This morning the phone rang. It was one of my uncles. I don't hear from my mom's brothers except in times of crises. I knew what the phone call was about. As did my sister who received a similar call and immediately assumed the worst.
My 87 year old grandmother, Shirley Jeanne Perchert Walker, passed away last night.
Over the last year my grandmother was diagnosed with Alzheimers, moved into a full time care facility, had three major surgeries (broken femur, blood infection and colon resection) and we all knew we were losing her both mentally and physically.
My grandmother was born in 1923 in Cooperstown, North Dakota to Hanna and Albert Perchert. She had two older brothers: Dale and Albert Jr (Bud) (both deceased when I was in my teens and early 20's). Copperstown was a very, very small Norwegian farming community where she claimed being related to half the town. She grew up on a farm through the Great Depression where as she put it, they didn't have much, but they had food. They did better than much of the rest of the US during this time. My great grandmother had three younger children later - Charles (Chucky), Naomi and Bonnie - all of whom are still living.
While my grandmother was in high school she also taught school and once graduated she went to teach full time "until she found a husband". About that time, my great grandparents decided to give up the farming life and took the younger three children to the Bay area. My uncle Dale took over the farm and remained close with my grandmother. Uncle Bud moved to California and I am in contact with his daughter Mickey on a somewhat regular basis. The younger siblings I only knew in passing. I got to know Chucky when we lived in Reno and he lived and worked nearby.
After a year or so of teaching high school my grandmother decided to enroll in the Army Nurse Cadet program and she was sent to Spokane, WA for her training at Deaconess Hospital.
As I grew older my grandmother would tell me how they were "the wild bunch" at Deaconess and how she and her roommate had one of the only rooms with a window and they used to sneak their girlfriends in and out of the room to meet the soldiers stationed at the base up near Spokane.
My grandmother spent time in LaGrande, OR doing her nurses training as well. She was nearing the day to be shipped overseas when the announcement came that the war was over.
My grandmother packed up and moved to Seattle, WA where she worked in a hospital. She took up flirting with an ambulance driver who relieved the elevator operator for his lunch. My grandmother tells of making excuses to ride up and down the elevator to be with the man who was nearly 15 years her senior.
The story between Seattle to Casper, WY is foggy. She at one point admitted to me that she left Seattle for Casper when she was pregnant (unmarried) and didn't know what to do. The man she had met in the elevator wasn't sure what he wanted to do and was not supportive of the pregnancy. She up and left and arrived in Casper, WY and moved in with a girl she knew from nurses training, started working at the local hospital and started attending the Seventh Day Adventist church.
A few months Eugene Lemuel Walker showed up. There was a wedding. And a few months later my uncle David was born.
My grandfather was born in backwoods Arkansas to a native American woman named Rose Hawk in the early part of the century. He managed to attend school through the second grade.
He had done odd jobs throughout his life to this point and decided that he would attend barber school. The school requested his transcript and he lied, telling them the school burnt down. He went to barber school, opened a barber shop in downtown Casper where he worked as long as his health allowed him. During the last 10 years of his life he was largely confined to the house and struggled with heart and lung problems and not to mention diabetes. He passed away in 1985.
Jeanne and Eugene had four children; David, Michael, Barbara and Robert. It was a volatile family life with alcoholism and lots of yelling. My grandparents had warm, but hard hearts. I used to play Yahtzee with my grandmother, we would sit at the kitchen table and she had this old yellow plastic cup she would roll her dice with. And she would shake and shake that cup. Then my grandfather would start yelling, "think you need to roll those God-damned any louder?" And my grandmother would grin. And her next turn she would shake them even louder and longer. Then my grandfather would start cussing under his breath. When someone bought my grandmother a padded dice cup it was supposed to heal the marriage.
My Yahtzee experiences I expect were only the tip of the iceburg with their 40-some year marriage, but said so much about those 40 years.
My grandmother worked nights as a nurse at the hospital and my grandfather was a barber.
In 1972 her first grandchild was born. That would be me.
I spent days with my grandmother while my mom attended the community college to get her AA degree. My grandmother and I were fast friends. Best of buddies. I spent loads of time at her house growing up. We had all our holidays together. She was my Bonka.
My grandmother was never one to smooth things over. She didn't hide her feelings or thoughts. And many people were hurt from this. Many family members. My grandmother told me one day, "people try to pretend like it isn't true, but your first is always your favorite. My first child was my favorite and my first grandchild was my favorite." She didn't have to say this, we all knew it was true, unfortunately. She tuned out with my little sister and her oldest son could do no wrong, but the other three struggled to live up despite one going to medical school and one becoming a small business owner of a contract research lab doing research for the giant firms. In this regard, I feel sorry for my grandmother, because she failed to look beyond her feelings to discover the beauty of the other children and adults in the family. I worked so hard to make up for her shortcomings with my sister, but I was hiding nothing from her.
I find it interesting that my sister was the one that was really thoroughly left on the sidelines with regards to my grandmother, but in the last year, my sister is the one who saw her most as she went to the home and visited her regularly in every hospital. I want to say I would have done the same thing in her shoes... but I admit I have not taken those steps with my father's mom.
My grandmother was a bull in the china shop. She was an excellent nurse and retired a few years after my grandfather died. She held her achievements as a nurse close to her heart. One of her favorite possessions, which is now in my possession, was her years of service pins from the hospital. When the hospital started putting computers at the stations, she switched from nursing to serving as a Pink Lady and she was incredibly proud of her volunteer service and built her hours of service with pride.
My grandmother took my sister and I on our first plane ride when I was in the 4th grade and my sister in 1st grade to North Dakota to meet her extended family. When I was 13, she took us to Disneyland. And when we moved to Colorado she drove the 4 hours up and back on I-25 regularly to be there for every major event.
My grandmother was one of my biggest advocates. When I was a little girl I said that I wanted to be a nurse when I grew up, she replied, "no, you don't want to be a nurse, you will be a doctor". When I decided to go to grad school instead of medical school she was not happy with me.
She lived in her home (in one of the worst parts of Casper, which I should also blog about how they bought this home) until she was 85 years old. Two years ago we convinced her to go and live with David in Denver, he needed her as his health was declining. Everyone hoped it would be to their mutual benefit. As she lived there, David started realizing how poor off she really was. Her mental capacity was declining rapidly and as a consequence of this her finances needed serious interference.
