Favorites Things - Christmas Version

A little later than I planned...my five favorite things of the Christmas season (in no particular order)...

Christmas cards - I love both receiving and sending Christmas cards. And yes, I am one of those people who write the proverbial yearly Christmas letter. I enjoy being creative (some years more so than others) catching people up on my family's activities from the past year. I appreciate the notes, letters and pictures my friends and relatives take the time to write and send. Most importantly, I love the opportunity cards, letters, and pictures give me to catch up with all those I don’t get to see very often. It gives me a feeling of connection – which is why I continue to send cards and letters – even when I don’t always get one in return.

Christmas cookies – There is nothing better than discovering a new cookie recipe that really clicks. I love almost everything about baking cookies...gathering up the unique ingredients I don't usually stock in my pantry, the lovely smells of cookies wafting throughout the house, the warmth of having the oven going all day, the taste-testing of dough and broken cookies (oops, how did that happen?), all accompanied by holiday music or an old Christmas movie. Baking crazy amounts of Christmas cookies brings back fond memories of my mother and her holiday spirit. I find I actually enjoy baking and giving cookies away more that I do eating them (weird, huh?). It brings me immeasurable joy to see an empty cookie platter that was earlier filled to the brim, knowing my baked goods were savored by all.

Christmas songs - Yes, I am one of those people who listen to continuous Christmas music on the local radio station from Thanksgiving through Christmas day. I don't really have a particular genre I have to listen to - it all makes me smile. You will find me singing or humming along to "Baby It's Cold Outside", Bing Crosby & David Bowies' "Little Drummer Boy", "Mary Did you Know", "Santa Baby", "It Came upon a Midnight Clear", "Sleigh Bells" and pretty much any Christmas song you can think of. It doesn't matter if it is on the radio, the muzak playing in a department store, or in a holiday commercial - I'll be joining along. My office mates kindly put up with my obsession (although last year they did limit me to one day a week of Christmas music on the radio). When I was all alone in my office this week my boss would occasionally pop in his head to see if I was lonely. Nope, I was just jamming to my Christmas tunes...

Christmas movies – I love watching old Christmas movies. You just can’t go wrong with “White Christmas”, "Miracle on 34th Street" or "It's a Wonderful Life". I am not all old school, I enjoyed "Elf", "The Santa Clause", "A Christmas Story", and find myself getting sucked in by the sappy Hallmark Channel shows. But, I have a special fondness for the old movies. They bring back a simpler time when all life's problems could be solved with a song and dance. Bing Crosby and Danny Kaye had such chemistry - they truly looked like they were having fun singing "Sisters" (and if you don't know what I am talking about - you HAVE to rent "White Christmas").  

Christmas morning traditions - It all begins with our extended family slowly waking up, drinking a leisurely cup of coffee, nibbling on a cookie, and then settling in around the Christmas tree.  After picking a Santa (usually Kaitlyn although this year Lance volunteered), we begin a marathon gift opening session, broken up by our traditional Christmas morning brunch featuring egg bake, fruit salad, some sort of bread and mimosas (a recent tasty addition to the festivities).  Gift opening is a grand affair, as each individual takes turns opening one present at a time while we share laughter and love over the stories behind the gifts.  Even our dog Ellie gets in on the fun - she has gotten very good at untying bows and tearing off the wrapping paper!  I have found it is not the quantity of gifts we receive, but rather the quality of the company we keep that makes the morning so special. 

So, as they say in the song, "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas"!

Christmas cookies...

I will always associate homemade cookies and candies with Christmas...and my mother.

My mom used to make at least six different kinds of cookies and six different kinds of candies every Christmas. And that didn’t include the fruit cake she started in September – it had to marinate in rum soaked cheesecloth for months and months, stored in a tin carefully placed on a high shelf in the cool back stairwell, before it was pronounced good enough to eat.

We lived just one town north of most of my relatives, so Christmas was a time for “visiting”. And if you visit – you have to snack on holiday treats. My mom never disappointed!

It began with Christmas cookies…

My favorites were the pecan fingers. If you have never had these – you are missing out on a delicious memory. Ground pecans mixed with powdered sugar, butter, flour and a few other ingredients mixed and shaped into logs, baked and rolled in more powdered sugar. I still make these almost every year for my own family.

Of course, she also made the holiday staple – frosted cutout cookies. Hers were a little different from the traditional sugar cookie as they had anise spice in the dough and frosting made with whipped egg whites and powdered sugar. I remember decorating what felt like hundreds of cutouts with colored sugars – carefully designing each cookie in the beginning, then just putting one color on each cookie as it passed my way and finally tossing a mixture of all the leftover colors on them as the night progressed and we started to tire of our task. Poor Mom – while we decorated she had to keep up with frosting them all! We had quite an efficient assembly line going – good thing there were a lot of us to help.

My dad’s favorites – fry pan cookies and trilbies. The common denominator for these two cookies were dates. Dad loved dates. Trilbies are a sandwich cookie made of oatmeal dough with a date filling spread in between the two cookies halves. Fry pan cookies are made on the stove top with dates, nuts, and Rice Crispies – cooked then rolled into balls and covered with coconut.

We also feasted on peanut butter cookies with the chocolate stars, thumbprints, and cream cheese spritz cookies in red, green and white with sprinkles.  Somehow I ended up with my mom's original spritz cookie press and the secret recipe.  Maybe I will have to give them a try this year - for old times sake!

And then there were the bars – after all, these counted as cookies, too.  Seven layer bars made with coconut, chocolate chips, butterscotch chips, walnuts and more; and pecan bars with melt in your mouth butter frosting were my personal favorites. 

Every year she would experiment with a new cookie – some to return regularly – some never to be seen again.

And of course we had more than our share of homemade candies...

I am not talking about perfect little chocolate molds.  I'm remembering divinity, heavenly fudge made with whipped cream, and white almond bark.  There were mint chocolate haystacks, English toffee (the year it was undercooked and soft was the best!), and white chocolate dipped pretzels.  And don't forget the chocolate covered cherries, my favorite angel food sponge candy that melted in your mouth, and chocolate-coconut drops.

It occurs to me that people just don't make homemade candies any more - but my mom was an expert.

When we were first married, I tried so hard to recreate the Christmas of my childhood.  I baked dozens of cookies and created all kinds of homemade candies - more than the two of us could possibly need.  So, I sent out care packages filled with cookies, candies, and love to everyone we knew. Now, I just bake whatever sweet treat I am in the mood for - no minimum requirements! Since I can't not bake something, I believe my mom may have passed on a baking gene to me...

My sister Linda and brother Gary got that baking gene, too, as their homes were always filled with lots of goodies to satisfy any sweet-tooth at Christmastime. And, lucky for my brother Ross, his wife Lil loves baking as much as the rest of us so the tradition carries on in their house, too.

I sometimes worry holiday baking has become a lost art. That is why I encouraged my daughter Kaitlyn to bake with me at a very young age. I used to sit her on the counter top and she would help stir, sample, and form the shapes of all the goodies. Something must have clicked, as she can make her way around a kitchen with the best of us!

Memories of Christmas will always include the treats my mom expertly prepared.  If food is love, then we were loved in abundance.

This Christmas, I think I may need to dig out some old recipes...

Tis the Season...

Thanksgiving is now just a pleasant memory. The turkey leftovers have been consumed in every form imaginable.  The pies have disappeared from sight.

And now we contemplate how to tackle all the activities of this Christmas season.

We do have a choice. 

Try to pack as many things as possible in the few short weeks we have left as we spread ourselves thinner and thinner - or step back and realize we are human and have our limits.  We don't have to do it all to make the season wonderful.

Easier said than done.

I know -- the "to do" list can be endless this time of year. Put up and decorate the Christmas tree; skillfully stage holiday decorations throughout the house; hang lights outside on the trees, railing, and roof line; shop for Christmas gifts; bake cookies and candies; attend seasonal events and concerts; get together with friends and relatives; write the Christmas letter; take family photos; address and mail the Christmas cards -- WHEW!

While we may want to do it all - I think we need to step back, prioritize - and make some concessions to our original plans...

I had written the Christmas letter weeks before - a family picture was taken on Thanksgiving day - photo cards were designed and ordered all by Saturday night.  The envelopes were out the door mid-week.  Task number one -- check off the list.  (Don't laugh, I really do make lists...and check things off.)  

