Fall into Spring

We did not have much of a winter this year.  I’m quite grateful, actually.  At least for now. 

It was good to take the bus in nice weather and not have to trudge through the snow during the time when we’re walking.

We had 5 – 8 hours of snow on the 3^rd – though I suppose those who live closer to the mountains or even in the mountains may have experienced more.

The snow fell hard and didn’t let up until after five feet or so, and then it let up.  Meanwhile I lost my bus pass.  I figured whoever picked it up needed it more than I did.

I chose not to purchase another pass.  Though I had only gotten three fares out of the first – I figured we could save thirty dollars if I just paid the fare each day.  Still expensive.  But as of Monday I’ll have a car again.  Still not comfortable with driving – but the sun is starting to warm and I don’t wish to wait in the blazing sun after school. It will be nice to wait at the school in a car with the windows rolled down.  And not to have to cross the street anymore.

I will miss the train at times.  Perhaps I lost my pass so that I may look forward to driving?  Perhaps I’ll never know.  It’s been a good experience.  It has also gotten tiring.  I’ll still be limited with my driving.  But that’s okay.

Most of the trees are naked now.  Some are starting to dress in their blossoms.  Still have noticed one tree hanging onto autumn. I took this picture while I was waiting for the train:

Any Day Now - a review

I remember hearing a story about a child visiting grandparents – noticing that “grandma” is much taller than “grandpa”.  One day the child asks why grandma had married when there was such an obvious height difference.  The grandma responds with, “Your grandpa and I fell in love sitting down, and by the time we stood up, it was too late.”

Often there are people look for a partner in which to share a life.  Sometimes they base their interests on appearance or personality.  And then there are others who develop a love without even trying.  And sometimes the situation may seem challenging if acted upon – some may accept the challenges while others choose not to go there due to an orthodox view of race or religion.  Others may accept the challenges that they face and try to make a go at it.  Sometimes the constant battles will make a couple stronger.  Sometimes it ends up tearing them apart.

Recently I watched a movie called “Any Day Now” starring Alan Cumming as Rudy Donatello.  The movie is based upon a real situation that took place in the 70’s between a gay couple trying to win permanent custody of a teenager with down syndrome and a judicial system who seemed to focus more about principle than they cared about the youth – one of many who I’m certain has gotten lost in the system.

Rudy works as a drag queen performing at a bar and barely making ends meet.  He is comfortable in his skin, somewhat smart mouthed, but definitely NOT ashamed.  His love interest is Paul Figer, an attorney who struggles with his identity – not so much ashamed of his attraction to Rudy, but tries to remain “closeted” as he knows acting upon his attractions will jeopardize his career.

Rudy’s neighbor plays music extremely loud, against Rudy’s wishes.  He’s constantly asking her to turn it down.  One time he barges into the apartment to turn it down, he discovers Marco, who seems oblivious to his surroundings.  Rudy has compassion for this youth with down syndrome and takes it upon himself to take care of Marco – though it’s not really his place.  He does develop a love for the youth and really does try to due right by him.

Of course I bawled through so much of the movie.  I was actually surprised by the way the movie ended.  I can’t say more about it without spoiling the outcome.  Made me hate the judicial system.  Made me love and admire Rudy’s character – and the strength of the couple as they battled a system with prejudices. I felt so bad and sorry for Marco – who did not understand.  It was a bittersweet movie.

It’s rated R for language – and usually that word really does get through to me – but I was more accepting of it just because of the circumstances – and because of Marco – an innocent victim.  He didn’t deserve the abuse.  He deserved Rudy’s love. 

I need to stop writing.  Because now I’m crying again.

Grandma Really Didn’t Jump From an Airplane

I am currently taking a family history class through the Church because Roland wants to take the class but can't always be there and so has asked me to come with him in the event that he has to miss a class.
Yesterday we shared memories of our ancestors.  I had known from the beginning that I would need to come up with something.  And I have written down thoughts here and there - but nothing major about anyway.  I finally ended up sharing three stories that mom had shared about herself and a family member's name.  Of course once the class was over, I have been able to come up with some other memories.  Here is one:

     My mom has never had a great sense of direction – at least since I’ve known her.  Sometimes she would forget small things and exaggerate about things like, “having to drive around the world” when it had taken her longer to get to places than anticipated.

     When she first was diagnosed with dementia, her children often wondered if it was still her personality that caused her to do things (or not do things) or if the dementia had taken over.  We soon realized that it was her dementia.

     One time Corey and Mom had gone over to Patrick and Sunnys’s house and were having dinner with the family.  The topic at hand happened to be skydiving.  Ellen and Kimball had experienced jumping out of an airplane in real life – and Candy had been saving her money so that she might go sky diving sometime in the future.  I think they said Sunny had wanted to go, also.

