Missing Dad

Eighty four years ago today my dad was born.

He was born in Byron Township. He also died there. In between those two events, I don't think he even lived a year of his life in Byron Township.

Slowly, we are working our way through the things he left behind.

Last year he had just recently been released from a two week hospital stay followed by a two week nursing home stay. We celebrated his eighty third birthday by going to Old Country Buffet, his favorite place to eat.

Two years ago he purchased what he was sure would be his last car. A Ford Crown Victoria. He said he started with a Ford and he would end with a Ford. He did.

Here is a framed picture of that first car. My dad led a simple life. He never once owned a new car. He never had a car financed either. In with his important papers I found this list. A list of every car he had ever owned. Makes me smile. It's just soooo 'dad'.

My dad liked to 'book-end' things.

He started his life with, what else, LIFE. And although death ended the life he had led for eighty-three years, it could not destroy him. What he has now is a new life.

Somehow it seems fitting that his first birthday away from his old life is this particular Saturday, the Saturday between Good Friday and Easter.

Much to ponder.

And tomorrow, much to celebrate!

I miss my dad. But we shall see him again someday.

Oh, My.

Lately I've become fascinated by the A&E show, "Hoarders". Have you ever seen it? In the past I've watched Clean Sweep and a few other shows about getting rid of clutter, but this Hoarders show is just SO much more than that.

I find it horrifying. Obviously, I'm a person who collects a lot of stuff. A LOT OF STUFF. But this hoarding disease is the most awful thing I've ever heard of. And, it makes me want to get rid of all the mindless junk I collect just because I'm sure I can make something of it, someday, but then I never do.

On one of the shows, a woman actually had two nearly fossilized dead cats under all of the piles and piles of junk in her living room. They estimated that they were probably there for ten years or so.

Another woman had no plumbing. She used adult diapers. She never threw them away. TWO YEARS worth of used diapers were piled all over her house.

These were both older women. It seems with age they don't even notice the mess.

Last night THGGM and I watched one with a younger woman. Due to the condition of her home they had lost their two children. The state took them away. It was OBVIOUS why. At the end of each show, there is a written update. The children have not been returned because she cannot get rid of her junk.

One common thread that seems to run through so many of these stories is that the hoarder seems to always have someone or something else to blame for it.

I don't 'get' the blame part. Nor do I understand mental illness.

Since I do present with anxiety related issues of my own - bouts of agoraphobia, panic attacks and migraine, and have the ability to obsess on some teeeeeny tiiiiny problem when huge problems are churning all around me I find watching "Hoarders" to be oddly interesting.

And, it is such motivation for getting rid of stuff.

Now I only wish I had a bigger trash receptacle.

On Monday night I record Antique Roadshow, American Pickers, and Hoarders. Ending with Hoarders helps me keep it all in perspective.

And for Lent? I think I need to take a break from thrift/antique shopping.

Don't worry. I'll still post stuff to my Simply Thrift blog. There is no shortage of previously thrifted stuff around here.

Fifty One Years Later

This picture is of me with my great-grandpa Dunn.

I was born in June and the picture was taken in August.

This picture is of Kado with his great-grandpa, Pa.

He was born in June and the picture was taken in August.

In both pictures there appears an arm connecting the out-going generation to the in-coming one.

Something about the arms that appear in both pictures.., I'm not sure what it is, but there is just something about those arms...

Things I'm Pondering at 10:00 on a Friday Morning

It's Spring! Finally. It has arrived. Now, if only the temperature would get the memo. I hate to admit it, but there are times when all the first official day of Spring means is that we still have two more months of cold. But I'll take it anyway. And give thanks that the sun IS shining!

My dad. Let's ponder my dad. When I talked to him this morning he told me about his day yesterday. He went to the mall to walk, he ran some errands, he went to lunch with friends, he went to the nursing home to visit my mom and also all of the friends he has there, and he ended his day by going to his church Care Group in the evening. He sounded so perky and alert this morning.

