Fingerprints

Chinese New Year's Parade

2012-02-13T00:34:00.018-05:00

The lion dance is my favorite as the dancers move rhythmically to the cymbals, gongs, and drums. The colorful details and wooly trim entice me every time.

A rapid, long, frequent explosion of firecrackers welcomed the year of the dragon. The pearl of wisdom led the dragon in an exuberant dance that delighted crowds.

Navigating easily through the streets on stilts, these elaborately dressed street performers were all ages!

The street sign marks our location which was several doors down from Fred's childhood home--though he would have climbed up the hill and watched the parade on its traditional route through the heart of Chinatown on Grant Street.

Dancing through the streets, these young kids were impressive!

The Eastern Bakery still stands on the corner. Fred remembers the bakery from childhood.

The bean cakes are special New Year's treats, so when I found them I photographed them, as the line was long!

The parade photos were the work of my son, and he also captured this photo of his sister that I love! Very clever.

2012-02-10T21:40:00.003-05:00

So my hubby plopped down in his favorite black chair.

"You didn't by chance watch my Penguins play tonight?"

"Well, I did manage to catch the third period while I was running on the elliptical. Montreal was ahead 1-0, but the Penguins turned on the heat in the final period scoring twice, but Montreal answered with another goal. Overtime was unproductive, so the game went into shootout--which is what i was trying to watch when you so rudely interrupted with your call from your meeting so I didn't really listen to you. Anyway, the shootout was amazing--Malkin did a 360 before scoring! The Penguins answered every goal until the third one and then Montreal took the game."

My husband sat watching me smiling from ear to ear not saying a word...even when I came up for air.

Silence.

Then he declared, "It has taken nearly twenty years, but she's finally catching on!"

Humph...

Center Ice

2012-02-08T01:42:00.007-05:00

Hockey.

In January, the teams were mixed up again for in-house hockey.

The very first game of the spring season was a blowout for my son. I can't even remember the score or maybe I don't want to, but I will acknowledge the opponents were in the double digits as my son's team struggled to score one or two goals.

The following weeks were just as grim.

A new goalie who barely stands as tall as the net struggles to stop the puck. By the end of the games, the referees pick him up after the scored points and pat him on the back and utter words of encouragement through the face mask.

Resourcefulness slowly emerges from all the players on the team, though admittedly the frustration bubbles up.

Truthfully, it is even hard to watch the games as the scoreboard rolls ahead rapidly for the opposing team (just for the record hockey is a low scoring game). My heart lurches for the little goalie every time. He is learning to hold his own with the younger kids, but as soon as the older kids skate out, it is a struggle.

It is hard to lose without even a fight, but my son is learning some important lessons about character.

A couple weeks ago, he skated off the ice, grinning despite the beating. He had played hard and he had a good game. He knew he had done a good job, and he was proud. Later he commented, "Is it really that hard to score against a little goalie half your size and then celebrate like it was an amazing victory?"

He is right it really doesn't take much skill to score under those circumstances. He also recognized that sportsmanship is important. Trompling the little, inexperienced guy and then dancing your superiority is not cool.

Now guess what?

The team won last week.

Yep, it was a tough victory, but they did it! The score was 4-4 with 30 seconds to go and his team scored a goal. A close victory, but it was so sweet. It was a movie moment of emotion as the boys gathered in center ice. Gloves flew, hands enthusiastically slapped helmets, and finally genuine hugs--all topped with beaming faces radiating utter joy.

My heart smiled just as big as I watched the boys regroup for the handshakes.

The strategy is simply. Teamwork is paramount. Skate hard. Work hard. Turn the puck around immediately--don't even let it cross center ice. The sole responsibility for stopping the puck does not lie with the goalie. It is everyone's responsibility.

In the end, it wasn't the victory that was so sweet. It was seeing the boys come back week after week and work harder.

It was a reminder that the best lessons in life are hard won.

Seasonally Confused...Again

2012-02-05T19:53:00.005-05:00

The yellow daffodils are in full bloom.

The grass is turning into a thick, green carpet.

The sun is warmly embracing the day.

"Winter" is over--all six weeks.

My seasonal calendar has included all four seasons for the past 39 years, and it is not so easily reprogramed in a couple years.

In February...

I should be able to see my breath in the morning.

I should see a white blanket and the craggy brown branches overhead.

I should be complaining about how long winter is.

So what am I complaining about?

I don't know.

It just doesn't feel like spring...even though it looks like spring.

Another Day

2012-02-01T14:33:00.004-05:00

Today is Fred's birthday.

96 years of living and he tells me, "When you have had as many birthdays as I have, it is just another day."

My little boy turned 12 a several days ago. He was so excited because now the world is open to him for all those activities that state, "Must be 12 years old." Our culture notices 12.

But Kade also noticed that he will also be excluded from some things--"Children under twelve."

Fred has celebrated 8 times more birthdays than Kade.

We are planning to celebrate with Fred on Saturday. His wife selected the restaurant in South San Francisco. She loves the fresh shrimp salad on Saturdays because the seafood comes off the boat and into the restaurant that day.

As I was explaining this to Ron, he asked me, "Where does Fred want to go? It's his birthday."

I looked at him in surprise--of course, Fred wants whatever his wife wants. It is just easier that way.

"Why did I ask?" Ron finished.

Fred is 45 years into his second marriage with nearly 70 years of matrimonial bliss total--far longer than Ron has been alive.

It has taken a few years, but Fred is wise.

A happy wife puts the happy in birthday.

Perhaps Ron will gain this wisdom in the next 40 years--if he is lucky!

Brotherly Love

2012-01-28T23:31:00.003-05:00

Big brother hollers to his little sister through the bathroom door, "Have you washed your hair yet?"

Without waiting for an answer, he continues, "Did you use the small brown bottle of shampoo?"

"No," she replies.

"Boy are you lucky! That is for boys, and if you use it all your hair will fall out because you are a girl."

Wings

2012-01-22T23:46:00.006-05:00

Slowly Fred climbed the stairs into the restaurant. At the landing, the host greeted us and promptly seated us in a private booth. Dangling bead strings adorned the doorway. As I stood gazing at the gold and red brocade wallpaper, I realized that Fred was still quietly standing there too. My eyes shifted to his face. I saw the joy glide across his face.

"This is the booth," he stated with purpose.

I waited. I knew he was entranced in a memory.

I smiled. I watched as his eyes twinkled brighter and brighter.

Finally, I asked, "The booth?"

"Yes, this is the booth where I met Emma."

He paused and studied my face.

Continuing the story, he said, "Back during the War, the Chinese across California raised money for the war by hosting dances in their communities. My buddy and I had already been to a couple dances in smaller towns, but on this day San Jose was hosting the dance. We had come down early to scope out the situation. We just happened to stop here for a bite to eat and make our plan. Emma was our waitress."

He let this information sink in.

"She was real friendly and we started chatting. Eventually she asked if we were going to the dance. I told her I would go if she would go with me. She left quickly after that, but when she came back she tried to sell us tickets again. I persisted in our banter, telling her I couldn't buy a ticket unless she would go with me. Eventually, she came back and asked me if I really was serious. I told her I was. Finally she said yes. I bought the tickets."

"I am really not sure I was that serious, but she was real pretty."

So the young couple went to the dance.

The boy came back the following weekend...and the next...and the next...and the next to see the sweet, pretty girl whose kindness bubbled out of her.

Until (insert suspenseful music) her father cornered him. A bit abrasively, he demanded, "Are you working?"

After the surprised Fred affirmed he did indeed have a job at Mare Island as a pipe fitter, the next question came, "How much money do you make?"

Obediently Fred responded, and the conversation ended as abruptly as it began. Evidently he was satisfied with the answers and the weekend visits continued.

Within six months, the young couple was married.

The romantic in me drifted back seventy years in disbelief that it all started right here in the booth where I was listening carefully to the story unfold. As I sipped my green tea, I could almost see Emma step through the beaded doorway.

"Life is unpredictable."

It certainly is Fred, and as you approach 96 years of wisdom I appreciate your affirmation and reminder to enjoy the little moments...the ones that make your eyes twinkle.

Our memories give us wings.

Cold Air

2012-01-18T21:17:00.007-05:00

A record cold snap arrived Monday night.

It is still 60 degrees warmer than it is in North Dakota where my nephew and cousin are working.

But...this South Dakota raised girl has never been so cold.

The houses here are generally not insulated (I won't even tell you about the windows.) My home is built on a concrete slab (as most here are because basements don't belong in earthquake country where the water table is high) on which the wood flooring lies.

Then my forced air furnace grates are in the 8 feet ceiling or even higher in the cathedral ceilings.

Just for the record air, warm air does not sink, so my house is really, really cold.

The floor is like ice. I dug out my wool socks (that I use for playing in the snow).

In the North folks build their homes to withstand the cold, so with the warmth of a fire or furnace, it is nice and toasty inside. On a really cold night the corners might be drafty.

Since the cold has infiltrated every inch of my house and every inch of my being, it is time for a nice pot of stew to simmer on the stove.

Then a few minutes before serving, I grab my potato flakes and pause...

I remember the first time I watched my grandmother grab a box and shake it into her pot of stew. I was horrified! Instant potatoes?? Well, she patiently explained it was the perfect thickener because flour tends to be clumpy and unpredictable.

She was right. Potato flakes guarantee perfect consistency and the best stew.

As the cold infiltrates, I warm my heart with memories and food.

Anyway, my feet are numb.

Friday

2012-01-14T00:31:00.003-05:00

...the 13th.

I am actually rather fond of the number 13. For one, it is the date of my wedding which was a wonderful day--and that was nearly 20 years ago! (For the record, my memory is still just fine which may be contrary to what my children will tell you.)

Tonight, though, I booked a flashlight tour for one the most haunted mansion in American (supposedly). My adventures seekers set out for the Winchester Mansion in San Jose an hour ago.

Chayse and I are staying home tonight primarily because she isn't old enough to go, or at least I'll take that excuse.

Anyway, I am sitting here reading all the folklore about Sarah Winchester. It is quite a story.

Actually, that is what initiated the interest in the old mansion. Kiahra was reading one of my books, Ghosts of the Old West. I had met the author while taking a college class in Billings, MT. One of the chapters was dedicated to the mansion in San Jose. It completely captured her interest. The mansion was added to our to do list, and then we discovered that there was a special tour for tonight.

The rest is history...as they say.

For me, I need to stop reading. My imagination may be scarier than the tour.

And the house is already too quiet for my liking...

Closed on Tuesdays

2012-01-11T12:13:00.009-05:00

Yesterday, I had a plan that included lunch with Fred in San Jose at Wing's Restaurant, but at the last minute I checked the address again and discovered they were closed on Tuesdays.

A few minutes later I arrived to pick him up with this new information buzzing in my head and without a plan.

I knew I could cancel, but I also knew my retired friend was waiting for me. At nearly 96, he schedule is pretty quiet and his friends are gone.

As I filled up with gas, I came up with an idea, perhaps he could show me his old neighborhood where he and his wife raised their boys. A wonderful tour emerged as we meandered through the neighborhood, and he showed me how things once were.

At 60 he learned how to golf on the local course, and just recently at 92 he stopped playing the game that he loved.

Eventually we ended up at one of his favorite little Chinese restaurants. He warned me that it had been there for years and wasn't much to look at, but he assured me the food was good.

He was right.

The brothers that operated the restaurant will be retiring soon after 36 years of working together.