As a family we put up our tree the day after Thanksgiving.  I adorned the house that weekend with most of our Christmas decorations and the thought that I would put up the rest of the holiday items the next week.  Well, this weekend, as Lance put up lights on the evergreen in our front yard, I realized that maybe I can be finished - the house looks festive and no one but me will know I could probably have put out more boxes of decorations.

So, instead of putting the pressure on myself to produce the "perfect" Christmas I think I will put the activities I enjoy most at the top of my To Do list and forget about the rest.

It is so easy to get caught up in the hustle and bustle of the season that we sometimes forget what we are truly celebrating.  Christmas is about the birth of Jesus Christ - our Lord and Savior.  Not about how well we decorate the house, how many activities we attend, or how many cookies we bake.

As I've already taken care of the "must do's" on my list, I have decided the rest of this season I will just relax and enjoy. 

So, over the next few weeks, if I feel the urge to bake cookies, I will.  If I want to take Ellie for a long walk under the moonlit sky, I will.  If I want to enjoy a cup of coffee while I do nothing but listen to Christmas songs, I will.  If I want to watch a sappy holiday movie, I will.

Accompanied by Lance I'll enjoy some Christmas concerts, appreciate the lovely lights of the holiday season, eat some favorite foods, drink some wintertime beverages, and spend time with family and friends.

On Christmas Eve, I will be with my family, reliving the story of Jesus birth and happily singing carols as we attend the candlelight service at our church.  On Christmas morning we will open gifts, eat our traditional brunch, and spend time catching up with each other.

And that is my wish for us all this year...a Christmas season that brings us absolute peace and joy.

   

Brrrr.....

Denver is slowly crawling out of a record breaking cold spell.

The low Tuesday was 5 below zero, breaking the previous record of 4 below zero set in 1882 - 132 years ago!  Our 6 degree high last Wednesday shattered a 98 year old record for the coldest high on that date.  And the record breaking highs and lows continued throughout the week. 

Bottom line - it is COLD!

We have also gotten snow - not nearly as much as my friends in Minnesota and Wisconsin, but enough to make the drive in to and back from work a challenge.

It is so easy to gripe and complain about the weather (I know as I have done my share) that I decided to take a few minutes to remember five good things about the beginning of winter.

Here goes...

1.  Cold weather means cold weather food.  Chili, stews, home made soups and pot roasts.  Baking breads, pies, cakes and cookies.  Crock pot meals.  The smells are mouth watering and the tastes are extraordinarily delicious.  It takes me back to my youth, coming in after a day of playing in the snow and tasting all of those wonderful comfort foods. Yum!

2.    The freshly fallen snow, before a car has marred the smoothness of its surface or the rabbits have left their tiny prints scattered across the yard, is truly beautiful.  The flakes cling to the branches of the trees creating a chilly winter wonderland.  The evening moon makes the whiteness glow with a mystical aura. And the snow capped mountains are breathtaking when the morning sun shines on them.

3.  Sweaters, scarves, and turtlenecks can be worn with abandon.  Bundling up, thanks to the colder weather, we wrap colorful scarves around our necks - adding warmth and a fashionable turn to our winter ensemble.  I get to wear turtlenecks - a hard Midwest habit to break - and no one cares!  (In fact, I think they are a little jealous of the extra warmth my daring fashion disregard brings me.)  We can wear furry winter boots with our jeans carefully tucked in and not worry about looking silly.  (Okay, I live in Colorado - jeans tucked into boots is a pretty normal occurrence - no matter what the weather is like, but still...)

4.  The warmth of a cozy, lit fireplace. Nothing is better than sitting on the hearth until your back is so hot you don't think you can stand it...but yet you hate to move.  If you have a wood fireplace, the snap-crackle-pop can't help but make you smile.  And if you have a gas fireplace like we do, be grateful there is no wood to store and haul; so a fire can be lit in an instant - definitely a reason to smile.

5.  Drinking hot toddies.  I am not actually sure what a hot toddy is, but I do know we get to drink steaming hot chocolate with marshmallows out of cozy mugs that warm our hands and hearts.  We indulge in warm apple cider and try mulled wine.  And then there are Tom & Jerry's, hot buttered rum, and coffee spiked with the liqueur or flavorful creamer of your choice.  What's not to like about that? 

It is not easy to remain positive when life is throwing snowballs and icy cold winds at us - but, sometimes we just need to back up and appreciate the beauty of what God has given us today. 

Think about it. 

Next time the whining about the cold and snow starts to come out of my mouth I am going to try and remember what is good about the winter season ... bundling up in cozy sweaters and scarves, sipping the hot beverage of choice, relaxing in front of a roaring fire, smelling the crockpot meal as it permeates the house, all while enjoying the site of the winter wonderland just outside my window.  How about you? 

    

Linda Sue

Linda Sue (Dornbrack) Perry
Born November 14, 1950
Died September 11, 2012 after a courageous 19 month battle with cancer. 

Linda Sue was my older sister and I miss her every day.  Even after two years I still reach for the phone to give her a call - only to realize I can't.  So, I just talk...

I think about the last time we spoke on the phone.  I was taking a walk though the open space behind our old condo and we talked about nothing...and everything.  I told her about what was going on in my life - the conference I was going to be attending the next week - how Kaitlyn was doing in school - the hikes Lance, Ellie and I had gone on - and how the new house we were building was coming.  She talked about her children and grandchildren - her fight with cancer and how tough it was - and that it might be time to stop the chemo. I told her she needed to hang in there - I was planning on her coming to visit me in Colorado as soon as the house was finished.  She said she was looking forward to it and then we said "I love you" to each other and that was it...the last time we talked. 

While I can no longer give Linda a phone call, I do have many fond memories of her to call upon.

I remember one night when I was growing up, our family had just finished dinner and we were all cleaning up. Linda was washing the dishes, my brothers and I were drying and putting away.  For some reason, we decided to put on winter hats and scarves even though it was not winter.  And we all thought this was hysterically funny.  I remember Linda wearing my long stocking cap, peaking over her shoulder with a dishrag in her hands.  And it still makes me smile.

My sister was a bit mischievous as a teenager.  One morning, while the local county fair was in full swing, we all woke up to find a pile of temporary cardboard "no parking" signs on our front porch. Linda and her friends had thought it would be funny to liberate the signs - too bad our Dad didn't agree. I don't remember the consequences she had to pay (and I am sure there were some), but I do remember thinking how funny and daring she was - even though it was probably not the smartest thing she ever did.

Linda is the reason I learned to sew.  She made a lot of her clothes and I thought if my big sister could sew her own clothes, so could I.  Linda's talent for sewing served her well throughout the years.  She made her own wedding dress, her children's clothes, my daughter's baptismal gown, and numerous bridesmaid dresses.  She inspired me to sew my own clothes as a teen, including a formal dress for my junior prom, curtains for my first house, and many of Kaitlyn's Halloween costumes over the years.

Linda always had a flair for fashion and a sense of style.  When she was in her early twenties Linda had dark brown shoulder length hair that she would style in a myriad of ways, but she also owned a short dark wig and a short blond wig.  I thought it was so sophisticated when she would put on her wigs - and I used to secretly try them on and pretend I was all grown up, just like her.  At the time I didn't think Linda knew about my fascination with her wigs, but I now suspect she was well aware of what I was up to.

About the same time, Linda also owned a blue 1968 Chevy Camaro. It was the coolest car I had ever seen.  I was about seventeen at the time and planned on going to the annual Red Owl employee picnic, but had no way to get there.  My sister offered me the use of her car that day.  Wow - so unexpected - but so like her.  The guys I worked with were all over that car the minute I pulled into the parking lot.  I suddenly had star status - at least for one day.  She knew what she was doing for my confidence - and for that I will always be grateful.

When Lance and I were planning our wedding, we thought it would be nice to have an intimate outdoor ceremony with just immediate family and a few close friends.  It was Linda who volunteered her backyard, planted flowers to give us the perfect backdrop, found us a singer/guitar player, suggested a photographer, and hosted a celebration in her garage the day after for the friends and relatives that were not at the actual ceremony.  Linda always went above and beyond expectations.

I could go on and on, the memories keep flooding back, but I think you get the picture. 

Linda was a great sister, but not perfect.  She was the link that kept our family together after my father and mother passed away, a wonderful wife and mother in her own right, a genuinely nice person, and will live forever in the hearts of all the people whose lives she touched. 

Happy birthday, sis... love you!

