing stuff for a test.

Despite hating it, I soon became sort of enthralled with the seminar process.  It took me a while to get used to the fact that the goal wasn’t to be right, but to be open. The people who were the most unsuccessful in seminar were the ones who monopolized the conversation or acted like their word was the final say on the subject, and let me tell you, their behavior made it all the easier to discount their opinions because of that. The people who were respected were the people who listened as much as they spoke and used their classmates’ perspectives to either shape or change their own.  Those were the students I tried to emulate, and when it became apparent that people saw my opinion as valuable to the discussion, I became even more motivated to bring thoughtful, provocative discourse to the class. 

Alas, hippy dippy couldn’t last forever, and we all know that college is usually an ideological place that has nothing to do with the real world. On breaks, I would go home and try to have the same kind of discussion we were having in class with my dad, and instead he’d get angry and call me a bleeding heart liberal and I’d be all “BUT THAT’S NOT HOW YOU SEMINAR!” and we’d get mad at each other and stomp off to opposite sides of the house. There, I would stew about his stubbornness and for the first time (but far from the last time) face the fact that most people aren’t interested in taking the time to have a deep, thoughtful, respectful conversation about the differences in their opinions. Or, at the very least, they’re just not willing to change them.

But this week, especialIy, I wish so badly that they were.  

When I’m reading through all these comments regarding the SCOTUS decision,I’m looking for the other perspectives because I’ve been trained to look at all sides. I want to sit down with these people and talk, respectfully, but then I look at the comments again and I think, “Oh God. No I don’t.”, because it’s plain that it’d be the kind of conversation that would make me want to jump off a cliff, or eat glass, or spoon out my eyes, or I don’t know-whatever you can think of that’s equally gruesome.  There are too many different opinions, too many people with their minds made up. If all the comments across all the internet were one big seminar, y’all, there would be an uneven balance of people monopolizing the conversation and acting like their way is the only way. I see Christian friends being called bigots, when I know how much their faith means to them, and I see how they are confused about how to live according to The Word in today’s society.  And I see my gay friends and those who support them fed up with being told that they are less than, not good enough, and not equal by the laws of a faith that is not even theirs (and actually, just to be clear, I do have some gay Christian friends, so it is their faith too).  There is not a lot of listening, not a lot of love in action.  And that’s on BOTH sides.

Two hundred thousand years of humanity, people.  You’d think we’d have figured out by now that drawing lines in the sand and yelling across the sides about who’s right doesn’t get us anywhere productive.  If this decision from last Friday bothers you, or if you’re angry at Christians for their beIiefs, I ask you to please get off the internet and go find someone to have a conversation with, and make sure it’s someone with a different perspective than you. The internet is not a place for these discussions.  These conversations belong face to face, with a person, with their eyes, with their body language, where you can see their emotions.  Not behind a screen where you can be insensitive with little accountability. 

There are people out there who are saying that it's impossible to have mutual respect if you also have different beliefs, but I think that’s wrong.  They’re not exclusive from each other, it just takes more work.  It takes opening up and softening.  PLEASE, LET GO of being right and work on being open. The law has passed, it is done, and what is left for us now is to find a way to be better humans together under the decision.  

What I've Been Doing

I mean to post every week, but last week doesn't count because I was doing this:

Camping.

There's this fantasy I have in my head that I'm on a game show, and I get to choose which type of vacation I want; one that is the nomadic style camping trip that we always do, or one in which I stay in one place for a full week at a luxury resort hotel.  All I have to do is ring a bell on a tray near the kind of trip I want.  I'd slam the bell for the luxury resort so hard that it'd fall through the floor.

However, camping is kind of Matt's religion and it is one of the few times I really get to see him relax.  Plus, it's not something we have to save for over half a year, like, say... Hawaii.  Therefore, a camping I will go.

This year was a bit different because it was the first year that we were dropping J off for camp. His brother and sister have been going away to this camp for years, and before last fall, J was excited for his turn to come.  However, because J is J and because since babyhood he's exhibited his belief that life should mostly be hard, he changed his mind after we paid the non-refundable deposit. He spent the next six months riddled with anxiety over it, sometimes crying himself to sleep and repeatedly telling us that we didn't love him because we were forcing him to go to camp.