During lunch, we chatted about his memories and lingered over our tea. Then with his eyes glistening, he told me that the greatest tragedy was when his first wife passed way in her early 40s.

"Finally, things were getting easier. I had worked myself up into a good position at work, and we could start to enjoy a few things," pausing before he said, "and then she was gone."

Brain aneurysm.

She was a special woman. She had encouraged him to transfer to the drafting department early in his career even though it meant a significant cut in pay. She just went back to work until he moved up again. She had vision. She knew this would be better for the long term. She encouraged him to buy a house. She dreamed things he hadn't even considered and together they worked to fulfill those dreams.

The journey of life is unpredictable. As l listened to the joy and sadness intertwined in his life, I realized that we need to seize the opportunity even when

...closed on Tuesdays.

MINIMUM 10 PEOPLE. DO NOT EXCEED.

2012-01-07T17:04:00.007-05:00

Signs clearly marked this fact both inside and outside of the elevator in the parking garage. Therefore, only half of our group boarded and joined the family going up, as the rest of our group waited. As the doors closed a family of four barged through and took their places. I should mention that the three adults were large.

Calmly, I mentioned that there was a 10 person capacity on this elevator. They ignored me, as they pushed the button for their floor.

Within two minutes, Ron looked at me. I knew something was wrong.

A couple more minutes and everyone else figured it out too.

The panic started. The folks that had barged on started pushing buttons and screaming into the intercom. The lady in the back started to panic, as well as her daughter. The screaming grew louder and louder along with the incessant hammering on the buttons.

Finally, Ron (completely annoyed by this time) calmly stated, "Just relax, that's not going to help, they know we are stuck."

The intensity immediately decreased, but the people who had caused the problem continued to yell into the intercom. Then, I said, "We are in this mess because you boarded an elevator that clearly stated the capacity and you chose to ignore it, so YOU need to RELAX."

They ignored me again, but they did stop yelling. Ron could see the attendant through the crack in the door, so he knew that the elevator was merely not moving. Eventually, he stated this, so immediately the man started pulling on the door until he tore one of them off the hinges which completely irritated me because if we were not completely level with the floor it would be hours before they could get us out. Thankfully a few minutes later the attendant successfully released the doors and everyone poured out...and we headed for the nearest stairwell. Did I mention that we had Jaela (three years old), Jadin (9 years old), Kade (12 years old), and Chayse (7 years old) with us?

Thankfully we survived the ordeal and it was relatively short...it could have been hours. However, it is typical of my San Francisco experience...often people ignore the rules (or laws) and do as they please.

A few days later, I commented that sometimes I just don't know what to do with these people that seem so unbelievably rude to me, as the culture I was raised in does not behave like "this."

My oldest daughter commented, "People here don't know what to do with you either, mom. You even tell them there are too many people on the elevator!"

In my defense, I stammered, "I was nice about it..."

My daughter conceded that I was polite, but direct.

I realize that a few years ago I would have never dreamed of saying anything, but a few years ago I would never have had that experience from beginning to end.

****************************************

A lady in Costco told me recently, "You are too polite."

I was waiting to enter the aisle because I just can't bring myself to rudely charge forward into people. Personally, I really don't like being hit by carts (and I have been), so I refuse to risk running over anyone else. I realize this requires me to breathe deeply and be patient. I also realize that sometimes my inability to acclimate to the way things are done here leaves me frustrated at the end of the day. I also realize charging forward is not perceived as rude here by most folks, but I continue to be horrified.

2012 will mark my second year in California, and I continue to struggle with not allowing my perception of rudeness to taint my days. I cannot give others permission to ruin my day. I need to just accept how it works here and move on...politely.

"The" Puzzle

2012-01-04T23:15:00.004-05:00

Puzzles have turned into a holiday tradition for our family. We gather around the table and talk into the night as the pieces take shape.

My mother worked persistently at this puzzle during her visit. My little sister also joined her. Though it was unfinished on my table when they left, despite a late-night, gallant effort by my oldest daughter.

All the little people in the picture were my sister's favorite. She would study the photo and put the people together again.

Me? I wanted to crawl out the window like this guy...or is he crawling in after a jail break? Either way, I too wanted to make a break from the crazy puzzle.

For the first time in my life I found a puzzle so hard that it wasn't fun, but "the" puzzle is finished.

For you, mom!

Now back in its box it will go and into the donation pile--never to be seen again! (I hope)

2011

2012-01-01T01:55:00.016-05:00

The last week of 2011...

my little sister claimed it was Lori's Boot Camp

...affectionately, I am sure!

However, we did have a few adventures.

Santa Cruz Boardwalk. Jagur's eyes lit up like a Christmas tree, as he pulled the lever on his first ride and lifted the helicopter into the air.

Half Moon Bay fishing. 42 crabs, 70 fish, and 7 weary fisherpeople arrived home.

San Francisco.

Chinatown. Fortune cookie factory, Portsmouth Square, cute scarves, and a few stops for navigation purposes.

Lombard street is the famous curvy street in the background.

Of course we had to walk up a few hills to get there!

At the bottom we celebrated at Ghiradelli's ice cream shop...sweetness!

Then a few blocks over was Hyde St. Pier with the Golden Gate in the background as the fog rolled in. A rare shot of my big girls and me...

Dad and I were meandering down the dock.

Then the sun slid behind the cityscape.

And we waited for the street car to take us back up and down the hills to Union Square.

Home again, home again.

***************************

Off again, off again. The next morning we cruised to Sonoma Valley for our final road trip!

Then on our last day together, we endured Lisa's Shopping Boot Camp. No photos, but let me assure you my boot camp was easier!

Nonetheless, the week was a spectacular way to roll into the New Year surrounded by family and new adventures!

The ocean

2011-12-28T11:54:00.012-05:00

Welcomed by the cool ocean breezes of winter, Chayse and Jagur embraced Christmas Day.

Jagur was enchanted by the world below the ocean that the low tides revealed.

Overlooking the craggy Pacific coast, the cousins paused with grandma and grandpa.

Then we ventured to Ano Nuevo where the elephant seals are arriving to deliver their babies.

The bulls lounged amidst the sand dunes waiting to claim their harem.

Soon this 2 1/2 tons will be battling fiercely.

Christmas Eve

2011-12-26T23:47:00.010-05:00

brought forth the shepherds...

and cousins...

and brightly colored packages...

and irresistible smiles...

and hugs...in warm fuzzy new jammies...

and stockings hung by the fire.

*Disclaimer for Auntie Kristi...Jaela had to be convinced that her new jammies were her size (and age)...and now she doesn't want to take them off! She wants to wear her fuzzy, footed, warm jammies everywhere, but her mean ol' mommy won't let her!

2011-12-20T10:08:00.003-05:00

O Christmas cold! O Christmas cold!
Thy cough is so annoying!

O Christmas cold! O Christmas cold!
Much misery thou givest me!

O Christmas cold! O Christmas cold!
My nose doth shine so brightly!

O Christmas cold! O Christmas cold!
How fully thou hast decked me...

Out for the count!

First Piano Recital

2011-12-12T23:14:00.004-05:00

After weeks of practicing Jingle Bells, Jolly Old Saint Nicholas, Good King Wenceslas, and Baby Owl, recital night finally arrived.

A sparkling princess was ready to go!

Tapping toes wait!

A grand performance!

*******************************************

Cruising home the radio blared country music, as we laughed and talked.

Then Kade started, "Red solo cup!"

Dad chimed in, "Red solo cup!"

And the six year old didn't miss a beat with the next line, "I fill you up."

Suddenly the Klinghagen 5 broke into full song--compliments of Toby Keith. No need for radio now, as the suburban rolled and rollicked down the streets of the upscale neighborhood. One should never let Montanans at heart move into the neighborhood.

Rednecks anyway.

Disclaimer: This is not my song of choice, and frankly I was not impressed when I first heard the strains come across the sole country radio station in the bay area. You must seek it out for yourself...if you must...but you have been warned!

Chapped lips

2011-12-07T13:10:00.003-05:00

Dryness quickly splits and cracks the skin on the lips resulting in a constant burning sensation.

Thus my son came to me several days ago just before bedtime, wondering if there was any chapstick in the house.

Chuckling, I told him that he needed his grandpa who always has chapstick handy.

With a little digging, we found some chapstick, and he generously applied it before snuggling into bed.

The next morning he proclaimed chapstick is magic because he was healed. (Funny how the generations can be so much alike!)

Then he continued, "Mom, we need to buy lots of chapstick for the homeless."

He had been thinking about this as a boy scout, but until this moment he couldn't think of what he wanted to contribute, as the list didn't intrigue him too much. However, he was adamant chapstick is essential for the homeless, and not just any lip balm will do, he wanted "Grandpa's ChapStick."

Piled high on my counter is "Grandpa's ChapStick." It makes me smile every time I walk by, but today my boy scout will take it away.

A simple, thoughtful gift.

Everything the season is supposed to be about.

Thank you, my son, for the reminder.

Winter Rose

2011-12-06T13:39:00.001-05:00

Dear Karen,

I have been waiting patiently for my winter rose to emerge. After months of not blooming, the single white rose appeared yesterday on my rose tree.

A year ago today the loss of you was tugging hard at my heart, and the winter rose surprised me. It's unexpected appearance made me smile. Like the day you paused briefly in my classroom doorway when I was a new teacher and waved and smiled--how did you know I needed those unspoken words of encouragement? And those twinkling eyes that would foreshadow your playful mood when you would tease the kids...and me...and your delightful laugh that followed--the memory still makes my heart smile.

Sometimes, though, I wish I could hear you laugh just once more.

By the way, before I forget again, I want to tell you I found the missing girl scout key. Remember the one you asked me about, and I assured you it was in the box? Well, it surfaced in Pittsburgh just before we moved...just a few months after your funeral. I wanted to call you and tell you. Well, actualy I did, but I got your voice on the answering machine and remembered...

So now I carry the little key on the green keychain with me. It is tucked safely into a pocket in my purse (I swear i can hear you chuckle now at my story). It is a silly memento, I know. A key I lost. A key I found after you were gone.

Life is funny like that. Unexpected. Happy. Sad. Complicated. It is the reason I hug your memory tight.

Before I go, I want to tell you that I studied the curriculum for that Masters in Creative Writing last night. I don't know if I should just write or studying a bit more, but I do know your quiet words of encouragement for my writing planted the seeds that are slowly emerging.

I do know I love to write. In your memory, I will embrace the words and uncertainty and take a chance because you showed me that life is meant to be lived.

Love,
Lori

PS. As I signed my name, the strains of Randy Travis' song, "Three Wooden Crosses" filled the airwaves--"I guess it's not what you take when you leave this world behind you, It's what you leave behind you when you go."

Behind the Scenes

2011-12-05T12:35:00.005-05:00

My impatient decorators were up on Saturday morning ready for Christmas decorating. Of course, decorating means storage boxes which are safely tucked above the garage (since there are no basements here).

A little stacking didn't quite do the trick, but have no fear as the drama queen seeks a solution...

with help from her assistant sporting red high heels in her elegant flannel gown!

When in doubt, just stack higher!

Without the photo documentary, mom would have never been the wiser. Thankfully, I wasn't...until everyone was safe and sound on the ground again.

Fairytale

2011-12-01T16:13:00.004-05:00

Garland...my first Christmas touch. I love it.

Twinkling lights accentuated by golden pine cones and glittery poinsettias piques my imagination, and I find myself dreaming of twinkling eyes tumbling through my door on Christmas eve.