Now let's ponder me. Yesterday I made that banner (see below) but didn't quite get it finished. THGGM brought supper home with him. I laid on a comfortable bed looking at an "Artful Blogging" magazine while my blood plasma was sucked out of me. I came home and watched "The Office". I do believe that there may have been a day in my life when I was perky and alert. Not in this century though. Maybe in the life to come. There is always hope (please say 'yes').

Well. That's enough pondering of THAT.

I'm still working my way through "Keep a Quiet Heart". Today I found this quote by Elizabeth Prentiss:

If you could once make up your mind in the fear of God never to undertake more work of any sort than you can carry on calmly, quietly, without hurry or flurry, and the instant you feel yourself growing nervous and like one out of breath, would stop and take breath, you would find this simple common-sense rule doing for you what no prayers or tears could ever accomplish.'

Good words, leaving much to ponder.

My pondering hat will be firmly secured to my mind today as I CALMLY, QUIETLY, WITHOUT HURRY OR FLURRY go about my daily tasks.

Seeing Blurry

I love these two blurry surreal looking pictures.

The one on the left is Famke.

Even though the picture is not clear, it captures something of her.

Maybe it is just her age, and how quickly everything changes.

She is now up and running.

Running, running, running everywhere.

The picture on the right is Jonge, when he was about the age Famke is now.

The way the light is shining on him - there is just something about it - I cannot name it exactly, but a sense of not being able to capture the passing of time.

Not even in a picture.

I had a rare 'deep thought' today.

One of those thoughts that breaks open into deep, dark, 'better left untouched' territory.

I came here to write about it. But, somethings are just better left unsaid.

And, maybe unthought.

Then, I thought happy thoughts and EVERYTHING was better.

Not.

(do people still say 'not' like that? i'm soooo out of touch.)

But, I did think TRUE thoughts. Truth helps. Even truth that hurts, helps.

Saturday...

Saturday (cue sighing).

I thrift shopped.

I bought mums, in the country, on the honor system.

I worked. THGGM nearly electrocuted himself in front of his grandson, but that's another story (Why you say 'AHHH!' Pake?).

I eaves dropped on Pake and Jonge having animated conversations about such interesting topics as the necessity of brushing ones teeth and using the potty. I even heard most of "Good Night Richard Rabbit" the nicest bedtime reading of all time.

Now, while THGGM snores quietly in the background (he is asleep on the breeze-way) I am catching up on many of my favorite blogs. Not the ones of friends, I do keep up on those. And not the crafty ones, I did that last night.

No, tonight I am catching up on the ones I cannot seem to find the time to delve into like I used to.

Already, I cannot remember which blog led me to this, but I found it very interesting. If you read it, be sure to also read the updates.

Julie R. Neidlinger: Lone Prairie Art Works

A Fiction Book and Real Life

Today my dad and I went to the nursing home to spend the afternoon with my mom.

Thursday is 'current events' day, so we went with mom to that.

A group of residents gather in a pretty room with windows on both sides looking out to a very small yet well maintained garden. An events coordinator reads to them from several publications.

Not all that much 'paying attention' was going on today, and I wondered how the reader kept it together. Someone choked. Someone smelled foul. Nurses appeared in the middle of everything and stuffed pills down throats. Someone got hurt feelings and cried. I watched a sprinkler in the garden going round and round, and noticed that my mom was doing the same thing.

In some ways, it is much like my days with Jonge and Famke.

Except for the obvious reality that there is hope that Jonge and Famke will someday lose the need for diapers, stop choking on cookies, manage a glass of juice on their own and be able to dress themselves. That hope is gone for many of the people attending 'current events' at the home today.

I was reminded of the Elizabeth Goudge book that I just finished, "The Scent of Water". The book begins with the death of an elderly woman, Mary Lindsay, who spent the last years of her life suffering from dementia. She leaves her lovely home in the English countryside to her cousin's daughter whom she only met once and whose name is also Mary Lindsay.

Her beloved home has the very same name as the nursing home where my mom resides.

