Today I wish my father “Happy Birthday!” and express my gratitude for all he does for me and my family. I baked him a fresh loaf of home-made bread this morning and will treat him to dinner sometime this weekend at a restaurant of his choice. I will take a stroll down memory lane when I revisit this post in a couple of days, once I’ve had a chance to recover from a medical procedure I underwent yesterday. But I at least wanted to post a quick blurb for my eighteenth day of ‘Thirty Days of Thankfulness‘ and shout out to my dad:
I am thankful for my sense to hearing, and specifically music, which will be the focus of the fifteenth day of my ‘Thirty Days of Thankfulness.’
At age five, I started taking piano lessons from a close neighbor (close being a relative term out in the wilds of northwestern Leavenworth County). Reading music came to me just about as easily as reading words. Oddly (because I love mathematics), my only long-standing issue is my (un)willingness to count out a song in my head so that I get the rhythm and tempo correct. I didn’t spend much time in a band environment (only played flute for two years before middle school), so I rely heavily upon a percussionist if I play and/or sing in a praise band. And my audio memory of how a song should sound. Yes, I’m lazy. Probably why I’m not a professional musician.
As I’ve mentioned before, my husband is a hundred times, or more likely, a thousand times better musician than I will ever be. He has impeccable timing and near perfect pitch. He has the patience and technical skills to practice a piece to perfection.
Rachelle posing as a diva a couple of years ago
My daughter inherited most if not all of her musical ability and talent from him (I can still play piano better than her, but she knows more music theory than I’ll ever understand).
Rachelle started singing about the same time she learned to talk. She surpassed my measly vocal abilities way back in early high school. Along the way, she learned how to play violin, guitar, saxophone and piano. However, her voice is her most finely honed instrument. As she approaches her final semester as an under graduate at UNT’s College of Music, I look forward to attending her senior recital, which will include all of the following songs Rachelle recently recorded for her graduate school auditions (click on the song title link, then click on the play button):
Ah scostati!
Paventa il tristo effeto
d’un disperato affeto!
Chiudi quelle finestre
Odio la luce, odio l’aria, che spiro
Odio me stessa!
Chi schernisce il mio duol,
Chi mi consola?
Deh fuggi, per pietà, fuggi,
Lasciami sola.
Smanie implacabili, che m’agitate
Dentro quest’anima più non cessate,
Finchè l’angoscia mi fa morir.
Esempio misero d’amor funesto,
Darò all’Eumenidi se viva resto
Col suno orrible de’ miei sospir.
English Translation:
Ah, move away!
Fear the sad effect
of a desperate affection!
Shut those windows,
I hate the light, I hate the air that I breathe
I hate myself!
Who mocks my pain,
Who will console me?
Oh, leave, for pity’s sake, leave,
Leave me alone.
Implacable restlessness, that disturbs me
Inside this soul, doesn’t cease,
Until it makes me die.
A miserable example of fateful love
I will give to the Furies, if I live,
With the horrible sound of my sighs.
Der Tag ging regenschwer und sturmbewegt,
Ich war an manch vergessenem Grab gewesen,
Verwittert Stein und Kreuz, die Kränze alt,
Die Namen überwachsen, kaum zu lesen.
Der Tag ging sturmbewegt und regenschwer,
Auf allen Gräbern fror das Wort: Gewesen.
Wie sturmestot die Särge schlummerten,
Auf allen Gräbern taute still: Genesen.
English Translation:
In the churchyard
The day was heavy with rain and disturbed by storms;
I was walking among many forgotten graves,
with weathered stones and crosses, the wreaths old,
the names washed away, hardly to be read.
The day was disturbed by storms and heavy with rain;
on every grave froze the words “we were.”
The coffins slumbered calmly like the eye of a storm,
and on every grave melted quietly the words: “we were healed.”
Today I am grateful for my husband, Terry. Today just also happens to be his birthday. So, for my fourteenth day of my ‘Thirty Days of Thankfulness‘ series, I will take you on a walk down memory lane.
I met Terry in the fall of 1983, just a few weeks after leaving home in Leavenworth County to attend college at Wichita State University. My first room mate in my dorm was a valley girl; seriously, she was from that infamous valley in Southern California. We couldn’t have been more different, but we made the best of it. She invited me out one weekend and we tried one of the local clubs called Backstage. Remember all that horrible pop music from the 80s … everytime I hear Lover Boy or Duran Duran or Def Leppard, I flashback to that night.
