Nonfiction. For the past month I have been trying to learn about the art of writing about the lives of others in a class from Stanford. I needed a story to tell. A local gentlemen agreed to humor me and share his life story with me. As a result, I have been interviewing him regularly. This afternoon, we chatted...again.

With a delightful chuckle, he proclaimed..."You are just a baby!"

95 years of living probably do make me look like a baby. I love his laugh and his sense of humor. I wasn't least bit offended because comments about my youth are few and far between these days.

Just before I left, his daughter asked me what the kids would do during our planned excursion to mining country with her father and his son. Of course, I explained the kids would join us because they are unwilling participants in all their mother's crazy adventures. I proceeded to told her how Kiahra proclaimed that when we left Pennsylvania, "At least I won't have to visit any more covered bridges." I then backtracked to a long weekend adventure exploring the Pennsylvania countryside with my family and crossing as many bridges as I could find.

At this point, Fred pipped up and said, "I know there is a covered bridge near Grass Valley. I don't know where, but there is one."

"Well, then I will find it because I am sure Kiahra will be thrilled to cross another covered bridge after crossing the country."

Laughter rolled.

I found the bridge. It is the longest single lane bridge in the country.

Someday Kiahra will laugh...

Commuting

Okay. I can navigate the traffic. I have alternate routes plotted. I recently acquired patience.

Now I cannot find my favorite radio station. On Monday, I thought the kids had messed with my radio. On Tuesday, I started scanning stations. On Wednesday, I scanned again. On Thursday, I checked with Google and discovered the truth. The good news is I am not crazy. The bad news is my station is gone--sold to a sports affiliate. The lone country station in the Bay area is gone...now there are none :(

Anyway, how am I going to cope? I have satellite radio in my Suburban. In my errand car, I do not. Nor do I have an iPod connection. So I am digging out my old CDs. It is not working for me.

I had completely adapted to my daily "commutes"...now I am mad...again.

Easter Ducks

Mornings are crazy at my house. Ron leaves quietly in the early hours. At 6 the rest of the house begins to stir...slowly. By 6:45 the speed picks up considerably as we attempt to rush out the door. But in my dash, I cam to a standstill yesterday. Beneath my little corner tree stood a drake and hen quietly watching the morning activity.



They almost look like decoys.



When we come too close, the drake would quack, quack, quack. The hen on the other hand would merely lift her head momentarily and not seeing imminent danger, tuck her head back in for a nap. I suspect she will be laying eggs soon.

We are enamored with out ducks. They have been the objects of multiple photo shots with various photographers. Ron tells us they came last spring too.

I hope they enjoy their stay.

15

She is settling into the teen years. She is hurdling through track season. She is wrapping up her freshman year.

I love her Minnie t-shirt from her Disneyland trip.

I love her smile.

I love ice-cream cake too.

She still drives me crazy with mis-matched socks.

Some days I prefer to remember when I dressed her...



like on her first birthday party. Grandma made her a beautiful Bambi cake. I selected this photo without me...because I can hear my oldest daugher quip, "If you think I look young...check out you, mom!"

Happy Birthday, Nikela! I still love you ;)

Hurricane Kiahra has descended. She is officially a teenager.

Luckily, I have decided that I merely exist in the eye of the storm at all times with two teenagers. It is all good. Just no wrong moves. No pressure. No stress.

April 23, 1998. Thirteen years later, I find myself on the streets of San Francisco in Union Square. Shopping with my "little" girl is always an adventure, and today was no exception. A designer store enticed her...so we entered and explored and tried on wonderfully cute outfits. I can't recall the name...such details escape me these days. The security guard was so carefully hidden by the door he surprised my little angel. He stood so still it was almost creepy!

Next we went to a jewelry store, so Kiahra could pick out her charm bracelet and first charm from her daddy and me. A flower adorns her bracelet. It is similar to the flower she is always doodling. For me, it represents the blossoming of a young woman.

Lunch. Shopping. More shopping. Home again.