I am dreaming of a fairytale Christmas for the kids...and the kids at heart!

Little Things

2011-11-30T15:51:00.003-05:00

"What's for supper?"

The infamous question I ask myself every day. Then I hear it.

Last night the answer was chili.

I could see the polite hesitation in my son's eyes before he inquired, "Your recipe or a new one?"

"Mine."

I was rewarded with a grin.

"I love your chili, mom!"

My turn to grin.

Later, as the chili simmered I was assured it smelled wonderful.

Full bowls were emptied quickly.

Then my junior high son told me, "Your chili is my favorite, mom." But the best part? The quick hug he gave and me, and a glimpse of that boyish twinkle in his eyes.

**********************

I worry...about many things when it comes to my kids, including repetitive meals, so I try to shake it up once in a while.

"No need to worry, mom!"

Burns Road

2011-11-23T00:58:00.010-05:00

Dee Burns was laid to rest Monday.

Thirteen years ago we moved into his "neighborhood" in rural Montana. He lived up the hills from us. He was 72 years old then. He drove a battered orange Chevy truck. He lived on the small ranch where he was born. He served in WWII. He came home and never left again. He never married.

Genuine blue eyes were set in his weathered face. His kind, steady gaze made me feel like he was listening with his heart...and always polite.

He never came into my home instead leaning his lanky frame against his truck more comfortable in the elements of Montana. He conserved water--and like a boy I know, conserved more water than I thought necessary :)

That first Christmas in our new location he invited us to come up and cut our Christmas tree. He persisted. What he didn't know is we had never had a "real" Christmas tree. We didn't even own decorations.

But obviously, he had fond memories of Christmas because he wanted to make sure our little girls had a Christmas tree. He had a soft spot for children, as I would watch a gentleness seep into those beautiful eyes as he watched them play.

We accepted his invitation--probably more out of politeness because I didn't even know how we would decorate it.

I remember piling into the truck and driving up that old dirt road (his namesake) bouncing around--much to the delight of the girls. A skiff of snow covered the ground. Dee had already picked out a couple fine trees and instructed us where to go.

The raw beauty of the Montana landscape stirs my heart at the memory of that day. The wind nipped at our cheeks as Ron asked me, "Which one?" I remember studying the trees closely, having no idea what I really wanted, but my husband knew which one he wanted. When he was a boy he would help his mother decorate. She loved Christmas. It still is her favorite holiday.

I remember standing looking out over the landscape amidst the jutting pines and crisp white snow, listening as my husband pulled the saw back and forth. Montana can really put human significance in perspective at the top of the hill.

Then I began gathering pine cones with creative visions of potential ornaments.

After loading the tree, I was grateful to crawl back into the warmth of the truck cab. Bouncing back down the the hill, we paused at Dee's homestead where he was waiting to greet us and admire the tree. Grinning proudly, he waved as we pulled away.

That little tree filled our living room windows. The scent of fresh pine filled the house, as Ron taught me how to string the lights.

I can still visualize that first humble tree twinkling in our home and the glittering pine cones.

I don't know if Dee ever realized it was our first tree.

But...

I do know Dee loved my ham and bean soup.

I do know where Dee's mother's recipe for dandelion wine is.

I do know that Dee was kind to our family.

I do know when we decorate our Christmas tree so far away in California, we will reminisce fondly about Dee.

Wrapped in the warmth of human kindness, we embraced our first Christmas tree as a family, and for us, a family story and tradition evolved.

Pretty

2011-11-22T19:12:00.003-05:00

Giggling.

Chattering.

Shrieking.

Three friends eventually emerged dressed and ready for the Homecoming Dance. Chayse had waited patiently on the stairs to see the "pretty" dresses.

Though they didn't leave me much time for driving, we managed to arrive with 11 minutes to spare.

A few hours later I returned, and three happy girls clamored aboard, and the excitement of the evening poured out. Ron and I smiled and teasingly interjected from time to time.

Fun memories. Pretty girls. Sweet dreams.

2011-11-16T18:39:00.002-05:00

As I swiftly strode through the parking lot, I stepped obliviously onto the drain grate when something caught my eye. I slowed. A closer glance identified a couple leaves jutting through the grate. I stopped on the middle of the grate and looked down into the deep hole. From out of the depths of darkness, I could discern a vine with healthy pink blossoms crawling up the wall towards the sun light.

In the darkness, life was reaching for the sun.

Insight

2011-11-14T11:53:00.002-05:00

Kiahra loves to read historical fiction. Actually, she just loves to read.

However, when I was teaching her to hand sew she commented, "Now I understand why needle work was portrayed as drudgery for so many girls in books."

Evidently, the rap that needle work gets historically really isn't that ancient. Youth has little patience for stitching.

Into the darkness

2011-11-13T00:29:00.004-05:00

My view into the Empire Mine shaft...

as I sat on the man skip. Aaaaahhhhhh...into the darkness at 600 feet per minute.

Finally, Fred and I had the opportunity to visit Empire Mine together. The place where he spent his childhood...and then the place that made him a miner at 19 years of age.

My imagination swirled the entire day. It was delightful.

On the way home, we paused in Old Sacramento to visit the Delta King. The refurbished riverboat that ran up and down the Sacramento river to San Francisco from 1927 to 1940.

The boat would chug into the night as the gamblers gathered around and the music played late into the night. But in 1928, a 12 year old boy stood on the deck wondering what life in Chinatown would be like. He didn't have memory of his life there with his family in his early years.

The reflection of the moon rippled on the water as he gazed into the night. His aunt had booked passage on the riverboat--a special treat for a little lady that lived next to the roaring stamp mill.

Perhaps the boat drifting down the river was balm for the changes they would both embrace as they parted ways.

Fred and I paused on the deck of the Delta King together at sunset. We dined on calamari and crab appetizers. I suspect he did not dine so extravagantly on his first trip so many years ago.

I hope I can make the history I experienced in my heart yesterday come alive in my story.

2011-11-10T12:09:00.002-05:00

The first two chords hit the radio, and immediately I turned up the volume.

"I like my chicken fried...a pair of jeans that fit just right and the radio up."

As the lyrics blared across the speakers, I could just see my little boy jammin' to his favorite song a few years ago. He was several inches shorter then. His boyish face was fuller, eyes twinkling, as he boomed out the lyrics straight from the heart, grinning from ear to ear.

The Zac Brown Band had a faithful follower, and he always turned the radio up for them.

I wish I could tell that little boy to turn down the radio...just one more time.

Haha-ha

2011-11-07T22:53:00.004-05:00

"The more you laugh, the longer you live," Kade proclaimed at the dinner table.

We pondered this in conversation.

"Can I make him cry then?" questioned Kiahra.

Old Mission

2011-11-07T19:44:00.008-05:00

On a hill in San Juan Bautista, the old mission overlooks the valley. The 15th mission was established in 1797 along the El Camino Real (The Royal Road). Twenty one missions were established along the route from San Diego to Sonoma.

The sprawling grounds enticed me. I want to return for a full tour.

The chickens wandered the mission, the streets and sidewalks with the rooster strutting behind.

How did we stumble upon the mission? Kiahra and Kade participated in the Make It Yourself With Wool contest.

My Little Girl

2011-11-04T13:55:00.008-04:00

She was the star of the classroom this week.

On Monday night, as she filled out her star poster I watched.

When_________________________grows up ______________wants to be a _______________________.

As she inserted her name and pronoun without hesitation, I waited.

Then I asked, "What do you want to be?"

I was worried, as she was already writing. Her big eyes looked up at me, her head tilted, and with a confident shrug, she answered, "A mom just like you."

My heart melted...completely.

Then I tried to talk her into choosing an occupation. I was worried that our culture would look down on her choice, as one can be a mother...and__________________________.

I know I said this, but it has been nagging me because I am not sure I did the right thing.

I hope I didn't damage her sweet perspective. I hope that she survives my good intentions, as I really did not want her to be taunted at school. I hope she is a mom who stays home just like me...if she wants to be.

I hope one of these days I too can say with confidence, "I am a stay-at-home mother." No explanations. No justification. And know that it works for our family...with the same pride my little girl has in me.

Aftermath

2011-11-02T11:58:00.010-04:00

The morning after Halloween usually means sifting through the candy bowl for breakfast...and maybe in even toss in a few freshly roasted pumpkin seeds for good measure.

Then with a cup of tea, I pause to reflect.

Pumpkin carving has been a long tradition at our house. Like so many things in my world, it too has evolved with the age of our children.

Kade scopes out the situation, as the little sister in the background reluctantly pulls the slimy seeds from her pumpkin--feigning distaste that is difficult to believe from a little girl who plays with bugs.

Notice the power tool. Boys lack patience on occasion and have this crazy theory that a tool will make it better.

The results were genuinely "Goofy."

A traditional hand carved greeting suits this perfect pumpkin!

Minnie Mouse emerges to delight little girls!

Then on to the grim reaper--meticulously designed and carved all by herself!

May we rest in peace...until next year!

Time is Fleeting

2011-10-29T19:44:00.004-04:00

Two hour professional driving lesson is complete, so Nikela's permit is officially activated.

15 minutes later she is headed to the mall with her father...expecting to drive.

I kissed Ron good-bye.

"You can start on my obituary..." he quipped as he walked down the sidewalk.

*************************************

Earlier we were standing in line behind a woman with a baby.

"Wow, where do the years do?" Ron commented as he watched the little bug snuggle into his mother's shoulder.

"Yeah...our baby is at her driving lesson," I murmured apprehensively.

Pippi

2011-10-28T19:14:00.002-04:00

Meet Pippi Longstocking. Isn't she darling? Her distinct sense of fashion stood out amongst the princesses, but the clever girl can hold her own!

The costume box creates all kinds of fun at my house. Though I suspect it is the bane of Chayse's existence because we don't leave the house to shop for costumes anymore. (Sigh...the neglected youngest child)

Footnote: The first grade held their Halloween party today because there is no school on Monday.

Ribbons and Bows

2011-10-25T11:59:00.003-04:00

As I painstakingly stitched the pretty satin pink shoes, I remember my mother.

I remember her because I realize that my daughter will not understand for many years the love with which I was sewing...that the tenderness in my fingers carried to my heart.

I know because my mother lovingly stitched dresses just for me. As a little girl, I loved the beautiful dresses that that made me feel like a princess.

Only years later, would I really appreciate the hum of the sewing machine late into the night, but as a little girl, I would drift off to the comforting hum, dreaming of my new dress. The hours and hours that it took to create the masterpiece is understood now. A labor of love.

My mother sews beautifully. She is an artist with fabric and thread. I loved exploring the fabric stores with her because she would take a piece of fabric I hadn't even noticed and transform it into something amazing. I learned to embrace my creativity by watching her.

Sewing is hard work. My mother patiently taught me to sew. She guided me and challenged me, as I uncovered the art of sewing. A gift that I will always have because I can sew well. Though I cannot tailor the fit like she can, but I am practicing.

The aforementioned ballet shoes require satin ribbons and elastic to be hand-stitched to withstand intense use without fraying and falling off. Of course, I had to experience a few failures and ask myself what mom would do before I discovered the best pattern for my stitches.

Affectionately, I tell Kiahra I am going to teach her "grandma's way".

Shaking It Up

2011-10-21T00:36:00.004-04:00

8:16 PM. October 20, 2011.

Ron stopped listening to me abruptly, and I could see his eyes darting. Then I heard the rumble. Ron felt the earth shaking.