I wandered around while Jill fit right in. I ended up in the balcony, watching the lighted dance floor. A guy approached me and asked my name. I told him it was Jon. His immediate reply was ‘Don’t give me that shit.’ I was a bit taken aback by his aggresive response, but I was also used to people’s unbelief in my name. I whipped out my driver’s license, which I had placed in my back pocket, having left my purse locked in Jill’s Volkswagon bug. After a somewhat rocky start, we spent the evening dancing and talking.
Over the next few months, I got to know Terry very well. He took me out on his dirt bike to the motocross courses carved out of the Big Ditch by him and his buddies. I listened to him play his Ibanez Artist (the same one he still owns and plays) and his trumpet. I’m still amazed at his musical abilities, which he seems to have passed on to our daughter, Rachelle.
Three years after meeting Terry, we had our first child, Derek. By that time, we had moved in with his father, whose health was beginning to decline after years of smoking. We purchased a house in Benton (about twelve or fifteen miles east of Wichita) and soon after Rachelle was born. We spent several good years in Benton, until we discovered Terry’s health took a nose dive. After months of test and inconclusive diagnoses, a hematologist determined Terry had sarcoidosis, but not of the ‘normal’ variety which attacks most people’s lungs; rather, his variant attacked his kidneys.
Faced with the prospect of a chronically ill spouse who would probably need my help to cope, I felt I needed a support network or safety net to help with raising Derek and Rachelle. With the passing of Terry’s father in 1991, that left only his sister living within an hour of us. I had no family living in or near Wichita. I also knew I could make quite a bit more income moving to a larger metropolitan area like Kansas City.
I found a new job without too much stress or effort, but selling our house became a problem. Terry and Derek stayed behind in Benton. Terry single-handedly remodeled our one hundred year old farm house as best he could, while still suffering from the effects of his disease. Rachelle moved in with my parents and I worked a ton of hours, sleeping in my brother’s attic and visit my parents (and Rachelle) on the weekends. Finally, in the fall of 1997, we were reunited, renting a house in Lansing so the kids could attend school in that school district. We also ended up renting the Benton, House, since we could not find a buyer before Terry and Derek migrated north.
Terry soon found a job working for H&R Block’s call center in Lenexa. He steadily moved up the chain of command, but suffered the axe during a reorganization and lay offs in the early 00s. We did manage to find a beautiful home to purchase in Lansing and some nice automobiles (including a luxurious Buick Park Avenue Ultra and a nearly new Firebird Formula). Terry joined the local SCCA and won F stock in Solo II and Rookie of the Year.
Terry found local judo and jujitsu instructors for both Derek and Rachelle on post. He fully supported Derek as he competed locally, regionally and nationally as a judoka and in wrestling at Lansing High School.
We also joined a local church and eventually became the inaugural members of the praise band for the expanded contemporary service of that church. That endeavor forged a lasting friendship between Terry and the bass player, Sean. Even though neither of them play for that particular praise band, they still play together in their band WolfGuard.
We’ve come full circle now, with the children grown, off on their own, either married or still pursuing a college education. We’re left with the Rotts and a nearly empty house. Thanks to Terry’s previous experience in construction and at least two other remodels (his father’s house and our other house in Benton), he is once again putting his expertise to good use as we update our home in Lansing.
For a guy the doctor’s almost gave up on over fifteen years ago, he’s still kicking and still looking good. I thank God every day he’s still with me.
On the tenth day of my ‘Thirty Days of Thankfulness‘ I wish to express my gratitude for my home, my abode, my sanctuary, my castle. Since February of 1999, my family has lived in the house pictured at the left. For the last two years, only my husband and me and two Rottweilers rattle around inside.
For the past several months, we’ve been repairing and remodeling, mostly on the exterior, but we’re starting on the interior now. We initially had the roof replaced to fix a few leaks, but the major leak near the fireplace remained unresolved, even though every roofing contractor claimed they could tell right were the leak was and swore it was the roof that was leaking. We finally called a chimney expert who determined our cap was leaking as well as needing some cracked fire brick replaced and some of the brick tuck-pointed. After waiting nearly two months for a torrential downpour (which we received two days ago), we are very happy to report we are completely waterproof around the fireplace. The hole we’ve had in the great room ceiling for the last ten years can now be repaired in confidence.
