Happy Father's Day

Another Father's Day, and here is my dad when he was a cute lil' angel.  The pencils are significant -- he turned out to be quite a visual artist and architect.  81 years young now, I still see that little boy in him.  Happy Father's Day, Dad.  I love you.

Graduation Day

One of the proudest days in any parent's life is when their child graduates -- whether it be from kindergarten, high school or college.  There is a sense of accomplishment that is beyond the normal.  Even though you may have little to do with it -- after all, I didn't write all those papers and attend all those lectures.  Education can be the ticket to a fulfilling adult life, a better world and a better standard of living.

My girl heads off to graduate school later in the summer.  Here, she surpasses her father and me in her schooling.  That's a good thing.  She's on a mission; she has a plan.  She will be a teacher and the kids she is going to teach are in for a treat.  Damn, but I am bursting with pride today.

NVC

If you're my family you may not want to read this.  Because I'm just gonna say it: my family can confound me no end sometimes.  There are times when I feel I've stepped into the middle of somebody else's shit storm, quite by surprise, and big emotions arise, assumptions are made, communication is lacking.  I had an opportunity to practice some of the skills I learned in my NVC workshop: listening with empathy.  Oh sure, my defenses were up too, because I felt hurt.  That's what makes listening with empathy so difficult.  You're busy bolstering your story so you can defend yourself.  But it really did help.  It got me off of telling my 'story' and just listening to what the other person had to say and really hearing them.  Doesn't mean I agree with them; it's not about that.  It's not about right and wrong.  It's about really seeing and hearing someone if they need to communicate to you.  You know, to validate someone's experience just like I want my experiences and feelings heard and validated, not brushed aside.

I see how this was a perfect opportunity for honest communication, and we were both willing to engage in that.  That's a step forward, that's right action, and I can dig that no end.

Happy Easter

L., 4 yrs old

Yours truly, 3 or 4 years old

Two girls.  Two Easters.  Decades apart.  There's a grandson who will someday be added to this collection.

For the Good of All

Billy, shot by my nephew.  Who is Billy?*

Last week Dad went to Arizona to join family and friends for some spring training baseball games.  To watch, not to play, of course.  He had a great time, bonding with his grandson and hanging out with grandson's FIL, who is a fun guy and really delightful (I've met him, I can vouch).

Meanwhile, back at Midtown Abbey, Lady C  and I thoroughly enjoyed some peace and quiet.  We kept to her accustomed time schedule (roughly) and were able to sit at the table for breakfast and lunch, reading the newspaper with nary an interruption.  Holy bliss, it was.  I am patting myself on the back for keeping her fed, bathed, happy and on-time with her various medications throughout the day.  I even got some housework done, and went to my regular Friday class and Sunday breakfast group (with a movie afterward).  My sis and niece filled in for me on Sunday so I had many hours of away time.  Dad runs a tight ship, and I think I did a decent job 'keeping up standards.'  The best thing was the quiet.  The companionable silence we enjoyed together.  We acknowledged it regularly, with a "Poor Dad, he just can help his exuberance."

We're already scheming on his next out of town trip.  For the good of all.

*As it turns out, Billy is Billy Bean, who was depicted in the movie "Money Ball" by Brad Pitt.  A good movie, btw.

Happy St. Patrick's Day

This parade happened yesterday in Old Town.  Apparently a lot of people were getting their party on early, being that Saturday does not fall just before a work day for many.  Better to wake up on Sunday with a raging hangover than on Monday. 

It's hard to believe that it was two years ago my mother fell and broke her hip while under my care at her San Diego house.  Dad was up here in Sacramento scouting for a home to buy.  Big surprise to me, but I was calm under pressure, not wanting to scare or upset her.  The ambulance came, as did the paramedics, and off we went to the hospital.  Dad caught the first available flight home, and the rest is history.

I shall always remember this on St. Patrick's Day.  Just as I always remember my dearest grandmother who passed away on Christmas eve those many years ago.  Way to mark the occasion, ladies!  We Irish like to do things dramatically with a bit o' flair.