The earthquake originated on the Hayward Fault near Berkley, CA across the bay from us.

It was the second significant quake (3.8--the first was 4.0) at that location today. Very unusual.

Every 150 years there is a big quake on the Hayward fault. It has been 143 years.

Perhaps it is time for me to complete our earthquake kit. The news crews and geologists are reiterating the importance of preparedness. The words are not "if" but "when."

The irony of the day...it was the great California Shakeout Drill today. Schools across the state participated in earthquake drills.

Pumpkins

2011-10-19T11:37:00.003-04:00

Pumpkins are fall. Pumpkins are Halloween. Pumpkins are pumpkin bars (yummmm!).

Pumpkins are tradition.

A few years ago, our annual trek to the pumpkin patch began. Bundled toddlers climbed into the wagon and down the dirt road we went to the wondrous world of orange orbs. The crisp Montana air meant rosy red cheeks and noses.

The years slipped by and soon we discovered that fall in Pittsburgh is warm and picturesque as we clamored aboard the hay ride on our way to the pumpkin patch.

Now, in the coastal fog of pumpkin country the kids have definite ideas about what they are looking for in a good carving pumpkin. It is serious business...except for our littlest bug where bigger is better.

Like the vibrant changes in the leaves in the fall, my kids are emerging into their own colors.

Across the Waters

2011-10-14T22:13:00.017-04:00

The Angel Island Immigration Station was established to help enforce the Chinese Exclusion Act of 1882. Nestled in North San Francisco Bay, it operated from 1910 to 1940.

After arriving at the Immigration Station, I stood where the wharf once stood and gazed out at the bay. After weeks of sailing, the immigrants poured off the ship onto land. Finally feeling the solid earth beneath their feet, the imposing buildings of the immigration station greeted them, as well as the officers whose job it was to screen the Chinese immigrants.

My heart fluttered as I thought about the little Asian lady whose first stop was here where she would wait, hoping to join the husband she had married months earlier in China.

Alone she walked down the plank. Alone she faced interrogation in a foreign language. Alone she gazed out across the bay probably not even aware that she could not even see the distant shores of her new home, San Francisco.

The administration office would have been her first stop. Afterwards, she would have climbed the steep stairs to the barracks carrying all her belongings in a small suitcase.

Fred and I too began our walk at the wharf, though the adminstration building burned to the ground in 1940, so we saw the foudation footings that were creatively replaced by the park.

The tour began here, and then we walked to the immigration station barraks (in the background) where the immigrants stayed. A daunting flight of stairs greeted us. Fred could not climb that many steep stairs, so I asked about handicap accessibility. There was a wheel chair ramp that zigzaged up the hillside, but there was no wheelchair to borrow and the path was too long in its design to be accessible either.

Fred stood at the bottom of the stairs unable to to take the tour. Ironically, one hundred years ago his mother climbed those stairs...unable to join her husband in San Francisco. I wanted to cry.

Sleeping quarters.

Interrogation room.

Meticulously carved poetry on the walls. Words of hope. Words of despair. Words painted over by the army during WWII.

As Fred and I sat in the warm sun waiting for our ferry to take us home, a gracious Chinese lady introduced herself to Fred and me. Immediately she expressed her acute disappointment that Fred had not been able to take the tour. She understood the significance of our trip, as she too was exploring the Chinese history in San Francisco on her visit to the city.

Her visit had revealed new history to her about her family, information that made her face glow in utter delight.

The respect she had for Fred brought a warm smile to his face. I love the respect the Chinese have for their elders.

She shared that never knew her grandparents. Nor did Fred.

Soon I could hear them sharing the locations of their villages in China. I smiled.

Fred was delighted to meet her. He chatted readily. His eyes twinkled. His heart opened.

When we boarded the ship back, he chose to sit with our new friend and the banter never ceased.

Though Fred was not able to tour the barracks, I know the moments he shared with his new friend more valuable to him. Though strangers on one level, an unknown history bound them. The emotion welled in my heart as I listened to their connection of the heart.

As Fred's mother stood on the dock that day I wonder what she thought. I wonder if she ever imagined that 100 years later her son would stand there, an old man, and meet a new friend...another woman who ventured to America with her family as a little girl. I wonder if her heart was squeezed as tightly as mine--flooded with the emotions of dreams, fear, hope, rejection that I could still hear in the voices today.

I can almost feel the courage Fred's mother found in a her heart to face the challenges before her...and with the positive energy her son so fondly remembers.

Tunnels

2011-10-11T11:20:00.007-04:00

Digging is a slow process that requires perseverance.

Tunneling increases the challenge, but creating a tunnel brings utter delight!

Tunnels pique the imagination.

Now for a little r & r.

The water table is high, and the engineer studies the problem...see his reflection?

And I wonder...if my son will follow in his father's footsteps and create tunnels too?

Sandy Fun

2011-10-09T11:56:00.012-04:00

A green pail and matching green fingernails make sand castles stylish business.

Castles tumbled down as a friendly football game ensued.

At each launch, someone was ready.

It was serious business.

For everyone.

In the background, roaring waves crashed to the shore and swooping pelicans dove in and out of the ocean.

Reading

2011-10-08T12:19:00.006-04:00

Gone with the Wind.

"On came the blue lines, relentlessly, like a monster serpent, coiling striking venomously, drawing its injured lengths back, but always striking again."

Margaret Mitchell describes the Yankee attacks with vivid creativity. I am enthralled. I read every moment I get. Mitchell strikes an amazing balance between descriptive details and moving the story forward. It is a difficult dance to achieve particularly in a long story (and yes Gone with the Wind qualifies).

Despite my diligent reading, I did not meet my deadline. Kiahra did several days early.

Forgive me as I keep reading, because as "God is my witness" I will finish this book!

Swirling

2011-10-03T22:55:00.003-04:00

My mind is swirling like snow at Christmas...because I will be hosting the holiday at my house this year...with my nephews and at least one niece...oh, and I guess their mother is coming too. And my mom and dad.

Crackling fire. Twinkling lights. Garland wrapped banister. Bow covered tree. Glow of the winter village. Stockings...lots of stockings hung by the fire.

Then the flavors of the holidays...and the visions of food dance in my head.

And a hint of San Francisco with the trolley, the Golden Gate, Chinatown...I can see the sparkling curiosity in my nephews' eyes already!

Swirling, swirling, my mind dances at the possibilities and my heart sings.

2011-09-30T21:38:00.002-04:00

Black electrical tape.

My father could fix anything with black tape. I thought it was magic when I was a kid.

My son loves black electrical tape too.

The shin guards for hockey also include protection for the knees, so these big guards tend to shift even when covered with hockey socks, so Kade wraps the guards in place with...yep...black tape. Now he even creates patterns with the tape that stand out against the gray socks.

After practice, I watched him rip the tape away.

I was grinning, remembering my childhood memories, and he noticed.

"I love black tape, mom!"

His impish smile made me chuckle.

He is his grandfather's grandson.

Who knew a love of black electrical tape would be genetic?

City by the Bay

2011-09-27T22:54:00.012-04:00

San Francisco beckoned again today. This glorious view is from Coit Tower, a landmark of the city. Ironically I never took a picture of the tower, as I was too enamored with the scene from the hilltop.

Our next stop was the Palace of Fine Arts--fully refurbished from the Panama Pacific International Exposition that San Francisco hosted. The World Fair celebrated the opening of the Panama Canal and sought to establish the city of San Francisco as a key port.

Last spring Fred shared a story with me...

In 1915 the World Fair graced the streets of San Francisco. As Tam Shee reminisced about her visit to the famous fair, her second son listened.

Then she turned to him, “You were there.”

“Mother,” Fred Yam gently protested, “I wasn’t born until 1916.”

“You were there,” she insisted.

Quizzically, he studied his aging mother.

Smiling, she revealed, “You were with me. I was pregnant with you.”

Strolling down the sidewalk, the palace came into my view for the first time. I was quiet...awestruck by the massive columns that greeted me. My imagination had not prepared me. We walked in silence. A solemn air seemed to permeate the structure.

Eventually, I heard Fred's voice soft beside me, "I wonder what my mother thought when she was here."

My silent reflections verbalized.

96 years ago.

Challenge

2011-09-26T00:13:00.002-04:00

Gone With The Wind.

A literary classic I have not read.

The book itself is daunting. It is big and heavy. The pages are dense with words.

Kiahra selected this book as a challenge with the prompting of her English teacher.

Today, she challenged me to read it too.

I downloaded the electronic version. It isn't as daunting at first glance.

I think I can do it!

Then she sneaks a deadline into the deal. I have until October 7.

I better start reading!

Farmer's Market

2011-09-24T23:36:00.004-04:00

Bread. Asiago and jalapeno. Whole Wheat Braid. Perfect soft texture on the inside. Barely crispy on the outside. Savory every bite.

Fresh fruit galore. Sweet grapes disappeared quickly. Peaches and cream are on the menu for tomorrow. Pluots munched as I type.

Bright, healthy lettuce begging for a salad.

Uncovered irresistible root vegetables. And the green beans...no explanation necessary.

I finally uncovered this farmer's market last week completely by accident. I returned today very intentionally. The variety is endless. The growers are friendly and helpful. The experience takes the drudgery out of grocery shopping. I find myself inspired. I come home and create.

Even though I drug her out of bed, Kiahra loved tasting and exploring the market--and she wants to go again.

And the best part?? This farmer's market is open year around!

Be Careful...

2011-09-23T10:51:00.002-04:00

You may become what you do not like.

My driving is becoming suspiciously like a Californian's.

I may call it survival.

I may claim to use my horn in self defense.

I may merge at 65 mph demanding my place in the lane.

I may use all five or six lanes.

I may brake suddenly.

I may mutter under my breath sometimes.

I may pretend I am not like "them".

Though I never, ever roll through a right hand turn.

I never, ever make a stupid move because I miscalculated my destination. I always just try again until I figure out how to get there. I am polite like that.

Obviously my balance is tilted...California is definitely changing the way I drive. But dad, I promise to leave it at the state line :)

Love

2011-09-21T16:17:00.009-04:00

Saturday brought a wonderful surprise all the way from Indiana. She brought her mommy too, but she doesn't smile so cutely for the camera!

Kaiya shared her smiles with us generously...particularly if she was safely in the stroller or her mama's arms. Though if it appeared we weren't paying attention to her, we could expect a tap on the arm or an endearing shriek to help us refocus our attention.

Irresistable creamy, soft baby cheeks...made just for kissing.

Kaiya delighted in "getting" Kade. She loved playing in the shower of attention her cousins bestowed upon her.

And Kade loved her blackberry/raspberry face! He captured this priceless expression with a bit of perseverance.

Today Little Miss Kaiya is helping her mama turn another year older...though I suspect she has been helping her mama age daily as she explores the world around her!

Happy Birthday, Kristi!

The Store

2011-09-20T12:18:00.002-04:00

I sent my son to the store last night for a couple items...though his sister added to the list before handing it to her brother.

He loves to ride his bike. He enthusiastically embraces my errands. He grabs his backpack and the money I extend, and he is off pedaling two miles.

Upon his return, he sauntered into the house and began unloading his backpack. I was standing in the kitchen working and watching him...when he lifted a 10 pound bag of sugar out! I stared in utter amazement.

"Kade, your were carrying that in your pack?" I inquired incredulously.

"Yeah," he nonchalantly answered pulling more items from his backpack.

"You carried 10 pound of sugar on your back while pedaling your bike?" I persisted.