I am blessed. My entire life, I have always had someplace to call home, shelter from the storms of nature and life. From a small farm house in rural Leavenworth County, to a dorm room at Wichita State University, to a duplex in south Wichita, to my husband’s family home in north Wichita, to another farm house in Benton, back to Leavenworth County, splitting my weekdays in my brother’s attic and my weekends either at my parents, where my daughter lived for a year, or back in Benton to visit Terry and Derek, to a rental house in Lansing and finally to our current home. I never left Kansas, except to travel. Depending on what the real estate market does in the next few years, that may change. I hope to follow my daughter to wherever she is accepted for graduate school so I can finally attend her vocal performances in person.
Helping the Homeless
The world’s population reached seven billion people recently. Seven billion people, many of whom do not have the assurance of a roof over their head or food to sustain them. In America, it is so easy to become complacent and blinded to the plight of the poor, the homeless, the huddled masses right under our noses. You don’t have to look farther than the street corner you just drive by to see the writing on the cardboard. And it’s only gotten worse during the ‘Great Recession’ despite all the political posturing in Washington that does little to provide relief for their suffering. But I’m not one to wait on the government to do what I should be doing in the first place.
What’s the biggest problem and solution facing the world today? I am. If I made more of an effort to support charities and volunteer my time, then surely I would make a difference, however small, in someone’s life. I encourage you to embrace that concept.
Here are a few of the charities I actively support as I am able (from local to international):
Habitat for Humanity (Kansas City metro area) – Their vision is a world where everyone has a decent place to live.
Heifer International‘s mission is to work with communities to end hunger and poverty and care for the earth. By giving families a hand-up, not just a hand-out, we empower them to turn lives of hunger and poverty into self-reliance and hope.
World Vision is a Christian humanitarian organization dedicated to working with children, families, and their communities worldwide to reach their full potential by tackling the causes of poverty and injustice.
Samaritan’s Purse – Operation Christmas Child – You still have time to pack a shoebox and track it worldwide!
My brother, me, my grandmother and my cousin (Photo taken by my father, developed and printed in his darkroom in the 70s)
On my seventh day of ‘Thirty Days of Thankfulness‘ I am thankful for cameras and photography. I was exposed to photographic equipment (in more ways the one) from an early age. My father had a dark room and quite a bit of photographic gear. He did weddings and local school functions (for Homecoming and the prom) and helped out the yearbook staff with snapshots from sporting events and music department concerts. I learned to take direction (how to tilt my head, where to focus my eyes) at an early age. Naturally, I inherited this fascination with capturing electromagnetic radiation.
Second Generation Shutterbug
I am a poor excuse for a photographer, even an amateur one. I like to think I have a good eye for spotting a great photograph, I just don’t always have the right equipment with me, or remember how to use said photographic equipment to it’s fullest potential. I really have no excuse, considering I am a second generation shutterbug. For years, I’ve heard stories from my dad and uncle about my grandfather’s photographic exploits before, during and after WWII. I sent them each an e-mail requesting more detailed information and they gladly provided the following tidbits:
My father told me my grandfather, Ralph, became a photographer while attending Leavenworth High School during the 1930s. He also worked and learned from a local Leavenworth camera shop and portrait studio called Star Studio. My uncle added that photography during the 30s was still an arcane, complicated and a very hands-on hobby/profession.
Even with film purchased from commercial sources, photographic developing and printing (separate processes) involved the precise mixing of chemicals and control of temperature and humidity to develop and fix the image on the film, and to develop and fix the image on the paper. Both processes—plus the actual exposure of the photo-sensitive paper to the projected image from the developed film—required rigorous control of environmental conditions. Ralph took pictures for the Leavenworth High School year book. In 1937, Ralph won statewide (Kansas) honors as the top (or one of the top) science students in public high schools.
Both my dad and uncle confirmed that after graduating, Ralph also worked for the local newspaper, the Leavenworth Times as well as continuing at Star Studio. Some of his work appeared in the paper.
Ralph Andrea, WWII Army Photographer
My father remembers Ralph being stationed in the Pacific, specifically, New Guinea, during WWII as photo support of air corp operations. For a short time, Ralph stayed in Japan as part of the Occupation forces. During the Cold War, Ralph returned to active duty in the Air Force for Korea, but conducted his work from here in the U.S. Ralph stayed in the Air Force until retirement in 1968, being stationed to various sites around the world, working as tech and photo resource.
My dad remembered Ralph’s equipment best. Ralph had several cameras including a 4×5 Speed Graphic; an Argus C3, an early 35mm; and, he did some early color work during WWII, before the film was available to the public. Ralph held a patent on a modification to the old flash bulb to keep them from going off when in close proximity to radar equipment.
