Friday night was the third Friday we played pinochle without my dad sitting across the table from me. Someone was sitting in his chair, but it did not matter who occupied his seat. The emptiness permiated the entire house, as did the smell of all of the flowers from his funeral. My sister and I celebrated our January birthdays together in February with our traditional family meal and cake for dessert. It was noticeably quiet. Our dad was not there to celebrate with us. Somehow, the food did not taste as good this year….
As time moves on, yes, it moves on, though it feels like it should stand still, as I look across the livingroom at the reclining chair where my dad previously sat and laughed, cried, relaxed, and freely offered advice to his family, I realize that instead of feeling sad and longing for my dad to come around the corner with his walker and fill that empty chair with his body, smile, and magnetic personality, I can look at that empty chair, as well as the one at the table, and see in my minds eye the memories of his life. Of the good times, laughter, sadness, and discussions of lessons learned. That empty chair contains all the memories my mind will produce for me to enjoy.
I am grateful for the memories of Dad and I playing Cribbage at the table. Of times as a small child, him patting my back as I cried because of a tummy ache or other sickness. Of the time helped me set up my first checking account at age 16. Of the time he cried over his Mom’s death at age 70. Of the time I laughed at him as a preteen looking over and seeing him close his eyes while taking that initial bite of a hotdogs. Of his shaking hand as he tries to fill his fork with food from his dinner plate and move it to his mouth before the shaking causes the food to fall back onto the plate before reaching his mouth. Of all of the hugs and I love yous from him as he sat in either of those chairs.
Every time I look at those empty chairs, the good memories bring a smile to my face and help heal my broken heart.
Dad passed away toward the end of January. We miss him, but we believe he is in a better place and are happy that he is no longer suffering.
It has been nearly a year since our stay on beautiful Shelter Island in San Diego, CA. It is not an island, but more like a peninsula with the harbor on one side and the bay between the peninsula and North Island Naval Air Station on the other. Shelter Island is just over a mile long and a few hundred feet wide. There is a walkway from one end of the island to the other, and one road connecting the peninsula to the mainland. Morning and evening walks are peaceful and serene with a beautiful view of the City lights of San Diego in the distance. Until the jets take off from the Naval Air Base. Those are loud! The afterburners are amazingly bright red like hot burners on an old-style electric stove. The sound of the jets taking off after sundown were one of my favorite things to hear, causing my immediate rush from wherever I was in the hotel room to get a glimpse of those red hot afterburners from our bayside balcony in the dark.
I did not research the history of Shelter Island in San Diego while we were there last year. This is what I just found on Wikipedia:
Shelter Island is a neighborhood of Point Loma in San Diego, California, United States. It is actually not an island but is connected to the mainland by a narrow strip of land. It was originally a sandbank in San Diego Bay, visible only at low tide. It was built up into dry land using material dredged from the bay in 1934.[1] It was developed in the 1950s[2] and contains hotels, restaurants, marinas, and public parkland.
The “island” is 1.2 miles (1.9 km) long and only a few hundred feet wide. A single street, Shelter Island Drive, runs the length of Shelter Island and also connects it to the mainland via a causeway lined with marine-related businesses.
Walking around the island every day felt surreal and like a place I would like to visit again and again. It is a magical place, especially at night, next to the marina crowded with sailboats floating in the dark, showing off all of that richness in the water next to the reflection of the moon dancing across the small waves splashing under the stars, barely visible next to the brightness of the moon.
We are going back! We reserved the same room as last year on Shelter Island. Then my husband had a surgery about 4 weeks ago, so we canceled our reservations. He is doing so well, however, we decided to go after all. Hopefully, the room is still available.
I can’t wait to go back! The palm trees are so beautiful. The benches along the walkways beckon one to sit down for a minute and take time to enjoy the surrounding beauty of the trees, grass and, of course, the water in the bay moving along, taking every little drop of memory with it, never to be seen the same way again.
People are friendly on the island. There is a sense of safety. Most of the people my husband and I spoke to last year were also visiting California. They were enjoying their walks along the bay. You could see in their eyes how relaxed they were, how present they were, not in a hurry to go anywhere, just taking in the quiet moments and beautiful surroundings, not wanting the time to pass too quickly.
