Happy Mothers' Day

Me, Norma Jean (and doll),  and Mama

The only way I can date this picture is by noticing that my sister PJ (born in 1950) is not yet on the scene. So I must be six or seven. That means Mama was in her early twenties, looking very serene in white, with her beautiful auburn hair pulled back. She had long, luxurious hair, although you couldn't tell it much from this shot. Although she had some reddish cast to her hair, she amplified it with henna treatments. I well remember the dark "mud" she put into her hair, working it in well, and then covering her entire head with a warm bath towel. She didn't forget her eyebrows, either: they were also covered with that same mud. They looked fierce and a little scary to me, but when she washed it all away, she was even more beautiful than before.

I really don't know if I believe in reincarnation or life after death, but it sure would be nice to think that someday I might once again find myself in the presence of my mom, who died in 1993. I found this piece that I wrote in my 1985-86 journal:

"Saturday night after the Winter Solstice 12/21/85":

I watched Mama today make fudge and noticed that she "fudged" often on her no-sugar diet. She often waxes eloquent on her lack of a sweet tooth, but I know better. Somehow it doesn't count when you're cooking. But I watched her being happy today, too. We worked hard, her harder than me; she made four loaves of homemade bread (yum!), more cheese balls, and, of course, the fudge.

Tonight I watched her become animated as she talked with Richard about her golfing days. I thought of her damaged heart as she poured in the alcohol and sugar, but somehow it didn't matter in the way it did before. I recognize her loss to me will be great, but as hard as it is to picture this vital loquacious woman gone from the face of the earth, no one can deny that she is enjoying herself today. She lives close to the edge and I admire her immensely -- once I remove my judgment about what she should be doing... Many lessons here for me to learn for myself.

A description: She sits in a chair as though at a bar after 18 holes of golf, relaxed and talkative. Her left hand holds her drink, her right gestures characteristically, almost royally, as she tells her story. A flush creeps into her cheeks and across her nose, giving the illusion of health. Ruddy-bright, eyes sparkling with good humor and wit. Her torso is thick, but somehow she carries it with good grace, and the long slim legs give her the look of a dancer, a chorus girl perhaps. One can imagine her as a young beauty queen. And she is still, to this day, a beauty.

When she is home during the day, unmade-up, no prosthesis covering the mutilation performed a decade and a half ago upon her body, she is even more interesting. Her left shoulder is higher than the right, the scar tissue having drawn tight across the collarbone, and the strange flatness across her chest is somehow protective of that area. Great trauma has visited this body, and the spirit has molded it and made it beautiful, in defiance of the cold merciless surgery that has been perpetrated upon it. She is my mother, and I love her.

Oh, Mama, you still come to me in my dreams now and then. Not as often as you did a few decades ago, but you still appear to me, the same person who gave birth to me and to my siblings. That little girl with the doll will turn 80 this summer, beginning her ninth decade of life. Every once in awhile I will be reminded of the way Mama was and will experience a sharp frisson of grief, even after all these years.

Yesterday I didn't get my usual walk in with Steve, since his daughter (who lives on a nearby island) is in town and they will enjoy the weekend with one another. And today, John will not be coming to pick me up for breakfast, since he is joining another group who are going to breakfast together. I'll miss him; it's hard for me to change my routine, but it happens now and then and makes me realize how lucky I am to have such good friends, who are around most of the time. 

When I look at the weather for today, it seems we will not be getting the expected rain after all. It might show up tomorrow, but for today, we are going to have a dry one, which means I'll be able to get in a good walk, probably down to Squalicum Beach to enjoy that reconstructed pier now open to the public.

If you are fortunate to have your mother still alive, I do hope you will have a chance to communicate with her today. And if she is gone from this world, you still can send her your thoughts and thank her for her part in your journey. I am asking her to come visit me soon. Through dreams and recollections, she is still around and part of me forever. Until we meet again, dear friends, I wish you the best of everything. Be well.