"It weighs that much? No it doesn't," he countered and paused to look at me.

"Yes, it does. Read the bag," I demanded.

He acknowledged that the bag claimed to be 10 pounds, but he persisted in telling me it really wasn't that heavy.

My little boy scout hikes through the mountains with a 25 pound pack, so maybe he really didn't think it was too heavy. I tried to assuage my guilt all night by justifying the trip as good training for his next hike...unsuccessfully.

A New World

2011-09-14T14:11:00.007-04:00

Into San Francisco I cruised yesterday with the gentleman who is sharing his life's story with me. No need for a GPS, as the boy who grew up in Chinatown still knows his way around like the back of his hand. He took me right down to the heart of Chinatown which is now a one-way street. The narrow sidewalks are bustling with activity and people...sometimes spilling over into the streets.

My heart was thumping as I carefully navigated the road, though traffic was relatively light since it was mid-day. The lanterns swayed overhead and the lucky color red decorated most shop fronts as Fred chatted. A few more turns and we arrived at the parking garage. We rode the elevator up and exited at a park in the heart of the Chinatown.

Clusters of men were everywhere talking animatedly with words I didn't understand. As we walked, I discovered they were playing games on top of makeshift cardboard tables--some with a deck of cards and others with intricate Chinese pieces. Fred had told me the Chinese love to gamble and play games, and here was the proof.

By my side, Fred was trying out his new cane. Well, it isn't really new, as he has had it for 3 years, as I discovered when he informed me he was using it for the second day. He was too proud for a cane before, but his balance is increasingly tottery. I had encouraged him to think about taking it out after he confided last week the doctor told him it is time to use a cane.

He didn't want his wife to know--"you know how women are. She sold my car when 'they' decided I shouldn't drive anymore". That is what I love about Fred he just tells it like it is. He doesn't embellish his stories or enhance them. Of course, he will also admit, "It was probably time, but even then I would wait until she left and drive her car."

Anyway, Fred informed me that all important information in Chinatown can be learned in the park. It is the unofficial center of town. Of course, it wasn't so fancy 95 years ago.

The old Chinese man garnered instant respect on the sidewalks. He walked very slowly uphill using his cane. He refused to stop until he reached the end of the block. The hills are steep here. Very steep. As he rested I gazed into the store windows. When he was ready we turned and headed down another block.

Then he proclaimed, "We are here."

I couldn't see anything. He pointed to an opening in a building that led to a recessed door. A restaurant.

"I am bringing you in the back way," he grinned.

We walked through the bar and into the dining room that overlooked the street of Chinatown. Utterly delighted, I was seated by a window. Fred could see my excitement and he asked me if I knew what I wanted to eat. I assured him I had no idea. Eyes twinkling, he asked if I liked dim sum. I have only had it once with friends who were visiting. Luckily I knew that the oldest person at the table orders from a selection of food that is presented throughout the meal. I sat back and let Fred take care of the details. The waitress initially presented the options in English but quickly slipped into her first language and I realized it was the first time I had heard Fred speak Cantonese. The food was delightful. Fred poured my tea and we talked.

The restaurant is the oldest in Chinatown. Fred suspected it must be nearly 100 years old. When he was a boy, on rare occasions his mother would send him to this very restaurant (different owners) for dim sum. Carefully clutching the money she gave him, he would dash up the block and bring back the food. It was special treat, and he delighted at the memory.

The alley street he was born on intersected at the restaurant...and it was only 1/2 block away. We drank more tea. As the meal ended, the waitress handed Fred the check. Obviously, it was his role.

Back on the street, I could see people studying me, as I moved slowly and carefully beside Fred, I am sure they were wondering what my relationship to him was. Granddaughter? But I don't look Asian. I could almost see their thoughts.

Anyway, we paused on the sidewalk in front of the building where he grew up. He explained how the store had two big windows and a center door. He pointed to the second floor where they lived. Two more stories towered overhead for more tenants.

He mentioned playing in the streets as a boy...we were the "commercial street gang" he reminisced with a smile and shake of his head. I know sometimes he was caught in his own memories as he paused leaning on his cane. He was stepping back in time, and though I was curious about his thoughts, I did not interrupt.

Then we walked by the clothing factory where his mother worked for many years.

Suddenly, we were back at the park again. Fred definitely knows all the routes around Chinatown. He hasn't forgotten anything in the years he has been away. He is still a boy here. Once again we meandered through the small gatherings of men playing games. I suspect they talked about me too.

Back in the car, Fred could rest as he directed me to the Chinese Historical Society Museum. It is a small museaum, and and he spotted a parking spot nearby. He decided I was good luck because parking spots are rare.

We browsed the museum together, and sometimes he paused to rest. Then I suggested I would bring the car to the front where an area was designated for pick-up and and drop-off. He told me he wouldn't argue, as it was uphill to the car. As I hiked up the hill and climbed into the car and navigated the light, he leaned against a low brick window ledge and rested. When I arrived, he was joined by another gentleman. He too leaned on a cane, but he had a long white beard. As Fred moved forward at my approach the other gentleman bid him farewell. As Fred climbed into the car, I told him I couldn't leave him anywhere and he would find trouble.

He laughed and told me, "That was interesting. That man stopped and asked me how old I was. I told him. Then he told me he was 90. Just a baby!"

Two old Chinese men leaning against the red brick building in the shade next to the narrow sidewalk. Lives that have seen so many changes in our world.

As we arrived at home, I suspect Fred was tired, but he was happy. He thanked me for the day. "It has been at least 10 years since I visited Chinatown. My wife (10 years his junior) doesn't drive in the city, but she isn't a very good driver." Pragmatic again. Just telling me how it is.

I learn so much from this man.

I asked him if he would go again because I want him to take me on a driving tour to show me his high school and the Barbaury Coast where he delivered newspapers.

Enthusiastically, he told me, "You tell me when," and added, "We can go another place for lunch too."

Chinatown is home to him, and a whole new world for me. Together we will explore.

PS...somehow my camera card wasn't in my camera...and thus all my photos are non-existent...hopefully next time...

Evening Drama

2011-09-13T11:30:00.002-04:00

(I enter the room. Kiahra and Kade are engaged in an animated conversation. Nikela is leaning back in her chair smiling. Oblivious I walk to the kitchen."

Kiahra: "What class do you have second period?"

Nikela: "Mom, you should be listening to this!"

Kade: (Not noticing interruption) "Bravo."

Kiahra: "Then I pass you on the way to third period."

(I am thinking...boring...why do I need to listen?)

Seeing the look on my face, Nikela interjects.

Nikela: "They are planning how to pass off the PE shirt."

(Ah-hah! Kiahra's PE shirt is MIA. She searched the house to no avail. It is mandatory to wear the assigned shirt...tomorrow. It is 9:30 PM)

Kiahra: "And mom, it is perfect because your shirt has to have your first initial and name written on it. K. Klinghagen!"

Mom: "Very clever."

And the plotting continues.

I was...

2011-09-11T19:18:00.003-04:00

at home ten years ago with my little ones...ages 1,3, and 5 when the telephone rang. A friend who knew I seldom watched television told me to turn it on. As I watched the horror play out from my quiet Montana community, I remembered visiting New York City that spring with my sister. I had seen the twin towers and taken them for granted, not to mention we had ridden the subway to the World Trade Center. It was surreal to watch the attacks unfold.

Today I met a woman who just moved here from Pennsylvania near Philadelphia. As we chatted, she mentioned the anniversary of 9/11, and I learned she was working in Manhattan that day. Her husband watched the second plane hit and rushed to get his wife who could only see the debris floating by her window. The day is obviously etched in her memory permanently. The trauma is revealed in her voice and facial expressions...the emotions still strong.

We were all in different places that day, but each of us carries a memory of the day.

Ol' Truck

2011-09-09T17:22:00.006-04:00

Once upon a time, long, long ago a young girl learned to drive on the farm. On this farm was a big tilt cab truck.

The farmer patiently endured the young girl's driving. Once when she took a corner too tight trying to cross the irrigation ditch...the farmer waved frantically from the tractor. Luckily the young girl stopped in time, thus the farmer rescued the old truck from a watery grave.

The old truck endured the inexperience of the young girl's driving and even survived.

Though it still sits on the farm, it is thankfully quite content to let me tell on myself.

It is because of this ol' truck I can drive my 30 foot camper around the country to many folks' amazement.

My daughter starts driver's ed tomorrow, and I wish the ol' truck and farmer could share their experience with her...

Silly Girls

2011-09-07T23:52:00.003-04:00

A digital camera is almost like a photo booth film strip.

Capturing all the goofy moments...

...and love.

Cooling Off...

2011-09-07T01:02:00.006-04:00

in Chico, California with our cousins!

Smiling and giggling in delight the younger generation raced through the fountain soaking up the fun!

While the older generation gravitated towards another fountain...

established in 1938 with a tradition of homemade ice-cream and candy.

Yumm...lemon sherbet.

Triple scoop Chico mint.

As the sun slowly sank, we lingered outside enjoying our treats in the warm evening air...yep that is the entire clan occupying a couple tables!

2011-09-03T13:53:00.002-04:00

Good morning, Sacramento River!

Campin'

Fishin'

Relaxin'

Playin'

A weekend made for family on the banks of the river. I loved gazing out over the river...especially at night as the reflection of the moon rippled.

Tagine

2011-09-02T10:22:00.002-04:00

While shopping, I stumbled upon this cool-looking pot. I had entertained the idea of clay pot cooking recently, and this seemed close...and I loved the design of the dish, so I bought it. It is called a tagine. I had to look up the pronunciation.

Luckily, I got a great deal on the tagine, so I could promptly spend my savings on cookbooks that would teach me how to use it!

The tagine is Moroccan. The ingredients needed for Moroccan food are not readily available in the grocery store. Luckily, there are many specialty grocery stores here. On an adventure Kade, Chayse, and I went. Several hours later we had explored all the possibilities in our neighborhood...but we were successful.

Ingredients in hand we began chopping and cooking. Our first recipe was for a meatball tagine. Kade sautéed the seasonings as I worked on creating meatballs. Then the dish simmered on the stove. The fragrance was unbelievable!

During the last few minutes of cooking, eggs are added to the center of the dish and cooked...almost like poached eggs.

It was a delightful meal.

Not all of my kitchen boredom results in good food, but we loved this!

I really liked the way the tagine cooked on my gas cooktop. As I get better, I suspect I may use it for cooking American dishes too :)

Back to School

2011-08-31T19:25:00.006-04:00

Junior High...here comes trouble!

First grade...all day!

Queen of the Mountain...in the eighth grade!

2011-08-29T18:16:00.002-04:00

Buttocks augmentation is hot in California. Plastic surgeons claim that they can take the fat from another place in the body and graft it into the buttocks.

Our little sheltie queen has two perfectly symmetrical fatty tumors on her rump. Natural augmentation.

The vet is not impressed.

Portia doesn't mind. She struts her stuff like the queen of England complete with a bustle from a couple centuries ago.

The vet wants to biopsy the tumors to ensure they are not malignant.

As I gazed at the queen in my rear view mirror, she was laying regally across the back seat. I thought.

The cost of a needle biopsy? $678

I didn't ask how much the surgery for removal would be. I rest assured that it would be in the thousands.

Portia will be nine in October. She is active and her movement is uninhibited. She is happy...well except when I left her at the vet's for the afternoon. Then she howled mercilessly in their kennel for most of the afternoon.

The hospital is not for a queen.