TGIF

Papá del feliz cumpleaños!  81 years young today.

Vigorous, funny, idiosyncratic, a lover of Fox Noise, a proud 'chef', father of three daughters (bless his soul), grandfather to six, a great-grandfather to two (with one on the way), a storyteller, a student, a man who enjoys his life.  He is a walking contradiction, and I love him so.

Birthday Dinner

Nadine

Nadine Robinson, Beloved Grandmother 1912 - 12/24/97

She was a wild one.  Married 5 times.  Mother to my father.  An artist, a secretary, a social butterfly with a beautiful singing voice.  A constant smoker until her late 70s when she contracted lung cancer and beat it.  My sisters and I remember the nights she sang lullabies in our darkened bedroom, the glow of the lit cigarette in her hand keeping time.  Nary a window open.

She took us on 'fun rides' in her Volkswagen convertible with the top down, going up and down on the hilly asphalt and tar roads of Mission Hills.  She treated us to fancy dinners and introduced us to fancy food: crab, lobster, shark, frog legs, escargot and the ever present Shirley Temple while she sipped her Martini.

She lived long enough to see her only granddaughters have children of their own.  And she had fun with her great grand babies as well.

Christmas was one of her favorite holidays.  She had beautiful decorations - a village made of stained-glass houses, shops and a church.  She gave my daughter a procelain fairy each year to hand on our tree.  After a few years of this she gave me the entire collection, making me promise to give just one each Christmas until they were gone.  So, for years after she died, I watched as my delighted daughter discovered the "new Christmas Fairy from GG." 


Merry Christmas Grandmother, GG, where ever you may be.  Your great granddaughter's Fairies still hang on her tree.

Christmas Candy

My sis and her family have been making candy for Christmas gifts for 26 years.  One year they said to heck with it, and they got an earful from many disappointed friends.  People have come to rely on their candy, as sure as day follows night.

With our nice new big kitchen, we expanded candy making to both of our households.  We finished all the peanut clusters in 6.5 hours, compared to spread over 3 days.  We have a big refrigerator, and I have my little one downstairs.  All decks were cleared to harden up the peanuts mixed with melted butterscotch.  I can't even remember how many jumbo sized peanut cans we went through (10?) and how many bags of butterscotch chips (20?).  Sis cleaned out the store where she bought them.

Today is chocolate covered coconut balls.  Let the season begin!

Moving On

Here a Chez Crowley, we were split when it came to the Presidential race.  Two of us are very despondent over the President's win, while I, couldn't be happier.  I'm not throwing it in their face, but the folks are now ragging on about how this country is really go to go into the crapper now.  I have to listen to this when I am upstairs in their space.  Consequently, I'm not spending a lot of time there.

photo from SF Chronicle

Meanwhile, our favorite grocery, Raley's/Nob Hill is on strike and dad's going shopping there tomorrow.  I told him I would not cross a picket line.  He is looking forward to crossing it -- he blames unions for most of our ills, and certainly for the President's re-election.  I just hope he stays safe and keeps off the local news.  He's hot under the collar right now and I wouldn't put it past him to say something inflammatory to the picketers. 

 I sure wish I had the ability to wipe their memories and re-install some compassion and progressive thinking.  Sigh. 

My Boy

Oh joy!  I'm seeing my grandson for the first time in 3 months, and since he's started walking.  The minute they got out of the car he started chopping up the sidewalk.  No holding hands for this little one, he wants to be moving, and mom and dad are just too slow.

He's a power-walker for sure.  And when he takes a spill, he folds his little body like a pill bug and rolls with it.  Then he's up again before you know it.

He's still delighted by this mode of transportation.  (So much better than rolling or crawling.) He laughs as he walks, and holds out his hands to feel the wind.  It is inspiring to see someone so danged happy.

We walked all around the block, following him where he wanted to go.  Pulling him away from the street when he ventured too close.

