Some Kind of Thresh Hold

This blog post is NOT about me--although, I confess, the thresh hold that is being crossed affects me.  You see, in just a few hours, my elder child will turn 40.

The photo above is of our son Geoffrey and our daughter-in-law Christy.


While there are many photos I could choose of him, this one seemed most fitting.  Of course I have those wonderful baby photos, and the little boy photos too.  I have used them before on the occasion of his birthday.  But the photo of you two together is just right.


This time I want to write about a few scenes which I hold dear in my mother's  heart.

• I remember a day when you were about 18 months old.  I had just come home from teaching, carrying you, along with a bag of your supplies from the baby-sitter's, complete with a container of Spaghettios.  I don't know how I got distracted, but for a moment I turned my back.  When I came back into the room, there you sat with the Spaghettios container opened and smeared all over the place. 
• I remember how you fell off a coffee table, and cut your head.  We had to rush you to a hospital to get some stitches.  And I remember how white your dad's face was as he helped to hold you so you would be comforted while the doctor worked on you.
• I remember the first time you walked alone up the sidewalk to a neighbor's house so you could play with your friend.  I thought--wow, he's on his own.
• I remember how you reacted when we told you we were going to have another baby--you said, oh good, now I won't be an only child anymore.
• I remember how sweet you were (most of the time) with your sister.   And still are.
• I remember how proud we were when you won academic recognition and went off to the college of your choice.
• I remember when you came home and told us you had met someone special--and you asked if you could bring her (Christy) along on our family vacation.
• I remember that only when you headed to grad school did I cry--realizing you really WERE on your own--but this time with Christy by your side.
• I remember how happy you and Christy were on your wedding day--even though you hadn't thought to get programs ready and printed until the morning of the wedding.
• I remember several moves we helped you with.--to apartments, to houses.
• I remember--

A mother does remember--and I am proud, so very proud, that you are our son.  


So, special love to you this day--as you celebrate your 40th birthday.

Taking It Easy

One of my favorite music groups is the Eagles. So, this week, I find myself humming one of their classics: "Take It Easy". We are spending a bit of time in the San Diego area. By circumstance--that is to say, not specifically precipitated by my birthday--we were offered an opportunity to visit southern California. The only birthday I ever celebrated in California (at least to my knowledge) was when I turned one. So, it was fun to celebrate number 66 here.

Many things impress a visitor to this area. First, what's with all the highways and the cars that are rolling rolling rolling--constantly on the go. Of course, there is traffic anywhere in the U.S., given that we are a car-crazy society. But in southern California, the traffic is non-stop. Thank goodness for our friendly little GPS unit--we have gone various places with nary a mis-direction.

Second, this is a place of great natural beauty. The vistas are stunning, the skies blue--except for the first rain of the year in the San Diego area, and the gentle winter sun is a welcome respite from a biting cold winter.

We managed a few adventures--or, at least what passes for such, at our age!

A view to lovely beach housing on Point Loma.

The Pacific in view. I loved the mostly unspoiled views of the ocean. I know if we traveled further north, these lovely views would disappear in over-developed areas.

The force of ocean breezes shapes trees along the coast.

We did one day's worth of driving--the California entertainment. We headed north, then turned east and drove CA Highway 74, the Ortega Highway. Oh my, what a fun drive--if you enjoy palms sweating, toes curling, and quick glances down the steep hillside. Once at the coast, we turned south and ended up at Point Loma, at the Cabrillo National Monument (pictured above).

But lovely cacti greet us along the road side almost everywhere.

We spent two days visiting San Diego's famous zoo and Safari Park. Maybe I will post some other animal photos--but for now, enjoy these flaming flamingos. Love that raucous orangey-pink.

My birthday evening, we drove to Carlsbad, and watched the sun set across the Pacific. The changing light infused the red cliffs with a wondrous glow.

And the cloud formations put on a special show, until finally the sun slipped below the edge of the world.

I mentioned to my husband that next year's birthday celebration will be hard-pressed to beat this year's.

Double Six in View

Maybe the title sounds like an ode to a famous route, or a high-roll with a pair of dice. But, no, dear reader--the title alludes to my natal anniversary, looming straight ahead of me.