Vagaries and vicissitudes

Laburnum (Golden Chain) tree

Yesterday I went for a fairly long walk with my friend Steve. I hadn't yet made it all the way from downtown Bellingham to Fairhaven and back (about five or six miles) but had worked my way up to almost five miles without pain, so I figured I could do it, more than three months after my unfortunate fall on the ice. I did fine until the final mile back. We passed by several beautiful trees in bloom, such as this gorgeous Golden Chain tree. I couldn't think of the name of it, hard as I tried, because my brain kept coming up with "Golden Showers" and wouldn't budge off it. It wasn't until I got home and looked it up online that the real name came back to me. Brains are like that, especially mine at least, as it has gotten older.

I have always loved the English language, and I used it for editing and writing essays while I worked as an editor during my long career at the National Center for Atmospheric Research (NCAR) in Boulder, Colorado. I have been retired now for almost two decades but still love to find new words and new concepts. For the most part, my mental processes so far seem to be working well, and although I will find typos and other mistakes in my work, I am usually diligent about editing until it is as error-free as I can manage. Even with my failing eyesight, a misspelled word or one used incorrectly will usually jump out at me.

What I am having to get used to is pulling a word out of my brain that isn't quite the correct word but it's almost right. The other day I was explaining to someone about the problem with my eyes, called GA, a late-stage form of macular degeneration. GA stands for geographic atrophy of the macula, responsible for central vision. But I couldn't find the word, instead coming up with "geriatric atrophy" which seemed almost right but the real word, "geographic," just wasn't present in my mind. I guess that happens more and more often as we age, but it drives me crazy. I also find myself unable to pull up specific words in conversation, and end up frustrated as I fill the missing space with something inane, like "you know, the little handle to make the toilet work," or something like that. Sheesh!

My only way of communicating with you, my dear reader, is with the concepts and stories that I come up with. I think of something I want to say, then I figure out the words that will convey the thought. And sometimes I get completely off track because none of the words are working right. Or is it my brain that is not working right? I find it all fascinating and a little bit frustrating. 

Our normal waking consciousness, rational consciousness as we call it, is but one special type of consciousness, whilst all about it, parted from it by the flimsiest of screens, there lie potential forms of consciousness entirely different. —William James

I will sometimes wake from a dream that feels more real that the waking state I find myself in. Some of those dreams are still with me many years later, and I can recall them very well, although I know that every time I recall a memory, it is a little different than the last time I visited it. One particular memory, where I was laughing with my mom and sister, I don't know about what, but I can still remember the wonderful feeling of laughing until my sides hurt. And when I woke, I was still laughing and smiling, filled with chuckles about who knows what.

Those two words I title this post with are almost the same in meaning, and I was trying hard to find just the right word to describe my feeling about the unwelcome change in my ability to use words correctly. It didn't help much that these two words both came to mind, and while I looked them up just to be sure, I don't actually know if they are truly different from one another. Describing the "vagaries of life" means dealing with an unexpected, usually negative, change, while the "vicissitudes of life" means about the same. They are not well used words these days, but I am fascinated by them whenever I come across one in my reading. Do you have similar words that cause you to ponder their meaning?

There are so many interesting words to know and learn about, and even now that I am struggling with being able to see, I still cannot give up reading (or listening) to articles and stories, and that will continue as long as I have any sight at all, I suspect. One at a time, my cherished faculties are slipping away. And one day, I'll be happy to lay my head down on my bed and breathe my last. It's the way things are supposed to go, and even though there are plenty of people much older than me, still pretty much intact in their abilities, there are many others who have already died, or are losing those abilities slowly. I'm getting used to it.

It's hard to imagine that I am the same person, just older, than the one who made thousands of skydives and taught innumerable others how to do it. It's also hard to imagine that I bore two children and raised one of them to adulthood. And that I had a career that let me travel all over the world. Or that I became a hiker who spent years, not all at once, discovering the wonders of the Pacific Northwest mountains and valleys.

And now, I am writing my usual Sunday post while propped up in my darkened bedroom, with my dear partner still sleeping next to me, and life feels quite full and exciting. We are traveling together through the vicissitudes of aging, and finding it still very fascinating. I feel very lucky to have found my virtual family and spend some time every day finding out how you, dear reader, are dealing with the vagaries of growing older.

So, until we meet again next week, I hope that you will find some wonderful and unexpected moments in your days ahead. My friend John will pick me up for our usual Sunday morning excursion, and I will look around at the world and be grateful that I have such a full and happy life. Until we meet again next week, I wish you all good things. Be well.