A commuter train was coming at one point, the barriers closing and the bells clanging and the lights flashing.  We thought he'd get a kick out of it, but no, when he came to our corner (for the first time) he turned left and headed for home like a horse getting back to the barn for feeding time.

He's "all boy" as the GF says.

A boy on a mission, a boy on the move.  A boy that swells my heart with fierce love and goodness.

Gosh, I love having a grandson.

Sisters

I just had a little late-night facebook chat with my sister who lives 2 states away.  I, suffering insomnia AGAIN, and she, returning from a dance.  Who's got the better deal, here? 

My other sister is away on multiple business trips...checking in on FB so we know her whereabouts.  This crazy Facebook things is -- well -- crazy!

I am grateful that I have two sisters whom I respect and enjoy.  As I age, I understand the rarity of this.  Of course we are quite different people who have made very different choices in our lives, but finally we have given up the rivalry bit in favor of the comradely bit, and we're all the better for it.  They are my rock.  They have my back.  That's just about the best feeling in the world.

We see each other with all our shared history, and we talk in shorthand because we know so much.  They are a comfort to me, and a window onto my past.  I'm guessing that they will be profoundly important to my future as well, and me, theirs. 

Here's to you, sisters!

Friday Musings

The boy's first birthday was a blast and he was hilarious plowing into a little cake of his very own that one of his aunties made for him.  The party was definitely for the adults -- no one year old cares or remembers the party.  He napped through the first hour of it.

I spent most of my time talking and eating with my ex-husband (my daughter's father) and his ex-girlfriend (who I went to college with).  The passage of time has brought healing and even humor to us.  He snapped a photo of J. and me, and she quipped, "Portrait of the Exes!"  And I quipped, "Ah, yes, his Harem."  And he laughed.

Met this fellow, James, who was on American Idol one season ago.  He's a Santa Cruz local, and a friend of my daughter's.  He was at the party with his wife and 4 year old son.  Nice guy, loving daddy, just a regular rocker Joe.



I did get a little punch to my heart watching the other grandparents, the locals, interacting with Eden.  It happened before I knew what was coming: a pang of regret that I moved away just as this little guy was getting ready to enter the world.  He knows his other grandparents much more consistently than he does me.  But oh, when I visit, he does know who I am and it makes me so very glad.

Drove home today and readied the house for the GF's visit.  I made salmon - in a crock pot - with baked yam and green beans (in the microwave).  All prepared in my little quasi-kitchen in my little apartment.  The first dinner I've cooked there.  Turned out to be very easy with the help of these two appliances.  You can make a lot in a slow cooker pot and a microwave oven.  The opposite ends of the cook time spectrum, they worked well in harmony.  If you're interested in how to cook salmon in a slow cooker, go here.

I'm sleepy and finally ready for bed.  A great couple of days, and my beloved is sawing logs in the next room.  Gracias a la vida!  Hope you have a fantastic weekend and eat some really delicious food, to boot!

Happy Birthday, Grandson

Here's the little peanut a year ago today.  And here's the little goober just recently - can you believe how time has flown?

Can we get it together in this damned old world so that all the little grandchildren can grow up safe, healthy and happy?  A Bubbie can dream.

The Look

You know the one I'm talking about: you are a big dumb idiot look.

Dad dishes that look out a lot -- my niece doesn't hang out here much because of 'the look.'  I grew up with 'the look.' 

This is a close approximation of the facial expression.

I suppose I do this too, although I'd like to think not.

When I was a kid, the look could reduce me to tears, because I so wanted the approval of my dad.  His disapproving face took the rug right out from under me.

I don't think my nearest and dearest are big dumb idiots; I like to think I have more compassion than to think or feel that even if they say or do something fairly idiotic.  The look is judgemental, the look is harsh.  That's not me (so I like to think).

Words are important.  So are faces.  We express a lot with them.  Maybe we should videotape ourselves in conversation to see what kind of faces we show to the world.

Big Life

Baby boy Sorenson

Here's the latest addition to the family:  my great nephew born this morning in the wee hours, in Portland, Oregon.