No two trips are the same. Even to the same place. Our last trip to San Diego was life changing in many ways. There was a lot of time to walk, sit, listen, observe, feel and ponder. I suspect this trip will be filled with reminiscings of some of the memories of last year and, importantly, spending time by my husband’s side as he takes me with him on a ride down memory lane, pointing out where he lived, worked, and spent time as a young sailor in the Navy stationed in San Diego. I am looking forward to visualizing his memories as he shares them with me.
My husband likes to coin hunt with his metal detector. Last year, he found, among other things, a couple of rings on the beach. We are looking forward to spending time searching for “buried treasures” along the ocean front, again, this year.
While in San Diego, we went to Sea World and San Diego Zoo. We took a beautiful sunset dolphin and whale watching cruise and a fun little seal cruise on the bus boat. I love to be out on the water. It reminds me of wonderful family time, fishing with my parents, brother and sister when we were younger. That is a blog post for another day.
So, if you have visited San Diego or live in the area, what are some of the “must dos” we can participate in this year? What are some of your favorite restaurants or other places to eat? Tell me about anything we should not miss while we are there.
This link shows a map of the best places to see the annular eclipse on October 14th. It appears the best place for the longest viewing would be Corpus Christi, TX. The closest place for us to view would be around Elko, Nevada. My daughter and son-in-law rented an AirBNB and plan to arrive the night before, then come home after the eclipse is over.
Since my husband’s surgery is this Tuesday, I am not sure that we will make it to see the eclipse this year. I am keeping my fingers crossed that my husband will feel up to the drive. If not, c’est la vie. You can’t always get what you want. (Humming a tune in my head, now.)
An interesting fun fact about Elko, Nevada, is that my parents were married there in 1962. Who gets married in Elko, Nevada? Well, apparently, back in the day, that was the place to get married. I have met several people over the years who were married there. It was inexpensive and easy to do.
My dad’s brother and sister-in-law picked up my dad and mom with their green ’57 Chevy and drove the few hours to Elko where my parents were married by the Justice of the Peace. My mom had enough money to buy my dad a shirt, her dress, and her $11 wedding band. What a crazy way to start a life of 61 years together!
Anyway, in 2017, a full lunar eclipse passed directly over our town. People came from all over the United States, filling up the AirBNB’s, hotels, KOA’s and any open area they could find to camp. My husband and I, with our eclipse glasses in hand and camp chairs in the trunk of the car, drove over to my childhood home, where my parents still live, and readied my parents, our daughter, her husband, their 4-mo-old baby boy, and ourselves on the front lawn for the perfect view of this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
I remember, as the moon fully eclipsed the sun’s light, feeling a bit of a surreal, sort of spiritual, deeply moving unexplainable experience. I understand why hundreds of people came from all over the nation to experience that one brief moment. I remember, after that moment, hearing clapping and cheering up and down the block in our neighborhood. It was almost as if there needed to be a release of all the incredibleness everyone was feeling from that amazing experience. I still get goosebumps thinking about it. 😊
I am not sure if this eclipse event next weekend will have the same effect since it is not a total eclipse, but it would be fun to compare!
Road Trippin’
The night before a road trip is usually spent finishing up the last bit of laundry, then packing the suitcase. It is a night I should go to bed early to get the best night’s sleep possible. Instead, I find it difficult to fall asleep. Probably, because I am too busy thinking that I need to fall asleep so I can feel rested for driving the next day. Ha. Ha.
Tomorrow, I need to wake up at my regular early time, get ready for the day, and head to work. After I am off work, around 3pm, we are headed to U of U. Our daughter will keep an eye on the house for us this week.
Even though this is a relatively short three and a half hour “road trip” and we have been there several times before, I am not looking forward to leaving after work. It will make for a long day, plus we will arrive around rush hour. I suppose that will make for a good night’s sleep, however, before my husband’s surgery the next day.
We hope he only needs to stay in the hospital a day or two, but I made the reservation for a few nights, just in case the surgery is more complicated than expected. My husband and I are very hopeful for a positive outcome that will mean less pain and better movement in his knee once the patella debris is removed and the healing begins. Fingers crossed and lots of prayers!
What is the purpose? What good does it serve? Will it make any difference? It won’t change anything. Should it change anything? Or just change how I see things?