Shortly thereafter she was diagnosed with mild Alzheimers about the same time my mother was diagnosed with liver cancer. This became a very difficult time for the both of them. My mom still harbored a lot of animosity that had never played out between she and my grandmother and tried to balance it with the fact that she was fighting for her life and still felt that she needed her mom to be there. My grandmother started having animosity because my mom wasn't there, she wasn't the one stepping up to help care for her and in her Alzheimers state, was not realizing that there were other things at play here. A liftime of difficult communication was coming to head.
My grandmother was eventually moved from my uncles house when he finally admitted he could not care for her, into an assisted living home where she had her own apartment. This was short lived when it was realized by the assisted living personnel that she needed substantially more than they could offer her, particularly after she broke her leg. She was moved into nursing home and quickly forgot about thoughts of going home.
We all went up to Casper and cleaned out her house - ok, some more than others cleaned - I went up and went through items taking a few boxfuls of things. The house sold a few months later.
Her health started rapidly declining, but she spoke regularly about how she loved the home, how good to her the staff was, and such. This was amazing to me, I never thought she would be happy with such a living situation. What angels.
Last week I received an e-mail from my uncle indicating that once again she was in the hospital and had undergone emergency surgery to remove a portion of her colon that had died. I spoke to her on the phone and it was so difficult to understand her, but her regular humor was still there.
I decided to make plans to go see her in the next 6-8 weeks, once she got out of the hospital. Unfortunately that wasn't to be. The last time I saw her was the day the kids, AB and I went to see her before celebrating my mom's life. We explained the situation that she had passed away and I held her tiny bony frame as she sobbed that it should have been her. Then as typical with Alzheimers patients, the minute lunch was mentioned she was off on a new topic and quickly forgot. Then during lunch she asked, "so how is your mother doing?"
I have many many funny and happy stories of my grandmother. She was one of my biggest fans and me one of hers. While I am sad that she has departed, I am happy that it was quiet, in her sleep, that she was lucky enough to have 87 years under her belt, had lived through so many fantastic times and accomplished so much for a woman in her lifetime (attaining her bachelor's degree in science). Living without memories is no way to live. She is truly in a better place now.
Showing posts with label Grandma. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Grandma. Show all posts
Sunday, July 24, 2011
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Stuff that lasts a lifetime? Or a lifetime of stuff?
The other day while skiing with AB, we were sitting on the ski lift (because our children were in ski school – yay ski school!) and he commented that all his ski gear was getting old. We had purchased nearly it all in Reno, which was 9 years ago. I looked at my stuff and felt a fondness.
There have been lots of articles out there lately about how purchases are not satisfying, they don’t fill ones soul, basically. I think in the down economy it is an attempt to make people feel better about not having the cash-oh-la to go out and buy buy buy. There is a lot of talk out there about reusing and what a wasteful society we have become. Disposable is bad.
I like shopping. I like stuff. I admit it.
My family likes stuff. My grandmother REALLY liked stuff. This last summer we cleaned (I use the term “we” loosely here) out her house as she went into an Alzheimer’s care facility. As a kid I thought she had loads of treasures. Turns out? She bought the cheapest stuff she could find. I found a little crystal tea service set that I loved – I don’t remember seeing it as a kid – it was stashed away in a secret spot. Very retro and fun looking, but missing a cup. I went to replacements.com and was a bit disappointed to find out I could only order the entire set, not just the missing cup. But then again, the entire set was $14. (And yes, I do still love it.)
This is the type of stuff my grandmother had. Depression era mindset, never spend money on luxuries for yourself, save everything. My mom, a few years ago, went to my grandmother’s house to help her clean stuff out and found an entire cabinet full of all the lotions and soaps she had ever given her for Mother’s Days, Christmas, her birthday.
“Why haven’t you used these?” my mom asked picking up the dusty, cruddy old bottles.
“I am saving them,” was her reply.
“For what?” my mom asked.
“To use,” she replied.
And I expect my mom rolled her eyes and left the conversation there. No one ever won arguments with my grandmother.
Lately I have been looking through my stuff with a bit of a critical eye given the articles and general opinion out there about buying new stuff, as well as combined with my recent experiences “helping” clean out my grandmother’s and my mom’s belongings.
My purchasing habits have changed over the last few years. I do still find joy in my older purchases though – the common consensus out there that purchases won’t fill your soul is a bit flawed I think.
My ski bibs and my ski gloves are two of these things. I truly believe that these two items will last my lifetime. High quality, good fitting and timeless items. Clarification, they will last my lifetime at my current level of commitment to skiing and cold weather activities, which is that I am a fair weather skier living in a warm-ish climate that is 2 hours 45 minutes drive to ski.
I bought my grandmother a good set of stacking stainless steel mixing bowls just like mine after she visited my house and commented a few times, “I wish I had a good set of bowls”. I love my stainless steel nesting bowls. They will be with me for life.
My kitchen items – I have a ton of kitchen stuff. But instead of replacing my $4.99 Woolworth special hand mixer that my grandmother bought for me with another of its type, I plan to get a Kitchen Aid hand mixer (in cocoa silver, in case you were wondering) and never ever have to replace it again.
This blog topic has been floating around in my head for a few weeks. And as I have walked around my house I have made mental note of the things I have purchased that will last a lifetime. What do I believe I have bought or been given that I will never have to replace?
And it isn’t always the most expensive things.
My ski bibs, for example. I think I bought them for $28 on clearance at Sierra Trading Post in Reno. But they ARE fabulous.
A few shirts/sweaters I have may go the distance. I have a few of those chunky wool sweaters that were so in style in Boulder in the 90’s. I love those still (shhh, don’t tell) and I expect they will go the distance if only because I don’t wear them currently – I would roast and well my colleagues might mistake me for a hippy. But a weekend in the mountains? Yes sir!
My hutch. Yes. My shelves that AB built me exactly 8 years ago. Yes. NOT the crappy dressers from Furniture Row. (I need to work on the furniture aspect of this mindset in my house.)
My All Clad griddle, my Le Creuset pieces (have I sung enough praises lately about my Dutch Oven and Skillet?), my Kitchen Aid Professional mixer has made it 10 years with no sign of decline.
My beautiful, lovely purse will last – especially if I continue to stop by the retailer I bought it from to swoon at other purses and random sales people continue to clean it and massage it with lotion for me.