My uncle relates more detailed information regarding Ralph’s military service: With the onset of World War Two, Ralph volunteered for duty in the US Army Air Corps, enlisting at Sherman Field on Fort Leavenworth. Because of his experience with highly technical photography, he was elected for further training both as a photographer and as an officer (despite his not having a college education).
Ralph resting his arm on his Speed Graphic camera
During World War Two, photography units, such as Ralph’s in the Pacific theater of war, performed all the various functions of photography. They took the pictures: aerial photography was in its infancy, ground combat photography, plus the more traditional documenting of people and events. They developed the film and prints, and they also interpreted the aerial reconnaissance pictures. Ralph was the supply officer of his small unit, which included responsibility for maintaining the necessary chemicals as well as support for their mobile, air-conditioned dark room tents.
After World War Two, Ralph earned a bachelor’s degree in engineering at the University of Kansas, followed by a master’s in photographic engineering at Boston University. His Air Force work included collaboration with General George W. Goddard, the “father” of modern aerial reconnaissance, developing concepts and systems for both air-breathing and satellite reconnaissance.
In his later years with the United States Air Force, Ralph worked at the Defense Intelligence Agency, Headquarters USAF and HQ Air Force Systems Command to identify and procure future reconnaissance systems. During that time, Ralph was involved in the development of computerized systems to record and transmit photographic systems. He retired in 1968, before the advent of micro-computers which revolutionized the capture and processing of images but his work brought the USAF to the cusp of exploiting those digital systems as they developed.
I wish to express my deep gratitude to my father and uncle who provided, at the drop of a hat, the scanned photographs and commentary for this section.
Family Vacation Slideshows
My dad took us (mom, my brother and I) all over the continental United States, following his brother’s military migrations and also to visit my mother’s relatives in Montana and the Pacific Northwest. Consequently, before I had graduated from high school, I’d been to all but three of the lower 48 states and at least two Canadian provinces. We visited nearly every National Park, massive hydroelectric dams, a few nuclear power plants, a meteor crater, caves, mountains, deserts, a rain forest and historical sites from coast to coast. Once we returned home, and the slides were returned from the developer, we’d gather with local friends and family for a re-cap slideshow of our latest vacation adventure.
Annual Christmas Card Family Photo
My mom, me, my dad, and my brother (circa Christmas 1974)
Every fall, my dad would gather us together in the kitchen or the living, which he had converted temporarily to a portrait studio, complete with tripods, flash units, reflectors and light meters, to take that year’s family photo to be used as our family Christmas card. My cousin, Wendell, still follows this tradition, although with a Star Wars-ian twist some years. I prefer to create a Christmas letter or newsletter, similar to a blog post, where I can include more than one photo, and usually of a more casual nature (as I prefer candids to posed snapshots). At the risk of dating myself (more than I already have), to the left you’ll see the Andrea Family Christmas Card from 1974.
Recording My Own Family
Rachelle 'climbing the mountain' that was our storm shelter.
Film still ruled the day when both my kids were born in the mid to late 80s, so photos of my fledgling family are scarcer but all the more precious. I used mostly disposable cameras, since I didn’t own a single-lens reflex (SLR) camera. Once my kids started participating in sports and music, I invested my limited funds in a camcorder and now I have boxes and boxes of VHS-C videotapes in my basement. Whether or not I ever get them converted to digital format remains to be seen. By the time my children reached high school, I made the leap to digital video and photography. Now, instead of magnetic tape storage, I’m archiving family memories to DVD. I upload some of these videos to my infrequently used YouTube channel.
Sunrise, Sunset
Sunrise (Mar 2011)
I always seem to be in my car or the van when a spectacular sunrise or sunset occurs. So I’m reduced to the capabilities of the embedded camera in my cell phone which has a lens smaller than the eraser on a pencil. Occasionally, though, I’m prepared (or I forgot and left all my photographic equipment in the trunk of my car) and I plan a session from a local park or cemetery. My library has an east facing window, so I can catch the sunrise in the late fall and winter while sipping on my freshly steeped tea. I captured the sunrise to the left from that room in early March of this year. Sunsets are more difficult from my home, because it sits lower than K-7/US-73 to my west and on the other side of the highway is a large hill. So sunsets usually mean packing up everything and hopping in the car to West Mary Street, near the new Elementary School, or to Mount Muncie or Mount Calvary Cemeteries.