I have an appointment shortly. I have been wondering what to say, how to start, where to begin. I’ve asked myself what I want to accomplish with counseling. I want to be me. I want to figure out who I am. What do I want out of life? Am I happy? Am I going through motions? What does true joy feel like? I know what I believe long-lasting happiness is. Can we have joy now? Or do we need to wait for some time in the future?
Lots of questions and pondering. So, while I wait, this gives me a few minutes to write a blog post about asparagus. Yep! Asparagus!
My memories of Memorial Day weekend as a child are of my parents, siblings and grandparents driving to the cemeteries to pay respects to our great-grandparents and other family members who have passed on, and stopping along the way home to hunt asparagus on the ditch bank along the roadway. It is springtime, so the grassy ditch banks are always lush green, which made spying the asparagus a bit challenging, but did not deter us from finding and picking enough for Grandma to make a pot of her delicious cream of asparagus soup.
This is a family tradition. One I was so excited to share again this year! So, on Saturday of Memorial Day weekend, while my brother’s traditional rotisserie pork roast was cooking in the grill, my sister and niece and I drove to our secret ditch bank to pick some asparagus for soup with dinner. Only to discover much of it had been picked. But, we persisted in walking the ditch bank and searching for those hidden gems missed by the previous hunters. Our persistence paid off, and we took two large handfuls home.
There wasn’t time to make the soup for dinner, so I said I would make a pot of soup for mom and dad on Sunday. My dad was less than enthusiastic. Come to find out, my dad only ate it because his mom made it. It was ok, but not his favorite. My mom doesn’t like it at all. Neither does my sister or her family. Nor does my brother. What?!! All these years!! I had no idea!! I always felt like asparagus soup on Memorial Day tied our family together…the living to those who had passed on!!
Well, I made the pot of soup for my husband and six-year-old grandson. We ate all but half of a bowl of that deliciousness! My extended family may not like the soup, but Memorial Day weekend, for me, will always be synonymous with asparagus hunting, making soup, and family time. Both, on this side of heaven, and the other!
Turning 14 was an exciting milestone for me, not because it symbolized freedom or escapades, but because I could finally enroll in Driver’s Ed. My love for driving began long before I was legally allowed behind the wheel. It all started with a memorable experience in my grandpa’s pickup truck, where I got my first taste of what it was like to take control of a vehicle. Little did I know that my journey through Driver’s Ed would be filled with unexpected surprises, including one unforgettable mishap.
Behind one of the local high schools, there was a driver’s course equipped with a tower and a microphone. The setup allowed the instructor to watch and guide us as we navigated through various driving scenarios. It was an exhilarating experience to be entrusted with a car and have the chance to demonstrate my driving skills. However, there was one fateful day that would forever be etched in my memory.
My driving partner and I were eagerly waiting for our turn in the VW Rabbit, a car equipped with a standard transmission. The anticipation was building as we prepared ourselves to handle the challenges of driving a manual vehicle. My partner took the wheel first, but to our dismay, the stick shift refused to go into gear. Confused, we tried every possible technique to engage reverse, but the shifter seemed stubbornly immovable.
With our hopes dwindling, the instructor decided to intervene. He sat behind the wheel, attempting to resolve the gear-shifting predicament. That’s when one of the onlookers noticed something peculiar under the car. Pointing in disbelief, he exclaimed, “What is that?” To our sheer embarrassment, it turned out that we had unwittingly pushed the gear shifter right through the floor of the car! Our jaws dropped, and we couldn’t believe what we had done.
Needless to say, our mishap quickly became the talk of Driver’s Ed. For years afterward, I found myself at the center of amusing anecdotes and conversations among students. Even long after completing the course, I would encounter new students asking if I was the one responsible for pushing the gear shifter through the floor of the infamous Rabbit. Sheepishly, I admitted my involvement, forever linked to that comical incident.
Despite the embarrassing ordeal, I managed to persevere and successfully complete Driver’s Ed. I obtained my driver’s license and was finally ready to hit the road independently. Running errands for my parents became an exciting excuse to indulge in my love for driving. Throughout my life, I have racked up countless miles behind the wheel, fortunate enough to have never been involved in an accident.