Anyway, fatty tumors are generally not malignant according to the internet. The vet didn't share this with me...but then again he is in the business of treating animals. In all fairness, I am sure the only way to tell is to biopsy, but then what would I do with the information? If she if fine, I lose $678. If not, then I have to live with my decision not to have surgery.

Thus I have decided ignorance is bliss.

The queen will continue to rule as long as her days.

The Ride

2011-08-27T12:03:00.004-04:00

My red and white mountain bike missed me this summer.

As I strap on my red helmet, my heart beat in anticipation of riding down the bay trail. Hopping on and cruising over to the trail, I feel good. The knobby tires buzz over the paved trail as I settle in for the ride. The cross breeze greets me coolly as the evening sun warms my skin already tingling from the exercise.

A mile disappears.

As I round the corner into the next mile, I could see the bay a quarter of a mile away. Within minutes I round another corner as the trail curves to the north following the shore of bay. The salty coolness blasts my face as I head straight into a head wind rolling alongside the crashing waves. Suddenly the scenery drifts from my peripheral vision, as my muscles burn with the sudden resistance. My focus shifts solely to crawling ahead.

Another mile marker appears.

The wind burned my eyes as tears squeeze from the corners, as I embrace another mile. I met a few bikers whizzing nonchalantly down the trail southward. For a moment frustration filled my competitive heart even though I knew better. Breathing hard I hunker low over my bike, as every muscle works to keep the bike moving forward on the trail. My eyes are glued on the road just a few feet in front of me.

Finally, the third mile marker appears, but I don't even see it until I pass it...my concentration intense.

The trail curves sharply and weaves under the freeway bridge, as I wrestle with the reality that I may have to modify my 10 mile goal. Experience has taught me that the wind will be stronger on the other side of the bridge. Nonetheless, I catch my breath as I follow the turns in the trail. The wind does not disappoint as I emerge. The white caps crash into the craggy rocks. My muscles try to respond but I feel my strength waning quickly. I slow and make a u- turn.

As I settle into an easy rhythm, I notice the landscape once more. I am looking down the trail anticipating my next move. I shift up and the increase in tension doesn't even phase me as I seek to maintain a strong pace.

My mind embraces the ride as the miles whiz by...though I am still disappointed that I wasn't able to meet my goal. I must admit to myself I wasn't strong enough to add the extra miles. I shift my mental strength down and start setting goals to make my ride a reality. It is so easy when the wind is behind you.

Some days as I round a curve in life I am so unexpectedly blasted, I stagger. As I regain my footing, I push forward.

It is in these moments I grow the strongest...when I feel the weakest.

Irony.

Mommy Guilt

2011-08-25T13:14:00.003-04:00

One year ago Kade was ice-skating daily. His goal? Hockey.

He practiced hard. Then he played hockey hard.

He took the summer off, but he started practicing again for hours at the rink again this month. Hockey season has started again, so he has resumed playing weekly at the in-house program.

Last Sunday, he had a great game. He made a goal. He skated hard. He played with heart.

His coach noticed. He suggested Kade consider participating on the travel team. The team has a couple spots open after try-outs.

A travel team practices three times a week at different rinks. One of the rinks is 25 miles south in rush hour traffic. Then every weekend for nearly nine months the team will meet their opponents. Sometimes the road trips are longer than others, but several hours would probably be average.

Of course the privilege of playing for a travel team are numerous. Experience. Teamwork. Coaching. Opportunity.

Did I mention price? It also comes with a price tag.

However, as I try to balance the opportunity with reality I am left feeling guilty. I cannot support hockey four days a week with three other children. Everyone in our house has an activity they love and that we support.

I have presented this balance of our family, as the team attempts to persuade us to join.

Let me digress to Kade. He would love to play on a travel team. It has been a goal he set for the future. He was walking on air when the opportunity presented itself so soon.

I am convinced that an eleven-year-old boy needs to be a kid. I am convinced pushing kids early is not healthy. I am convinced hockey should not rule our family. I am convinced we can find the balance.

Then the mommy guilt infiltrates my being. Am I really denying my son? Is he the kids who will say I never had that opportunity? Or will he be fine?

He will be fine...I hope...won't high school be soon enough??

The irony of my situation struck me as I was driving yesterday. Many parents push their kids to excel in sports. Many start their kids young to make them better...and here I am holding back saying "no".

I can't wait to see Kade play his next game. I really do love watching him on the ice. I hope is assuages my guilt.

Apple Crumb Cupcakes

2011-08-23T00:42:00.004-04:00

The aroma of cinnamon and apples wafts upstairs where I am trying to exercise. The elliptical is brutal by itself. The tantalizing smells are simply inhumane.

I try to never complain when my kids cook. I will even go to the grocery store for ingredients...but seriously, Kiahra, why can't you make granola? Or tuna?

Granted she did downsize to mini-muffin pans which I assure myself helps the calorie count.

But how can I go to bed with these tasty little morsels looking at me??

The truth from any angle? I can't.

Small World

2011-08-20T15:50:00.003-04:00

I love Schwan's ice-cream. I was hoping my driver would stop today.

He did.

Last time he shared a Nigerian folktale with us.

Today I learned he spent his first Christmas in the United States in Bozeman, MT. One of his college instructors took him to Bridger Bowl. With laughter, he was delighted to share the memories of his first skiing experience!

One of his sisters lives in Gillette, WY. Her son plays hockey.

I love how small the world really is...that I grew up 100 miles from Gillette as he grew up in Nigeria...that I lived 70 miles from Bozeman...and here we are together in San Francisco.

Stylin'

2011-08-18T21:20:00.004-04:00

Generally, I tend to be a bit flamboyant in my hair styles and color, but since we moved I have not found a hairdresser that suits my style, so natural it is.

However, on the day I had coffee with my sister and we browsed the delightful little fabric store across the street she found these great vintage fabric headbands. Thought I would try it out yesterday. I loved it!

I even had a 60s poof behind the band for a while, but evidently I don't know the secret to making it stay that way. Help??

Anyway, I am loving this flamboyant touch. I am thinking it is an excellent solution!

Creative Spelling

2011-08-17T20:12:00.004-04:00

Doctor's office this way.

The doctor is in.

The patient supply was low. Only the scuba diver endured his physical...and passed. No one else could be convinced to visit the doctor.

So...the doctor changed occupations.

Sign up for the Mexican Hat Dance.

**As an English teacher I am not proponent of creative spelling, but as a mother, I am charmed.

Snorkeling

2011-08-16T21:24:00.002-04:00

Christmas occassionally presents itself at our house as we pillage through unpacked boxes seeking something. Kade uncovered his snorkeling gear while searching for paint brushes.

Suddenly he disappeared...for a long time, as I dutifully washed dishes...by hand because my dishwasher is not working.

Then I heard the jets on my jacuzzi tub start.

Hummm...I suspected I should investigate.

A tub big enough to go snorkeling. No wonder I seldom have the patience to fill it.

Walden Moments

2011-08-15T12:18:00.013-04:00

The canyon road meandered up the mountain slowly, as the crisp, clear water rushed down picturesquely amidst the bounders. A few mountain sheep grazed by the roadside.

We dined at Rocky Mountain National Park as we gazed across the meadow of wildflowers. Soon we were hiking the trail through the meadow. The warm sun encouraged us to move slowly and savor the moment. The kids scampered down the trail with their cousins. They would pause under the guise of waiting for us with bright red cheeks.

As the trail shifted up the mountain, the trees offered reprieve from the hot sun. Though the mountain stream called out to the kids. Quickly they were standing by the cooling waters as their red cheeks faded. Then fallen logs tempted climbers, and soon toes were enticed by the water beneath.

Copycat.

I love the mountains. I could sit by the stream all day, but on this particular day it was special because I was sitting with my cousin reminiscing about childhood adventures, as our own children explored their emerging world. Not sure where the years have gone, but I don't mind pausing on the trail here with a childhood comrade who is now a parent comrade. Grateful for the years and adventures of living that can be shared and treasured. And the good entertainment at Rocky Mountain National Park on August 6, 2011.

2011-08-13T11:34:00.002-04:00

Feelin' their oats...well not really. The kids were far from pleased with the impromptu photo shoot before lunch. (Bad timing, I know.)

Anyway, the littlest bug present was shorter than the oats! And the biting bugs were abundant.

Not sure how I captured a moment with primarily happy expressions--I suspect my oldest daughter probably had something funny to say at my expense.

Baseball

2011-08-11T18:00:00.011-04:00

"Take Me Out to the Ball Game"

103 years ago this song drifted into the American psyche. For me it was merely a catchy tune that accompanied a sport I know very little about. Last summer I attended a game in Evansville with my sister and her husband who is a fanatic, I mean fan. I sweltered in the 90 degree heat, but we were in good company and it was fun. I even picked up a few concepts about the game as my brother-in-law patiently explained the game to my son. I had one other minor league game under my belt when we were in St. Paul many years ago.

Then Ron came home with four tickets to the Giants/Dodgers game. My oldest girls insisted it was "my turn" to go to the game. They assured me they would be fine and told me to have fun a bit too quickly.

Well, I relented, and with our younger kids in hand we were swept into AT & T Park with the flood of Giants' fans. Admittedly, the energy was entertaining. Then we arrived at our seats. Check out this view from row 12.

As the game started, I found myself intrigued by the action unfolding in front of me. I had to concentrate to understand the game, but as the innings progressed I became completely immersed in the action. As the score favored the Dodgers I sat on the edge of my seat. Then the runs by the Giants brought the crowd to their feet and the stadium roared. Delighted with the action I stayed in my seat, as to not miss anything; however, one trip to the restroom for Chayse did reveal the fans on the shores of the bay.

Then I begged Ron to stay until the end of the game. Yep, you read that right. I wanted to see the entire game. I watched the Giants most famous pitcher strike out a few players and end the night.

As the tide of people went out, the seagulls descended for their bedtime snacks.

I loved my first major league baseball game. I am ready to go again. Of course, I would like those seats again too :)

Road Trip Queen

2011-08-11T00:36:00.006-04:00

3,950 miles.

2,800 miles were all mine with 4 kids, 2 dogs, and 1 travel trailer embraced along the way by our friends and family.

Home.

We stepped out into the evening air and scrambled to find jackets. Kade was positively excited to leave behind the heat--grinning from ear to ear when he proclaimed, "Ah, feel the cool air!"

I complained all summer about it being too cold, and I even had to admit that it felt good to be home in the distinctively cool climate of San Francisco.

However, now the memories keep me warm...like this rainy afternoon in Belle Fourche, when my sister and I (with all the kids) took cover in the little coffee shop before browsing through the quilt store across the street...and then the antique store down the street.

Floating through Summer

2011-08-06T00:15:00.006-04:00

We bid South Dakota farewell and headed south to Colorado.

As we approached Fort Collins, Chayse asked, "Are we almost to our destiny?"

Lazy Summer Days

2011-07-30T22:50:00.009-04:00

Hot summer sun beats down from a blue sky as clouds drift lazily.

The lush garden grows. Raspberries disappear into red stained mouths.

Buzzing grasshoppers. Little hands capture the elusive creatures. Voices squeal in delight at the captured prey before they leap away.

Home-cooked, wholesome food. Grandma's kitchen is constantly buzzing with activity.

Lemon Meringue Pie. Grandma's pies are the best in the world.

Summer slush. As a child, this delicious fruity frozen mix tantalized my tongue.