I almost just ate the deposit and gave in to him. Of the four, he's my kid that I worry about the most. It'd have been easier to keep him with me than to send him off and worry about whatever forces may cross his path at camp. He has allergies, he's not as mature as PG and 9 were when they first went, nor is he as outgoing. I had to keep reminding myself that one of my parenting philosophies is to never let my personal fears keep my kids from having experiences that are good for them.  I think that's getting to be a lost art in these days of helicopter parenting.

Thankfully, sticking to our guns turned out to be okay. His sister and brother amped up their "camp is fun" campaign by repeatedly regaling him with stories about how much fun they had in the past.  By the time we dropped him off, he was feeling better about the situation.  In fact, he didn't want to hug us goodbye because all of his cabin mates were there and watching.  (The kid across from him had a sound-effect machine with 32 sounds that he was really enthusiastic about, and all I can say is, sitting on a cactus would be more pleasurable than being in charge of eight boys in that particular age group for six whole days.  God bless that counselor. I hope he survived.)

And then there was one.

If any of you other parents of multiple children haven't had a chance to spend some extended one-on-one time with each kid, I highly recommend it.  It's kind of amazing how different kids are without their siblings around. (I think science has mentioned that fact once or twice before.)

We had fun.  We camped in Sequoia for two nights at Stony Creek.  You want to know what I learned about stony creeks? It's not a good idea to climb around them in flip flops because you may fall on your ass.  Twice.

This picture commemorates the last time I did NOT have pain in my rear or my wrists. 

You also make look up from falling to see your husband reaching in his back pocket for his phone-not to call 911 (which you aren't entirely sure shouldn't be done)- but to take a picture of your humiliation. To his credit, he put his phone back when he saw I was hurting, so that redeems him.
A bit.

A very tiny bit.

After Sequoia we headed to Lake Cachuma, and stopped at Madonna Inn on the way. If you haven't been to Madonna Inn, it's a huge hotel tucked in at the backside of the Hearst property in San Luis Obispo.  When I was a kid, I thought it was the height of fanciness, but now the decor just looks to me like a weird marriage of Swiss Chalet and Las Vegas Tacky. Still fun to visit though, if for nothing but old time's sake.  

This is not an exaggeration.  The dining room seriously looks like this.  

The next day was the best day of the entire trip, with the exception of a small blunder in the morning:   Roo and I were in a chocolate shop in Solvang when she asked if we could buy some marzipan.  I told her "Honey, you don't want that. I put it in your Easter Basket one year and you didn't like it." Right away, the lady behind the counter looked at me with an expression that said, "You stupid, stupid woman." and I was like, "What's her problem?" But then Lily looked at me very solemnly and asked "Who put it in my Easter Basket?" and that's when I realized my mistake.

Soooooo, that cat is out of the bag.

We stopped for lunch at Cold Springs Tavern.  This was an old stagecoach stop with buildings dating back more than a hundred years.  Even in the middle of the week there was a wait, but the food was worth it.  While I was waiting, I overheard this kid tell his dad, "You know what I liked about that place? It was really dark.  I like dark spaces."  I wondered to myself whether that was a kid I'd want to get to know better or stay far away from.

After lunch, we headed to Santa Barbara where we toured the Mission, sat on the beach for a few hours, and then ended the day with a bowl of clam chowder on the wharf.
It was perfect.

And now I get a few weeks to enjoy the comforts of civilization before we head out and do it all again, this time through Utah.  I'll try to get some decent posts in between now and then.... you know, the kind that don't ramble and that do actually have a point and purpose.  Maybe all that fresh air messed up my creative thought.  Or, maybe it was the campfire smoke.  Or the vast amounts of Cheez-Its I consumed.  All I'm saying is that I'm tired. And I'm sorry.  I'll do better next time.

Have a good night!

Hello, Goodbye

I'm dedicating this post to my friend, Tina, who always read my posts, always had a kind word in the comments, and who will be missed by myself and many others. Rest in Peace, sweet lady.  



Today was a sad day. I woke up to a text letting me know that a mom-friend of mine had passed away last night from a brain tumor. She left behind a young daughter, and while I wasn't close to her, my friends and I have been supporting her since her diagnosis.  I'm sad that she lost her battle, because I know how badly she wanted to win it.  I tell you, I am so sick of cancer. Brain cancer, especially.