His dad was in Chicago on a mandatory business trip, but he has arrived home to greet his son.  No telling yet if big sister Olivia is happy or confused, or what.

Life is working out pretty well for my nephew and his wife: he just landed a big job fresh out of school, and she can now stay at home to raise the two children, which is what she wants to do.  No small feat in this day and age of high unemployment and sagging economies.

My older sister now has a new grandchild, and my parents have 3 great-grandchildren.

So the years spin by and now the boy is twenty
Though his dreams have lost some grandeur coming true
There'll be new dreams, maybe better dreams and plenty
Before the last revolving year is through.

And the seasons they go 'round and 'round
And the painted ponies go up and down
We're captive on the carousel of time
We can't return, we can only look behind
From where we came
And go round and 'round and 'round
In the circle game
And go 'round and 'round and 'round in the circle game.

Last Friday in June

Well, friends, it certainly has been a eventful month.  Pride celebrations, my birthday, hospital adventures, and Supreme Court rulings.  I couldn't be more pleased that the Affordable Care Act was upheld by the court -- who woulda thunk that the Chief Justice would have been the swing vote?  Good for him!

Love continues to blossom for me, and each passing week provides more treasures and delights and insights.  One of the biggest 'A-HAs' for me is my discomfort with anger.  Not that anyone has gotten angry (yet) but it came out of a discussion with my gal:  how people deal with anger (or not).  See, she's incredibly thoughtful and articulate about communication and the stylistic differences that can cause problems in relationships.  She is entering this relationship very consciously and we have the most interesting talks.  She is challenging me, just by her being herself, to bring my best self forward.

Yes, I am completely freaked out when someone I like or love is angry with me.  She sent me this link yesterday because she saw how freaked out I was about anger.  We have to be able to get angry, right?  I'm so tired of relationships where the anger hides below the surface, screwing with hearts and minds and undermining any chance of lasting happiness.  I want to be able to face my fears around anger and release them.  According to this assessment, my most valued qualities in a relationship are Words of Affirmation and Quality Time.  This would help explain my avoidance of anger.  Being affirmed is most cherished by me, and I read anger as rejection of me.  So that's where I need to do some work.

When I think about my family, I know I can be angry with them momentarily and still love them immensely.  This is especially true regarding my daughter.  My anger over an issue or action would not lead me to withdraw my love -- I couldn't if I tried.  The love is there, deep and true, and nothing is going to change that. 

Feel like taking the assessment? It takes about 10 minutes max.  Love to hear what language of love you value most.

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My folks are headed down to UCLA Med Center so mom can be evaluated for study on Parkinson's.  I'll have the house to myself for many days, and I can't tell you how excited I am.  Excited that she may enter the study, and excited that I'm going to have the house to myself.  Dad is asking if they will return to find it burnt to the ground from one of my crazy parties.  He's also promising to have a drone keep an eye on the place in his absence.  See, even at 55, I apparently cannot be trusted when the parents are away.  Because, as you know, I am a wild and crazy party gal.  Sex, drugs, rock and roll all the way.  I'll be so busy debauching that I probably won't have time to post anything at all.  Maybe a few lewd photographs of the shenanigans.  

Happy Father's Day

1935

 

 

 

Some of us are lucky to still have our fathers in our lives.  I count myself lucky, indeed.  He's 80 now and swears he'll live to be 114.  He just might be right. 

Saturday

The wind is up, rattling the trees and sending small bits of debris against the house.  Not my house, my girlfriend's house.  It is blissfully quiet here in the morning and the dogs pad about with nary a sound.  It all feels so familiar...like my old life, before parents.  There is even a teenage daughter in the house (again) who loves her computer and all things Magna and animation.  Oh, and the Food Network, just like my step-daughter does.

A morning dove outside competes with the blue jays.  Today we may go buy flowers to freshen up the pots and the spot under the tree.  Last night we sat out on the patio drinking our port and talking about ex-husbands, ex-girlfriends, ex-domestic partners, assorted neighbors and mutual friends.