Every moment I cherished because I kept remembering my little girl when she was just a tiny bug. A busy little bee that could find something messy anywhere. Her little cherub face would grin up at me. A blanket was generally trailing her every step. Oh, and that little dolly with two long pigtail braids that went everywhere too. Her hair is matted now, and one eye doesn't open and shut consistently anymore, but I still have it because I can't let go of her now...dolly and the little girl who loved her so.



Look at the hand, as Kiahra holds her beloved dolly...the years have only changed the size :)

Happy Birthday, Sweetheart! Mommy loves you!

Grass Valley

I love this image of downtown Grass Valley, CA.

The color + the vine= charm.



I chuckled here...wondering if the name was poking fun at all the city folks who come to roam the streets and spend their money?



Finally, the sights of a small town that I appreciate. The peeling paint on the majestic original structure of the hotel draws me close. It feels real. The building is the same, but the wind, rain, and sun etch the character...just like us.

Cousin Jacks

When the Empire Mine boomed, the skilled miners came, mostly from Cornwall, England. Thousands of years of extracting tin made them experts in the mining industry. As the mine grew and the demand for miners grew, the Cornishmen were quick to recommend their friends and relatives because they wanted to work with someone they could trust. This unlimited supply of relatives soon earned them the nickname, "Cousin Jacks."



Now the Cornishmen also carried a round lunch pail, and it held their tea in the bottom and the top compartment held their prized pasty from home.

Pasties are basically meat, potatoes, and onions wrapped in crust and baked.

Ron's grandmother made pasties. Ron's grandfather was a miner too.

The Hilltop store in Lead South Dakota sold pasties to the miners before shift.

Ron loves pasties.

Imagine our delight to learn about a restaurant down the hill from the Empire Mine in Grass Valley that sells pasties.

Of course, I ordered tea. Of course the tea cup utterly delighted me!



The pipin' hot pasty...



and pot pie...



and the details that charmed me...






Even the most reluctant eaters discovered an affinity for pasties, which were some of the best I have eaten!

We will be back.

In the meantime, we headed out to explore the streets of Grass Valley.

Empire Mine

Tucked in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada Mountain Range, the Empire mine rose out of the gold rush. In 1850 the journey into the depths of the earth began. It operated for 106 years.

Today the local folks continue to restore the mine site they were successful in preserving as a state park.

As we neared the park, I noticed the stone fence first. It was constructed out of the waste rock.

The visitor's center carefully documents the known history. The Assay Office would have been pivotal in determining the quality of the gold. Though the Empire Mine would mine the highest quality, richest gold vein in California.



In 1898, the Bourne family built a "cottage" complete with electricity near the mine. The brick was brought from Sacramento to compliment the waste rock in the construction. Two large fountains were in the front yard. The garden was beautiful with over 900 roses. I suspect a visit when the roses bloom may be necessary.



Recovering the ore from the hard, quartz rock required big equipment.




In front of the mine office, I captured a rare moment between daddy and his little girl...who turns 13 on Saturday.




When in doubt, dance through life.



Anxious to see the 45 degree shaft, Kade waited patiently for us, well, not really. It sounded a bit like, "Hurry up!"



The shaft was my favorite. Ron narrated the details to me. They even recycled the old rail to reinforce the tunnel. I could almost imagine descending into the darkest on the toboggan-like man car at 600 feet per minutes.



Ore cart lesson. I loved the many moments of sharing that occur ed throughout the afternoon. Kade's mechanical curiosity made me smile. Like father, like son.



Enamored with the original glass.



Ron enjoyed the look back at mine rescue in the early days.



I really wanted this sign for my son's room!



Tomorrow: Lunch

"Mom, I want to go to church Sunday."

I stopped everything and studied my son carefully. I wanted to make sure he wasn't ill, gravely ill.

Finally, even though I desperately wanted to pretend he was seeking spiritual growth, I asked, "Why?"

Grinning from ear to ear, he told me that the girl's mother wanted to meet dad and me after church. They want to get to know us, so they can take the him to the movies with the girl.

My mind buzzed. She goes to our church too?? Her mother wants to take you to the movies?? Is she sane?? Whatever happened to passing notes in the fifth grade?? Whispering on the playground?? Secrecy?? (So my heart doesn't fail?)