Volunteer party and more

Michelle and me

On Friday, I attended a gala party held by the staff at the Bellingham Senior Center, to honor the volunteers (I am one). Although there are more than 300 of us, about 125 signed up with an RSVP to attend. My friend and co-worker Michelle asked me if I would be her date, and I agreed if she would drive and pick me up and transport me to the Senior Center. She readily agreed, so we ended up arriving in time to be regaled with the theme: Mardi Gras (a little bit late, but whatever). We received beads, masks, and this lovely tapestry to stand in front of to have our pictures taken.

The makeshift "bar"

As you can see from this picture (the clock on the wall), our party began at 5:00pm, and many of us headed to the coffee bar that had been turned into a regular "bar" for the evening. We had wine, beer, and plenty of nonalcoholic fruit drinks. After taking that first picture in front of the tapestry, we were seated at tables (our usual lunch tables, but covered with tablecloths) and served three dishes: a lovely salad (with not a single lettuce leaf in sight), some fancy chicken dish and a side of veggies, and finally a creme brulee sort of dessert. It was lovely, and I think we all enjoyed being treated to such a fun event. Apparently they do this every year, but this one the first for me. 

It was still light out when Michelle drove me back home. I spent a few moments with my sweet partner before heading to bed. I was really tired, since the night before I hadn't gotten much sleep. I made up for it, though, barely moving during a more-than-nine-hour sleep. I woke Saturday morning feeling great and well rested.

My friend Steve and I had a nice Saturday walk around the harbor, and we enjoyed the sunshine and light breeze. It never got all that warm yesterday, even though the sun was shining brightly. It's been cool and perfect for someone like me who really doesn't feel comfortable in hot weather. I know there are some people who would be complaining about the temperatures being cool, but I am not one of them. And I was able, yesterday, to walk almost five miles without incident. That makes me very happy, thinking that it won't be long now before I might be able to join one of the Tuesday hikes again. But I will be taking it easy and not pushing myself. I have become a member of the octogenarian crowd and learning how to navigate through it without becoming too sedentary.

I had some rather unexpectedly good news when I got my eye jab this week. Because the left eye seems stable, I will not need another treatment until late July! That means a twelve-week period between jabs. I know that the shots don't stop the progression, but slows it down significantly. I was afraid that by this time I would have lost my central vision in both eyes, but fortunately I can still read using low vision settings, and recognize people by using my left eye. Not having central vision in both eyes has definitely been something to adjust to, because without realizing how much we need both eyes for depth perception, I now have difficulty making sense of pictures. They need to be bright and distinct, or my brain can't interpret what I'm seeing. Once I do figure out what I'm looking at, I am actually surprised that I had such difficulty, because it seems obvious once the puzzle pieces coalesce. This getting old business takes some getting used to, and nothing stays the same for long. 

Everything considered, I feel very lucky to be in as good a situation as I am. The country is going through some unpleasantness, and it seems to be everywhere. I was very sad to see that Pope Francis died, but he was 88 after all. Most of us don't make it out of our ninth decade of life, and he was only six years older than me. I am beginning to understand how one's perception changes as we age, and suddenly it seems quite normal to settle into a comfortable chair and put my feet up. I've spent most of my life being active, and now I'm reaping the benefits. I just wish my eyesight had kept up with the rest of me. Oh well, I am sure there are many lessons to be learned. It seems to me so basic: to have friends and family to commiserate with, and ways to still enjoy and give thanks for my life, my friends, both "skin" friends, and virtual ones, too.

Now it's time to wrap things up and enjoy the rest of my day. John will pick me up for our Sunday breakfast, and I will read your blogs and find out how your lives are going on this spring day. Until we meet again, I wish you all good things, dear friends. Be well.

A day with the tulips

Lily and me amongst the tulips

 Every year for the last decade or so, I've made an April pilgrimage to see the Skagit Valley tulips, many of which have been spent with my friend Lily. It was sunny and warm on Friday, but not yesterday. There were clouds that came in and then a cold wind, so we were bundled up to stay warm. Lily wasn't thrilled with this picture, but I like it myself. 

The tulips were, as usual, gorgeous

Isn't this a beautiful color?