Lemonade. Kiahra squeezed the California lemons and added sugar. Ice pops as the mixture pours into the glass. Refreshing goodness.

Thunder rumbles. Lightening crackles. Rain pours. Big mud puddles entice boys to roar through at full speed. Mud monsters emerge.

Summertime on the farm.

Devil's Bathtub

2011-07-29T23:33:00.011-04:00

A local secret. A breathtaking hike. An adventurous afternoon with 7 kids.

The cool waters of the creek lapped at our legs--a welcome reprieve from the hot afternoon sun!

Two peas hiked to the top!

Nature's teeter-totter required balance!

The bathtub waters were crystal clear.

Perhaps our little elves were not the only ones in the woods...

as the bright fungi captured our imaginations!

No Place Like Home

2011-07-28T18:09:00.014-04:00

The fields of alfalfa are in blossom. It waves in greeting. I smile. My favorite part of the roadtrip was sunset in Nevada. The freshly cut fields of alfalfa hugged the interstate and the evening air was rich with the fragrance. My heart fluttered in anticipation of the smell of home.

I love gazing across the golden fields of barley. I always think of Willa Cather who captured the heart of the waving fields in her writing.

Oats. The heavy heads are beginning to sag. Across the field a few blackbirds are feasting.

The purple alfalfa blossoms tug me back for a closer look.

As a child I would gaze out from the school bus window at this deserted home on the creek (yep, that is crick in South Dakota). The faded white paint has completely disappeared since then. As I pause here, the white paint returns. A woman is hanging laundry that flaps in the prairie breeze. The garden grows nearby. I can see the bobbing heads of kids amidst the undulating grass. The voices echo...

like they do from my childhood. I remember strolling in the evening with my grandmother and grandfather as they enjoyed the sight of healthy fields of alfalfa, barley, and oats. I scampered ahead with my cousins and brother, blissfully unaware that someday I would live far away from the familiar, fragrant fields. I just enjoyed the road from where I stood.

Now as I stroll, my kids can scamper down the road. I can almost see my grandparents smile down on the next generation. Today I just enjoy the road from where I stand.

2011-07-18T02:03:00.004-04:00

Sunday afternoon.

Mall.

Two teenage girls.

As the escalator descended onto another floor of shopping, we stepped off gingerly when I heard Kiahra gasp. My mother radar was set off instantly and I turned to her, as did her big sister.

"Are you okay?" we simultaneously inquired.

"I...I...I don't have any cell service!" she seriously stammered, horrified.

2011-07-14T21:23:00.002-04:00

Kiahra was shining our black granite countertop that shows everything. I teasingly pointed to a spot she missed.

She glowered at me with flippant shake of her head.

"You need more elbow grease!" I told her.

"I am sorry, but I just ran out," she unsmilingly quipped, eyes flashing.

Swimming Hole

2011-07-13T13:45:00.004-04:00

When we were camping last week, we discovered the Oregon Creek Swimming Hole in the middle of the Yuba River. It is perfect on a lazy summer afternoon. It is shallow enough to play at the shores. It is deep enough one must swim across. A mountain stream joins the river here. The occasional boulders that line the river are great for absorbing the warmth of the sun after stepping from the cool river waters.

Near our campsite a dam created a waterfall. Here Kade is reacting to the cool mist.

I am missing my adventurous boy. He is gone at camp.

Cable Car

2011-07-12T00:00:00.010-04:00

San Francisco on a Sunday afternoon never fails to entertain. Intent on riding the cable car to enjoy the magnificent views of the bay, we joined the end of the line in Union Square. Nearby, a young man with a Bible in his hand was preaching from atop a box promising us salvation if we repented. Soon a man in a green Dr. Seuss hat appeared holding a nicely printed sign, "Please give me some pot to get me stoned." Then the passionate preacher began shouting about the tirades of sin to the new guy who had a few choice words of his own.

As the line drifted forward, the scene changed. Young boys were dancing robotically in the street. A talented saxophone played. The street cop even paused to tip the man and commend his performance...but he was really that good. Then a distraught lady approached the street cops asking for help. Her crisis? She couldn't find Macy's.

Finally the cable car arrived, and we sat in the coveted open air seats, as Ron and Kiahra stood, hanging from the bars.

As we clattered up the hill, the driver endured his tourists. At one stop, a lady stepped out of the enclosed cab wanting to ride outside, but immediately the driver informed she had to find a different place to stand.

"But I want to ride outside."

The driver shrugged.

Then she whined, "How do I get there?"

She needed to walk down the steps and around the street car.

His response, "Take the elevator."

A ferrari roared by us illegally. Then the driver pulled over and didn't park close enough to the curb so the cable car driver had to calculate if he had enough room to roll by on the tracks. He did with an inch or two to spare. The nonchalant red ferrari dude was busy trying to be cool and ignore our looming presence inches from his car--though his stupidity was obvious. The trolley driver growled, "Put my car back in the garage where you found it."

At the end of the street, we stepped off the cable car and strolled through the streets towards Fisherman's Wharf and the infamous Pier 39.

As we crossed on busy crosswalk, a woman kept easing her minivan forward into the people. She had a red light. Since she showed no intention of stopping and she was close to nudging my kids, I turned to her, and said, "Excuse me, but you need to yield."

Angrily she threw her hands in the air, but she did stop.

My husband pretended he didn't know me. Nikela informed me I totally made that lady mad. Oh well, evidently I am becoming Californian. Good thing I am going on vacation in a couple weeks.

Soon we were ready to drift from the crowds and headed back up the hill. Nothing like a San Francisco walking workout. At the top of the hill we discovered a beautiful Cathedral in the Little Italy neighborhood.

Italian restaurants and markets lined the streets. Shortly we crossed into Chinatown. Like a sea, the crowds surged forward through the outdoor displays of vegetables and fruits. Skewered meats hung in the windows of the small shops contrasted with windows filled with jade and gold and crystal.

At the bottom of the hill the kids paused for a photo at the official entrance designed for tourists, as is much of Chinatown, but it is a delightful world to explore.

Surprise!

2011-07-08T01:16:00.006-04:00

A special message just for me.

"Happy birthday to you..."

And then the decadence began. Three moist layers of French vanilla, chocolate, and white were carefully stacked with raspberry filling--a heavenly combination created by my girls for me.

Frosted in love...a greater gift no mother could receive.

Small Town

2011-07-07T00:21:00.008-04:00

Downieville, CA.

We arrived just in time for the parade.

The intergenerational band.

Uncle Sam on his tricycle.

I hadn't seen Smoky bear since I was a kid!

I suspect Smoky Bear inspired this clever idea too! The parade ended and then returned (one way street through the town of 300), but on the return two people were rolling giant rolls of bubble wrap. Suddenly the sound of firecrackers erupted as the people streamed from the sidewalks into the streets. Each person that walked across the now unrolled bubble wrap created the firecrackers! I loved this clever idea in fire country, as did Kade who danced on the bubble wrap with a friend!

Afterwards, we enjoyed lunch before the 150 year old foot races began. Once again Kade joined in the fun, and he won first place in the 11 year old division--even though he was a bit slow off the line.

Nothing like a small town celebration!

Unplugged

2011-07-05T22:45:00.005-04:00

No wireless internet access.

No cell service.

No schedule.

We were completely unplugged for the weekend. I loved it.

Our remote campsite was perfect--especially with friends next door in a cabin. The creek was our music and front yard. The kids tumbled down the banks to a wonder filled world. Wading in the clear waters, catching a fish in a bowl, panning for gold, discovering a banana slug...so many delightful things to uncover. With sparkling eyes, grimy faces looked up at us as the stories tumbled out.

Pausing by the evening fire, marshmallows toasted (theoretically), chocolate melted, and crackers crunched. Sleepy eyes were surrounded by sticky smore faces.

We played games late into the night as the campfire burned.

Completely reconnected to everything important.

Maiden Voyage

2011-07-01T17:12:00.007-04:00

I did it.

I drove home by myself (with Kade who reminded me about the residential trees).

I crossed one of the bridges over San Francisco Bay.

I navigated 5+ lanes of traffic...and managed to follow most of the rules.

I am so proud of myself!! (Couldn't tell, could you? I used "I" five times--just a slight improvement over my "me do it" stage!)

Though I think this photo makes the feat more impressive. The trailer is 30 feet.

Perhaps this is where I will roll the credits...even though they should probably be in the beginning.

Thanks Dad, for teaching me drive...especially that old tilt cab Ford truck. I still remember how to pump breaks...even though there is nothing labor intensive about my new set up. Electric brakes on the camper that are controlled and adjusted by a switch or push of a button in the Suburban (which came factory standard). Oh, and that back-up camera is quite handy for hook-up. Did I mention the shocks on my Suburban automatically sense the trailer and adjust automatically? Here is my fancy anti-sway hitch. Thoughts?

Thanks Ron, for supporting all my crazy ideas and reminding me I can do it! Should I thank you in advance for helping me back into our campground tomorrow??

Thanks Kade, for keeping your prayers silent on the return trip.

Disclaimer: Camping adventure stories will follow.

For the Birds

2011-06-28T18:01:00.008-04:00

"I find it hard to believe that anyone would fire a weapon in a neighborhood not to mention with intent to kill an animal like a peregrine falcon." --Glenn Stewart, director of Santa Cruz Predatory Bird Research Group.

Today the San Mateo Times incorporated this quote into their article exploring the tragedy of two falcons shot by pellet guns in Oakland, CA. The birds are recuperating at the Lindsay Wildlife Museum's hospital. Falcon lovers throughout the bay area have created a reward in hopes of attracting informants.

As of Sunday, 51 homicides have occurred in Oakland, CA. Obviously, this well-intentioned gentleman does not live in Oakland if he finds it hard to believe a weapon would be fired in the neighborhood. I have no idea how many shots have been fired thus far this year, but nearly two people a week are found dead.

The speaker paused only long enough to contemplate the horrors of someone intending to kill an animal. Ummm...what about the horrors of killing another human being?

Ironically the homicides occur so regularly that they don't even make the news. The falcons made the news. Now, don't get me wrong I admire the falcon too, and I am not a proponent of shooting at them; however, for me, there is something critically wrong in a world where the injury of birds in one of the most violent communities in the country provokes comments like this.

Until value in human life is restored, society will be out of balance. (along with their budget)

Fireflies

2011-06-28T12:44:00.005-04:00

If my memory serves me correctly, a year ago we were cruising across the West closing in on our destination...California--like fireflies flitting here and there.

My new home greeted me late at night, and I still remember the sweet scent of Jasmine, as I stood beneath the moonlight.

Boxes, boxes, boxes were everywhere.

Ironically we were unpacking boxes last night. Some of the ones in the garage that just seemed too daunting to tackle. Last week I sorted through the last six boxes upstairs. These days I tend to recycle or toss quickly.

But this morning, as I sit here quietly with my tea...I miss my old neighborhood. I miss the woods. I miss all the kids playing. I miss the pool. I miss the friendly smiles and waves. I miss Mr. Lessor giving me a hard time about not wearing shoes. I miss the warm nights as the kids played hide and seek with flashlights. I miss the wide open yards that were shared generously...especially as I gaze out at my high fence.

Aaahhh...Pittsburgh I loved my stay with you and all the warm memories...and the fireflies!

2011-06-27T12:55:00.003-04:00

Caw! Caw! Caw!

The crow sits on my fence at 6 AM.

Caw! Caw! Caw!

He is waiting to steal dog food for breakfast.

Caw! Caw! Caw!