That day in Driver’s Ed, when my driving partner and I inadvertently pushed the gear shifter through the floor of the VW Rabbit, was a moment of both humiliation and hilarity. It serves as a reminder that even in the face of embarrassing mishaps, it’s important to keep going and maintain a sense of humor. Despite the unforgettable incident, my passion for driving remains unwavering. I cherish every second spent on the road, appreciating the joy and freedom that driving brings.
Camping is one of my favorite childhood memories. My mind remembers the sounds, smells and feeling of warmth from the campfire. It was so calming, just sitting around the campfire with my family, listening to stories, mesmerized by the dancing flames of the fire at night. Memories of roasting marshmallows and the ooey gooey-ness of the center dripping onto the ground. The challenge was always to capture all of it and eat it without burning my fingers or tongue in the process. By the way, I don’t like my marshmallows burnt!
Check out this entry on my other blog. A poem about this very subject.
Viewing this blank screen in front of me can sometimes be overwhelming. What do I write about? There are endless things one could write.
Today, I have a feeling to anxiousness. My thoughts are all over the place and I can’t seem to reel them in and focus on only one. This post may be full of ramblings for the reader, you, to sort out. But, it will be real. It will be me. If you never experience this way of thinking, then you are fortunate!
Mornings are my jive. I love mornings. Oftentimes, my thoughts about mornings are that five days of the week, my mornings are lost because they are spent at work. Work gets my best self, my most productive self, my most awake self. Lucky work. Weekends, though? Those are mine and my family’s. This morning, I will spend it writing.
Saturday mornings take me back to childhood when my mom could be seen in the living room opening the drapes covering our large picture window to the backyard view. Our house was small, just under 1100 square feet, built on a slab foundation, and our view was not majestic. The view took in our red-fenced yard and six or seven houses surrounding ours in the neighborhood. My mom was not bothered by the view. She was interested in the sunshine pouring through that window when the drapes were open. I could stare for long periods of time at the dust dancing in the air visible only when the suns rays hit just right. OH! To be like that dust, dancing. Floating freely. Not a care in the world. My mom’s happy voice singing “Let the sunshine in….” always set the tone for the day.
Saturdays were great days. The day started with cartoons and then breakfast. We did not eat breakfast in the living room. We ate our meals together at the table in the dining area, which was open and connected to the living room. Breakfast was either cereal or toast or eggs and toast, and sometimes we had pancakes, eggs, and bacon or sausage. I can smell the maple syrup just thinking about it!
If it was a cleaning day, which oftentimes, Saturdays were, My mom and sister and brother and I would work together inside to clean the house, while dad was busy doing the outside work of mowing the lawn or washing the cars, in the summer. The screen door to the front sidewalk and yard was opening and closing constantly throughout the day as we would find reasons to “escape” our housework in the inside for just a few minutes. Our poor mother. She never did yell at us though. Not once. She was patient and kind and very caring as we worked a little and played a lot.
When the cleaning was done inside (which did not really take all that long because the house was not huge) we could go outside and help dad or play. I loved helping wash the car and pickup. The pickup was big and not as easy to clean as the car, but it was fun to help with either one. My dad was somewhat particular. He liked to do a job and do it right. His mom was very clean and taught her children to be that way. So, cleaning the car meant cleaning the door jams, cleaning the air vents – one lever at a time, cleaning out the ashtrays – not simply dumping the ashes (so glad my dad quit smoking), etc.
Cleaning the car meant waxing the finish. Dad would pull the car up on the lawn under the shade tree so it would be cooler while cleaning, also so the wax would not get so hot on the finish. I remember the feel of using the wax pad to swipe across the wax tub to pick up enough wax to cover as much area as possible. Circles and circles and circles. This was the way to put the wax on the car. Circle on with the wax pad. Circle off with the clean dry cloth. After I would do the best I could to clean the wax off, Dad would come along behind and get the areas I missed. I loved to see those vehicles shine when dad drove them off the lawn into the sunshine. Beautiful!
Mom and Dad taught us that hard work pays off. And, that hard work can be fun. And that attitude is everything.
Look at that! I was able to focus on one memory. A flood of other memories came rushing to my mind, so I wrote a list of those. I will share memories, ongoing.
ChatterLei 