We stayed a little more than an hour, before we drove to Mt. Vernon to have a snack at the Skagit Valley Food Co-op. In previous years, we've gone to La Conner for lunch, but since we were too early for that, we headed instead to the nearby town of Mt. Vernon to enjoy the incredible ambiance of their co-op. We have a pretty good one here in Bellingham, but it doesn't hold a candle to the one in Mt. Vernon. Not only does it serve great food in its deli, but it also has lots of shopping for unusual items, for cooking and more, I love it there.

Never ending tulips

Not only is it a great place, it is also much cheaper to eat there than at any of the restaurants we have previously visited in La Conner. Although we didn't eat much, we spent a good amount of time browsing through the items for sale, some of which I have never seen before (along with socks and costume jewelry). Although I didn't buy anything, I sure had a lot of fun watching a professional shopper (that would be Lily). 

We took the long way back to Bellingham; instead of hopping on the interstate, we meandered back on the Chuckanut Highway #11, and enjoyed looking at the bay and all the people out and about. By this time the clouds had cleared away, and it had gotten much warmer.

We started back to Bellingham around noon and decided to have a real lunch in Fairhaven. On the way we spent many delightful moments talking about our long friendship and discussing where to eat. At first we considered a brewery in order to have a beer with lunch, but we ended up going to a local restaurant we both know well. And I enjoyed a draft IPA from a local brewery anyway. 

It was a fun day

I didn't take nearly as many pictures as I used to, but part of that is because of my failing eyesight. It was also because there are only so many different times you can look at the beautiful tulips and be transported, as I was in times past. There were also so many people at the garden that it was difficult to take pictures that didn't have other people in them. I realized how much my vision has deteriorated since last year, and I am not at all sure that by this time next year, I will even want to visit the display. It's sad but a fact of life I cannot deny. There are plenty of things that deteriorate as we age, but macular degeneration of one's sight is probably one of the hardest to accept. For me, anyway.

It's Easter Sunday. I am reminded of the many Easters I have enjoyed in my long life, and remember fondly the times I would spend Holy Week at the Convent of St. Walburga in Boulder. I wrote about the convent and its nuns in an earlier post (from 2011). I didn't know when I wrote that post whether I would still be here, celebrating Easter in a much different way. But still, decades later, I am happy to be able to look back at earlier Easters and be grateful for all that I have been able to experience over the years. 

And I am also grateful for the friends I have met, here in the blogosphere, and to reflect on all that is good and peaceful in the world today. There is plenty of uncertainty and upset, but beyond all that, there is a sense that the season of spring and new beginnings heralds a possible moment of change in the world. And I so much benefit from visiting the websites of friends that I have known now for decades. Everyone is living their lives and making their own futures as positive as they can. Some are finding new avenues and learning new skills; some are continuing to hone their old habits as they age and must slow down. I'm one of them, but I am still incredibly grateful for the life I have been given and what I can still accomplish. Precious life. Mary Oliver said it perfectly when she asked, "Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?" She certainly lived a wonderful life of her own, and died just a few years ago. You can read about her amazing life here.

And now I am beginning to think of how I will spend this hallowed day. First, after getting up and doing my exercises and a short meditation, I look forward to John arriving in his truck to transport me to Fairhaven for an Easter breakfast. When I return home, I will spend some time with my wonderful and dear partner, and we'll talk about our possible "wild and precious" ways to mark the day, with sunshine and birdsong and good food. And each other. I wish a wonderful day and week ahead of you, my dear friends, and I'll visit your blogs to find out how you are (or are not) celebrating the holiday. Until we meet again next week, I wish you all good things.

Unplanned hospital visit

A favorite tree coming to life

On my usual walk home through Cornwall Park, I often stop to admire this maple tree that is beginning to come to life this spring. Tiny feathery little leaves are visible today, and in a few more days or weeks, there will be actual leaves to fill in the branches and make this tree appear even more beautiful.

It's been an interesting week. I was happy to show up on Thursday for my usual volunteer work in the Senior Center lunchroom, and I worked diligently for a few hours, before I began to feel a little weak and shaky (probably from not having eaten my usual breakfast) and sat down to catch my breath and feel a little bit more energetic.  As I sat down and drank a little orange juice, I began to feel somewhat better. One of the organizers suggested that I get my "vitals checked" and I agreed that seemed to be a good idea. But before I could say anything more, an entire squad of black-clad emergency management guys showed up. Someone had called for an ambulance and people with a gurney who were not being willing to take no for an answer had already strapped me in and were taking me out the front door to the ambulance! No vitals had been checked, but there I was, not feeling great but never having been hauled out like that, I didn't object because, well, I didn't know quite how to stop the procedure.