How did the boy who torments his sisters mercilessly end up here? He should know better than to even consider a girlfriend. He should know how much trouble girls are.

Instead, much to my horror, I observed his charismatic approach today, and I decided his understanding of the female psyche is way beyond his years.

So much for my well-laid theory. How could I have been so wrong?

I need a plan to combat this craziness.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

"Just a minute," he said as he stepped outside.

Hmmm...why exactly does an eleven year old boy need to step outside to take a call??

"I had the best day ever today!"

This proclamation came back to me.

Hmmm...

"Mom, I have a girlfriend."

Nnnnooooo...went my heart.

"Really?" went my words.

"Her name is Savannah. She was born in Mississippi."

As I looked at her picture, I saw a beautiful child. Seriously. I could almost hear the soft southern roll in her voice.

"Mom, you are not nearly as excited as her mom is."

My competitive heart lurched again, but this time realizing I have experienced a few first crushes. There is a reason for the word crush, and it nags at my heart.

My Road Rage

It is gone.

Seriously.

I know my faithful followers have patiently endured my rants and raves for at least six months; however, in the past couple months I have felt the slow seeping of rage from my body.

Kade was the first to point it out.

"Mom did you see what that guy did?" he inquired with surprise.

"Yeah," I answered with resignation.

Kade studied me intently, "Don't you care?"

"Not today," I muttered, and as I mulled his words, I realized I have slowly concluded it simply it isn't worth it. Life is short. My blood pressure is precious.

As long as I reside in California, I will drive and /or sit in traffic with crazy drivers. As a result, I will always drive defensively here. I will always come to a complete stop. I will accept what I cannot change.

And change what I can frequently...like brake pads.

Abstract art created by Kade.

Watching him tap his paint brush patiently this morning, I was entranced as I assited art in the classroom. Grandpa's funeral was this morning too.

For the first time, I almost understand abstract art. It is random. Unexpected. Unpredictable. Like life. Like death.

What we take from it (art and life) depends on how we look at it.

My heart is squeezed tightly. I blink back tears. I realize there is no easy way to let go.

It rained this morning. The drops splattered on the window in the wind. Nature cried with me.

This afternoon the sun is peeking through the clouds, and more art has appeared.



I love the six-year-old perspective and tribute to her Grandpa. She didn't forget your smile or your coffee, Grandpa!

The rocky journey through loss is difficult to embrace.

In my heart, I find comfort in the vibrancy of life lived. My father-in-law lived life with color and passion. In the beginning, I was surprised by the color, but he was true to his character...and I grew to love it.

I will miss your physical presence, but I suspect your passion will manifest itself in your grandchildren...to keep life from getting dull...and I will see your smile in those moments and hear that familiar chuckle.

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

Kade, would you like to see what I am writing?

I don't know. Is it going to make me cry?

Why?

I can see it in your eyes.

Santa Barbara

Road trip. I drove to Santa Barbara Friday afternoon for the weekend, as Nikela had a track meet (left my camera at the hotel that day). With 313 miles to cover, we carpooled, so I had a few extra kids too. Life is never dull. Traffic never ends. The California countryside never ceases to amaze me. Eventually, the urban gave way to the rural, and I watched cows grazing on lush hillsides. The orchards were budding. The vineyards were picturesque. The strawberries were growing.

My first glimpse of Santa Barbara was from my hotel courtyard. Admittedly, it did charm me. I love lilypads, and on the last morning a turtle greeted me on the dirt path, though he did pull his head in as I passed.



At dusk one evening, we paused at the beach...our first view of the ocean front city.



In the morning, the glistening water and warm sand looked so inviting.



The radiant sun was warm.



Though I can never resist a walk down the wharf, I have never seen such creative panhandling (take note San Francisco).




The temptation to try was too great, and soon I was handing out coins.



The famous city from the wharf. I loved the mountains hugging the city limits.



The creativity extends to the restuarants.



Working for "donations"



Silly girls.



Santa Barbara is truly a beautiful city.



The downtown is filled with adobe buildings and delightful shopping (just ask Kiahra).