     They said mom all the sudden joined in the conversation.  “You know I’ve been skydiving, too.” And then proceeded to go into detail about her experience.

     Now, you must understand, my mom was fearful of heights.  She didn’t even like to ride the sky ride (similar to a ski lift) at Lagoon (an amusement park in Farmington, Utah) because her legs were dangling.  There is no way in real life she would have ever jumped out of an airplane.

     But eventually the account she related came with such superior detail that even Corey had questioned it as he looked at the others and said, “Did she?” as each of the others shrugged.

     Throughout the rest of her life she continued to tell her account of how she had “jumped out of a plane”. 

     Four months after we put her into assisted living, she met another resident of the facility.  His name was Harold Martin and he had flown in small-uncovered airplane for real.  He was fascinated by mom’s story and wish that he too had had the opportunity of skydiving.

     He must have noticed that mom’s story varied a bit each time she told him.  For what started out as a private jet with an instructor ended up a commercial airline that was going down, and the crew had insisted that each of the passengers jump out in order to be spared.

     If mom had lived any longer, I think her story would have changed to being pushed rather than jumping of her own free will.

Give Me Moist Aire

It’s been an awesome winter

Yesterday we had a storm

Didn't last long, but now

the air is dry.  I

Haven’t had the sinus pain

Breathing’s been nice

Until the

Last few days

My throat is closing

The only way to clear it

Is to make an unattractive noise

I drawing the attention

To myself

But if I don’t make those sounds

I can’t breathe

Why when it snows

Is there less precipitation

in the air?

I am not a scientist. 

I don’t understand

Why the air is so dry.

Before My Mind Forgets

I was looking for some photo pages the last week.  As I was searching, I came across a scrapbook that Jenna and I created together – or started to anyway.

A neighbor who had three daughters of her own had actually given the album to us.  I don’t know if it was something she intended to fill up eventually and life just got in the way, or if she just really wasn’t interested in that kind of thing – or why it had been in her possession in the first place.

I don’t even know how old the album is.  There is a copyright from Lansdowne Publishing.  It was first published in 1997 than in 1998.  The book itself is written and compiled by Deborah Nixon.  Designed and Photographed by Robyn Latimer.  Beautifully illustrated and very thoughtful.  It’s called  Mother’s Memories For my Daughter.

  I let Jenna pick out all the pictures that she wanted to use.  As I'd written down my memories into the book, she would cut out pictures and paste them in.  We had fun doing it – and I think it will be a great treasure for her one day – providing that she can actually read it.

When my mind is working faster than my pen, I tend to get sloppy.  The fact that cursive isn’t really taught in our public schools anymore has made it even more challenging.  Jenna can’t read cursive.

There have been several papers and stories that she has written on – sloppy print and misspells.  I have scanned many and have a picture in her original hand and a translation.  I figured I could do the same for mine.  And so I’ve started.  Barely.  Started.  My mind has raced with almost every page I’ve scanned.  There’s much more detail in my head than what’s been written.  I have been writing down memories, typing them, searching for more photos – which I know exist – but I cannot find them.  More searches.  More memories.  My fingers cannot keep up with my mind.

  

Corey has tackled the project of transcribing mom’s journal.  I am so excited for it.  I’m sure that it will take me longer to read than for him to copy it all. 

He shares certain memoirs every now and then.  It is fun to see them on facebook and remember when.  I love my mom.  I have great respect for her.  She was such an awesome woman!  And just so giving and compassionate.  I wish I were more like her.

The memories I have been writing down are about my grandparents and great-grandparents and then I started to write down what I know about Roland’s mom and then I asked him to change the things that I misunderstood and to add his own memories.  He wrote things about his dad.  I’m glad that he did, because I did not know him.  I was in high school when he died – just over twenty years before I had even met Roland.

As I’m typing or writing, I can think of more things.  I add thoughts, insert paragraphs, forever cut and paste.  I will easily fill up several flash drives.  That is where I am.  My blog is on the back burner – for a while anyway.  

Dear Mr. President

Winslow Press started the creation of a series called “Dear Mr. President” – I think a wonderful introduction.  I love the five books that were made.  I wish there was more.  I don’t know why it was discontinued – or so it seems.  Winslow Press doesn’t seem to offer publication later than 2002 (that I could see) and it doesn’t appear the site has been updated since May 2009.    Perhaps Winslow Press is one of many businesses that has had to file bankruptcy in the last decade and a half.

 

The three books I will focus on most are:

Theodore Roosevelt: letters from a young coal miner by Jennifer Armstrong, Abraham Lincoln: letters from a slave girl by Andrea Davis Pinkney, and Franklin D. Roosevelt: letters from a mill town girl by Winthrop, Elizabeth.

