Wednesday, December 16, 2009

Jennie!


"Don't blame me, Daddy. I’m just the kid!”

With those words, Jennie at age three revealed herself as the clear thinker and straight talker whom we have known and loved for 37 fantastic years.

And she was right, by the way. Her father - undoubtedly distracted - left the crib side down so that baby Sarah fell out. Sarah was fine, and Jennie had found her voice.

Jennie is almost always right. No, really. She is. Her areas of mastery are breath-taking: child rearing, cooking, computers, poetry, thank you notes, blogging. . . The list goes on and on. She also has the distinction of having the world’s thickest and prettiest naturally wavy black hair!

Jennifer burst into our lives, just as the strawberries were coming ripe in late April. She was a week early. I’ve always thought she just wanted to get going on life. We took her home to an old ranch house across from Point Lobos. I loved going into her little lean-to nursery, to find her all pink-cheeked and dreamy after her nap. She took in everything with her big hazel eyes and delighted us in every way. She was the perfect first baby – flexible and forgiving of all our new-parent foibles.

And oh those smiles! Not just for us, but for all passers-by when we moved to Pacific Grove. Jennie made everyone feel special. “Hi-ya!” she would say and little old ladies in Holman’s would swoon.

Jennie has always known her own mind. She learned to read quickly and devoured books whole. She switched from violin to viola, because the latter didn’t have “those screechy high notes.” She chose interesting friends who were willing to be different and set her sights on the University of Oregon, sure that was the place for her. It was.

She spent her junior year in Aberdeen, Scotland and graduated with majors in both music and English. She taught in three places in four years without faltering, married a man whose interests and talents are as extensive as hers, and is a formidable mother to three. She insists on please and thank you and doesn’t back down. She’s also the only woman I know who can load her three small children in the car and drive straight through from Eugene to the Monterey Peninsula, alone.

After a recent visit, her aunt declared Jennie “laid back,” and it is a mystery to me how she can accomplish so much with such equanimity. Most recently, she put aside her fear of skiing (ACL surgery will do that) and threw herself into a week-long ski clinic in Colorado. On Facebook she wrote, “I might finally be getting the hang of this skiing thing. A little bit.” And later, “Worst ski-related injury this week: a pinched finger sustained while carrying them. I'll take it.” None of us was surprised. Jennie does whatever she puts her mind to.

No one ever told me what a delight grown children are. And they are a great resource, too. When I was trying to ride the bike, she stood back and observed. “Push off with your left foot,” she said, and it worked. “Jennie, how do you make bacon wrapped croutons?” I call to ask. Of course, she knows.

Jennie, you are an amazing woman – competent, loyal, determined, talented, and wise. How did I get so lucky to have you as my daughter?

Down the Rabbit Hole!

I am feeling a little like Alice when she fell through the rabbit hole into a land where nothing seemed quite familiar. That’s not necessarily bad – just strange.

The neuro-surgeon does not agree with the neurologist that either of two small growths in my head is causing the vibrating throughout my lower body. So, it looks like no brain surgery for me in the near future, and probably never. Hurrah!

So, pending some tests for less dire things, we remain in mystery. The doctor did say that sometimes a person experiences a kind of mysterious neurological episode that eventually “self-resolves.” I myself will quibble with that terminology and add God in there as the major force for healing, along with many fervent, and steadfast prayers.

All this leaves us in Wonderland, and I have never been great with ambiguity. However, I like ambiguity better than brain surgery, so I feel we have gotten very good news. My plan now is to have the tests and then take my vibrating self to Oregon with Kevin and Walt to be with Sarah, Jennie, and their families for Christmas.

What the new year will bring, we will see! By the way, Sarah says I can keep the hats!

We shall find peace. We shall hear the angels. We shall see the sky sparkling with diamonds. Chekov.

Sunday, December 6, 2009

Wearing My Diadem






To someone facing surgery in her head, today’s Old Testament lesson is a true blessing: “Take off the garment of your sorrow and affliction, O Jerusalem, and put on forever the beauty of the glory from God . . . put on your head the diadem of the glory of the Everlasting, for God will show your splendor everywhere under heaven.”

Kevin, Walt, and I discussed the word diadem walking home from St. Mary’s this morning. We decided it had to do with jewels, and indeed, a diadem is a crown. Baruch (a companion of Jeremiah the Prophet) who wrote these words in exile, has no doubt about our status as God’s beloved, each worthy of a diadem.

I, who have never aspired to a diadem, now claim that as my inheritance, too. A diadem, which is worn on the head, seems like just the thing. And I just happen to have two (see photo), sent to me by my Sarah in a care package that also included music, candy, and an angel.