In the book, much attention is paid to the first Mary Lindsay's collection of 'little things', tiny precious treasures she kept under glass in a beautifully handcrafted chest.

I looked around the home today, the home with the same name as the lovely English country house from my book, and saw many precious treasures.

Fragile, yet safely kept until their rightful owner comes to claim them.

The book opens with a passage from the book of Job:

For there is hope of a tree, if it be cut down, that it will sprout again, and that the tender branch thereof will not cease. Though the root thereof was old in the earth, and the stock thereof die in the ground; yet through the scent of water it will bud, and bring forth boughs like a plant.

It's That Time of Year

I want to go to camp.

It's hot, it's sticky, I haven't seen a chipmunk in a while.

At exactly 4:00 I start to crave grape pop.

At Michael's last weekend, I actually held a leather kit in my hands. A kit for making ones own moccasins.

All this can only mean one thing. I want to go to camp. The camp of my youth. But with the experience of my increased years.

The camp of MY youth was somewhere near Jackson, MI. It was owned by the state, but was rented out to groups. In Jackson, MI there is also a state prison. All maintenance was done by prisoners, which brings me to THIS story.

While we campers were swimming, playing softball, doing fairly odd crafts and generally disturbing the peace, our cabin areas were off limits.

"Off limits" flashes to some people like a neon sign saying "This means everyone BUT you". I had a camp friend who was one of those people.

After swimming she discovered a considerable amount of sand in her bathing suit, which required an immediate change. A change that could be done ONLY by going into the cabin, now declared to be 'off-limits'.

I've never been one to question authority, but my friend? She LIVED for it. I've also never been one to question the ethics of my friends. Okay. That's not true. But I had sand in my suit too.

My guess is that we must have been 11 or 12 that summer.

While everyone else in the camp was doing exciting things, like painting plaster of paris pins, playing 'red rover' or pondering giving their lifes to foreign missions, I followed my daring friend back to the cabin. Really. What kind of a friend would I have been if I'd let her go alone?

Anyway...

As we approached the cabin, we noticed a state truck parked out in front. I definitely recall my friend saying, 'See! It won't be a problem, because someone is there!'

Um. Yes. There most certainly was someone there.

A prisoner.

He was on a ladder high up in the rafters, painting.

I remember that he was on a ladder, because he had the hugest feet I had ever seen. He was wearing white Converse high tops. It reminded me of the huge display-window white Converse high top in the shoe store window at home.

We changed out of our sandy suits. Of course, we changed behind a blanket (big-foot prisoner is still on the ladder).

Being the friendly witnesses of God's love that we were both taught to be (note that we caught that part, but not so much the obeying of rules set up for our own protection) we talked to the big-foot prisoner the entire time.

I still remember some of what he said to us as we left the cabin (he never left the ladder, by the way). He said something like this, 'If you only knew what I was in for. Someday you will remember this and realize just how dumb you were. And your blood will run cold.'

The first time I remembered this was the next summer as I stood in front of the shoe store waiting for the bus to take me to Vacation Bible School at my church. I saw that huge white Converse high top in the window, and my blood ran cold. Being one year older made a difference.

The next time I thought of it was the first time I sent my kids off to camp, thankful that it wasn't anywhere near the Jackson State Prison. My blood ran cold. There were many feet clad in white Converse high tops, as I recall.

Several years ago I attended a week-long intensive course at a camp-ground with friends from church. On our drive up we laughed about how it seemed like we were going to camp. I am positive that was the last time we laughed during the entire week.

There were no plaster of paris pins to paint. No red-rover. It was the most bone-chilling blood-running-cold week of my life. In session after session women recounted excruciating stories. These stories were so frightening that I have had to block some of them from my mind so I can sleep at night. Tales of innocence lost at places of assumed safety, and at the hands of those thought to provide protection.

My blood still runs cold from time to time.

But now whenever I see a white Converse high top, I'm grateful that the one from my story stayed on the ladder.

Whatever Your Age, Practice Bike Safety

Late this morning, THGGM and I were driving down 28th St.