Stuff Happens...

I don't deal very well with life when it doesn't go as planned.

The other morning on my way to work I was at a stop sign when the vehicle that was stopped in front of me decided to back up.  Whoa!  Doesn't he know you don't do that????  I hit the horn, but it was too late.  I now have a sad dent in my front fender. 

For some strange reason, I felt the need to second guess myself - why didn't I react quicker?  How could I not have read the other driver's mind?  I should have been prepared for the vehicle in front of me to suddenly back up...

Why can't I accept it for what it was - an unexpected accident?

Last night our dog Ellie woke me up around midnight.  I assumed she either needed her water dish filled or needed to pee.  After deciding Lance wasn't going to take care of her I got up, made sure she had water and let Ellie outside to relieve herself. 

The thing was, her bladder wasn't the problem.  About three am she woke me again, whimpering and shaking in her proverbial boots.  And then I heard it - beep - beep - beep.  The smoke detector battery was going...and it needed to be changed.  Now.  This time I woke Lance up, made some comment about another smoke detector going out, and he took care of the problem beeping by changing the battery. 

I couldn't help but wonder, why didn't we change the batteries last week when I bought all those new nine-volts in anticipation of the inevitable?  We had already changed out dead batteries in two other units just last week.  We should have known this would happen...

Really?  We should have known the battery would need to be changed at three am?  Are we psychic?

Why can't I accept that sometimes the unexpected just happens?

For being such a planner - I have a bad habit of being late.  I think it is because I allowed myself to believe "on time" meant being within ten or fifteen minutes of the planned time unless someone told me differently.  I have really had to concentrate hard on leaving home every morning at an earlier time than I think I need to - just so I won't be late for work. 

Hence, my frustration with the accident - it made me late to work!  And I have been trying so hard to toe the line.

Okay then, what is really my issue with the unexpected?  I am well aware that sometimes stuff just happens - like it or not.  So, what's the problem?

Like many others, I am a bit of a perfectionist and I worry that if I am not in control of my surroundings and the actions of myself and others, I will look bad...to everyone.

Lesson?  I need to remember that my worth is not measured by how well I avoid life's unexpected events, but how I deal with the consequences of those events.

Probably a good lesson for most of us.

Life is messy - whether we like it or not.  I think we all need to learn to deal with the mess not with irritation and anger, but with grace and good humor. 

Stuff happens - get over it. 

Twenty-two...

My daughter is turning twenty-two today and I am sure she is blasting Taylor Swift’s “22”, grabbing a friend and dancing around the room in joy...‘cuz that’s just how she rolls.

I remember the day Kaitlyn was born like it was yesterday.

I woke up about 2:00am that Monday morning, looked at Lance and said, “I think I’m in labor.” Not the best timing – it was snowing, Lance had to pick up some guy at the airport on the other side of the city, drop him off somewhere else, and then return home to GET ME TO THE HOSPITAL.

So, while Lance drove in the snowstorm to the airport and back I tried to remain calm. I packed my bag for the hospital. I looked at the baby’s bedroom and tried to picture an infant asleep in that crib – boy or girl? I must have called my mother back in Wisconsin at least a half a dozen times that morning seeking her words of wisdom.  (Big long distance phone bill - not many people owned cell phones back then.) I remember thinking I was so glad I had sent in my absentee ballot the week before because it was a presidential election and I wanted my vote to count. And that the old wives tale about “nesting” was true as I had spent the prior weekend cleaning. Lance finally got back around 10:00am and we headed to the hospital. Precisely at 3:21pm our beautiful baby girl presented herself to the world.

Kaitlyn inherited her clear blue eyes from me.  People have commented on her eyes (and the similarity to mine) for as long as I can remember.  Kaitlyn once asked me how I handled the comments on my eye color when I was growing up.  Honestly, I didn't get complements on my eyes like she does.  I grew up wearing thick glasses, so no one really noticed their color.  It wasn't until I was in high school and got contacts that people realized how blue my eyes were, and then they thought I must have colored contacts - not that my eyes were naturally that color. 

Kaitlyn had very little hair as an infant (okay, she was bald), but when her hair started growing in - wow!  Like her father and her Grandma Ruth (my mother), she has very curly thick hair...which she hated as a child and early teen.  Curly hair made her different - and when you are a kid, the last thing you want to be is different.  I remember Kaitlyn spending her freshman year in high school straightening her hair every morning in an attempt to look like everyone else.  It was not until the middle of her sophomore year that she finally embraced the curls - thank goodness!

Kaitlyn's birthday comes midway through her senior year in college.  Unlike me, Kaitlyn learned how to budget her time between academics, sports, and social activities early in her life.  She entered college well prepared and will graduate in four years with an honors level GPA.  She has a wonderful friend group and a life grounded in faith.  Kaitlyn is an intelligent, enthusiastic, well-balanced college senior who is about to enter a new phase in her life - but not quite yet.

Like my daughter, the year I turned twenty-two, I was also a senior in college.  Unlike Kaitlyn, I was a "super senior" - not graduating until December.  Full disclosure; the reason I graduated in December instead of May was because I dropped out of college in my Sophomore year. This was partly because my grades were not very good as I never learned how to study (never had to before - good grades always came with no effort), partly because I partied too much, and partly because I was just feeling lost and didn't know where my life was going.  So, I quit school and went to work.  After six months or so, I realized I needed a college degree. I returned to school on academic probation, buckled down, brought my GPA back up, found a new friend group, and finally graduated.

I am so glad Kaitlyn did not follow my collegiate path!

Kaitlyn is twenty-two today - and I can't believe how quickly the years have flown by.  It seems like only yesterday I was the young woman celebrating my twenty-second birthday and dreaming of the future.  Now I am watching Kaitlyn celebrate her day - and looking forward to her own exciting future. 

So, happy birthday to  you, my dear daughter.  Celebrate the day and know that with God all things are possible - just let your heart be open to the joy of living each day to the fullest. You have a wonderful future ahead of you, full of unexpected delights...enjoy them!

“Look at the nations and watch— and be utterly amazed. For I am going to do something in your days that you would not believe, even if you were told.” ~Habakkuk 1:5

Arrivederci Italia

Parting is such sweet sorrow...

We have been back for about a month from our whirlwind tour of Italy and I hate to say it, but the trip is already fading into just a pleasant memory.

First of all - our trip was wonderful.  I wasn't sure how I would like being part of a tour group, but was willing to give it a try.  Contrary to popular opinion (okay, my distorted picture of a tour group), it was not a bunch of old, boring, retired people.  Our group was a lot of fun!  We had mostly middle aged empty nesters (like us) and retired folks from all parts of the US who were always ready to be silly and enjoy life.  We walked miles and miles, probably drank too much wine (we were in Italy after all), ate plenty of great food and laughed the nights away with our new friends.

Lance loved the itinerary - up early in the morning so we would be the first ones in line to see what ever church or historical site the tour group was going to visit that day; followed by afternoon free time and dinner (sometimes with the group, sometimes just the two of us). It confirmed (in Lance's mind anyway) the wisdom of how he plans his "tours" of Colorado for our visitors. So, sorry everyone - but, no sleeping in when you stay at the Toepper B&B!

For anyone thinking of going on a trip to Italy (or any foreign country), I highly encourage you to do so. For Lance and me a tour was the way to go. We had a couple of days "on our own" and believe me, it is much easier to have someone else worry about the hotel, transportation, language barrier and hauling luggage around!  I have to admit, as I have gotten older, I find I like traveling in relative luxury without having to do a lot of planning (although I would recommend some prior research for your free time). I don't think I could handle the youth hostels that Kaitlyn stayed in (guess that is why they call them youth hostels).

Other things I learned during this vacation...

Bathrooms in Italian hotel rooms are not like American hotels (at least not at the ones we stayed at). The tub/shower tend to be quite small (think cruise ship) probably because Europeans are smaller than Americans (painful truth). We learned to shower in a tub with a door that covered only the front third of the tub. Sad confession: we were not very good at it - a lot of water ended up on the floor.

Another bathroom observation - there was an emergency pull cord hanging down from the ceiling along the wall of every bathtub. Boy, did I want to pull it to see what would happen! (Don't worry, I controlled myself.) And, most of the bathrooms also had a bidet. I have to admit, I didn't really know what a bidet was for, so thank you Shelley Gates for explaining it to me! One of our local tour guides said it is also a great foot soak after a long day of walking...hmmmmm.