Sigh.

I am now official a Medicare beneficiary as well as someone collecting Social Security. I guess I join the ranks of curmudgeonly seniors snarling--get your hands off my entitlements. Oh, please don't let me become self-centered and selfish.

Anyway, it is time to run a bit more of my parents' biography. This story is taken from my father's account of the day I was born. While all the details, and most of the words are his, I have edited it a bit. At the time of my birth, my parents were living in Waukena, California, where my father was the pastor of a church in central California, and also a public school teacher in a school some 25 miles away.

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I was born on February 13 on a Tuesday evening. Because the due date was five days later, my father had gone to school that morning all unsuspecting that "today" was the day. While my mother was beginning to have feelings and symptoms pointing to the fact that she would likely soon deliver their first baby, she had not told my father. It was his week to drive to school. After school, he had dropped off his fellow teacher with whom he car-pooled at her home. When he arrived home, he found a friend there with my mother, who had been having labor pains all day long and she was beginning to become concerned knowing that my father did not know. She had walked over to a local store and Post Office in the morning and told the store owner. Eventually, word got around to the friend who stopped by just before my father got home; she was prepared to drive my mother to the hospital.

When my father got home and learned that "now" was the time, his first feelings and emotions were to be overwhelmed at all that was happening. So he took my mother in his arms and hugged her, with the friend hovering over them and urging--go, go, go.

So, off they went to the "East Tulare Hospital", about twelve or thirteen miles away. About halfway on the trip, the car began a knock in the car engine, and my father felt the car losing power. He kept the accelerator down and kept moving until they got in closer to town. They had to cross a railroad track, the Southern Pacific Rail Road, as they approached the hospital. Looking ahead, my father saw a slow moving southbound freight train coming to the crossing. Trying to keep his speed up, for fear the engine would die, he turned on to another street to avoid the crossing altogether.

As he slowed to make a left turn the motor died completely. It would not budge. They coasted to the side of the street. My father jumped out and ran across the street to a house where several people were sitting on their front porch. He said to them, "I'm taking my wife to the East Tulare Hospital and my car died." They had seen and observed that fact, and the "East Tulare Hospital" was a maternity hospital only. So they took in the situation immediately. A young man there jumped up, ran into the house saying, "Where are my keys?", grabbed his car keys, ran out to the carport at the side of their house, backed out and pulled his car up beside their car. My mother was transferred to that car, and the three of them sped across town to the "East Tulare Hospital."

With my mother safely in the hospital, my father made his way to the house of one of his church members. They then took him back across town to the car to tow it back to his place. It was parked where he had left it, parked at an angle partly out into the street. After they all got back to the church members’ house, my father wanted to go back to the hospital right away. But the church members assured my father that it could be hours and hours yet, that the first baby usually took a long time coming. So they insisted he eat supper with them.

By the time my father got back to the hospital, I had been born. My father came into the room to see my mother just as a nurse came along and popped a thermometer in her mouth. Anxious to learn of his child, he asked her, "Is it a boy?" And she shook her head "NO". My father then said, "Is it a girl?". And she shook her head "YES".

A Sense of Style

This post is in honor of our daughter's birthday. The remainder of the blog will be addressed to her. (If you, dear reader, are very quiet, you may listen in.)
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Dearest daughter:

When I think of you, I am filled with a flood of thoughts. I think back to when I first learned you were going to be a girl. As a mother of "advanced maternal age" (snort), I had genetic testing done. Among the things that testing could tell us was what SEX you would be. When the hospital called, I asked--and what is "it"? The health worker on the other end paused and said--are you sure you want to know? ABSOLUTELY. Well, she said--you are having a girl.


A girl? Since we had a boy, I thought--well, another boy would be easy (HA!), but a girl? Of course, by the time you were born, I had adjusted to the idea. Soon after you were born, I reveled in it. And I still do.

There are many stories I could explore in remembering your growing up. Many, if not all of them, you have heard. They are still among my favorite stories to tell. I will be sparing, and select only one. You know this one.

I remember the day when you were maybe in junior high. You asked me--Mom, when did you get your sense of style? I confess--I was secretly pleased. My daughter. She's growing up. She wants to know when she will begin to be more like her mother.