I am ready to shoot the annoying bird. Illegal, I know.

Caw! Caw! Caw!

I have briefly considered a scarecrow, but it would take up my whole Californian backyard.

Caw! Caw! Caw!

I am not particularly fond of crows.

Caw! Caw! Caw!

I remember sitting on my front porch swing in Montana with my little boy. We watched a couple crows swoop into a little ornamental tree in the front yard. The thick green leaves were accented with bright red buds. When the crows disappeared into the foliage, immediately the shreiking of birds reverberated through the street, as the leaves and branches shook violently. Then a small songbird fell to the ground, as the bullies flew away.

Caw! Caw! Caw!

Dead.

Caw! Caw! Caw!

My little boy asked me, "Why?"

I still do not know.

Caw! Caw! Caw!

Little Feet

2011-06-27T01:28:00.003-04:00

Once upon a time, long, long ago in China young girls' feet were bound tightly. The four smaller toes would be broken and wrapped tightly in bandages. Periodically the bandages would be tightened to pull the arch of the foot towards the ankle. The perfect length of three inches would assure a woman the title of golden lotus.

As I stood before this display of shoes at a local art museum, I felt a wave of indescribable emotion engulf me. Those tiny shoes would barely fit a toddler. These were the shoes Fred had tried to describe to me. The shoes his mother wore. The shoes his aunt wore. The pain he witnessed as he watched these two women navigate life with deformed feet.

Now I understood his tenderness towards his mother...for her hard, hard life. His story came alive to me in this moment, as I gazed at the beautifully embroidered shoes.

A few days early I had held their family portrait. I had noticed immediately that his mother's feet were tiny compared to her daughters' feet in solid Mary Jane shoes--and they were not even ten years old yet.

His aunt lived at a mine site in the Sierra Nevada Mountain range. She spent her life tending the little cottage and garden in isolation. She seldom left. The walk to town was too far. She would send her son. And amidst all her duties, she would carefully stitch her own shoes and embroider beautiful designs.

The culture complexities aside, these tiny shoes are a tribute to two strong women I have the privilege to know through the boy they raised.

Ridin'

2011-06-25T16:01:00.002-04:00

As the Harley roared down the road, I gazed at the setting sun through the redwoods.

Chillin' on a Friday night...literally. The cool ocean front moved in quickly across Skyline Drive and temperatures dropped. I was prepared...dressed in layers.

However, my legs were cold. By the time we arrived back home, I concluded it is time to buy those riding chaps I have been thinking about for years.

Wondering how I will look as a Biker Mama...

30 Miles

2011-06-23T00:28:00.003-04:00

The Boy Scouts hiked through Castle Rock State Park and Big Basin Redwoods on their way to the trails end--the Pacific Ocean. As the exhausted hikers felt the cool breeze and sniffed the salty air, their pace quickened. Soon the blue of their goal came into sight, and Kade deserted his 27 pound pack and hiking boots. The warm sand brought therapeutic relief to his weary feet. The cool waters lapped at his legs.

My 75 pound boy is so slender that his backpack couldn't be cinched tight enough around his waist, so it slowly rubbed his back until blisters formed on the first day. To alleviate the soreness on the next days, a layer of moleskin was applied and covered with duct tape--never leave home without it!

My little boy's accomplishment makes me proud, but I really am happy to have him home again. I missed him. Though the night he returned, he set up his tent and repacked his belongings into a new pack...preparing for the next hike while the blisters were still oozing. Dedication.

2011-06-20T18:33:00.003-04:00

My volatile relationship continues with the grocery store.

Like...

As I stand in the self-checkout the clerk approaches me and takes the bottle of wine out of my hand and demands to see my ID. Delighted I immediately complied. Evidently I look younger when I don't have my children in tow.

Dislike...

I ask the big girls if they woould like to try the limited edition Doritos that are vintage packaged (from my childhood).

"But mom, aren't they expired?" my delightfully sassy daughter inquires. Her mischievous grin begs my forgiveness, as her sister giggles.

Moral--go to the grocery store alone.

Dad

2011-06-19T20:00:00.008-04:00

On my wedding day 19 years ago with my dad. In a simple dress that fit perfectly because my mother made it. It was trimmed in the lace my grandmother crocheted. I wouldn't change anything that day. It was perfect.

The June grass was green and lush along the prairie riverbottom. It was the day after my father's birthday. He spent his birthday mowing and hauling bales to the wedding site and anything else to appease me and my mother.

As we walked to the altar...it was merely a majestic cotton wood tree that survived the hardships of the prairie only to rise again. I remember the song, Daddy's Hands, played. It is still one of my favorites.

Before we left, my dear friend captured a few more photos as the clouds rolled in. I love the hazy moment, as it transcends time--in my mind I can see my great-grandmother pausing on the prairie with her new husband.

Now the man in the hat bequeathing a gentle kiss is a father too. Today he is hiking the coastal mountains along the Pacific Ocean with his son on a 30 mile backpack trip that started yesterday.

My father is farther away, but he is always close in heart.

I remember Daddy´s hands, folded silently in prayer.
And reaching out to hold me, when I had a nightmare.
You could read quite a story, in the callouses and lines.
Years of work and worry had left their mark behind.
I remember Daddy´s hands, how they held my Mama tight,
And patted my back, for something done right.
There are things that I´ve forgotten, that I loved about the man,
But I´ll always remember the love in Daddy´s hands.

2011-06-16T21:49:00.003-04:00

"A California tumbleweed," states my second daughter a bit matter-of-factly.

I scan the road. The prairie has the biggest tumbleweeds ever, so I am curious.

Nothing.

I keep searching.

Nothing...except a plastic bag tumbling down the sidewalk.

Ah-hah. Sarcasm. I got it!

Love her sense of humor. Just like her daddy.

And...maybe there is a reason Californians are trying to ban plastic bags.

Last Day

2011-06-15T13:05:00.008-04:00

Beneath the California sun, I warmly watched my son receive his promotional certificate, as he bids elementary school farewell today.

Though it was in the moments of celebration I enjoyed watching the kids most. The hastily scrawled signatures and big smiles were shared generously away from the flashing cameras.

My favorite moment of the day was when the boys delightedly unwrapped their present from Mr. Tim who served as a classroom aide. He loved ice breakers, and the kids were always pestering him to share with them. To mark their special day, he brought each child a neatly wrapped gift...their very own package!

My son adored the clever gesture.

These are the moments that bring a lump into my throat. Mr. Tim shared his trademark with the kids. It was not elaborate or hasty. It was a simple token, but he shared something of himself (symbolically) with each child--as he had throughout the year. The boys moved too quickly for me to capture the unwrapping, but I appreciated Mr. Tim's attention to detail. I like to think he reflected on his memories of each child throughout the year, as he carefully prepared their surprise. His heart is that big.

I suspect as the years slip by Kade will look back and remember the man who gave him the Icebreakers and that warm smile. An imprint for the heart.

2011-06-11T13:26:00.003-04:00

Yesterday morning, I headed over the bridge to the East Bay to explore the world of campers for our crazy summer road trip. I invited the man with the money to accompany me, and fearing for his wallet, he managed to escape from work briefly to join me!

Afterwards, it was nearly lunchtime, so I suggested we should dine together (gasp). A drive down the street lead us to a shopping plaze that appeared to have a few options, but as we circled the plaza we discovered that every entrance to a neighboring business complex was blocked by cop cars with lights flashing and solemn men in uniform vigilantly watching.

Undeterred by the neighboring activity, we pulled into the plaza and sat down in a little restaurant that was still prepping for the lunch hour. As our food arrived, so did the sound of choppers. Somehow, I can't recall the taste of the food, but I can tell you my stomach was starting to knot as Ron and I exchanged apprehensive looks. Interestingly, the restaurant workers didn't even seem to notice as the copter hovered back and forth.

I stepped out of the restuarant a bit tentatively. All around us folks were attending to business as usual merely glancing occasionally up at the sky beneath the roar.

As I drove away, I thought about my quiet prairie childhood where I could hear the crickets in the shade during the day or lay on the hillside with my brother and watch the clouds shift shapes as quickly as our imaginations.

Miss you

2011-06-08T11:11:00.003-04:00

The feel of your little head resting on my shoulder, your warm little body, the gentle whisper of your breath as we rocked together for your morning nap.

Time stopped as I paused to enjoy your sweetness baby girl!

The Sands of Time

2011-06-06T11:09:00.007-04:00

Little feet explore the sand.

Sandy smiles.

The tide rolls in under the setting sun.

Uh-oh-- cold feet!

Cousins treasure the moments!

And a little footprint leaves its imprint on all our hearts!

Life with Baby

2011-06-04T11:47:00.003-04:00

As the darling baby girl lay on the floor rolling and exploring, she started complaining a bit. Her ever-attentive mama talked to her and told her "Good Job!" as she rolled into a better position.

Chayse was sitting nearby, and stopped, "Wait? What did she do?"

Chayse simply couldn't figure out what warranted the praise.

Then Aunt Kristi shed light on the issue, "Everything she does right now is a good job."

A Day in the City

2011-06-04T10:49:00.010-04:00

The day started with a trip through the city and over the infamous hills to the Golden Gate Bridge. The sun was just starting to emerge from the clouds, and the breeze was surprisingly warmer than I had anticipated.

Then we were off again for a decadent ice cream sundae at Ghiradelli Square. The famous chocolate maker creates fabulous ice cream treats. Plus all this touring makes a girl hungry! Lunch first? Completely over-rated! The littlest bug couldn't partake of the sweet treats, but she was fascinated by the operation of the equipment. She studied it intently. Hopefully she has it figured out and is ready for business soon!

One must be wary of pick-pockets in the city, as Nikela learned first hand!

Then we cruised down the crazy curvy Lombard Street.

Finally, we arrived at Pier 39--Fisherman's Wharf. The harbor seals bark and fight like kids.

Finally, we paused for lunch next to a window overlooking the bay with panoramic views of the Bay and Golden Gate Bridge.

A delightful day of San Francisco adventures drew nigh and it was time go home, much to Miss Kaiya's dismay.

Landed

2011-06-02T03:41:00.003-04:00

My sister arrived safely at San Francisco International Airport with a bouncing baby girl in her arms. As I scanned the crowd and walked, I suddenly realized my sister was right beside me. She looks exactly the same, except now she has a fluffy baby in her arms and a diaper bag slung over one shoulder, so, you see, she really doesn't look the same at all with the new accessories. She wears motherhood beautifully, though!

Memorial Day Parade

2011-05-31T02:05:00.006-04:00

The parade this morning included Nikela in the marching band. Keep watch, as she is the clarinet on the end!

Memorial Day

2011-05-28T12:33:00.004-04:00

My boy scout is at the Golden Gate National Cemetery this morning decorating the 161 acres in honor of the men and women who served our country. My grandfather would be proud. He never served in the armed forces, but he was adamant about respecting those who did. He always paused on Memorial Day to remember.

Though he also remembered everyday as he raised the American flag that always welcomed us as we pulled into the farm. Those childhood memories make this picture of the farm my favorite. It reminds me to pause and remember, so today I gaze at my wall and remember...

The man who constantly reminded me to be thankful for the men and women who served and those that sacrificed all. Bittersweet gratitude floods my heart at the memories of my grandfather, the servicemen and servicewomen I knew and those I didn't, and the "kids" who I watched grow up in my classroom that today are serving around the world.

My heart holds each and everyone so tightly it aches, and yet I smile with thankfulness.