Churches really do require you to have your knees and shoulders covered before you can enter. But, they don't actually care what you cover yourself with. Case in point: One of the ladies in our group had shorts on for a "church day" and was being told she couldn't enter. Good thing we Americans can be inventive - three jackets tied around Diana's waist made a "lovely" skirt - good enough to get her into the church! And don't be surprised to hear "SHHHH - SILENCIO" echo around you if there is too much whispering going on.
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I still need Lance to push me to take chances and just "go for it".  On my own, I am not sure if I would have gotten on that one person chair lift to get to the top of Anacapri and its lovely views - but I am really glad I did!  (Even though I did have an irrational fear that my sandals were going to suddenly fall off my feet as they dangled loose in the air - go figure.) 

I learned Lance and I "wander" differently.  I tend to meander and explore with no real purpose other than to experience what is around me.  Lance will wander - but only if he has an ultimate destination in mind.  So, we compromised - set an ultimate destination and got there in a roundabout manner. This plan worked great in Rome - we fell upon historical sites, local parks and beautiful views - all on the way to a restaurant or the hotel. 

Being part of a tour, I liked to socialize with our fellow travelers and didn't always know when to call it a night.  Lance was very aware that we needed to get up early in the morning and was ready to say good night when the group dinner was done. So, occasionally, Lance went up to the room while I had one more drink with some of our new friends in the hotel lobby.  And, sometimes, Lance surprised me by staying for that one more drink (which is what I really wanted all along.)  Thank goodness he did, or we would have missed out on the beautiful night time roof top view from our hotel in Florence!

I tended to be more cautious when it came to controlling my purse and personal belongings - always worried about pickpockets and thieves.  Lance was more relaxed - until I would point out that maybe it was not the best idea to keep his wallet in the back pocket of his pants where it is very visible, especially in a crowded piazza.  And, being a good husband, Lance moved the wallet to his front pocket - probably not because he felt nervous, but just to satisfy me. Guess I could probably learn to relax a little more - the tight grip on my purse was probably not necessary all the time.

I learned that Lance needed some "quiet time" each day so he could check his computer, emails (yes, he was still working - the life of a small business owner), and rest his feet. I discovered that instead of resenting this, I just needed to embrace the truth and give myself some "me-time" - which might mean journaling, reading, walking the area near our hotel, shopping, or sampling local food and drinks with some other women in our group.

The most important thing I learned was the need to be flexible and take unexpected events in stride when you are on a long trip. One of our travel mates was, unfortunately, pick-pocketed - but they did not let that ruin the rest of the trip for them. They were still the same fun loving couple they were prior to the incident. Would I have been able to "let go" as easily? I hope so. We also had a couple of rainy days - but were able to still enjoy our time. We bought silly umbrellas, enjoyed cappuccino under the canopy of a cafe and got to explore the streets of Assissi without having to fight the crowds. As they say, when life offers you lemons - make lemonade (or better yet, lemoncello!)

Thirty Years...

A lot can happen in thirty years.  Babies are born, children turn into adults, loved ones pass away, friends move, hair turns grey, young lovers become husband and wife, friends and relatives are suddenly parents and then grandparents, Christmas cards are exchanged, birthdays and anniversaries are remembered, reunions are treasured, vacations are enjoyed, graduations are celebrated, and we wonder where the time went.

Lance and I will be married thirty years this month.

When I was a kid, I couldn't imagine spending a lifetime with one person.  Now I can't imagine spending it without that one person.  Funny how things can change.

I firmly believe Lance and I were destined to meet and marry.

We did not know each other as kids, didn't grow up in the same town, or even live anywhere remotely close to each other. Lance grew up in McHenry, Illinois - I grew up in Merrill, Wisconsin.  He was on his high school swim team.  I was a self-taught swimmer..  He lived in a suburb of Chicago.  I lived in a central Wisconsin small town.  He went on family trips to Colorado.  My family never left the state of Wisconsin.  Our lives were very different.

In his Junior year of high school, Lance's parents bought a Sears Catalog store in Cornell, Wisconsin.  We didn't know it, but our lives were about to become much closer. Because of the move to Cornell, Lance ended up going to college in Eau Claire, Wisconsin.  And where did I graduate college from?  You got it - the University of Wisconsin, Eau Claire.  Ah-ha you say - the two of you met in college.  Nope, but we did have some mutual acquaintances. 

After graduation, I became an assistant manager with K-Mart; Lance took a job as an assistant manager with Shopko.  As luck - or fate - would have it, we both ended up in Mitchell, South Dakota.  And Lance's roommate knew my roommate.  (You know where this is going, don't you?)  One night, when Lynette and I were out dancing we ran into the two guys at the local bowling alley / bar / dance club.  She was sure Lance and I would hit it off since we had something in common - we were both from Wisconsin!  Turns out, we had more in common than just the state from which we graduated high school.

Lance and I dated for just under a year while we lived in Mitchell.  Then Lance quit his job and moved to Minneapolis to pursue his MBA and a new job in a new field.  I was transferred by K-Mart to Huron, South Dakota and we did the long distance dating thing for a while.  Eventually, I  saved enough money to live on until I could find a new job, got a ring on my finger, and moved to the Twin Cities.  We were married the year we both turned twenty-five; right according to my life plan.  (Funny how that worked out.)

By then, Lance's parents had moved again.  Now they lived less than twenty miles from my home town - coincidence or fate still at work?  I remember Lance's parents sitting me down and asking me if I knew what I was getting myself into with Lance.  Did I really want to marry their son?  Yes, I did.

Have we had a fairy tale marriage?  Of course not - we live in real life. 

Ups and downs?  Yup, but we knew that we would going in. 

In sickness and in health?  My ruptured appendix and Lance's diverticulitis - I think we have that covered.

For better and for worse?  We have been lucky - the better have always outweighed the worse.

Til death do us part?  That is the plan.

I have now spent more years of my life being married than single.  That is a strange concept.  But, it is also a comforting one.  I love that because of our commitment to each other we have brought a beautiful, smart, strong, compassionate daughter into this world.   I love that we each have someone to share our dreams with - and someone who will encourage the other to follow those dreams.  I love that we push each other to do more than we believe we are capable of.  I love that we can still have adventures together.  I love that we have different strengths and balance each other out.  I love that Lance still wants to dance with me and sing silly little songs to me.  I love that my subconscious humming and wine induced chatter makes him smile.  I love that Lance has a soft spot for our dog Ellie. I love the way his face lights up when he sees me or Kaitlyn.  I love the naughty boy look he gets when he is teasing me.  I love that he doesn't laugh at me when I stop to watch "The Lawrence Welk Show" on PBS.  I love that my friends are his friends - and vice versa. I love that we both think the other has hardly aged since we were married. And I love that, even though we both can annoy each other at times, we have learned to move on - forgive - and forget.  I can't imagine any other life than the one I am fortunate enough to have.

Remembering the past thirty years brings thoughts of the future and begs the question:  Am I looking forward to spending the next umpteen years with my husband and best friend?  As they say in Minnesota....you betcha!

Til We Meet Again...

My friend and co-worker died this past weekend as a result of a senseless car accident.  Brandon was only thirty-one years old, a good friend (much like a little brother) with a very kind heart in a somewhat rough exterior.  He was taken away from us much too soon, but I count myself lucky to have crossed paths with him.  Brandon's untimely death was hitting me quite hard.  I found myself tearing up at random times and could not imagine how I would cope when I enterd our shared office Monday morning and didn't see his smiling face or hear him say, "How was your weekend, Jules?".  Some tough weeks and months are ahead for all of us who worked with him.

I am fifty-five years old, so I have seen my fair share of death. 

I barely remember my grandparents, most of them passing while I was just a young girl.  My Grandma Muelver died while I was in college and honestly, I was not that close with her.  I do recall driving back for her funeral in the middle of a Wisconsin winter, my tire blowing out while I was going fifty-five on the freeway, a good Samaritan stopping to help me change it, missing the funeral, and getting to my aunt's house just in time to see my relatives and shed some tears while giving and receiving hugs of condolence.  (No cell phones back then, so no way to let anyone know what was going on.)

The summer I was pregnant with Kaitlyn we attended three funerals - Lance's paternal grandfather, his maternal grandmother and my father.  Talk about a tough summer!  The thing is, while unexpected and extremely sad, all three had lived a long and full life.  (They were all well into their late seventies, early eighties.)  My biggest regret is that none of them got to meet our daughter Kaitlyn.  They would have loved her.