I am not sure exactly how I answered, but then I remember I said--why do you ask? Well, you said, when I get my own sense of style, I hope it's not like yours.

Crushed! But not really--in the long run, I am so very glad you are your own young woman. I love that you are so strong, so determined, so intelligent, so lovely, so much our daughter.

I know, I know--you're no doubt saying--don't get all weepy on me, mom!

So, on this day--here's to you, to your wonderful sense of style, to you being your own person.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY. Love you to the moon and back. . .

Mom

The Big One

I mean...the really big one.

We count our lives in decades, mostly. So, 15 years ago when I turned 50, my husband (with conspiratorial assistance from a friend and our daughter) rounded up a group of friends and surprised me. We celebrated, complete with a lute player. Nice touch.

Then 5 years ago, my husband again arranged, but opted not to surprise me (can't be too careful with older folk, you know) a party. And once again we celebrated. I do love a good celebration.

But neither of these decadal celebrations was really THE BIG ONE. Today is. Yes, folks, I turn 65 today. This is the age when people are supposed to retire. Well, I did retire from full time work, but some years earlier, and not at a time of my choosing.

Sixty-five was set as retirement age in the mid-1930s. The reason 65 was picked had to do with that being one of two prevailing ages in use--the other was 70. You can read more of the Social Security history at their website. Of course, as we American live longer and longer, the age at which one can collect full retirement benefits has been pushed back a bit. So, I don't actually begin SS payments until next year.

I have received many well-wishes from friends, and have a lovely round of gifts to celebrate. From my husband, a new computer and a rebuilt computer center. We had wires leading to and from... nothing. Now, all the wires have been cleaned up and the desk looks GREAT.


From my son and his wife, I received a lovely HUGE bouquet of spring flowers--makes the winter day so much brighter.

From our daughter and her husband, an early present when we visited London. They had gotten tickets for all of us to go see a revival of the play Le Misanthrope, Moliere's comedy of manners making fun of high society. The play had been updated to the present, set in modern London. The play was also the stage debut for Keira Knightley.

From Uncle Sam, I got a Medicare card. Yes, it's true--I now qualify for the government run universal health care program that is untouchable in U.S. politics, but yet which too many politicians are falling over themselves these days to say--WE DON'T WANT A GOVERNMENT RUN HEALTH CARE SYSTEM...what hypocritical fools.

Would anyone in their right minds REALLY say that what we in this country had the courage and foresight to provide for senior citizens--universal coverage for health care--we should NOT provide for all citizens? For children? unemployed? for ... well, everyone? Really?

(Oops, sorry--I was celebrating a birthday. Step down carefully from soap box.)

Well, the big one has been a pleasant day, thus far.

Sorry to repeat myself, but I will use again the story (whether apocryphal or not) of Ingrid Bergman: They say that when asked how she felt now that she had reached the "advanced" age of 60, Ingrid Bergman replied: "I like it just fine, considering the alternative."

So, I have reached the big one...and I like it just fine.

Grand Old Man

Today, we threw a birthday party for my father, whose 90th birthday it is.

So, here's a quick recipe for a grand party for a grand old man.

First, get a sign that says "Happy Birthday.

CHECK.

Next have the birthday celebree arrive in style. Note, do NOT surprise a 90 year old.

CHECK.

Next, have a birthday chair waiting, so that the birthday celebree can "hold court."

CHECK.

Next, have a guest book for all party attendees to sign.

CHECK.

Then, make arrangements to have a birthday cake with the years clearly spelled out. Skip the candles, however--a) you don't want the cake to melt; and b) you want to have the birthday celebree save breath for more important things such as visiting with guests.

CHECK.

A particularly nice touch--have someone thoughtful send flowers (in this case, my sister Denise, who actually thought of sending flowers with no prompting from anyone).
CHECK.


Next, secure the assistance of the wonderful employees of the retirement village where my father lives to serve cake, scoop ice-cream, make beverages, and just in general do the work of food serving so everyone can enjoy the party. Do not, however, refer to them as the village people--it only confuses things.
CHECK.





Watch the celebree enjoy visiting, while sitting in the birthday chair.
CHECK.



And visiting.