Though the Letters are fictionalized, information provided in the correspondence is based upon meticulous research.  I like how Winslow press refers reader to “learn more” though I personally did not find the winslowpress.com useful, I like the concept of getting readers interest and encouraging research.

Presidents may have opened their mail at one time, but somewhere along the way the mail was handled by the secretary and now an entire team, I would imagine.  I don’t imagine the correspondence would have existed any other way but through our minds.

The poor coal miner wouldn’t have been able to send as many letters to Roosevelt as he did, as he would not have had the means for postage.  Nor would a slave have been able to correspond as they had even less means than did the coal miner.

All letters are start out with the twelve-year-old’s point of view.  Lettie has been taught by her mistress how to read and write.  Her mistress is the only child of a widower who most likely teaches Lettie out of boredom.  She encourages Lettie to write to Abraham Lincoln who responds. 

Knowing that the correspondence will put her in harms way should others learn that a slave has been taught to read and write. The letters are addressed to her mistress.  Correspondence allows the reader to understand the purpose of the Civil War and President Lincoln’s position and a thin view of what some slaves had to go through.

I think I found the miner story the most interesting.  To be certain that he received all of the young miner’s letters and weren’t open by his secretary, Pres. “Teddy” Roosevelt had the young miner address the letters to his son.  I do think I read a small error when Teddy expressed that Kermit was 13 in one letter and then 12 in the next. 

Besides reading about the conditions that the miners had to face, I enjoyed discovering trivial things that took place during Theodore Roosevelt’s reign.  He spoke with affection about all of the animals that belonged to his children – and baby-sitting the guinea pigs – which he really did do. 

And then there was Franklin D. Roosevelt who had some good ideas.  Some did not work out to his expectations.  His correspondence is with a girl of Italian decent.  She talks about different family members having to go on strike and about the hobos jumping freight lines.  That was interesting.

I also like how each of them use big words (which are capped and bolded) to describe things and use of contractions (which are underlined) to peak reader's interest not only in history, but grammar and vocabulary as well.

Winslow Press made it a point to caption each page with the words: “To learn more about specific mines, go to winslowpress.com”, “to learn more about unions, go to winslowpress.com”,  “to learn more abut Christmas during the civil war, go to winslowpress.com”, “to learn more about the Dredge Scott Act, go to winslowpress.com”

As previously mentioned, I actually didn’t find the winslowpress site at all useful, but I do like the idea of suggesting to readers to research mentioned subjects.  Wikipedia is always helpful for me, personally. 

Once the correspondence ends, there is a time line and brief history about said president.  A snapshot of a letter in his actual handwriting and then a letter the way it may have appeared by said 12 year- old.

Another interesting thing after the letters and time line is a synopsis of how the mail was delivered at that time and how much postage costs.  For more information on the post office it gives the Winslow site.  But there are so many sources that one can go to for more information.

The “Dear Mr. President” series is beautiful.  I think it needs to be continued. 

The Spoons Ran Out On Their Own

         You remember that nursery rhyme:

                                Hey, Diddle, Diddle

         The Cat and the Fiddle

         The Cow Jumped Over the Moon

The verse ended with:

The dish ran away with the Spoon

As a child, I wondered What the Heck that whole thing even meant.  But especially the dish part and the spoon.  It was cute, I guess.  But crazy.  Surely inanimate objects cannot run away – but since I have been married, I have learned that they can.

Most every spoon that has lived in our house(s) has been able to sprout legs and walk from room to room.  I had no clue that the majority of them would one day leave the house all together and venture out on their own.  They must have found a good home.  I have seen homeless socks before, but rarely do I ever see spoons – or any kind of flatware for that matter.

         I have replaced spoons at least three times – yesterday made four.  It’s around hot chocolate season that we start running low. I wonder if Santa helps himself to a few spoons to take back to his elves – and over the years the rest of the spoons gradually take off in search for their friends. 

When we were getting ready to sell mom’s house and expressing interest in different possessions, I told Ellen that I would like some forks and saucers.  I was actually specific about which saucers I wanted – the big plastic ones with a print that looked like the ones that used to belong to Grandma Helen.  We had only three saucers in our cupboard at the time, and really did have a need for them at that time. 

I don’t know why it is we were so stocked up on spoons already.  Our flatware drawer was overflowing with spoons – for a change.   I think Ellen gave me every bit of flatware that my mom had collected throughout the years – plus a generous amount of saucers.  I really didn’t need everything she gave to me, but hung onto it nevertheless.

Gradually I started replacing spoons – until there was nothing left in the bag Ellen had filled.  At one time there were three bins that held spoons.  As of Friday, there was barely one.

I told Roland not to get me candy for Valentine’s Day, but to purchase new spoons instead.  Currently they seem to be the only spoons we have.  I seriously don’t understand.  Why do spoons not like living in our drawers?