My mother has been gone for sixteen years.  We were vacationing in Northern Wisconsin and had rented a three bedroom cabin so my mom could enjoy time on the lake with us when we got the news.  Mom had been hospitalized the week before our vacation with pneumonia.  We were hoping we could get her out for a day or so to recuperate with us, as she was supposed to be released from the hospital mid week.  The night before she was to go home, she died in her sleep.  It was a very difficult time and hard to reconcile.  She was only sixty-nine.  Kaitlyn couldn't understand why her Grandma was gone and worried that other loved ones would leave her, too.  How do you explain death to a five year old with out scaring her?

My sister Linda died two years ago after an eighteen month battle with cancer and Lance's brother Lorin died unexpectedly this year shortly after New Years. And they are just the tip of the iceberg. Each loss takes away a little part of us, as we think about all the friends and family we have lost throughout the years.

So, why am I writing this? 

Not to depress anyone or to preach a message some are not ready to hear. 

Part of this writing is a way to help me work out my sadness over the most recent death that has become a part of my life.  It is therapeutic for me (kind of like washing down Brandon's desk Monday morning gave me a little closure and acceptance). I am reminded that life is fragile and we should take the time to tell our friends and family how much they mean to us...every day.

I believe that our time here on earth is part of a longer journey and we will see all our loved ones again in heaven.  I like to think that Brandon and Lorin have run across each other and are talking about hunting.  I picture my parents, aunts and uncles gathered around a table playing Royal Rummy.  I believe Roy and Jeff are playing in a gospel band, together again, up in heaven.  I see Linda and Karen overseeing field trips for all the children who left this earth at a young age.  I believe they are all watching over us and want us to remember them fondly, but also want us to get on with living.

So to Brandon and everyone else we have lost - thank you for being a part of our lives.  They would not have been the same without you.

Farewell for now...'til we meet again.

Cleaning...and other lessons from my mother

I really don't like to clean - but I do like a clean house. 

I blame my mother for wanting things to always be clean and organized.  Her house was spotless, but welcoming.  And she always had a plan on how to keep it that way.  Monday - vacuum.  Tuesday - dust.  Wednesday - laundry.  Thursday - kitchen.  Friday - bathrooms.  (Okay, this may not have been the actual schedule, but you get the picture.)  My mom's job was maintaining a house, a family, a budget - including planning meals, monitoring activities, taking on side jobs when money was tight - and she was darn good at it!

She became the impossible standard to which I compared myself.

It wasn't always that way.  I was a pretty messy teenager.  Ask any of my friends.  My bedroom was not known for its made bed, organized closet, or dirty clothes that actually landed into the laundry basket.  My mom taught me the value of just closing the door.  (I embraced that lesson when I became the mother of a teenage daughter.)  Sometimes, all you need to do is ignore the mess and hide it so it doesn't offend the people to whom it matters.  And if it didn't matter to my friends - it didn't matter to me.  (You should have seen their rooms!)

But, she also taught me the correct way to make a bed (military corners anyone?), why it is a good thing to put away clean clothes before they become a wrinkled mess, how to sort those same clothes when doing the laundry so whites did not become pinks, how to iron, how to sew on a button and repair a torn seam, how to bake, how to plan a meal, how to organize a kitchen, and how to "straighten" for company.  All valuable lessons that I didn't truly understand the importance of until I moved out of the house and started living on my own.

When Lance and I were first dating, he invited me over one night to his place for dinner.  I was pleasantly surprised when I saw how clean the apartment appeared to be - at least at first glance.  It wasn't until I was searching for a garbage can under the kitchen sink that I discovered his real method of cleaning...hide the evidence!  Yes, I found a cabinet full of dirty dishes where I thought I would find a garbage can.  And while the bathroom toilet was quite clean...let's just say I should not have peaked behind the closed shower curtain.

Once Lance and I were married, I slowly discovered that when he said we should "clean" for company he did not mean clean as I defined it.  To me, cleaning meant dusting, washing the floors, vacuuming the carpets, cleaning the entire bathroom, changing out hand towels, scrubbing the kitchen and making the house sparkle.  This would take hours and made me exhausted just thinking about it!  But, what Lance really meant was that we should straighten and hide the "junk", clean the toilets, throw in some vacuuming (those lines on the carpet indicated a floor that was always clean), and make sure the kitchen sink was spotless.  Once I figured this out, my life became much less complicated. 

Ever my mother's daughter, I still felt compelled to fully clean the house each week - whether we had visitors coming or not.  But, while my mother was an accomplished homemaker and made a career out of her family and home, I had chosen a different path.  I was a child of the feminist movement and I was going to have it all - career, family, and a clean house!  The problem with this - I also wanted to spend time with my husband and daughter doing fun stuff.  I did not want my weekends to be dedicated to cleaning - and fortunately for me - neither did my husband. 

And that is how I - the person who still shops the clearance rack looking for bargains, repairs her own clothes, replaces buttons, thinks duct tape and glue are a girl's best friend and just can't throw away something that might have another use - ended up hiring a cleaning lady.  I have to admit, I still feel like I need to apologize for this luxury, that I should be able to "do it all" with out any help, but I wouldn't give up her bi-weekly visits up for anything!

Knowing I will never be able to duplicate my mom's standards in the same manner as she did is hard to accept - but I am learning - with a little help from my friends...

Back to work...

"Heigh-Ho, Heigh-Ho, it's off to work we go..."   Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs

Monday I return to work - and I have mixed feelings about it.

On one hand, it will be good to see my co-workers and get back into a "useful" routine.  Plus, getting a normal paycheck will be nice.  (I am fortunate that my company provides short term disability, but it is not paid out at 100%.)

On the other hand, I kind of enjoyed this preview of my future retirement.

Okay, I admit, my first week off I was in the hospital having just had major surgery - and it was not fun. 

The next five weeks I focused on recovery - and was not able to do much physically.  It wasn't until my third or fourth week home that I could even attempt to do anything around the house.  Pouring milk from a full jug was a major accomplishment. 

Since June was "visitor month", that did make things a bit difficult.  My honorary sister-in-law was visiting the weekend I was released from the hospital.  (Sorry Beth, you ended up being more of a nurse than a visitor.)  But, I was so glad she was here!

Two weeks later the Nelson Girls came for a visit.  Again, still not able to do too much.  I managed to go out for dinner at Pinocchio's in Brighton one night and had lunch in Boulder one afternoon with everyone.  I still had to excuse myself for an afternoon nap and early bedtime each day - bummer.

The end of June my friend Dena came out for a girl's weekend in Aspen (while Lance attended the Aspen Ideas Fest) and I was finally feeling a little better.  While we didn't have the weekend I originally envisioned (hiking, biking, shopping, hot springs), we did have a good time.  We walked Aspen (taking frequent rest stops for a glass of water and/or wine - thank goodness I was off the narcotics!), took the gondola to the top of Aspen Mountain (conquered a fear there - right Dena?), and spent a lot of time catching up at the condo we were renting in Snowmass.

Then last week the doctor gave me the okay to go back to work on the twenty-first. 

This week, while I am still achy, I can finally move about more freely.

I love my mornings - getting up sometime between six and seven - taking Ellie for a walk - enjoying breakfast and coffee on the deck - planning my day, checking email and Facebook, reading and writing. 

My late mornings and afternoons are spent doing the tasks I had mapped out earlier: cooking, laundry, cleaning, shopping, seeing a movie, having lunch with a friend, sorting through boxes still unopened in the basement, organizing my recipes and old photos, cleaning out my closet... you get the picture.  I have to still be cautious and not overdo the lifting and moving items, but I can do much more that I could five weeks ago. 

I will be honest - I loved my time at home.  The days just flew by - and I still have a list a mile long of things I didn't get to. 

I look forward to the day I am healed enough that I can start to exercise and jog again (I still have a goal to run a 5K - not run/walk like I normally do).  I want to take up golf again.  I want to rearrange furniture and hang pictures.  I want to finish going through all the boxes in the basement.  I want to write more and take up painting again.  I want to try new recipes.  I want to hike and go to festivals.  I want to do more volunteer work.  I want to host parties and entertain visitors.  I want to take a class just for the fun of it.  I want to finish all the things I didn't get to on my to-do list.