It is almost too perfect to be true, thus my fascination with the panhandlers...the reminder that the world is not fair...and sometimes hard.

Trucks

Little boys love trucks...Big boys love trucks too. For my little boy, he loved the fact both of his grandpas drive trucks.

As we cruised down the freeway yesterday afternoon enroute to Santa Barbara, Kiahra commented that one of the trucks we had just passed was from Montana. It is family habit to notice truckers--almost subconscious.

Anyway, it reminded me of the day I was headed to Billings, Montana several years ago with the younger kids...or was it all the kids...I can't remember, but as I rounded the curve near Reedpoint, I noticed the truck I was passing was Grandpa Klinghagen's. A few minutes later, I was dialing the Klinghagen home, as the kids clamored excitedly. Grandma called Grandpa on his cell phone and he pulled over in Columbus. We piled into the truck stop booth and ate and chatted with Grandpa K. A random, fun moment in the life of a truck driver. We hugged him good-bye.

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

Today Grandma selected a memory box for Grandpa Klinghagen. She was delighted to find one with a Peterbilt emblem and engraved rose. His ol' Peterbilt has been a faithful partner for many years.

With a twinkle in her eye, I can see the smile on Grandma's face from here...so pleased to be able to captures the heart and the essence of Grandpa.

The Call Home

8:32 PM the telephone rang last night. My father-in-law had slipped away, peacefully.

As I looked up into the California night sky, the moon was a mere sliver, again sporting that Cheshire cat grin, looking down at me. I smiled in spite of myself because it reminded me of Hoss. He tormented me relentlessly...and that cheesy grin always emerged.

Nearly 19 years ago, I officially joined the family. A couple nights ago, I had pulled out the photo albums upon request. The kids were looking over my shoulder. Our wedding photos drew the most attention.

"Whoa, Grandpa and Grandma were young!"

I smiled because, well, because that means I am still young. Grandpa was 44.

"Hey, look, Dad had hair!"

Okay, maybe not as young as I think.

Then I found a picture of me with Chris and Hoss at my college graduation. He was a big man, standing tall next to the diesel truck he loved so much.

The next family event was a trip to Minnesota to meet his extended family after Hoss' brother was killed in a trucking accident.

Then it was my youngest sister-in-law's wedding just a few weeks after Nikela was born. My favorite photo is Hoss in his tux holding his granddaughter in pink ruffles as Grandma dotes on her. Neither are looking at the camera.

As I flipped the pages of family history, I realized that graduations, weddings, and funerals tend to bring us together. The irony.

Ron had the bittersweet privilege of spending the past several days by his father's bedside. He had not even been home 24 hours when the call came.

How do you say good-bye to a father?

A father is so many things, and each relationship individualized.

In my last conversation when Hoss was in the hospital on a quiet afternoon, I had the opportunity to try to tell him how much he meant to Ron. When I hung up the phone, I realized the tears were streaming down my cheeks silently. As I sat there, the waves of emotion were as relentless as the ocean as the memories rolled in.

Hoss spent his life driving truck. He understood my rants about California traffic. He had a few choice words of his own...and I am telling you, it ranked up there with hospital food. As I sit here, I wonder how many miles he drove in his lifetime? He loved his truck. When Ron brought his truck home a few days ago, he heard it. He knew the boy he taught to drive was bringing home his truck. The boy he guided into manhood...embracing the hard things in life.

Hoss took his own call home last night.

And going "home" will never be the same for us, but as I sit here in these early morning hours, I am so grateful for the man who welcomed us home so many, many times through the years.

Happy Endings

My current world is all about security. We have extra security patroling our neighborhood. We have a full alarm system in our home that is activated.

Crime is high here. A few robberies hit the neighborhood a few weeks ago, and we all went on high alert.

Kade's favorite sweatshirt was stolen at a Sharks game in the blink of an eye.

Today I lost my cell phone along the bay.

Shortly after I realized it was missing, my friend called Kiahra and told her a man had called her wondering whose phone he had. She gave Kiahra the number to reach him. I called. Ron met him and picked up the phone. His wife had found the phone on the path.