While I was being whisked away in the ambulance (while of course they took my vitals), I signed some consent forms and ended up being driven to the emergency intake window at the local hospital, assigned a bed, and taken on the gurney into a room. From there I was given a nurse who asked me a ton of questions and gave me even more consent forms to sign (oh, I know this is going to be expensive), but I didn't seem to have a whole lot of options, so I decided that, well, I would find out if there is anything wrong with me that they might discover. I was feeling quite weak and shaky beforehand, which isn't a usual condition for me. Why not see this as a couple of good omens, like finding out whether or not I have anything in my bloodwork (minus a few bucks)?

My blood was drawn, and I was given a saline solution to make sure I wasn't suffering from dehydration. Well, that caused me to immediately need to use the bathroom, but I was strapped in and unable to get to the bathroom. Somehow I managed to be extricated from all the paraphernalia long enough to pee, and then immediately hooked back up to the machines. Once that was taken care enough, I called SG to let him know what was going on.

There was plenty of drama going on in the rooms next to mine, so I decided to simply relax and let myself being carried along on the way to recovery and/or redemption. The doctor came in, a nice lady, and she ordered a bunch of tests for me, including an EKG, so there I was, still immobilized and trapped. SG showed up for awhile and helped to keep the staff apprised of my need to once again use the bathroom (as they continued to hydrate me). Finally, after what seemed to be endless, I was given a clean bill of health, nothing showed up as being concerning, and I was released.

Once I got home and checked my laptop, I saw that there were the results of all the tests sent to my primary care doctor, and there was really nothing to be alarmed about, only one number was slightly elevated, and my blood pressure is still a little higher than normal, but that was it.

Although I am learning how important it is to be vigilant about not letting myself be railroaded into something I knew I didn't need, I was actually quite happy to learn how much health care is available to me if, for example, I did experience a stroke or heart attack. Which, thankfully, I didn't have. I don't know what caused my dizzy/fainting spell,  but it was transient.

I have a blood pressure monitor here at home, and I just got out of bed and went into the living room to check my numbers. They are fine, 125/85, even if the lower number is a little high, I am not in any danger at the moment. I suppose everyone at the Senior Center will be expecting me to report my experience to them. It was instructive, and I will certainly be cautious if anyone asks me if they want to "check my vitals" any time soon.

My "ride" looked similar to this one

And now here I am, sitting in the dark with my dear sweet partner sleeping next to me, as I contemplate the day ahead. The weather looks great, so I hope I can get a good walk in this afternoon. John will be coming to transport me to Fairhaven for our usual Sunday morning breakfast. I am thinking I need to get back to daily walks, which have been curtailed lately because of my continuing hip/leg discomfort. I realize that, at my age, I must continue to get good exercise or it will be even harder to get back to normal. And what is "normal" for an 82-year-old? I am constantly being reminded that I am no spring chicken any more. But this old bird is still kicking!

April flowers and showers

Cherry blossoms are amazing

On my walk home through Cornwall Park on Wednesday, I saw that the cherry blossoms are now at their peak. Such a breathtaking sight, it caught my eye and I ended up taking quite a few pictures. I think this is the best one.

We have had so many days in a row of sunshine, plenty of it, that I can no longer pretend that we are not moving into a wonderful period of the year: my favorite part of springtime. The birds are all singing, feeling the fragrant and abundant time of the year, when nests are created (or returned to) in order to attract their species to procreate. A week ago I wondered where the song sparrows had decided to nest, since I hadn't heard their birdsong. And that all changed this week; they are everywhere and loudly singing in the trees around here. They join the chickadees, robins, bluejays, and yesterday morning I heard barred owls calling! It's a plethora of feathered friends, and they lifted my spirits as I listened to them as I walked.