Then another friend of mine, with two sweet, sweet girls that my kids adore, texted that they will be moving out of state this summer.  I'm going to miss them.  I also had my last session with a client who I started working with when he was in fourth grade. He just finished his junior year and is on his own now, so we said farewell. And then, to top it all off, I was to take Roo to a goodbye party for a family who we've done two years of soccer and three years of preschool with.  They're moving out of state too. (Does everyone in their thirties and forties experience high volume of their friends moving, or is it just the desert? I really want to know.)

The whole theme of the day was goodbye, goodbye, goodbye.  All on one day, thank you Universe! It started weighing on me as I was getting ready for the party.  Everyone leaving was going to a better place and was happy about it (with the exception of my friend with cancer, who I'm sure would have rather stayed with her daughter), but I wasn't feeling happy. I was feeling weepy and heavy-hearted. I started worrying about my demeanor at the party- Roo was coming with me, so I couldn't walk in already a mess- I had to put on a cheerful face for her. Plus, my damn hormones are working against me this week (although I hate blaming my irrational feelings on hormones. It makes me feel so irrational.)

So, as it was, I was struggling to keep my thoughts positive and be happy, happy, happy when Roo walked in carrying the card she had made for her friend who was moving.  She opened it up to show me what it said inside:

Oh, the sweetness. It kills me.

The Kindergarten scrawl.  The message.  The picture of them in matching dresses, carrying purses, for God's sake.  Sweet Jesus on a bicycle. It was too much for my fragile state.

Choking back sobs, I threw my sunglasses on my face to hide my red eyes and towed Roo to the car, where we drove to the party.  When we got there, I did this stupid thing where I accidentally transposed the numbers on the address and knocked on the wrong door.  We waited forever, and right when I started walking away, the door opened and a nice lady pointed us in the right direction. I just brushed it off, but Roo embarrasses easily and followed behind, giving me abashed looks from beneath her eyelashes.

This time we knocked on the right door, but again, it took a long time to open.  When it did, my friend, the one throwing the party for the departing family, opened it with a lovely smile and said, "Hi! How are you? You've got the wrong day."

To which I answered, "No, I don't." Because besides being overly-emotional and weepy, I am apparently also arrogant.  I'm wrong? No surely, you, the hostess, the organizer, the PERSON WHO LIVES HERE, is wrong.

And bless her heart, she just smiled and said, "No, it's next month. July 6th. But come on in."

Then she let us into her home while I fumbled around my phone to pull up the date, still intending to show her she was wrong.  I found the text, and there it was, Monday JULY 6th.  So, I have some bad news for you. If you're my friend, we're going to have to find another way for us to communicate addresses, dates....basically anything with numbers.  Evidence shows that the traditional way of passing this type of information to me is ineffective.  We should try Braille, maybe?

Roo followed me back to the car, and if she was abashed last time, by now she was just kind of disgusted. Her look said "Lady, just WHAT is your major malfunction, because we knocked on two doors, and there wasn't a party behind either of them!"

She may never look at me as an authority figure ever again.

Here's the reason I'm telling you all this: when we got back in the car, I was thinking a lot of things. I was thinking that it was good that I had another month before I had to say goodbye to this family. I was thinking how nice my friend was for not calling me out on my crazy on her doorstep.  I was wondering how Roo felt, seeing her mom make not one, but two, embarrassing screw ups.  And, I also was thinking that I wanted to talk to you guys again, here on the blog.

I always think of writing here, but in the past four months I just haven't. It's nothing more complicated or simpler than that. I haven't, but I think of it all the time.  Today I needed this space to explain myself, and sure I could've written a short status on FB: "Feeling super sad today. Saying goodbye to too many friends!" But besides being slightly obscure- and I've come to detest obscure Facebook status'- it's kind of begging for attention. I know at least a few of my friends would respond with condolences and support, and while there is nothing wrong with that- I always appreciate it- it's not what I need. Condolences should go to Tina's family and friends, they are the ones who need them.  My friends are happy about their moves, and after I get over myself, I'll be happy for them too. In fact, that's already happened. As for my client, I know I made a difference with him, and that's all I need. But it's nice to have space (976 words worth, and counting) to tell the longer story. I missed this space. It's nice to come back to it.

And I thank you, for visiting it.

Have a good night.

Saying Goodbye

My grandfather died last night.  

He's the handsome guy on the right.  