Astrophotography – My Final Frontier
Crescent Moon (Apr 2011)
I hope to merge two of my favorite hobbies once I retire: Astronomy and Photography. By then, I also hope to have moved to a location with darker night skies, a higher altitude and minimal obstructions (no close large trees, streetlights or hills). For now, I make do with an occasionally moon shot using either my telescope or just the telephoto lens and a tripod. Someday I plan to photograph Jupiter, Saturn, a galaxy and a nebula.
Today, and every day, I’m thankful for the companionship and unconditional love of my Rottweilers. I’ll focus my fourth ‘Thirty Days of Thankfulness‘ topic with a walk down memory lane with Baron, Roxy and Apollo.
Roxy and Apollo (Nov 2011)
These two are not our first Rottweilers, and probably won’t be our last. Only Heaven knows why all dogs adopted by the Moss Family select me as their favorite family member.
I grew up a cat person. Yes, we had a dog, once, but it’s the cats I remember. I adored them; they put up with me. Ironically, I married a dog person and spawned more dog-loving offspring. At least my daughter had some affinity for cats, but gave equal time to dogs. In fact, Rachelle rescued Roxy from our local animal shelter back in 2004 or 2005. At least we had a fenced back yard. A good friend we knew from church also loved Rottweilers and helped train dogs, so Rachelle and Roxy went to obedience school together for the first few months. Roxy learned the commands well and even learned how to track and speak on command, not always an easy command to teach a Rottweiler.
A year or so later, my husband conspired with Rachelle to rescue Apollo, using the excuse Roxy suffered from loneliness. They took Roxy to the same animal shelter she was rescued from to meet Apollo, to see if she would like him and could get along with him. Apollo followed the pattern or all previous dogs we’ve adopted and looked up to me, but he really connected with Rachelle. Perhaps he was just playing along with the established canine hierarchy previously established by Roxy. When Rachelle left to attend college in North Texas, Apollo accepted his lot in life and transferred his loyalty, temporarily Rachelle hopes, to Terry. Apollo will get his annual Rachelle fix at the end of December, which she returns for a two week visit during her between-semester holiday break.
The only photo we have of Baron (early 90s)
One of our previous Rottweilers, Baron, came from champion stock and weighed in over one hundred and twenty pounds (I don’t remember exactly, it could have been up over 130). He exhibited the typical male Rottweiler traits — grumpiness, protectiveness, aggressiveness, insatiable appetite — and still followed me around with puppy dog eyes. Because he was full blooded and registered, we never neutered him, so that probably contributed to his Alpha-dog antics; although King, an even larger, but older, Malamute, did not suffer foolishness. We lost Baron tragically to stomach torsion in the early 90s, leaving King alone again until he passed away peacefully at the great old age of fourteen.
King, Derek and Terry in the mid 80s.
We took more than ten years to adopt another Rottweiler. I blame Rachelle completely for the rescue of Roxy. I never dreamed I’d be buying (and hefting) forty and fifty pound bags of dog food again. Or annual trips to the vet to the detriment of the leather seats in my cars. Or finding dog toys that last more than five minutes (Tuffie Toys or a variant of the Tiger tested toys found at my local hardware store).
But for all my grunching, I enjoy walking either dog (rarely together, as they outweigh me and have incredible torque). Trips to the local dog park are a big hit with both Rotts, although Roxy, being older and slower, tends to flag sooner than Apollo, who can run and play all day long if given the chance. I come home each week night to wagging tails (or nubs in Roxy’s case) and greeted to a fresh round of snuffling and drooling.
Some breeds can self-regulate at meal time. In my experience, the Rottweiler is not one of those breeds. I often refer to the resident Rottweiler as a walking stomach. Therefore, I feed them both sparingly: a cup in the morning and a cup in the evening. Otherwise, Roxy would look like a beached whale in a week. Apollo, on the other hand, who is not a full-blooded Rott, often skips a meal because he’s not hungry and not driven by the need to consume anything that even looks remotely edible. When I board the dogs at the local kennel, I have to remind them to not leave any food lying around in a convenient dish, or Roxy will find it and consume it. She inhales her food. Seriously, I’m not joking, and I worry about her choking. Someday, I should post a YouTube video of Roxy at breakfast time, but it might be too short to believe. By the time I place the food in her dish, turnaround to scoop out Apollo’s portion and drop it in his dish, she’s usually done. Apollo then starts growling at Roxy to warn her away from his dish and I shoo her outside to the back yard, leaving him in peace to finish his breakfast in a leisurely five or ten minutes.