Today, I think I'd like to contemplate all that is going on in the world, and see where, if anywhere, I might be able to make a positive difference. All over the globe yesterday, April 5th, people gathered to protest what is happening not only in our country, but all over the world. Not just the awful tariffs that Trump has imposed, but the number of important offices that have protected us in many ways. I am mostly worried about the destruction of the Social Security Administration, which has never missed a payment in ninety years, and now is on the chopping block to be destroyed, because it is seen by some as a giveaway. But the truth is that we have all paid into the system during our working lives, and now they think they can take away our benefits by calling it a "Ponzi Scheme."

There are many other programs that have been eliminated or are being destroyed, just because they can. Although I cannot fathom where this will end, I know that we will all be impacted, and not in a good way. What I have trouble understanding is WHY? I am pretty sure that the current administration will eventually pay the price at the ballot box, unless they suspend elections. That is not just hyperbole, I have read that they are considering it. Hopefully somehow we will return to a semblance of normal, eventually, but I am not holding my breath. 

At the same time that our country is falling apart, it seems that my body is joining in the cacophony. Ever since I had that fall in February, I keep getting messages from my right leg and hip that long walks may be behind me forever. We'll see, because yesterday I was able to walk five miles but not without pain. I did complete my volunteer work on Thursday, even though I was slow and not feeling my best. It was nice to be back with my friends, though, working together as a team to get the place set up and then put back together at the end. I have to admit that I kept watching the clock and hoping I would be able to make it before my need to sit down and rest gained traction. I did make it, and once I got home and settled into my comfy recliner, I felt quite happy to know I am better. 

This Tuesday is the dreaded every-other-month eye jab. My eyes continue to deteriorate, but I can still see well enough to write on my laptop and pray that will continue for awhile yet. I have magnifying glasses and other aids to help me see better. I have purchased another headlamp to help me see things that I cannot see without a bright light. It sure does help, as I sort my vitamins or fix myself something to eat. Or sit down to read a novel on my Kindle, set at the low vision option. I'm reading a new Liz Moore novel, The God of the Woods, which is really a fascinating thriller. Once I am unable to read on the Kindle, I'll start listening to audio books so I can continue to "read." And since I've just discovered the wonders of Liz Moore's writing, I've got lots to catch up on. 

There is so much to continue to be grateful for, and I realize that all of us are in the same boat: feeling unsettled about what is happening in our country, and not knowing what to do other than to join a protest march. I am so glad I live here in Whatcom County, in the upper left quadrant of the State of Washington, which is also in the upper corner of the entire country, just a few miles from the Canadian border. And as I started this post with, the days are growing longer, the skies are filled with blue and fluffy white clouds. We are at the beginning of a really wonderful time of the year, and I am hoping against hope that the political situation will mellow along with the weather. I can hope so, anyway, and why not?

Well, it's time for me to get out of bed and get ready for my trip to Fairhaven with John for our usual Sunday morning breakfast. I hope you will find some happy moments in the week ahead, and that you will surround yourself with lots of love and positivity. Why not? That's what I am going to do. Until we meet again next week, dear friends, I wish you all good things. Be well.

The other Dorothy

Blossoms burgeoning

¥ou might not see able to see those blossoms on your first look, but they are coming out all over my neighborhood, now that we are at the end of March and beginning to see them coming out to celebrate the first signs of spring. Yesterday, on my short walk around town with my friend Steve, I saw these with the backdrop of partly cloudy skies. In another week, these will be in full bloom. 

Today, I think I'll reminisce a little about my father's mother, who has been gone for a long time, but is still quite present in my memories. Here's some background information:

Dorothy Billings

Very little is known about the early years of my paternal grandparents' life together. This is an old photograph of my grandmother, Dorothy Billings, obviously taken in a studio when she was young. There are no pictures of my grandfather, Robert Stewart. My father told me once of watching his father walk out the door and knowing he would never return. Daddy was 12, and it was at the beginning of the Great Depression, in 1929.  Before that, however, they had had four children: Marlow, my dad's older brother, then Daddy (Norman), Edith, and the baby, Jack. I never knew my aunt Edith, but I remember Marlow and Jack very well.

Marlow, Mommy, Norman, Jack

Although you can't actually tell in that picture, Dorothy was quite tall. We, her grandchildren, were not allowed to call her Grandma, but instead all of us were told to call her "Mommy," as her own children did. In this picture you can see that Marlow was the tallest, and Daddy, next to Mommy, is almost six feet, and then Jack is over there on the right. That look on Mommy's face is what I remember most about her. I don't think I saw her smile very often, but I saw that stern expression regularly. By the time this picture was taken, Mommy had disowned her only daughter. If asked about Edith, she replied, "I have no daughter."