But, I am going back to my "real" job on Monday.  And I am sure I will get into the old routine of working during the weekday and playing on the weekend.  Still, after spending six weeks at home this summer recovering from surgery - I now anticipate partial retirement with excitement.  If  I enjoyed being home when I was not functioning at my best, just think of all I will be able to do when I am healthy!

Here's to the future...

Independence Day!

This year, my daughter Kaitlyn spent the Fourth of July in Venice, Italy.

While she loved Venice, I suspect she was also a little disappointed in the timing.  Spending the Fourth in Italy meant no parades, no fireworks, no cruising in a boat on a Minnesota lake (although she and Bear did take a gondola ride through the canals of Venice), no picnics, no grilling burgers, no patriotic songs, no corny red, white, and blue outfits.  As Kaitlyn recently informed me, the Fourth of July is her favorite holiday - and she kind of missed out on it this year.

That got me thinking about my Independence Day celebrations of years past.  Would I have considered it my favorite holiday when I was her age?

Last weekend Lance and I were reminiscing about the summer celebrations of our childhood as we drove into the mountains to get away from the Denver heat.  We both remembered sparklers and those silly "snakes" that marked up the sidewalks with carbon residue.  We remembered writing our names in the air, drawing pictures and just running around the yard with that colorful trail from the sparklers following our every move.  I am not sure what the fascination of the "snakes" were - other than we didn't have to wait until night to light them.  (For those of you who don't know, snakes were a small cylinder of black carbon that you put on your sidewalk, lit, and they magically turned into winding puffy "snakes".)

As a kid growing up in small town Wisconsin, the highlight of the Fourth was, of course, the fireworks.  We never went to the fairgrounds where the fireworks originated, so we never saw the ground displays.  (I didn't even know there were ground displays until I was a teenager!)  Instead we carried our blankets and lawn chairs to the top of Wilson's Hill where most of the kids (and a number of adults) from the neighborhood oo'd and awe'd in amazement as we watched the colorful display of pyrotechnics high in the night sky.  And when they finished, we would hurry back home to light our sparklers - the end to a great day.

It wasn't until my teen years that I finally saw fireworks close up.  But, unfortunately, they had lost some of the mystique of my youth.  I think we watched more out of habit than fascination.  The celebration changed in my teens and early twenties - from a family get together to hanging out with my friends.  Instead of sparklers and snakes, we were more interested in the party that resulted from having a dozen or so young adults in one place.  Swimming, water skiing, grilling and finally settling in to watch the fireworks as we now jokingly oo'd and awe'd over the spectacular. 

I remember one year we traveled to Tomahawk on the Fourth for the water ski show (a big deal if you lived in Wisconsin) and then settled in on our blankets at the rivers edge for a picnic/party and to watch the fireworks.  For some reason (it may have been the beer) we decided we had to have sparklers.  Trouble was, we had no idea where to buy any so we wandered around town until we finally found a gas station that still had a few boxes left.  Unfortunately, sparklers just didn't have the same thrill for an eighteen year old as for a young child (even though we pretended they did).  I guess sometimes you just don't want to let go of the kid in you.

As young parents, the Fourth once again became a family affair...pretty tame stuff.  Grilling, sparklers, visiting relatives, and the city fireworks were the highlight of the day...until we became friends our new neighbors in Ham Lake.  For them, the Fourth was a holiday to CELEBRATE, not just a reason to grill burgers.  And, because of Terry and Chrissy, we learned to appreciate all that July Fourth had to offer.

Independence Day in Ham Lake became a day to remember.  It started with a pool party and a pot-luck barbeque complete with the prerequisite salads, burgers and hotdogs.  There was swimming, sunning, volleyball and other backyard games with friends, relatives, and much of the neighborhood.  But the highlight came in the evening as darkness approached.  You see, Terry and several other neighborhood men became children again...children who loved fireworks.

I remember the year that our rural neighborhood display rivaled the city fireworks.  Seriously.  These guys had spent unknown dollars on fireworks - bottle rockets, boxes containing multiple fireworks that created an amazing display of one colorful flower after another in the air above us, and the loud firecrackers whose only purpose was to make us jump.  The display went on and on for almost an hour.  A lone police car drove up and his only comment was "be careful and clean everything up."  Whew!

I have never seen such an aftermath.  As soon as the pyrotechnic display was done, all the guys in the neighborhood started the street clean-up.  These was so much debris they had to use a bobcat to get it all!  And everyone scoured the yards and fields to make sure nothing was left behind.  By the time the cleanup was done you would never have even suspected the spectacular show that had happened earlier that evening. 

Now I live in Colorado and we have yet to figure out exactly how the Fourth should be celebrated.

The year Lance lived here (and Kaitlyn and I were still based in Minnesota) we all traveled to Aspen and met up with some of Lance's relatives.  There we went to the Aspen band concert and watched fireworks from a downtown second story window view (which almost didn't happen because of the rain.)  The first summer we both lived here (Kaitlyn was working in Minnesota) Lance and I watched the fireworks of all the Denver suburbs that surrounded us from the deck of our condo - pretty low key.  The next year we went back to Aspen with friends, but there were no fireworks as the state was under a fire ban because of the draught.  Last year, we went to the Bandimere Speedway with more visiting friends and watched their display from the stadium after the races were finished.  And this year, with me still recovering from surgery, we grilled and then saw a few plumes of light in the night sky from the comfort of our deck, which I am guessing were the Thornton city fireworks.

Bottom line - the Fourth may not be as exciting as it once was, but it still has potential.  We just have to discover what our new Colorado traditions will be.  And once we figure that out - well, let the party begin! 

Happy Independence Day everyone!

My Constant Companion...

I remember when the topic first came up. 

Kaitlyn was twelve and really wanted a puppy.  I had grown up with a dog and thought, why not?  Lance was not as enthusiastic (he knew who's dog this would end up being in the long run) so he gave Kaitlyn a challenge to master before he would say yes.  To Kaitlyn's credit, she worked hard and earned the privilege to bring a new canine member into our family. 

The first full day Ellie spent with us, I took off because (guilt filled admission) I wanted her to bond with me.  Even though she was technically Kaitlyn's dog, I wanted her to be my dog.

Well, it worked.  I am not sure if Ellie became my dog because I spent the first full day with her, or because I fed her, kept her water dish full, took her for walks, and picked her up to cuddle on a frequent basis. 

I don't want to give the impression that Ellie does not love the rest of my family or that they do not reciprocate that love.  Kaitlyn also took Ellie for walks, fed her when I couldn't and still dog-sits when we need the assistance.  And Ellie is always happy to see Kaitlyn.  As for Lance, well, he grumbled about getting a dog, but Ellie has him wrapped around her little paw.  He takes her for a morning walk, feeds her when I can't, and plays "find the bone" with her (a silly little game Ellie made up - who is in charge here anyway?)

We have been through a lot with our furry little family member.

At just a few years old Ellie was diagnosed with a kidney infection and almost died.  I remember Lance and I had her sleep in bed between us while we listened to her labored breathing, comforted her with our loving touch, and prayed for the meds to kick in and for her complete recovery.  Ellie came through with flying colors, but because of this incident, we discovered she had stones in her bladder and a tendency to continue to form more.  Ellie was put on a special (nasty tasting) food to dissolve the stones.  It worked, and now she is on a maintenance diet (which apparently tastes much better) and has not had any more reoccurrences.

When we decided to move our family to Colorado, Ellie happily came with.

After about a year in Colorado, we learned Ellie had diabetes.  So, now she endures two insulin injections a day.  Fortunately, she did not lose her sight (a common side affect that often occurs in the first year of diagnosis of canine diabetes.)  And has been relatively healthy since.

While we have gladly taken care of Ellie throughout the years - I didn't realize just how much she would take care of me when I needed her most.

Since I have been home recovering from my surgery, Ellie has been more than just a pet.  She is my constant companion.  Ellie has this uncanny sense of how I am feeling, how much activity I can handle, and never leaves my side. 

When I first came home with a tube sticking out of my abdomen Ellie spent all her time following me around.  She napped with me, she shuffled from room to room with me - but never tried to be picked up and she never jumped on my lap.  She was very cautious and protective.

As my recovery progressed and I began to feel a little better she still was always at my side, but now would bring me a toy to toss if she thought I was up to it or lay on the couch with her back resting against me, providing the assurance that she was there if I needed her.  As I started to feel a little more mobile I began to feed her and once again give the dreaded insulin shot.  Whereas she would start to run off at shot time in the past, now she sees me coming and stands perfectly still - no games on her part.  (I am guessing that will change when she thinks I am fully recovered!)