Years ago as a shopper I sought quantity. I need to outfit a kitchen, what do I need? I want a new work wardrobe, what should I buy?
Now as a shopper, I seek quality. I don’t always want to pay the prices for quality, I am a danged good sale shopper. Retailmenot.com is my best friend in online shopping.
I wonder if it seems morbid to ponder if something will last my lifetime? But I plan on living a long, long time.
Age 108 here I come with my Le Creuset and Coach purse!
There have been lots of articles out there lately about how purchases are not satisfying, they don’t fill ones soul, basically. I think in the down economy it is an attempt to make people feel better about not having the cash-oh-la to go out and buy buy buy. There is a lot of talk out there about reusing and what a wasteful society we have become. Disposable is bad.
I like shopping. I like stuff. I admit it.
My family likes stuff. My grandmother REALLY liked stuff. This last summer we cleaned (I use the term “we” loosely here) out her house as she went into an Alzheimer’s care facility. As a kid I thought she had loads of treasures. Turns out? She bought the cheapest stuff she could find. I found a little crystal tea service set that I loved – I don’t remember seeing it as a kid – it was stashed away in a secret spot. Very retro and fun looking, but missing a cup. I went to replacements.com and was a bit disappointed to find out I could only order the entire set, not just the missing cup. But then again, the entire set was $14. (And yes, I do still love it.)
This is the type of stuff my grandmother had. Depression era mindset, never spend money on luxuries for yourself, save everything. My mom, a few years ago, went to my grandmother’s house to help her clean stuff out and found an entire cabinet full of all the lotions and soaps she had ever given her for Mother’s Days, Christmas, her birthday.
“Why haven’t you used these?” my mom asked picking up the dusty, cruddy old bottles.
“I am saving them,” was her reply.
“For what?” my mom asked.
“To use,” she replied.
And I expect my mom rolled her eyes and left the conversation there. No one ever won arguments with my grandmother.
Lately I have been looking through my stuff with a bit of a critical eye given the articles and general opinion out there about buying new stuff, as well as combined with my recent experiences “helping” clean out my grandmother’s and my mom’s belongings.
My purchasing habits have changed over the last few years. I do still find joy in my older purchases though – the common consensus out there that purchases won’t fill your soul is a bit flawed I think.
My ski bibs and my ski gloves are two of these things. I truly believe that these two items will last my lifetime. High quality, good fitting and timeless items. Clarification, they will last my lifetime at my current level of commitment to skiing and cold weather activities, which is that I am a fair weather skier living in a warm-ish climate that is 2 hours 45 minutes drive to ski.
I bought my grandmother a good set of stacking stainless steel mixing bowls just like mine after she visited my house and commented a few times, “I wish I had a good set of bowls”. I love my stainless steel nesting bowls. They will be with me for life.
My kitchen items – I have a ton of kitchen stuff. But instead of replacing my $4.99 Woolworth special hand mixer that my grandmother bought for me with another of its type, I plan to get a Kitchen Aid hand mixer (in cocoa silver, in case you were wondering) and never ever have to replace it again.
This blog topic has been floating around in my head for a few weeks. And as I have walked around my house I have made mental note of the things I have purchased that will last a lifetime. What do I believe I have bought or been given that I will never have to replace?
And it isn’t always the most expensive things.
My ski bibs, for example. I think I bought them for $28 on clearance at Sierra Trading Post in Reno. But they ARE fabulous.
A few shirts/sweaters I have may go the distance. I have a few of those chunky wool sweaters that were so in style in Boulder in the 90’s. I love those still (shhh, don’t tell) and I expect they will go the distance if only because I don’t wear them currently – I would roast and well my colleagues might mistake me for a hippy. But a weekend in the mountains? Yes sir!
My hutch. Yes. My shelves that AB built me exactly 8 years ago. Yes. NOT the crappy dressers from Furniture Row. (I need to work on the furniture aspect of this mindset in my house.)
My All Clad griddle, my Le Creuset pieces (have I sung enough praises lately about my Dutch Oven and Skillet?), my Kitchen Aid Professional mixer has made it 10 years with no sign of decline.
My beautiful, lovely purse will last – especially if I continue to stop by the retailer I bought it from to swoon at other purses and random sales people continue to clean it and massage it with lotion for me.
Years ago as a shopper I sought quantity. I need to outfit a kitchen, what do I need? I want a new work wardrobe, what should I buy?
Now as a shopper, I seek quality. I don’t always want to pay the prices for quality, I am a danged good sale shopper. Retailmenot.com is my best friend in online shopping.
I wonder if it seems morbid to ponder if something will last my lifetime? But I plan on living a long, long time.
Age 108 here I come with my Le Creuset and Coach purse!
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Two lifetimes of stuff
Part of our trip to Colorado has included plans to clean out / organize / distribute the stuff that accumulates after a lifetime. My grandmother has gone into an assisted living facility in Denver, which means that her home in Casper needs to be cleaned out and sold. My mom passed away just over two months ago and her stuff needs to be sorted through as well.
The very obvious aspect of this to the family involved is that these are two different worlds. If you have ever been in my grandmother's house, you would never forget it. My grandmother is from the Depression era. This means that she does not easily get rid of anything, ever. Her house is stacked deep. My grandmother doesn't really clean, so the house is grimy as well.
As a child I spent many years at my grandmother's house. We used to explore her basement and find all sorts of treasures. We would play hide and seek, we would draw on the little chalkboard, we would play dress up in the stacks of clothes. We would play on the ancient electric piano and we would stay away from the very scary dolls in the corner. I looked at the basement this time around happy that my children weren't with me. Danger was everywhere!
My mother was the opposite of my grandmother and she always claimed this was my grandmother's fault and I believe her. She didn't save things. My mom is a clean freak who spent every Saturday morning cleaning the house from top to bottom regardless of whether it needed it or not. My mom's house is cleaner than I can ever hope that my house would be... and I pay for a weekly housecleaner.
When you walk through my mom's basement storage there are no sheets hanging from the ceiling to create rooms, instead, they have clear plastic bins with neatly typed labels describing the contents. As a kid I was often irritated with my mom for getting rid of things. Yes, I admit it, I have packrat tendencies. As an adult - and especially after going through my grandmother's belongings - I can appreciate more my mom's tendency to rid her home of clutter.