One thing I know for sure: every one of the siblings was above average in intelligence. And they were all alcoholics. I don't know how old Marlow was when he died, but he took an overdose of Seconal along with his usual evening three liters of wine. Nobody knew if it was intentional or not. But I think 50 Seconal along with all that wine was at least suspicious. I was too young to know, but I remember overhearing conversations between my parents about it: Mama thought he did it, and Daddy thought it was an accident.

Who was my paternal grandmother? Well, my first name is Dorothy, after her, except it wasn't my mother's idea. Mama had decided, because I was the first granddaughter and my name had become an issue, to simply name me "Jan Stewart" with no middle name. I can imagine the arguments that must have taken place.

In those days a mother was kept for ten days in the hospital after giving birth, even with no complications. Somehow or other, Mommy was able to get into the hospital records and got her name on my birth certificate (really!). You can see that it's written in at an angle as if it was an afterthought. My mother was furious, of course, and she refused to acknowledge my first name at all. Being called by your middle name tends to be problematic, especially when you move from school to school on a regular basis.

Mommy never talked about her husband Robert or her daughter Edith. She lived in Burbank while I was growing up, in the same house as Marlow and his wife Mary Kay.  When we lived in California, we visited them occasionally, and I remember their backyard because, small as it was, it had a lemon tree, which seemed amazing to me. Once I remember cutting a lemon in half and writing my name on the cement wall of the garage, and Daddy punishing me for incriminating myself by writing "Jan" all over the wall!

Mommy would also visit us, and I remember that she took care of Norma Jean and me when my mother was not around for whatever reason. She was with us when my sister P.J. was born: I was seven and remember that time vividly, since my father came home from the hospital devastated because he had another daughter instead of the son he craved. Mommy, Norma Jean and I tried to comfort him for his "loss."

Once, long ago when my dad was "in his cups," he told me about my grandfather, and that is when I learned that he and Uncle Jack went into the California mountains to find their father. Robert lived as a hermit in a small cabin, and he came into the nearest town once a week for groceries and to frequent the local bar. That is where they met him and the three of them got drunk together. I don't know how they had found him. I also learned that some years later he had died of exposure, when he was out hiking and had broken a leg, unable to get back, or to get help.

Mommy was unforgiving of human frailties, and when I think of her, I remember that stern look and her no-nonsense ways. In her later years, she had a stroke and came to live with us for a short while. She sat around in her housecoat (similar to the one in the picture) and shuffled around in her slippers. I also remember whispered conversations between my parents, with us children unclear about what was going on. Mommy left after a short while and I suspect she went into a nursing home, but I really don't know. When I was told by my parents that she had died, Norma Jean and I were old enough to see the distress my parents were experiencing, but I never felt like I knew her well enough to grieve for her loss.

She couldn't have been really old when she died, but I have no way of knowing how old she was. Nobody knew her age, including my father. Now that I have written this all down, I wonder how much of her tendency towards a lack of empathy lives on in me. Perhaps it's the cause of me wanting to think of myself as being "generous to a fault." I have given away possessions and refused to care about acquiring things, and now I wonder if this might be an unconscious backlash against being accused of having a "hard heart" like Mommy.

All those early turbulent years of striving for happiness are behind me now. I have found it. As I spend my days blogging, working out, hopefully continuing to hike in the beautiful Pacific Northwest, conversing enthusiastically with SG about our respective interests, I realize that I have found something I was looking for during all my past years: equanimity.

What lies ahead seems, like it must for most retirees, predictable. But as we all know, everything can change in the blink of an eye: an illness, a car accident, even external economic upheavals. So I am consciously saying to myself, and to you, dear reader, I am, at this moment, feeling pretty darn lucky. Yes, I have lost more than most people must endure, especially to the parents among you, but I am left wondering if I did indeed work through all that grief. I don't remember Stephen very well, but I sure do remember my son Chris, and I still miss him, but when he visits me in my dreams, he is happy.

Until we meet again next week, I will count my blessings and be grateful. And I wish you, my dear virtual family, all good things. Be well.