My tube is gone now and I am changing out the bandages on my incision area twice a day.  Ellie seems to know this means I can do more, but am still not back to normal.  We have started to take walks around the neighborhood and Ellie has begun to push me to go a little further each day.  (Does this make her a therapy dog?)  She has her predetermined routes around the neighborhood and guides me along them (although I sometimes veto her choices - I do have some say in what I feel up to!)

As I prepare for my next doctor visit and find out my return to work date, I am not sure who this will be harder on - me or Ellie.  I will miss my constant companion with her adoring looks of love.  And Ellie, she will once again be home alone all day when I return to work.  (Maybe she will be glad to get in a full days sleep again!)

I am thankful for my family, friends, faith, and the doctors and nurses whose diagnosis and skill got me through this unexpected and traumatic phase of my life.  I am especially grateful for my faithful companion - a furry, loveable, little ball of fluff named Ellie.

Letting Go...

Sunrise, sunset
Sunrise, sunset

Is this the little girl I carried?
Is this the little boy at play?

I don't remember growing older
When did they?

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From the musical: "Fiddler On the Roof"

Songwriters Jerry Bock and Sheldon Harnick

Yesterday I brought my beautiful newborn baby girl home from the hospital.

Yesterday I spent fun filled days exploring the world with my curious toddler.

Yesterday I cried a little as my excited five year old got on the bus for her first day of school.

Yesterday I cheered on my daughter as she learned the joys and disappointments of participating in team sports.

Yesterday I celebrated with her as she became a newly licensed driver ...and supported her when she got in her first car accident.

Yesterday I counseled her as she tried to understand why life doesn't always go as planned and why some friendships suddenly change.

Yesterday she graduated from high school and I said farewell (shedding a few more tears) as she left for her summer job in Northern Minnesota and I moved to Colorado.

Yesterday I watched my daughter grow from an insecure teen to an enthusiastic, confident college student (with a real talent for writing).

Yesterday I wept a little as I watched my twenty-one year old daughter leave for the airport to start a new summer adventure backpacking in Europe.

Wow...where did the time go?

While I am a little nervous about Kaitlyn's newest adventure - I am also excited for her (and maybe even a little jealous - who wouldn't want to be a twenty something back packing around Europe).  I can't wait to hear about her travels and thanks to the world we live in, will not have to hope for a letter or her return home to keep in contact.  Email, Viber, Facebook, Blogging...I know she will keep us updated when she can.

I want her to be independent, adventurous, and joyful.  I want her to make good choices, listen to her travel mate "Bear" (the planner and responsible one), and celebrate all her life has to offer.  I want her to travel safely, meet new people, and try new things. 

I am confident we raised her well - and it is time to spread her wings and have the trip of a lifetime.  Will I be happy when she is safely home?  Of course.   Do I wish she never got on that plane?  Absolutely not.   

Enjoy your adventure Kaitlyn...explore new sites, immerse yourself in the culture, and dance with monks whenever you can!

Burst Appendix...

“There she blows!” ― Herman Melville, Moby Dick    

"How could you not have known you had appendicitis?  Wasn't the pain unbearable?"

Not to me.

"Guess you need to learn the difference between pain and injury, eh?"

Maybe.

"You must have a really high pain tolerance."

Guess so.

How does a reasonable person not know they are experiencing an appendicitis attack?  Well, if you are a generally healthy person, have not been in the hospital since your daughter's birth twenty-one years ago, and the only other surgery you remember is having your tonsils removed when you were twelve or so, the last thing you suspect is appendicitis.

Maybe it should have been the first.

Did it cross my mind that Monday when I stayed home from work that it might be my appendix?  Yes, but only briefly.  I was pretty convinced I had the flu and would be back to work the next day.  I had gone to bed early Sunday night feeling bloated, constipated, and just not right.  After numerous trips to the restroom that night and finally throwing up in the morning, I was feeling a little better, convinced I had the flu.  Lance put his hand on my forehead, pronounced I had a fever, and agreed with my assessment - probably the flu. He went to work, I stayed home.

Honestly, I don't remember most of that day.  I did have some lower abdomen pain, but I attributed that to the ab workout I had started Sunday morning. (Thanks Facebook.)  I recall thinking the workout was way too hard for day one and I should tell someone because my lower abs hurt - a lot.  Then I thought, I must be really out of shape if fifteen sit-ups, five crunches, and a ten second plank hurt this much.  I had no interest in food (looking back, I wasn't very hungry on Sunday either) or anything else for that matter.  When Lance arrived home from work, he had me drink some Pedialite (still working on the flu theory) and I went back to sleep.

Sometime after midnight I woke up with more abdominal pains, the worse I had felt yet.  I googled appendicitis on my phone and while I didn't have all the symptoms, I did have a number of them.  So, I woke Lance up and asked to go to the satellite ER located a few blocks from our house. Fortunately, we got right in (no line at 1:00am).  The doctor started pressing on my abdomen, asking if it hurt.  Honestly, not that bad.  Then she found a spot that didn't hurt when she pressed down, but man did it hurt when she released the pressure. "Eureka - a reaction!"   She ordered a CT scan and when it was complete, came in with the news that yes, I did have appendicitis, but unfortunately, my appendix had already ruptured.

The ER doctor assured us that the surgeon on call at the hospital had been notified and was pulling her team together for emergency surgery.  And that she was one of their best.  After that, things are a bit of a blur.  I remember an ambulance ride (bumpier than I expected) and that the driver and attendee were very nice to me.  I remember Lance saying he would quickly run home to take care of our dog Ellie, and then he would meet me at the hospital.  I remember being whisked to a room in the hospital and prepped for surgery.  I remember Lance being with me as I was taken down to the operating room and then I remember waking up in recovery. 

Later, I found out that the appendix is a finger like protrusion, normally located on the base of the right hand side of the colon, pointing toward the outside of the hips.  Mine was on the right hand part of the colon, but located more to the left and pointed toward the center of my pelvis (not as common).  Most of the time, when an appendix ruptures, it ruptures out the end.   Mine ruptured at the base of the colon.  This meant I had to be cut open so the surgeon could remove the appendix, the damaged part of the colon, all the gunk it had released into my body and finally put Humpty Dumpty back together again. 

Since I didn't catch this until after my appendix ruptured, I went from a fairly routine laparoscopic surgery to a major cutting me open surgery that lasted a couple of hours.  I spent five days in the hospital and now have about five weeks of at home recovery in front of me.  Believe me when I say this, there are better ways to spend time off from work.  Moral of the story, listen to your body and don't make excuses for the pains you are feeling.  If it "crosses your mind" that you might have a serious injury - go to the doctor.  It could save your life.

My Vanities....

“Vanity and pride are different things, though the words are often used synonymously. A person may be proud without being vain. Pride relates more to our opinion of ourselves, vanity to what we would have others think of us.”
― Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice    

"I feel so ugly!" was my tearful assessment that first night home from the hospital as I surveyed my limp hair, the tube sticking out my lower abdomen and my lost stomach muscles. 

Wow, had I forgotten I just had major surgery?  What was wrong with me?  I should be thankful that I was even alive and here I was worrying about my looks.

Thinking back to my hospital stay, I remember a couple of good friends asked if I was up to visitors.  My response, "I smell bad and look kind of greasy but would love a visit."  Even in my hospital bed I was concerned with how I looked.  How sad it that?

It gets worse. The Monday after my release from the hospital, when my home health care nurse came to change the dressing on my incision and put in a new wound vac tube, my first instinct was to lament "I look like a homeless person."  (In my defense, I was wearing Lance's flannel pajama bottoms with the bleach stains hung low on my hips, an old oversized tee with a Scuba Mexico insignia and a ten year old track jacket; my hair still unwashed and my face shiny with oil.)

This past weekend, as Lance and I were sitting out on the deck,, he suggested I might want to go for a walk with him and Ellie to the end of the block and back.  He said we could wait until after dark so no one could see me with my tubes, if that would make me more comfortable.  (Does he know me or what?)   That got me thinking - did it really matter if my neighbors saw me when I looked less than my best?  So, I bit the bullet and walked with him - in broad daylight with my unwashed hair and unfashionable outfit.  And I am glad I did.