During our days of cleaning out the houses of mother and daughter we have discovered a few more similarities than we ever anticipated. Both my mom and grandmother have an affinity for beauty products, lots of different beauty products. In my grandmother's case it is beauty products from the last 20 years that she has received as gifts and has all this time "saved for a special occasion" - eventually never to be used. My mom bought really great stuff and wonderful smelling soaps.
My mom, like me, couldn't ever get rid of a book. I inherited my love for books from her. A love for a fresh, brand new, clean, creaseless book. And despite reading it and maybe not even liking it? Getting rid of a book is just not something either of us does with ease.
All of us? Huge fans of photos. None of us have ever thrown away a photo, no matter how out of focus.
We have all moved away from Casper, Wyoming. So cleaning out my grandmother's house had to be a quick activity. We squished it in to a few days where the three remaining brothers and myself and my cousin went up and grabbed items we "needed". By the time I got there, many of the items were gone. But I spent a few hours picking through items. I got the crystal bowl that I admired as a child and that I was told I would someday get. My cousin took the matching cake pedestal. My grandmother had set aside a number of things with our names on them, she labeled special things as to who they had belonged to or which family member had made what. She put non-sticky paper tags in photo covers that said who each person in the picture was. For as grimy and stuffed to the gills her house was, things were actually a bit organized. I will never forget the box I pulled out that was labeled, "Travel memories, throw away when I am gone".
It was sad to see the boxes and boxes of every single school paper that my mom and her brothers had ever completed going into the dumpster. We all worried about how much money was thrown away... my grandmother was notorious for hiding money. And we all wondered if we weren't throwing away old pieces of art that were just maybe a missing Rembrandt. But time... none of us had it to put towards picking through things paper by paper.
I drove off with my mom's wedding dress, some questionable valuables, a Little Black Sambo book, an original copy of Old Yeller, a blanket and pillow that my great grandmother made, the crystal bowl I wanted, a set of Depression glass with a very funky and fun pattern, photos, my grandmother's nursing service pins, and many coins of questionable worth. I packed up a stack of my mom's and my grandmother's school papers. (Me = packrat) I also grabbed my great uncle's purple heart and am hoping I can get his address and send it to him someday. I am sure he doesn't remember that my grandmother was holding it for him for some reason.
I helped my stepdad in clearing through some of my mom's stuff. I took a few of her cookbooks that I remember as a child and that held a few of my drawings as well as some of her newer cookbooks. I took her rolling pins and her good pie pans, her sweater from Ireland, some nice outdoor wear, loads of fancy soaps, lots of Aveda products (we both have a weak spot for anything labeled Aveda) and some jewelry.
Clearing out both houses provided very different experiences. Clearing my grandmother's house was enjoyable, an adventure coupled with a little fear of reaching my hand into each box. She has had a long and good, active life with a lot of accomplishments. Helping her on to that last stage in life.
Clearing my mother's house is bittersweet as I held items in my hands that I knew my mother still had dreams of using. Things that she should still be using. Helping my stepdad move onto the next phase of his life.
The very obvious aspect of this to the family involved is that these are two different worlds. If you have ever been in my grandmother's house, you would never forget it. My grandmother is from the Depression era. This means that she does not easily get rid of anything, ever. Her house is stacked deep. My grandmother doesn't really clean, so the house is grimy as well.
As a child I spent many years at my grandmother's house. We used to explore her basement and find all sorts of treasures. We would play hide and seek, we would draw on the little chalkboard, we would play dress up in the stacks of clothes. We would play on the ancient electric piano and we would stay away from the very scary dolls in the corner. I looked at the basement this time around happy that my children weren't with me. Danger was everywhere!
My mother was the opposite of my grandmother and she always claimed this was my grandmother's fault and I believe her. She didn't save things. My mom is a clean freak who spent every Saturday morning cleaning the house from top to bottom regardless of whether it needed it or not. My mom's house is cleaner than I can ever hope that my house would be... and I pay for a weekly housecleaner.
When you walk through my mom's basement storage there are no sheets hanging from the ceiling to create rooms, instead, they have clear plastic bins with neatly typed labels describing the contents. As a kid I was often irritated with my mom for getting rid of things. Yes, I admit it, I have packrat tendencies. As an adult - and especially after going through my grandmother's belongings - I can appreciate more my mom's tendency to rid her home of clutter.
During our days of cleaning out the houses of mother and daughter we have discovered a few more similarities than we ever anticipated. Both my mom and grandmother have an affinity for beauty products, lots of different beauty products. In my grandmother's case it is beauty products from the last 20 years that she has received as gifts and has all this time "saved for a special occasion" - eventually never to be used. My mom bought really great stuff and wonderful smelling soaps.
My mom, like me, couldn't ever get rid of a book. I inherited my love for books from her. A love for a fresh, brand new, clean, creaseless book. And despite reading it and maybe not even liking it? Getting rid of a book is just not something either of us does with ease.
All of us? Huge fans of photos. None of us have ever thrown away a photo, no matter how out of focus.
We have all moved away from Casper, Wyoming. So cleaning out my grandmother's house had to be a quick activity. We squished it in to a few days where the three remaining brothers and myself and my cousin went up and grabbed items we "needed". By the time I got there, many of the items were gone. But I spent a few hours picking through items. I got the crystal bowl that I admired as a child and that I was told I would someday get. My cousin took the matching cake pedestal. My grandmother had set aside a number of things with our names on them, she labeled special things as to who they had belonged to or which family member had made what. She put non-sticky paper tags in photo covers that said who each person in the picture was. For as grimy and stuffed to the gills her house was, things were actually a bit organized. I will never forget the box I pulled out that was labeled, "Travel memories, throw away when I am gone".
It was sad to see the boxes and boxes of every single school paper that my mom and her brothers had ever completed going into the dumpster. We all worried about how much money was thrown away... my grandmother was notorious for hiding money. And we all wondered if we weren't throwing away old pieces of art that were just maybe a missing Rembrandt. But time... none of us had it to put towards picking through things paper by paper.
I drove off with my mom's wedding dress, some questionable valuables, a Little Black Sambo book, an original copy of Old Yeller, a blanket and pillow that my great grandmother made, the crystal bowl I wanted, a set of Depression glass with a very funky and fun pattern, photos, my grandmother's nursing service pins, and many coins of questionable worth. I packed up a stack of my mom's and my grandmother's school papers. (Me = packrat) I also grabbed my great uncle's purple heart and am hoping I can get his address and send it to him someday. I am sure he doesn't remember that my grandmother was holding it for him for some reason.