It is so easy to focus on the negative, but the rays of sunshine are stronger!

I love happy endings!

As I was waiting at the bank today (longer than usual), I realized I could only read every third sign. On my way out, I discovered that the posters in the store front windows were indecipherable to me.

School notes usually resemble the multi-language manuals that accompany most purchases which require instructions.

I hear so many languages around me everyday that I no longer notice how seldom I hear English.

I really don't mind. The concentration of people is so high here that it can be overwhelming. I have come to prefer the conversations around me to be in other languages on my morning walks because it doesn't interrupt my train of thought. If one does not understand the words, it is easier not to be distracted.

However, I had a friend call me for a referral for a doctor. As she wrote the name, she asked, "Is English her first language?" Ironically, when I started searching for doctors, I started checking the language list. Initially, it felt a bit discriminatory to me, but I honestly I was not comfortable with broken English in my medical care. (Just for the record, to the ear of an English teacher it is most certainly "broken.")

It wasn't until I was driving through San Francisco that I noticed a large sign proclaiming, "Chinese Hospital," that I fully realized you seek care with whom you are comfortable culturally. It is more than just language--it includes the nuances.

The common misunderstandings that result in so many business transactions I encounter simply are not palatable in my medical care. I don't mind eating the meal I didn't order. I don't mind being directed to the wrong part of the store...well most of the time ;) I don't mind pointing at what I want. My nonverbal communication has increased significantly.

Now, if my children would just bicker in another language...it would be perfect!

Beach Ballet

Late yesterday afternoon found us cruising down Highway 1 towards our favorite beach. Upon arrival we clamored down to the sandy shores. Every child went a different direction...fascinated by something different. Kade found the little stream trickling into the ocean. Kiahra was ready for a carefully thought out photo shoot. Chayse loved the foam from the waves crashing onto the shore.



Nikela quietly meandered the action leaving messages in the sand.



The powerful waves dance too...



The balance never ceases to amaze me.



Nikela's sand dance in the sand was fun!



Daisy sand art holds silly girls!



Kade's sand flower sported incredible detail!



Not sure how I managed to capture this image, but it is my favorite of the day!



Nikela playfully asks the ocean not to swallow her fishy.



My drama queen rests after an intense shoot!



As the tide rolled in, it washed our sand art away leaving a smooth beach once again. Leaving the trace of the day only imprinted in our hearts...like so much of life.

3

Today is the tea party in celebration of my 3 year-old niece's birthday. My presents were hand delivered by my hubby...unwrapped and carefully rolled up to maximize airplane luggage space. My sister assures me it is fine, that the kids really don't care, but I love pretty packages especially for a pretty party, so even though I know she is probably right, I wish I could have made them fancy!

Nonetheless, immediately upon discovery of the princess nightgown, Jaela wanted it on so she merely traded out what I am sure was a darling tea party dress. (Thinking Uncle Ron was her accomplice, as he has a sweet spot for little girls.)

Doesn't the hat compliment the jammies stunningly?



Ah-hah here is the proof there was a perfect tea dress in the beginning...



At the end, she shared a pose of the adorable swimsuit Kiahra found for her.




Fluffy, Frilly, Fancy Fun.


My sister created a fabulous party for her little princess, but I cannot upload the other photos successfully, so this glimpse is all for now. Wish I could have been there...Thanks, Jaela for keeping me there in spirit!

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

Uh-oh. Another tooth fairy conundrum has appeared right before my computer. My eleven year old is losing teeth too. This molar was really rugged, as the root toward the inside of the mouth was fully intact and at an angle. Pulling it was grueling. Just gazing at the long, bloody root makes my mouth hurt, really hurt.

As he put the tooth in a cup, he commented through the bloody napkin, "Nobody better throw this one in the dishwasher!"

So here I sit with limited cash on hand making inquiries to my local bankers who roll their eyes at me.

What is a tooth like this worth? Perhaps as much cash as I can scrounge?

His relentless pursuit of the tooth was for hockey tomorrow because it was so painful he was worried his mouth guard would make it unbearable and first playoff game is tomorrow morning.

Boys.