Roxy Listening to the Neighborhood (Nov 2011)
Once Apollo finishes his breakfast, he bounds up the stairs, prancing and bouncing around the great room in an effort to get my attention. I proceed to the other back door and let him out, provided Roxy doesn’t burst through the door as soon as I open it. Roxy hates being outside, especially if it’s raining or wet. Apollo loves the outdoors and gladly spends hours and hours exploring the backyard and keeping an eye on the neighbors and the frequent joggers, walkers and strollers. If he’d let me, I’d never let him back in the house, not because I don’t love him, but because I hate his non-standard issue long hair, which sheds continuously wherever he goes, wherever he lies down, even wherever he stands.
Apollo Surveying His Domain (Nov 2011)
I am thankful for all the years we’ve enjoyed with our Rottweilers. I look forward to many more happy years of fun with Roxy and Apollo.
Roxy (also affectionately known as 'Bear-Pig' and 'Ditzy')
I missed the blogosphere bandwagon yesterday, not realizing the current posting ‘fad’ focuses on expressing what I’m thankful for in a daily dissertation. So please pretend that today is actually yesterday, the first of November in the year 2011.
I am thankful for my family.
Terry, Derek and Rachelle (Dec 2010)
Thankful for My Husband, Terry. More than twenty five years of love and friendship, through thick and thin. He never ceases to amaze me with his brilliant musicality and compositional talent. His recent interest in the culinary arts means I come home to a new delectable food adventure nearly every evening. He overcomes his disabling chronic illness each day, never succumbing to depression or giving up the fight. He tilts windmills with home remodeling contractors and global corporations peddling home appliances. He is passionate and compassionate and I love him dearly.
Thankful for My Children, Derek and Rachelle.
Derek, and his wife Royna, just returned home after a four day visit with us during the last weekend of October. Number One Son came into the world busting the Apgar scale, despite an arduous labor ending in an emergency C-section. Even though he didn’t learn to walk until fourteen months, he never slowed down all the years we corralled him. He excelled at nearly all sports, having an uncanny sense of balance and an intuitive understanding of body mechanics, such that he competed nationally as a judoka in her early to mid teen years. His true artistic gift surfaced late in high school, blossoming under a mentor at community college. His talent for art and love of video games led him to the Guildhall at SMU and landed him an excellent placement even before graduation late last year.
Rachelle, oh how I miss you. I haven’t seen you face-to-face since last January. The wonders of the Internet at least allow me to listen to your concerts live, but it’s just not the same as being there. At least I’ll get my daughter fix in three weeks when Terry and I drive to North Texas for our third annual Moss Migration for Thanksgiving. Rachelle’s gift for vocal performance surfaced almost before she learned to talk. I caught her singing as a baby and toddler almost more than she did talking. Years and years of choir drudgery and exceptional vocal mentors honed her magnificent mezzo soprano. As she approaches the last semester of her undergraduate degree in musicology at UNT, she is gearing up for a round of auditions (and the attendant travel) to various graduate schools around the country.
Thankful for My Extended Family.
My Father, who is always willing and able to help with demolishing a dying pine or trimming back a few limbs on my oak trees or any electrical wiring project that crops up. He readily supports my bread baking habit, where he reaps the rewards in loaves of fresh home-made and home-baked loaves. He also tags along on some of my astronomical adventures courtesy of the local Astronomical Society. I have a general class amateur radio license thanks to him. My troubleshooting talent can be directly traced back to me tagging along with him while growing up, as he fixed all many of items for family and friends.
My Mother, who inspired me to read at a very early age (three or four) and instilled a love of all kinds of literature.
My Uncle, Ron, and his wife Treva, are an inspiration and an example of a blessed marriage. Ron and I feed each other’s addiction for the next great book to read to the chagrin of our spouse (I’m sure). Ron’s watercolors keep winning awards at various galleries across the Midwest and East Coast. Someday soon I hope he returns to writing that next great short story, novella or novel that I know is lurking just below the surface.
My Aunts, Melody and Jan. Melody, my mother’s sister, lives close by, within an hour’s drive in Topeka. Jan, my father’s sister, lives farther away in Ohio, between her brothers (one in Kansas and one in Virginia). Both of these women hold special places in my heart and fond memories from my early childhood.