I helped my stepdad in clearing through some of my mom's stuff. I took a few of her cookbooks that I remember as a child and that held a few of my drawings as well as some of her newer cookbooks. I took her rolling pins and her good pie pans, her sweater from Ireland, some nice outdoor wear, loads of fancy soaps, lots of Aveda products (we both have a weak spot for anything labeled Aveda) and some jewelry.
Clearing out both houses provided very different experiences. Clearing my grandmother's house was enjoyable, an adventure coupled with a little fear of reaching my hand into each box. She has had a long and good, active life with a lot of accomplishments. Helping her on to that last stage in life.
Clearing my mother's house is bittersweet as I held items in my hands that I knew my mother still had dreams of using. Things that she should still be using. Helping my stepdad move onto the next phase of his life.
Wednesday, June 09, 2010
A most difficult topic
One of the single hardest things in dealing with my mom's death has been in regards to my kids. Death is just not an easy subject to get, like at all, for the younger set.
When AB and I told Skadi that grandma died, she looked at us and said she wanted to go play with her dollhouse. We didn't expect much more, but still felt the need to say it to her.
Leif was a different story. He knew for months that something was up. We said daily prayers for grandma, we talked about her being sick and late in the process we admitted that grandma probably was not going to get better and was probably going to die. He sobbed and sobbed one evening that he didn't want grandma to die.
Neither did I, sweet boy.
When I had kids I never gave it a thought that my mom would not be here to share them with me. We live far away from family, but somehow my mom always made it closer between webcam sessions, visits and little packages that would arrive for every holiday and some non-holidays as well.
I lost my grandfather when I was 13 years old. At that age I well understood the concept of death and that my grandfather had been sick for a decade with congestive heart failure and diabetes. No one was terribly surprised when he passed away at 72.
Surprisingly it has been Skadi who has been stuck on the topic of grandma passing away the last week. Nearly every time we have been in the car she immediately starts asking questions.
And not all of them are easy to answer.
"Where did grandma die?" (This one is easy, she died in Colorado at the hospital.)
"Where is grandma now?" (She is in heaven with God.)
"Like Jesus?" (Yes, I guess like Jesus. Though Leif reminded us that grandma did not die on the cross like Jesus did.)
"Where is heaven?" (Umm, way way high up in the sky, where she, God and Jesus can watch over you.)
"Is she on top of the clouds?" (I believe she is on top of the clouds.)
"Can we visit her on the airplane?" (No.)
"When is she coming home?" (She isn't coming home.)
"When will she come see us?" (She isn't going to come see us anymore.)
"Why not?" (Because she died, like how flowers die and turn brown, or like if you step on an ant and it is dead. Realizing of course that now she is going to think that grandma was stepped on...)
"Did grandma die?" (Yes honey, grandma died. Here we go again.)
My stepdad picked up some materials from Hospice to help with explaining death to kids this age. I get the whole keep it simple thing. But I suck at that. I tend to take things to a complicated level - more complicated than it needs be level - very quickly.
I ordered about four books today from the extensive list that Hospice provided after studying the Amazon ratings trying to find books that jive with our beliefs. Customer ratings can be a wonderful thing... or they can really suck up your time and make you a neurotic consumer.
This evening I asked Leif to say prayers. For the second night in a row he declined. "I don't have any prayers tonight," he told me.
"Sure you do," I said. "Think about prayers about keeping everyone healthy, or helping us all be happy, or being with grandma in heaven." I listed the options off.
"I am tired of sad prayers mommy," he mumbled to me half asleep.
"Then how about a happy prayer," I said and quickly tried to come up with a happy prayer. What exactly is a happy prayer? I have my own belief on the things that we should and should not pray for. And I am not sure what it stems out of. But in the moment I could only think of one thing that so violated my thought of what prayers should be about.
"Pray to God that you get some nice things for your birthday," I said to him.
And he did.
When AB and I told Skadi that grandma died, she looked at us and said she wanted to go play with her dollhouse. We didn't expect much more, but still felt the need to say it to her.
Leif was a different story. He knew for months that something was up. We said daily prayers for grandma, we talked about her being sick and late in the process we admitted that grandma probably was not going to get better and was probably going to die. He sobbed and sobbed one evening that he didn't want grandma to die.
Neither did I, sweet boy.
When my mom died we sat Leif down and told him. His first response was an angered, "I wish she would have washed her hands." Because no matter how many times I have tried to explain the difference between a communicable disease and non-communicable disease, he just hasn't gotten it. "But my teacher said that handwashing prevents diseases!" He tells me. I can't caveat it because that isn't what his teacher says.
And I am resisting the urge to talk to the teachers about specifying the difference between diseases we catch through germs and those that arise from different sources. Because I see how this can quickly become complicated to 3-6 year olds.
Leif has handled it quite well to this point and tends to tell us that "but it is okay, because she is with God and she isn't in pain." And at Sunday school the other day when Skadi started talking about grandma dying, he was quick to explain "well she had this disease".
When I had kids I never gave it a thought that my mom would not be here to share them with me. We live far away from family, but somehow my mom always made it closer between webcam sessions, visits and little packages that would arrive for every holiday and some non-holidays as well.
I lost my grandfather when I was 13 years old. At that age I well understood the concept of death and that my grandfather had been sick for a decade with congestive heart failure and diabetes. No one was terribly surprised when he passed away at 72.
Surprisingly it has been Skadi who has been stuck on the topic of grandma passing away the last week. Nearly every time we have been in the car she immediately starts asking questions.
And not all of them are easy to answer.
"Where did grandma die?" (This one is easy, she died in Colorado at the hospital.)
"Where is grandma now?" (She is in heaven with God.)
"Like Jesus?" (Yes, I guess like Jesus. Though Leif reminded us that grandma did not die on the cross like Jesus did.)
"Where is heaven?" (Umm, way way high up in the sky, where she, God and Jesus can watch over you.)
"Is she on top of the clouds?" (I believe she is on top of the clouds.)
"Can we visit her on the airplane?" (No.)
"When is she coming home?" (She isn't coming home.)
"When will she come see us?" (She isn't going to come see us anymore.)