Make sure that family members who are older than 90 also have a place to sit and visit.
CHECK.

Finally, if you are the hostess, make sure you sit down from time to time. And, remember to smile!
CHECK.

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A closing word: we did not surprise my father, but he did not know who the guests would be. Among those who attended were 20 members of my mother's family.

What wonderful family ties.

Also in attendance--several members of my step-mother's family, many former missionaries with whom my father worked, members of the Kiwanis club my father belongs to, and members of the men's singing chorus my father is in at the retirement village where he lives, along with various friends he has made along the pathway of his life.

As for immediate family members--my step-mother, me and my husband, my sister's daughter and her husband.

In all--90 people attended this grand party for a grand old man.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DADDY!

From one first born to another. . .

Today is our son's birthday. A couple of years ago, I posted a "happy birthday" blog complete with pictures of him as a child. He sure was cute.

He has grown into a wonderful man--caring, intelligent, humorous, thoughtful. It is such a joy to have a child grow up into such a great person.

I am very glad that he and his sister have developed a great relationship, even with the 9 years that separates their ages. When we learned we were going to have our daughter, and told our son--his first words were: "Oh good, now I won't be an only child." The amazing thing about that comment was that he had NEVER expressed an opinion about being an only child.

Some of my friends used to ask me, before our daughter was born, whether I minded having a son--since they assumed I, as a feminist, would want to raise a daughter. My answer--no, I am raising our son to be a great husband for someone's daughter.

So, no embarrassing pics this time around.

Just a note (although he doesn't usually read my blog) to say "Happy Birthday, son."

With love from your very proud mother.

I Like It Just Fine. . .

They say that when asked how she felt now that she had reached the "advanced" age of 60, Ingrid Bergman replied: "I like it just fine, considering the alternative."

I don't know if the story above is true, but if it isn't it should be. And it is most apropos for me today--my 62nd birthday.

There's no need for me to ruminate, ponder, muse or even mumble--I have done my thinking about aging. And tried to capture some of my thoughts in poetry. So, herewith:

Elizabeth

They say that Elizabeth, that great queen, aging,
In fear of losing her young lover
Banished all mirrors from her sight.
Why seek confirmation
Of what the body shouts
Lines of grief and pain—
Then one day after he was gone
She recalled them—and with looking glass
In hand, she searched her own face
And chuckled. For what? Lost youth? Spent dreams?
How well I understand that search
As I gaze at my own face
And hear my own chuckle.

By Donna F. W.
© April 2006
_________________________________________

Life Blood

To the poet
All things private are public.
Nothing is hidden—
For when you lay bare
The chambers of your heart
Nothing remains to catch the blood
Valves spent
Vessels worn
Blood shouts its tale.
All things private are public.

By Donna F. W.
© April 2006
_________________________________________

Knowing

This is a road on which
The only detour is death.
The body ages undeniably
There is no turning back
So helplessly you watch—
As skin sags
And flesh congeals
But you keep on living
The lure of living is knowledge
In death there is no knowing
So you live because you want to know.

By Donna F. W.
© March 2006

Happy Birthday to My First Born

I had best do this post quickly, because as of midnight, this will no longer be the birth date of my elder child. Thirty five years ago, our son was born.

I called him today and said that he took his own good time getting here. I was in labor from 2:30 a.m. until 5:30 p.m. Well, for all those family members who have had to wait for him since then, just remember I was the first one who had to wait for him. Of course, his dad waited too. In fact, I slept through much of that day, but my dear husband didn’t. He was my coach, cheerleader, team spirit raiser par excellence. And also the first one who got to hold our son.

All the wonderful photos of my son as a baby are in 35 mm slide form, so I have none to offer here of the tiny baby. He was a cute child—with wonderful red curls that stood out around his head like a halo. Nothing else angelic about him, but the hair!

And now he is half way through his 30s. Whew—how can that be? That makes me. . .oh, never mind!




Of the two photos just above--the mouth open yelling son and the serious reading in the corner son, the second was far more typical.

When our daughter was born, our son was a great big brother. And a role model!

And for the last photo, our son and his wife!

Love you, son, and HAPPY BIRTHDAY.

My, oh my, where does the time go?