Mom, meanwhile, is being vetted for a study on Parkinson's through UCLA.  She jumping through hoops to see if she meets the criteria; she'll probably be going down there for some initial visits with the doc who is running the study.  She's eager to participate: it's a study to see if magnetic waves on the brain impact the mood and motor control of people with Parkinson's.

Last night she was not feeling well -- jumpy and anxious actually.  I suggested she take a pill the doc had prescribed for her just for anxiety.  And I also suggested she forgo her usual evening martini if she took this pill.  She took the pill and it helped.  She had a martini and it didn't help.  When dad brought out a bottle of wine for dinner, I pantomimed the ol' slicing of the throat - CUT HER OFF.  He complied.  Poor thing, she  could barely sit through dinner, and her mind was tripping in some far-out land.  Her messages back to us mere mortals at the dinner table made no sense.  Then it was off to bed to sleep it off.  I hope she doesn't remember a thing this morning.

I won't be offering one of those pills again.  And, hopefully, if I do, they will take my no martini admonishment seriously.  The chemistry of the mind, especially with the elderly, is a dicey thing.

Have a lovely weekend, all.

Happy Birthday, Mother

Victoria, BC, 2007

She is a fighter - surviving and thriving despite two broken hips in the last several years.  She loves to laugh, and I spend a good amount of time trying to make that happen.  She has a sharp mind but rarely shares her opinion -- unless she's had a martini.  She has been a loyal and steadfast wife to my father for more than half a century; ensuring the family nest egg, working tirelessly to bring home the bacon as well as raise three daughters.  She went back to college when I was in junior high school in order to obtain her BA.  I was so proud of her - I never knew she had to drop out because she began to have a family of her own.

Born in Berkeley, CA, her parents were a schoolteacher and a postal worker and they lived in Placerville.  My grandmother was wary of the goat doctors up in the hills, so she booked a hotel room in Berkeley with another family member who also happened to be a nurse.  After mom was born, Grandmother returned to the log cabin in the hills above Placerville.  Serious. Log. Cabin.  I remember it.  She lived there until she was 3 years old.  The oldest of five, she was her mother's helper, a latch-key kid in Berkeley during the war years when her dad was stationed in the bay area.  She took summer vacations in Santa Cruz with her great Aunt, getting sunburned on the boardwalk and riding the Giant Dipper.

Ever the penny-pincher, she made sure we were well fed and clothed nicely.  She made great food and tasty baked treats, and all of our Halloween costumes.  She used to do the ironing while watching Dr. Kildare on television, and grew lovely roses that she would wrap up and send to school with us, gifts for our teachers.  She enjoyed playing bridge, and made lovely anniversary dinners for her husband, feeding us kids early and shooing us upstairs before they sat down to celebrate.  She didn't have many adult friends, but the ones she had were very close and dear to her.

She is a private person and unlike myself, not prone to talking about herself.  Growing up I sensed a sadness in her, but it was never spoken of.  She was just 'quiet.' That was mom.

I spent a lot of my young adult years mourning that I didn't have the kind of closeness with her that I wanted.  She could be distant, practical and utilitarian to a fault.  I was much more needy than that and she couldn't relate to my emotional and creative yearnings.

Thankfully, I came to understand her and love her in a new way, especially after the birth of my daughter.  My mom came to visit for a week, helping me adjust to motherhood and tending to me with her cooking, cleaning and gardening.  Letting me sleep when the baby cried, and sending me out to take walks on my own.  She gave Laurel her first bath in the kitchen sink.

Living with her now for a year, I've come to know her in new ways yet again.  In her coping with Parkinson's Disease, she has shown humor and strength, and a calm acceptance of her 'new normal.'  She appreciates my help, and lets me know it.  She tells me she loves me and holds on tight to my hand.  We lie in bed together and read our books, a comfortable silence between us.  We roll our eyes at each other when dad is acting unnecessarily frantic, and we listen to his interminable stories with grace even though we know them by heart.  And we both love him deeply.

She was born in 1935.  May she have many more years to come.  Happy Birthday, Mother.