We knew it was coming.  Hospice had been called in about two weeks ago.  Dying in his sleep is what we were all hoping for, rather than having him suffer another heart attack.  Only twenty-five percent of his heart was working.

It’s weird for me to type ‘was’.  Yesterday I was explaining his heart condition to my good friend over the phone, and I said ‘twenty five percent of his heart is working.’  And now today it’s was. 

It’s a little bit hard for me to get used to. 

Can I tell you about my grandpa? I know that people lose grandparents all the time, and that something that feels so huge and sad to me right now is actually small and common to other people.  But I feel like the world should know more about the man who left it last night. He was so wonderful. So can I tell you about him? And then, if you like, you can tell me something about your grandfathers or grandmothers.  I know that generation is filled with incredible stories from incredible people.  We’re so lucky. 

Grandpa, Grammy, and my great-grandparents.  

My grandpa was born in 1924.  His 91st birthday is less than two weeks away.  Over the last few weeks, when I would go over to their house to visit, he would talk to me about dying.  I would change the subject or make a joke, because I couldn’t be as matter-of-fact about it as he was.  I wish I could’ve, because we probably would have had a pretty good conversation, but instead a lump would form in my throat.  The thought of him not being here anymore would literally choke me.  But I know he was okay with death, and he could talk about it openly and honestly. When he saw that I couldn’t do the same, he would smile gently and back off.  A few weeks ago however, he did say one thing to me that I’ll always remember.  It wasn’t the words, but how he said them.  In a tone much like one who is fondly remembering an old friend, he said, “I enjoy life. I’m in no hurry to leave it.  Even now, there is so much that brings me joy.”

That’s my grandfather’s legacy.  That’s what I am going to remember about him-the way he loved and enjoyed life.  Right to the end, he always found joy in the smallest of blessings.  

He was a World War II veteran, and very proud of it.  He went to the reunions, even when they dwindled down to just a few men left from his battalion.  My grandpa was a storyteller, and the war was one of his favorite tales to tell. He told us once (or twice) about a guy in his company who made a distillery behind the camp and how they'd sneak away to take a few drinks of homemade hooch.  He told us about operating the huge guns that they used to shoot at the Japanese.  He even told us about the girlfriends he had overseas.  (And somehow, my grandma never seemed to mind those trips down memory lane.) 

He and my grandmother met on a blind date.  My grandfather tells the story by saying “she was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen.” My grandmother says, “Every time I looked over at him, he was staring at me.  I was so uncomfortable, it got to be that I wouldn’t turn my head.”  Three days later he asked her to marry him.  They were in a graveyard, so she told him to ask her again in a decent setting.  He did, and that time she said yes.  They were married in 1946.  

Sixty nine years, my grandparents were married. 

My grandpa was a Christian.  He was the best Christian I’ve known.  He led by example. I never saw him judge anyone.  He was honest, and humble, and he loved Jesus. At every family gathering, he led our family in prayer. And every morning, he and my grandmother would pray for all their family and friends.  That action speaks of so much love to me; that every single morning, they took time to place us in their hearts and pray for our well-being.  It’s one of the greatest endearments from them that my sisters, cousins, parents, aunts, and uncles enjoy.

  

He was a second dad to my mom, whose parents were absent.  When she started coming around my father’s family, she was my aunt’s best friend from elementary school.  My grandpa picked up some of the slack from her parents by attending her award ceremonies, driving her and my aunt places, and sponsoring her various activities. He always spoke of how she impressed him by taking herself so far, without any support from her home.  Later, when she married my dad, my grandfather said they were lucky to officially get her. 

Both my grandparents loved to play card games.  At their cabin, they’d sit with us around the dining table playing Up and Down, Hearts, Uno, and Pinochle. Sometimes we even played a rowdy game of dice.  They played just the two of them, too, and though we never witnessed this, my grandpa would tell us that sometimes my grammy would accuse him of cheating and throw the deck of cards at him.  This made us laugh.  I think that’s why he told us about it.

He could build things.  He built us kids a treehouse at their mountain cabin.  We played pilgrims and indians in it, and he filmed us playing with his old 8mm movie camera.  

When the first of us cousins got married, he announced that he was going to dance at her wedding- and then he did.  I would say that he looked a little ridiculous, except all that anyone could see when he took the dance floor was a lot of fun and love.  My grandmother watched him stomp and flail around and she called him an “old fool”, but she was smiling when she did it. 