"Why not?" (Because she died, like how flowers die and turn brown, or like if you step on an ant and it is dead. Realizing of course that now she is going to think that grandma was stepped on...)
"Did grandma die?" (Yes honey, grandma died. Here we go again.)
My stepdad picked up some materials from Hospice to help with explaining death to kids this age. I get the whole keep it simple thing. But I suck at that. I tend to take things to a complicated level - more complicated than it needs be level - very quickly.
I ordered about four books today from the extensive list that Hospice provided after studying the Amazon ratings trying to find books that jive with our beliefs. Customer ratings can be a wonderful thing... or they can really suck up your time and make you a neurotic consumer.
This evening I asked Leif to say prayers. For the second night in a row he declined. "I don't have any prayers tonight," he told me.
"Sure you do," I said. "Think about prayers about keeping everyone healthy, or helping us all be happy, or being with grandma in heaven." I listed the options off.
"I am tired of sad prayers mommy," he mumbled to me half asleep.
"Then how about a happy prayer," I said and quickly tried to come up with a happy prayer. What exactly is a happy prayer? I have my own belief on the things that we should and should not pray for. And I am not sure what it stems out of. But in the moment I could only think of one thing that so violated my thought of what prayers should be about.
"Pray to God that you get some nice things for your birthday," I said to him.
And he did.
Sunday, May 24, 2009
A Belated Mother's Day
Leif was somewhere doing all this... soccer, stomp rockets, squirt guns... any of the above. My mom made the dress for Skadi last year and it fits this year! Last year the hem was about to the ground, this year it is perfect. This year's dress is "little girl yellow dress" as Skadi calls it. Or according to daycare it is "Me Skadi dress" since it has a little red haired girl with pigtails on it. Pictures of that will come later. (Once I get it hemmed... not that that has prevented her from wearing it a few times already.)
Monday, May 12, 2008
My new favorite...
cookbook.
When I graduated with my Ph.D., I got a few gifts. Not many. It isn't like when you graduate from high school or college and are lavished with gifts. With grad school it is more like people figure you are going to go out and make lots of money and work a great job and you are an adult... what do you need with "Oh the Places You Will Go"? (And you probably have four copies at least anyways.)
I received a few gifts though, despite the fact that I didn't send out announcements, nor did I march. Which according to my grandmother means I never graduated. (The whole defending your dissertation thing apparently didn't count.)
Ok, so on my list of regrets I will add that I never marched in my graduation ceremony for grad school. I was too excited to get up here and start my ultraimportant job and they "needed" me.
(Had I known how much they "needed" me, I would have stayed put and marched... Hindsite.)
One of my mom's good friends bought me the CIA's Textbook, The Professional Chef. CIA being the Culinary Institute of America, not the Central Intelligence Agency.
I knew it was a fantastic and unique gift when I received it, but it sat on my bookshelf relatively unused. Ok, I admit it, everything being measured in lbs and ounces put me off. Yes, I am a scientist, I can convert. But who wants to analyze a recipe at that level of detail before cooking?
Plus back then? I was way into The French Laundry's cookbook and mastering what I could in there. Thomas Keller was my hero.
My CIA textbook though has gotten more use in the last few days then it has in the previous 6 years. And I am leaving it out on my counter so I can do more with it. I am loving really learning the basics, the science and art of food at a much higher leven than I ever really intended in so far just three recipes.
The cookbook is NOT for everyone. Like I said the whole "1 lb of sugar" thing is just weird. But in addition to that, the recipes assume a lot. Like that you will know what the right amount of butter is - many recipes say "butter as needed" - many things are not measured. Times for cooking are not exact. Don't know what tomato concasse is before you start? Better find out! (Fancy name for peeled and seeded and diced tomatoes... of course...)
Sunday I made one of the quiche recipes. Fantastic. (And I will get the recipe out to those who asked for it.) Tonight I did pears poached in port. The recipe suggested serving them with caramel. Of course that would be a homemade caramel... but I do reside in the reality suberb of working mom-ville - thank you Hershey's jar of caramel sauce. It actually sounded somewhat nasty to me - caramel and port? Chocolate and port maybe. Caramel?
No joke. Yum.
Top Chef here I come!
When I graduated with my Ph.D., I got a few gifts. Not many. It isn't like when you graduate from high school or college and are lavished with gifts. With grad school it is more like people figure you are going to go out and make lots of money and work a great job and you are an adult... what do you need with "Oh the Places You Will Go"? (And you probably have four copies at least anyways.)
I received a few gifts though, despite the fact that I didn't send out announcements, nor did I march. Which according to my grandmother means I never graduated. (The whole defending your dissertation thing apparently didn't count.)
Ok, so on my list of regrets I will add that I never marched in my graduation ceremony for grad school. I was too excited to get up here and start my ultraimportant job and they "needed" me.
(Had I known how much they "needed" me, I would have stayed put and marched... Hindsite.)
One of my mom's good friends bought me the CIA's Textbook, The Professional Chef. CIA being the Culinary Institute of America, not the Central Intelligence Agency.
I knew it was a fantastic and unique gift when I received it, but it sat on my bookshelf relatively unused. Ok, I admit it, everything being measured in lbs and ounces put me off. Yes, I am a scientist, I can convert. But who wants to analyze a recipe at that level of detail before cooking?
Plus back then? I was way into The French Laundry's cookbook and mastering what I could in there. Thomas Keller was my hero.
My CIA textbook though has gotten more use in the last few days then it has in the previous 6 years. And I am leaving it out on my counter so I can do more with it. I am loving really learning the basics, the science and art of food at a much higher leven than I ever really intended in so far just three recipes.
The cookbook is NOT for everyone. Like I said the whole "1 lb of sugar" thing is just weird. But in addition to that, the recipes assume a lot. Like that you will know what the right amount of butter is - many recipes say "butter as needed" - many things are not measured. Times for cooking are not exact. Don't know what tomato concasse is before you start? Better find out! (Fancy name for peeled and seeded and diced tomatoes... of course...)
Sunday I made one of the quiche recipes. Fantastic. (And I will get the recipe out to those who asked for it.) Tonight I did pears poached in port. The recipe suggested serving them with caramel. Of course that would be a homemade caramel... but I do reside in the reality suberb of working mom-ville - thank you Hershey's jar of caramel sauce. It actually sounded somewhat nasty to me - caramel and port? Chocolate and port maybe. Caramel?
No joke. Yum.