Baruch makes another promise on God’s behalf. “For God has ordered that every high mountain and the everlasting hills be made low and valleys filled up, to make level ground, so that Israel may walk safely in the glory of God.”

Tomorrow I meet with my neuro-surgeon for the first time. I have heard he is bright, a good surgeon, and that he has nimble fingers. I believe that he, the others who will care for me, and all your prayers, dear friends, will make my way level and safe.

And by the way, if you see me around town in the next few days, you’ll see that I am wearing my diadem.

Thursday, December 3, 2009

Our Sarah


I took out my beloved Christmas snow globes last night and put one on the table during dinner. Just now, I wound it up and there was, “O, Holy Night.” The years fell away and I remembered when our Sarah was born.

She was Kevin’s and my second child, born in December, 1974. Kevin reminded me that her due date – December 7 – was Pearl Harbor Day. But she was not like her eager sister, Jennie, who came early. No, Sarah took her own sweet time and arrived a full week late.

It was hard waiting for her. Not so much still being pregnant, but I was yearning to see her, to meet her, to hold her. To pass the time one day, I went to have lunch with Kevin in Monterey while two-year-old Jennie stayed at her friend Alex’s house. Kevin and I walked to Fisherman’s Wharf, which was a bit of a walk for a woman at nine months, but we did it. Then we stopped in a music store and bought two Christmas records.

I spent part of the afternoon listening to them, lying in the recliner which was the only place I felt comfortable. I remember particularly “O, Holy Night” and the “Carol of the Bells.” I was dreamy, dreamy. It was almost Christmas, and I was filled with peace and expectation and love for this child who would soon come into our lives and our hearts.

That night, as soon as I lay down, I felt the first signs of labor. Our friend Steve came to take care of Jennie, while Nancy stayed home with their girls. Was it really peanut butter and pickles he gave her for breakfast?

Sarah was born at 8:31 in the morning – 7lbs. 2oz.. She was so pink and so pretty, and because I had practiced on her sister, Jennifer, I was so ready to fall in love with her. So I did. And we brought her home and had a wonderful Christmas, awash with baby glow and wonder at her perfection and her sister’s absolute surprise at having a little sister. Sarah was my most cuddly baby, a delight to this mother’s ardent heart.

Then the years went by, and Sarah became her own amazing self – full of energy and fun and talent and intuition and compassion. To name just of few of her attributes. Her young years were filled with dressing up and horses and violins and friends. Eventually, into her world there came Jesse, a wedding, and now a good life together in Portland. A bunny, a dog, a wonderful old house. . . Sometimes there comes disappointment, but she and Jesse know how to weather a storm with grace and optimism. Who knows what will happen next, but if Sarah is there, it will be exciting and fun!

In a few days Sarah will turn 35. She is still full of energy and fun and talent and intuition and compassion – and a lot more. Sarah, if you happen to read this – I am so happy that you were born!

Wednesday, December 2, 2009

16,572 Steps


It was the pedometer that started this whole thing. Jennie and I went to REI to get her a handy dandy pedometer like mine, and we left with my little pink Cruiser. Because of the Cruiser, I started this blog, Cruising at 65.

A lot has changed since then. Summer has turned to fall. Two grandchildren and a son-in-law have had birthdays. So have I, actually. The days have gotten shorter. People I love have suffered sad losses. I’ve signed up for Medicare. Pentecost has given way to Advent. RIP pink Cruiser and hello pending surgery.

There’s one thing that’s been constant, though, and that is my little pedometer friend. I carry it everywhere I go, and if I don’t have a pocket, I slip it into the right leg of my stockings. That is not a foolproof way to carry a pedometer. Not if you inadvertently flush it down the toilet at a fancy restaurant overlooking Plymouth Bay. Pedometer II works just like its late twin, so I continued tracking my steps with hardly a pause.

A pedometer is a great encourager. When you’re feeling slothful, its chirpy little voice says, “Let’s take a walk.” When you’re hanging out reading, it interrupts, “We haven’t done anything fun today.” Fun, to a pedometer, means exactly one thing: walking.

The other day it complained, “We only have 5,000 steps so far.” So off I went – to Asilomar with Walt, all along the great boardwalk into Pebble Beach. Later we walked to town. Turns out to have been my best day ever for steps – 16,572. That’s 6.1 miles on these short legs of mine. But the pedometer never rests. Just now it demanded to know, “How many steps today?” Shhhhh. Don’t tell it only 8,725 or it’ll be after me again.

Some people walk their dog. I just walk my pedometer!