Later that night, he took me for a drive in the convertible to get a root beer float. I have to admit, I did pull my hair back in a ponytail to try to look more presentable.  (Hey, old habits die hard.)  But, I did not let my pride get in the way of a lovely evening drive with my husband.  Yeah me!

So, I admit it - I am a vain creature.  I want to look good - for myself, for my husband, for others around me.  I look forward to wearing my normal clothes, styling my hair, and putting on makeup.  Maybe a little pride is not such a bad thing. It is what gets me going in the morning; putting on a new change of clothes, showering when I can, washing my hair, walking around the house trying to get my strength back.  It is part of what motivates me to heal.

And that can not be all bad.

Flowers, Cards and Healing Prayers...

Quick update:  I was recently hospitalized for a ruptured appendix and it involved some major surgery including the removal of a portion of my colon, some internal reconstruction and infection clean-up (a blog for another day).  I am now at home recuperating. Which means I have more time to contemplate life, appreciate each day and (hopefully) write.

I see trees of green,
red roses too.
I see them bloom,
for me and you.
And I think to myself,
what a wonderful world.
LOUIS ARMSTRONG (Lyrics from "What a Wonderful World")

Flowers...

One of the first pleasant memories I have of my stay in the hospital is seeing my daughter's face as she bounded into my room with her amazing energy and infectious smile, gently saying "Mama!".   She was followed by a hospital volunteer and two bouquets of flowers.  One was a colorful arrangement from my fellow co-workers in Denver and the other was a cheerful yellow concoction in a happy face mug from my former co-workers and dear friends in Minneapolis. Kaitlyn quickly went to work making my room a "home" arranging pictures she brought from our house and my flowers.What a wonderful surprise!  A little later that evening, another amazing bouquet arrived from the associates at my husband's small business. Everyone who entered my room commented on how great it smelled. 

It was not until the next day that I realized there was a tiny little arrangement of fabric flowers in the corner that Kailyn had quietly placed the day before.  She had secretly added some essential oils to the basket - the source of the amazing smells everyone commented on.  I was already feeling very loved, when the hospital volunteers made two more trips to my room.  The first, a small lily arrangement from a new friend meant more to me than words can express.  It gave me a sense of belonging - that Denver truly was my new home.  The second, an arrangement from my nieces and nephews that looked like a white fluffy puppy sitting in a basket with a Band-Aid on her paw, made me smile and think of my dog Ellie every time I looked at it.

As I approached my potential release, I realized I had a problem...what to do with all those flowers.  My husband had a suggestion, which I pounced on - ask the nurse to find home for this special form of healing and comfort.  There were plenty of patients who were not as fortunate as I was and it would be a great way to pay it forward.  So, I took home my happy face mug and the Colorado connection flowers, leaving the rest to brighten another patients day. 

Get Well Cards...

I am a card sender.  When some one is sick - I send a card.  Hospital?  Card.  Birthday?  Card.  The passing of a loved one?  Another card.  I usually write a short personal note but am never quite sure it is actually read.  Well, I am here to tell you - the notes do get read.  Upon my return home I discovered I had small collection of get well cards waiting for me to feel well enough to open.  I appreciatively read each and every card.  Words of support, prayer, and best wishes meant a great deal to me.  I smiled at the comments from the individuals on the group cards as I pictured each person in my mind.  And I read in wonder the cards from people I hardly knew but had somehow touched their lives enough to make them want to send me a card.  Believe me - cards and a brief word of kindness are an underappreciated form of compassion.

Healing Prayers...

I have been a Christian all my life.  As such I have often said "my prayers are with you" or "we are praying for you" in the event of bad news or illness.   And generally, I did say a small prayer for healing and moved on with my life.  I was never really sure if it helped or even mattered, but I felt compelled to do as I said I would (ever the rule follower).  Well, I am here to tell you it does matter.  My first night in the hospital, simply put, I felt the power of prayer.  As I prepared for sleep and closed my eyes, hovering in that in-between state of awake and out for the night, I saw what seemed like hundreds of eyes looking at me with love.  Some I recognized, some I did not.  I felt an overwhelming sense of comfort and well-being.  Then, I slept.  But, the feeling stuck with me and my healing continues.  From now on, when I say "I'll pray for you", I will.  Not out of obligation, but out of the belief that it does truly help.

Thank you to all my friends and family for your healing support.  It is truly appreciated.
 

Now That's a Mountain...

"Toto, I've a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore."  Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz

Growing up in a small town on the southern edge of where "Wisconsin Vacationland" begins I had no idea what real mountains were.  Ask me about lakes or rivers and I could tell you where the best spots to sunbath were (the beach at Council Grounds State Park), have a family picnic (toss up between Tug Lake and Stange's Kitchenette Park), or go midnight skinny dipping (Ott's Park - but don't tell anyone!)  We water skied on the Wisconsin River (okay, my friends water skied while I rode in the boat - never could get the hang of that sport, no matter how many times I tried), swam in the Prairie River as a child (watch out for blood suckers!) and headed up to Minocqua or Tomahawk to watch the water ski shows.  Recreational activities generally revolved around water.

Not to say we had no exposure to elevation...I did sled down Wilson's Hill located a few blocks from my house.  It was so high, we needed a tow rope to get up if you were skiing.  I never skied down the hill, but I rode up the tow rope a few times sitting on a piece of cardboard (when it was not busy and my brother's friend was the operator).  For those of you who have not figured it out yet, Wilson's hill was just that - a hill.  To a kid who could move pretty fast going down it on a toboggan full of people it was gigantic - but in reality, I am pretty sure it was probably quite a bit less than a hundred feet from top to bottom.

While my hometown could not boast of anything larger than a few sledding hills - we only had to drive about fifteen miles south to encounter Rib Mountain.  Now that was something!  It had a ski slope with actual chair lifts.  Rib Mountain Recreational Area is 1924 feet above sea level at its highest point (or approximately 700 feet in elevation above the local terrain). In recent years, the ski area has changed its name from Rib Mountain to Granite Peak (which is ironic since the "mountain" is actually a large block of quartzite - no granite in sight).  Legend has it that Rib Mountain split the last glacial flow over Wisconsin and in turn formed the rocky area just to the south known as the Wisconsin Dells.  Unfortunately, this is just a fun myth.  According to an article on Rib Mountain by Keith Montgomery, Ph.D. at the UW-Marathon County, it was most likely the Great Lakes basins that shaped the ice flow and caused the split - not Rib Mountain. Oh well...

It took our move to Colorado for me to discover what real mountains are. In fact, I can see an entire mountain range on my drive into work, the drive to church, our drive to visit Kaitlyn in Boulder, or just about anywhere else we go.  Looking out the large picture window on the west side of our house, I can see Mount Evans (14,265 feet above sea level).  I can also point out Pike's Peak (14,115 feet) and Long's Peak (14,259 feet) when looking at the full mountain range.  Not bad for a flatlander!  I now know what it means to climb a fourteener (any one of the 14,000 foot or higher elevation mountains in Colorado) and learned that some people have a goal to climb all of them.  In answer your unspoken question, no, I probably will not be climbing one in the near future!

Living near a mountain range is an interesting experience for a Midwest girl.  For one thing, who knew that while the mountains can get snow almost year round - Denver, where I live, is a high plains desert?  Temperatures by my house will be in the 90's most of the summer - but we can drive less than an hour into the foothills, explore a small mountain town or go on a hiking trail and enjoy temperatures in the mid to upper 70's.  Amazing.  Another interesting fact, cities don't post the population under their name on sign markers - oh no - they boast the elevation of the town.  I still have not figured that one out - other than it helps you to know why you are so winded and thirsty! 

My husband's favorite tour for our guests is the drive them to the top of Pike's Peak.  Most of our visitors have no idea what to expect despite our warnings of "bring a jacket", "the best view is on the drivers side", and "we'll stop for a drink at a nice little wine restaurant we know when we get back down to the bottom."  The drive up can be nerve-wracking for some (I have actually gotten used to it), exciting for others (in addition to the awesome views, we once saw a herd of mountain goats), and always worth it when we get out at the top.  The views are amazing! 

The longer I live in Colorado, the more I have discovered the wonders of living near the mountains.  The are always beautiful to view from a distance - looking like a backdrop in an old western movie.  They are exciting to drive through - as long as someone else is driving, please.  They are a place of peaceful  contemplation, exhilarating adventures, and a glorious part of my new life.  Welcome to the mountains!