Top Chef here I come!
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
A hodge podge post
This past weekend was a real hodge podge of activity. I had a list of things to blog about and I think it best to just create one gigantic blog entry with a number of sub-topics as I try to wrap my head around both last week and the coming week.
Leif
Leif has had a manic type week. One minute he behaves like the spawn of something fierce… like last night when he sat on my lap in his bedroom and screamed at the top of his lungs for no less then 30 minutes, seriously. Finally AB took over and bribed him with chocolate milk. Five minutes later you would have had no idea he hadn’t gotten his way previously and the world was coming to a screeching halt because of it. Chocolate milk is an amazing elixir.
Then there are just those perfect days, where you want to bottle them up and savor for the next few years. Sunday was one of those. We got up and ran errands, PetSmart where Leif admired the guinea pigs (not quite what he was expecting I think when I said “look a guinea pig”) and lizards and turtles. All attention was then diverted by cats from the shelter arriving. I want a cat. I really, really do. I have finally gotten over the passing of my 21 year old cat, three years ago nearly to the day. I am ready to open my heart to another cat. Leif is too. AB… not so much. The cat will be put on hold for awhile, not just because AB balks, but because I fear my daughter’s stuffy nose is allergies that she inherited from either or both sides of the family. I can’t bring an animal into the house without a better understanding of her sinuses.
We headed to Michaels where Leif wanted to ride IN the basket. Shocker. He hasn’t ridden IN a basket seat since he was tiny. Instead he either stays home or runs mad through the store with either AB or I chasing him. We came across some wooden models and he squealed about the airplane. Being that they were $1, I grabbed one for him. That afternoon Leif sat down at the table with AB and very patiently helped put the model together. I was so amazed that he sat there that entire time. He was quite upset when we put the plane up to dry, but since it has been dry it has taken an honored position next to his side nearly every minute of the day. On my list of things to do this week is get back to Michaels to pick up the helicopter, sailboat and car models as well. And maybe another plane. $1 wooden toys rock.
We got home from errands that day and Leif was starting to get fussy. He told me he didn’t want lunch and wanted to go sit on his bed. We went in to check on him 15 minutes later and he was out. Naps are a real hit or miss with him right now, he has even stopped napping at daycare about 50% of the time we are told.
That night I was putting him to bed. He was sitting on my lap as we were getting ready to read Sam I am, I am (aka Green Eggs and Ham). He looked up at me, completely unprovoked and said, “I love my Skadi”. I told him that was so special and how much it meant to me to hear him say that! He replies, “I really love Skadi”. Awww. Melt my heart!
Oh and the best thing about using baby monitors? Sitting in your bed at 10pm and hearing him talk in his sleep. Too funny! And also reminds me why the baby monitor will remain in his room until he graduates and leaves my house. ;-)
Skadi Bean
The things we do for our kids. I love dairy. I really, really do. I drink milk (which is funny since I refused to as a child), I love cheese. Everything I like to eat has dairy in it. Or so I discovered in making an attempt a few weeks ago to pull dairy out of my diet.
When Leif was about Skadi’s age he struggled with his tummy also. I cut out dairy, it resolved, and I slowly reintroduced it and all was well. Apparently Skadi is just a little more sensitive. Everything was better until I had my little wine and cheese snack on the back patio under my wonderful pergola Saturday evening.
We paid on Sunday when she would.not.calm.down. Ok, then *I* paid on Monday when she had the explosives at one of the high ups house. Her cute outfit lasted 10 minutes tops and I am telling myself that spot on my leg was mustard…
Skadi is great though. She is very wide-eyed. And oh my goodness, the child sleeps! She went to sleep last night about 9pm, woke up at 4:10am to eat and was out again until 7:30am. (Leif otoh, was up three times.)
Upcoming
Airplanes and more airplanes. That is going to be our life for the next two weeks it appears.
My 84 year old grandmother arrives on Thursday. She already has her suitcase packed and sitting by the door! (Apparently this was completed last week.) She is coming up to visit and to attend her 60th reunion of cadet nurses training. It will be a good, but trying week that I am preparing myself for in advance. It is hard seeing her age. It is hard seeing her shrink, and knowing she just thinks of herself as “little” and doesn’t see the hump on her back. And sometimes… ok, much of the time… she is just hard mentally. It is all those senior antics… like leaving a restaurant devoid of sugar packets. (She really CAN afford a bag of sugar.) Or leaving a friend’s house with desserts wrapped in napkins in her purse. (Apologizing in advance for book club night V!) The all too common senior moment of ignoring ones personal hygiene… or forgetting to put her teeth in. (Reminding myself to insert “do you have your teeth?” into my vocabulary between the 14 times I ask Leif if he has his shoes when we leave the house.)
But what do I get in exchange? Time that my grandmother will value forever. Those long talks where I pick up tidbits about our family. A fierce dominoes competitor (is it luck or sheer genius? We will never know). Time that I may never have again with her. Or not… we all wonder if she won’t outlive us all. I will be singing “the patience song” a lot in the next week. But it will be worth it.
Friday I am taking her to get her hair done (see personal hygiene note above). Then she and I and Skadi Bean are driving to Spokane. I am dropping her off at her friend’s house who will ferry her around and is hosting three other women from nurses training at her house. A place I will be happy to not be on Saturday morning when they are all getting ready for their free lunch. I am secretly coveting the trip to Cost Plus World Market with Skadi after the dropoff Friday. Sunday we will all head back to Spokane to get her. My plan is that we leave early, grab her and head to the River Park for a few hours.
Then next Monday is the day my husband and son are packing up and heading to Alaska for five days. I have mixed feelings on this. It was a last minute decision made last night. AB needs to go up and help his mom with some stuff, but he didn’t dare do this and leave me with both kids and my grandmother. Fear of the raving lunatic he might return to prompted him to suggest he take Leif with. Surprisingly I think to him, I told him to go and have fun (secretly coveting the one on one time with Skadi).
This could be a good father/son experience. Or it could be a disaster of epic proportions. Leif is very mommy attached right now. The novelty of going on an airplane will entice him through the security gates at 8pm Monday night, but the fallout will hit Tuesday morning when he wakes up at Papa’s house.
AB will have a fabulous time no matter what and I AM glad that he is taking the time to do this now while he has the time off. (Selfish reason? Maybe some fresh salmon.)
