Brotherly Love

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

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

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

...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

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.

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.

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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

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

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.

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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!