My Cousins, starting with the paternal side of the tree, Wendell, Eric, David and Katy. Since I was the oldest cousin (from the oldest offspring), I got to see each and every one of you grow-up, from infants to adults with families of your own. Katy, the youngest, tied the knot just this past June (on or very near both my daughter’s birthday and what would have been my grandmother’s eighty-ninth birthday). Wendell and his wife Kristen recently became the proud parents of twin boys, William and Logan. On the maternal side of the tree, I have many cousins, some of which I’ve reconnected with on Facebook and others who remain in obscurity. Since my mother was somewhere in the middle of six children, I am not the oldest of the cousins on this side of the family tree. Oldest to youngest (by family group): Roberta, Peter, Rebecca; Tracy, Kelly and Phillip; Brandi and Summer; and, Charles and Anne. I know I’m missing some in the above list, mostly because there are cousins out there who are younger than my kids and I’ve only met them or heard of them once or twice.
Even though 2011 marked the first year of my life without a living grandparent, I am grateful for the time I had with both my grandmothers. Doris, my father’s mother, passed away last year, and Juanita, my mother’s mother, passed away in June of 2005.
Juanita and Me (at my high school graduation)
Quotes on Families:
Families are like fudge – mostly sweet with a few nuts.
~~~ Author Unknown
When our relatives are at home, we have to think of all their good points or it would be impossible to endure them.
~~~ George Bernard Shaw
One of life’s greatest mysteries is how the boy who wasn’t good enough to marry your daughter can be the father of the smartest grandchild in the world.
~~~ Jewish Proverb
Family life is full of major and minor crises — the ups and downs of health, success and failure in career, marriage, and divorce — and all kinds of characters. It is tied to places and events and histories. With all of these felt details, life etches itself into memory and personality. It’s difficult to imagine anything more nourishing to the soul.
~~~ Thomas Moore
In every conceivable manner, the family is link to our past, bridge to our future.
~~~ Alex Haley
I dread the last day of October, probably about as much as I look forward to the second day of October (being my natal day). All Hallow’s Eve, commonly compressed to Halloween (or Hallowe’en as I prefer to render it), leaves me cold and exasperated, at least as it’s hyped by the media and the movies.
Case in point: My husband and I slummed to the Lifetime Movie Network late yesterday afternoon in search of a non-horror movie to watch. In all the years we’ve been cable and now satellite television subscribers, we rarely (if ever) watched that particular channel.
I can expect to be invaded by children just a few minutes after I arrive home from work this evening. The City of Lansing stated the official hours for the invasion on their website and Facebook page to be between six and nine o’clock. Usually, the teenagers (and sometimes a few college students) trickle through past that time, but they can have the most interesting costumes. My daughter, a senior at UNT in Denton, Texas, dressed up as Flo (of Progressive fame) this year, even performing her Opera On Tap selection in it.
I don’t have many fond memories from childhood of Halloween. Since I grew up in the country, a half-mile from my nearest neighbor, I can count on one hand the times I trick-or-treated, because my mom had to drive us into town (Leavenworth was 10-15 miles away from where we lived). At least our local church held an annual fall festival for the children, which I did enjoy.
I do remember watching ‘It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown‘ annually. I wonder if I’ve already missed the broadcast? Or do they even both to re-broadcast these old classic animated holiday specials from the 60s? A quick check at TVGuide.com confirms my theory that either I’ve missed it or it wasn’t aired at all this year. Oh, well, I guess I could watch it on my laptop through Hulu or some other similar site.
The true horror story haunting my sleepless nights concerns my large oak tree in my front yard. Even though I’ve raked ten bags worth of leaves and acorn shells, the oak tree still sports nearly all of it’s mostly green foliage. I’m looking forward to the windy day forecast for tomorrow, which I hope will strip the branches bare and I can finally put the nail in the coffin of that particular tedious autumn chore.
Last year, a few days after my birthday, I scrapped my MySpace blog, mostly due to interface changes, and ventured here to WordPress with a backup blog at Blogger. My original intention was to journal my astronomical adventures here and do some inspirational topics on the backup site. While I didn’t blog daily, I did manage to craft over two hundred blog entries here (this being my 225th).
Cygnus (the Swan)
In honor of my original intention to explore the heavens, I wanted to encourage everyone (and motivate myself) to participate in this year’s Great World Wide Star Count. Don’t be shy! Anyone can participate and it doesn’t require any equipment beyond your eyes. This project is an annual survey of the night sky, held this year between October 14th and 28th (7-9 pm optimal viewing window) to record how many stars you can see in the constellation Cygnus (the Swan) in the northern hemisphere (follow the link above if you reside Down Under). This helps map the spread of light pollution. I plan to get out my telescope (for the first time this fall) and view the beautiful blue/yellow double-star Albireo. I can’t tell from the survey’s website if they are affiliate with the IDA (the International Dark-Sky Association), but I’m doing my bit (via this blog) to raise awareness about the value of dark skies and their preservation and restoration.