THGGM was explaining to me the finer points of stain removal when one cannot locate the 'Shout' stick. Our conversations tend to turn to things like this when we have spent an inordinate amount of time alone, together.

We came upon an accident.

It was obvious that it was a VERY BAD accident.

EMTs were attending to a body in the road.

Police were swarming. The scene was being photographed. Witnesses were in a huddle on the side of the street.

We drove passed, but we were not unchanged.

An indelible impression has stained our memory.

Someone died.

Title-less

My dad had another doctor's appointment today. Usually, I enjoy sitting in doctor's offices, people watching and reading the few magazines I do not get. Like boating magazines. Today we didn't have time to read much of anything.

This doctor was very nice, but he liked to talk. And talk. And Talk. And TALK some more. We sat and listened while he TALKED for over an hour.

I just wanted to go home.

While Pa and I were at his appointment, Famke was at her appointment with the eye specialist. I don't know if you have noticed from her pictures, but she has a chronic problem with a goopy eye. Today Daughter was told that there is one more round of drops they can try before the only other option will be surgery, as it doesn't look as if she will out-grow this.

I hardly notice her eye trouble anymore, but her uncles are frightened by it. Eye-boogers, they call it.

Anyway, when I finally did get home from the veeeeeeeeery looooooooong doctor's appointment I decided that it was time to set up a spot for my sewing machine. It is now on a very nice table in the basement, surrounded by piles of fabric. But, before I set it up for good, I have to run a few things past THGGM, who is not a fan of any sort of 'visible' mess. I just may have to relocate to the other side of the basement as I am unable to do anything without making a mess.

But, at least I feel as if I am on the road to sewing. It's been seventeen days since I got it, so I suppose that's not too long. Tonight, I may even PLUG IT IN!

Oh, I did read part of a fascinating article in the November, 2007 issue of National Geographic. It was on memory. I wanted to read it while the doctor was talking and Talking and TALKING, but I thought that would appear rude. I must find this, as it contained something about a study on canaries brains.

I've always thought that bird brains were interesting.

Interesting

http://www.expelledthemovie.com/playgroundvideo3.swf

sNOw

I'm growing rather tired of sNOw.

I never left the house today.

I'd planned to, but there was too much sNOwing going on.

My dad and I had planned to visit mom, but I didn't want him driving at all and I don't have a car, so he always at least has to drive to my house. There is even more sNOw at the nursing home. Hardly any place to park even before this latest sNOw fell.

So, I stayed home.

What did I do all day, you might ask?

Well, if there is one thing I have learned about staying home all day - the time FLIES by. Flies. Truly.

My list of things that I want to do when I am home alone is rather long.

Today I tried to hit on a few things.

Things like looking through two magazines I bought over a month ago and haven't even done damage to their spines yet. I flipped through both. It felt good.

I made an iron-on transfer from a page in Jonge's favorite book "Barn Yard Dance" and started embroidering that. I finished outlining two chickens.

There was even time for piano playing. I rocked the house.

I'm working my way through the book "Room to Write". This was today's assignment: TODAY consider a situation that you had an intuition about. Go over the details of the situation to pinpoint what took place that clued you in. Speculate, in writing, on the unfolding of events that led up to the realization of your hunch.

Oh, boy. A speck to deep for me today. Just thinking about it caused me to need to put the book down and go do something else.

So! I made more button flowers. This time in an old salt shaker I thrifted awhile back. The base is green depression glass. I love making these because they can be UNmade just as quickly, and switched out into other interesting vessels. Notice I am still have a problem with permanence (why isn't my spell check working?).

Sorting buttons is great therapy. Good for my hands, good for my mind, good for doing while processing deep thoughs.

Now I am back to my writing book, and noticing that it ends with a quote by Rainer Maria Rilke:

The future enters into us in order to transform itself in us, long before it happens.

That just causes me to think, I'm going to need considerably more buttons!

Well. This ends my day, interrupted by sNOw.