On the dance floor at one of his granddaughter's weddings.

However, the thing that is going to leave the biggest hole in my family, that is going to be missed the most, is the thing that he was the best at- and that was his unconditional love.  I’ve never met anyone who was so good at love.  It didn’t matter how bad I had messed up or what poor choices I’d made, I could go see my grandparents and feel loved and adored. When I left them, I liked myself again. They had that kind of magic for all of us. 

Almost all the cousins at grampy's 90th

And when our own kids came along, they loved them just as well. 

 I keep saying it, we are so lucky. 

Grandpa, we love you so.  Thank you for your love, for your kindness, for the example of faith in Jesus that you led us with.  I know we'll see you again someday, and when I do, it is this smile on this face that I look forward to seeing the most:

Harold Samuel Herrington, Jr (1924-2015)

2015, Post 1, Edition: It's Late and I Can't Think of a Title

Happy New Year, friends!

Do you know this is the third draft I've written of a New Year's post? I wrote one on New Years Day and one last Monday, but never published them.  Maybe the third time will be the charm. (Although, probably not because I'm not even five sentences in and am already using cliche phrases. Not looking good so far.)

We've had a few changes around here of late.  9 moved out.  He told us the week before Christmas that he is moving in with some friends.  We were a little concerned because the friends he's moving in with happen to be a couple.  Mr. C had to have a "When you live with a couple you are IN their relationship." talk.  9 didn't seem concerned, and I didn't want to burst his bubble, so I refrained from telling him of my experience of living with a couple.  My roommate moved her boyfriend in, pretty much without asking me.  They took over the refrigerator and I could hear them having sex ALL THE TIME through the walls. So let's all hope 9's experience is better, because having to look the people you live with in the eye after you've listened to them get down all night long is embarrassing.  I basically felt awkward for months.... and hungry too, because like I said, they took over the fridge.  So yeah, awkward and hungry.

Bringing all this up really makes me happy that I'm through with my twenties.

Where was I going with this? Oh, right.  I'm supposed to be talking about 9.

He moved out last weekend and he's already been back for dinner twice, so that's good.  Before he left, J drew him a picture of them playing soccer.  Across the top he wrote, "SEE YOU ONCE A WEEK!" because that's how often 9 told him he'd come back home.  Then J asked me if I could take the picture into Costco and have it blown up into a poster.  He wanted 9 to have a really big reminder.  The sweetness of it all almost killed me.

One person who was pretty happy to hear that 9 was moving was PG, because it means that she gets his room. (I think PG has lived in every bedroom of this house at one point or another, and now we've  come full circle since that room was originally her nursery.)

Because her birthday is coming up in a few days, we told her she could decorate the whole room.  New bed, new paint, etc. etc.  She chose a pale green color that almost exactly matches the color the room was back when it was her nursery, and today I spent the whole day painting. Is it annoying that I had to repaint the room a color it had once already been, or is it sweet that she likes that color so much she wants it back?  I couldn't decide, but I thought about it the whole time I was working in there. Anyway, you all can give me your feedback with the next post.  I'm planning on a before and after of the makeover to show you guys. (Unless it turns out awful, in which case I'll just leave you all wondering forever, because that's the kind of evil genius I am.)

(I realize that I'm stretching the definition of genius there.  Also, probably the definition of evil. I'm okay with that because it's late, and I want to get this done so I can watch The Golden Globes on my DVR.)

That's mostly it.  I'm still working on the design for the new blog URL I have.  I have a feeling I'm going to give up on all my hoity-toity design ideas and do something simple and plain for the sake of just getting it done, but I'm not there yet.  I still want to keep trying.  So that'll be coming up.  And guess what? I started writing a book. Don't get excited, it absolutely sucks.  Every time I read it back to myself, I want to hack off my hands for writing such atrocious garbage.  But I don't, because I remember what Anne Lamott says about letting yourself write a crappy first draft.  She says you have to suffer through the stink to get the bones out there.  So that's what I'm doing.  I'm getting the bones out, and maybe one day I'll work on putting some meat on them.

Or maybe not.

But hey, it is looking like I'm going to hit "Publish" on this one, so that's a win.  The official first post of 2015.  Thanks for reading, guys.

Have a good night!