It will be good for me to have a few days with my grandmother and Skadi. And good for a few days with just Skadi. Then I will be eager to welcome my boys home!
Leif
Leif has had a manic type week. One minute he behaves like the spawn of something fierce… like last night when he sat on my lap in his bedroom and screamed at the top of his lungs for no less then 30 minutes, seriously. Finally AB took over and bribed him with chocolate milk. Five minutes later you would have had no idea he hadn’t gotten his way previously and the world was coming to a screeching halt because of it. Chocolate milk is an amazing elixir.
Then there are just those perfect days, where you want to bottle them up and savor for the next few years. Sunday was one of those. We got up and ran errands, PetSmart where Leif admired the guinea pigs (not quite what he was expecting I think when I said “look a guinea pig”) and lizards and turtles. All attention was then diverted by cats from the shelter arriving. I want a cat. I really, really do. I have finally gotten over the passing of my 21 year old cat, three years ago nearly to the day. I am ready to open my heart to another cat. Leif is too. AB… not so much. The cat will be put on hold for awhile, not just because AB balks, but because I fear my daughter’s stuffy nose is allergies that she inherited from either or both sides of the family. I can’t bring an animal into the house without a better understanding of her sinuses.
We headed to Michaels where Leif wanted to ride IN the basket. Shocker. He hasn’t ridden IN a basket seat since he was tiny. Instead he either stays home or runs mad through the store with either AB or I chasing him. We came across some wooden models and he squealed about the airplane. Being that they were $1, I grabbed one for him. That afternoon Leif sat down at the table with AB and very patiently helped put the model together. I was so amazed that he sat there that entire time. He was quite upset when we put the plane up to dry, but since it has been dry it has taken an honored position next to his side nearly every minute of the day. On my list of things to do this week is get back to Michaels to pick up the helicopter, sailboat and car models as well. And maybe another plane. $1 wooden toys rock.
We got home from errands that day and Leif was starting to get fussy. He told me he didn’t want lunch and wanted to go sit on his bed. We went in to check on him 15 minutes later and he was out. Naps are a real hit or miss with him right now, he has even stopped napping at daycare about 50% of the time we are told.
That night I was putting him to bed. He was sitting on my lap as we were getting ready to read Sam I am, I am (aka Green Eggs and Ham). He looked up at me, completely unprovoked and said, “I love my Skadi”. I told him that was so special and how much it meant to me to hear him say that! He replies, “I really love Skadi”. Awww. Melt my heart!
Oh and the best thing about using baby monitors? Sitting in your bed at 10pm and hearing him talk in his sleep. Too funny! And also reminds me why the baby monitor will remain in his room until he graduates and leaves my house. ;-)
Skadi Bean
The things we do for our kids. I love dairy. I really, really do. I drink milk (which is funny since I refused to as a child), I love cheese. Everything I like to eat has dairy in it. Or so I discovered in making an attempt a few weeks ago to pull dairy out of my diet.
When Leif was about Skadi’s age he struggled with his tummy also. I cut out dairy, it resolved, and I slowly reintroduced it and all was well. Apparently Skadi is just a little more sensitive. Everything was better until I had my little wine and cheese snack on the back patio under my wonderful pergola Saturday evening.
We paid on Sunday when she would.not.calm.down. Ok, then *I* paid on Monday when she had the explosives at one of the high ups house. Her cute outfit lasted 10 minutes tops and I am telling myself that spot on my leg was mustard…
Skadi is great though. She is very wide-eyed. And oh my goodness, the child sleeps! She went to sleep last night about 9pm, woke up at 4:10am to eat and was out again until 7:30am. (Leif otoh, was up three times.)
Upcoming
Airplanes and more airplanes. That is going to be our life for the next two weeks it appears.
My 84 year old grandmother arrives on Thursday. She already has her suitcase packed and sitting by the door! (Apparently this was completed last week.) She is coming up to visit and to attend her 60th reunion of cadet nurses training. It will be a good, but trying week that I am preparing myself for in advance. It is hard seeing her age. It is hard seeing her shrink, and knowing she just thinks of herself as “little” and doesn’t see the hump on her back. And sometimes… ok, much of the time… she is just hard mentally. It is all those senior antics… like leaving a restaurant devoid of sugar packets. (She really CAN afford a bag of sugar.) Or leaving a friend’s house with desserts wrapped in napkins in her purse. (Apologizing in advance for book club night V!) The all too common senior moment of ignoring ones personal hygiene… or forgetting to put her teeth in. (Reminding myself to insert “do you have your teeth?” into my vocabulary between the 14 times I ask Leif if he has his shoes when we leave the house.)
But what do I get in exchange? Time that my grandmother will value forever. Those long talks where I pick up tidbits about our family. A fierce dominoes competitor (is it luck or sheer genius? We will never know). Time that I may never have again with her. Or not… we all wonder if she won’t outlive us all. I will be singing “the patience song” a lot in the next week. But it will be worth it.
Friday I am taking her to get her hair done (see personal hygiene note above). Then she and I and Skadi Bean are driving to Spokane. I am dropping her off at her friend’s house who will ferry her around and is hosting three other women from nurses training at her house. A place I will be happy to not be on Saturday morning when they are all getting ready for their free lunch. I am secretly coveting the trip to Cost Plus World Market with Skadi after the dropoff Friday. Sunday we will all head back to Spokane to get her. My plan is that we leave early, grab her and head to the River Park for a few hours.
Then next Monday is the day my husband and son are packing up and heading to Alaska for five days. I have mixed feelings on this. It was a last minute decision made last night. AB needs to go up and help his mom with some stuff, but he didn’t dare do this and leave me with both kids and my grandmother. Fear of the raving lunatic he might return to prompted him to suggest he take Leif with. Surprisingly I think to him, I told him to go and have fun (secretly coveting the one on one time with Skadi).
This could be a good father/son experience. Or it could be a disaster of epic proportions. Leif is very mommy attached right now. The novelty of going on an airplane will entice him through the security gates at 8pm Monday night, but the fallout will hit Tuesday morning when he wakes up at Papa’s house.
AB will have a fabulous time no matter what and I AM glad that he is taking the time to do this now while he has the time off. (Selfish reason? Maybe some fresh salmon.)
It will be good for me to have a few days with my grandmother and Skadi. And good for a few days with just Skadi. Then I will be eager to welcome my boys home!
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