And now, a brief retrospective of some of my favorite blog entries (indicated with asterisks) from the past year and a few popular (according to the stats) highlights:
My 15th Anniversary at Work (but wait, I had to password protect that entry to protect unnamed entities; send me an e-mail if you want to read that super secret blog post) (Aug 2011) *
September went into a tailspin about a week ago. I can’t remember the last time I actually received personal good news from family or friends. Death or dying and depression crowd around me, jostling for position and attention, blotting out my surroundings: beautiful sunrises and sunsets, crystal clear night skies bursting with twinkling stars, perfect weather any southern California native would drool over.
I woke up this morning after having tossed and turned and lost the skirmish with my sheet and pillows. Apollo couldn’t wait to jump up and greet me with a wagging tail and unconditional canine adoration. Roxy slept on, sprawled on the floor, oblivious to anything but her dreams of breakfast. I rubbed the crusty, dried sleep from my eyes, slipped on my reading glasses and woke up my Nook to see what had happened in the wider world while I pretended to sleep.
I soon read the sad, tragic news of the death of Sara Douglass (aka Sara Warneke). I discovered this astounding Aussie female fantasy writer a half dozen years ago and loved everything she wrote, especially Threshold, the first novel I found written by her. As I perused the various postings on Twitter and Facebook about her passing, I found her blog post from March 2010 she entitled “The Silence of the Dying.” I took a few minutes to read the entire post, after which I couldn’t help but shiver, especially after the seemingly prophetic nature of the most recent Doctor Who episode “Closing Time” wherein the Doctor seems to fall apart (emotionally) as he approaches the day of his death (flashback to the start of this season and the “Impossible Astronaut“). He even utters some dialog containing the words ‘silence’ and ‘dying.’
After reading Sara’s thoughts on how modern society sticks it’s head in the sand with respect to death (and the dying), I pondered my own situation. Part of my September tailspin centers on a sharp worsening in my health. Par for the medical course, I’m running the gauntlet of various tests, procedures and eventually a biopsy (scheduled for mid-October), all of which amounts to endless waiting for results and the accompanying anxiety. Just as Sara describes in her blog post, I prefer to keep silent, as I don’t want to appear ‘weak’ by complaining. Of course, at this stage of the ‘game’ I’m not in much pain or discomfort (not compared to what Sara or other cancer victims endure). And I must put up a good front for my husband, one of the chronically ill routinely maligned or ignored by modern day society. He needs me to be ‘strong’ and I will remain so as cheerfully as I can.
Normally, I look forward to the beginning of October and the advent of autumn with peace and joy in my heart. Of course, the fact that my birthday occurs the day after the first of October wouldn’t have anything to do with that would it? But this year, no birthday cake with sputtering scores of candles will great me. Instead, my husband and I will travel south, to his home town, to console and support his life-long friend and his wife in the sudden and unexpected loss of her mother, so soon after his mother’s death. Oh, and their dog died last week in the midst of all this family tragedy.
I am full of unanswered questions and troublesome, uncomfortable thoughts today, ones that I wish I had the courage to shout out on a street corner to the self-absorbed oblivious passersby. Rather than deprive a homeless person of their accustomed spot, I will jump up on my bloggity soap box instead.
From a Christian worldview, I can understand some of the silence surrounding death and dying. Jesus conquered the grave, therefore, it follows, that we can sweep this whole messy business of dying under the proverbial rug. (Yes, I’m being sarcastic). Yet, even Jesus wept (and raised Lazarus from the grave). Jesus also suffered, but not silently, and died, nearly alone, on a cross we nailed him to, at a crossroads dung heap outside Jerusalem. Two thousand years later, we’ve sanitized and compartmentalized dying, hiding it from ourselves so we can ignore the writing on our own walls.
I ask that you stop for a moment and spend time, yes, that very precious commodity you can never, ever get back, with a friend or family member who is dying. Don’t send flowers, or stuffed animals or Hallmark cards. Give them comfort. Don’t expect them to put you at ease about their situation. Embrace the truth. For you know, it’s not ‘if’ we’re going to die, it’s when. We’re all dying. And I, for one, will not go silently into the night.
