Pictures of the Past

 Some years ago, I was cleaning out drawers in what once had been my daughter's bedroom when she and her children moved in with me at her divorce time.  I found three rolls of exposed 35mm film in one of the drawers.  One of the rolls was sealed up and said something like "Your negatives are in this roll."  The other two were mysteries.  I never had a 35mm camera, so I figured the film had to be my daughter's, but they'd been around so long, no one had any idea what could be on them.  In fact, it had been SO long that digital cameras had taken over the world, making developing film almost an ancient process.  

I put those rolls on a bedroom shelf to remind myself to have them developed--but never seemed to get around to it.  I dusted around those rolls for even more years until I decided to put them in my living space to remind myself even MORE to take them to be processed.  FINALLY, on July 23rd, I took them to the local drug store that has a whole department for pictures (Walgreens), to be send away for processing.  I was told it would take two to three weeks to get them back.  After a number of confusing phone calls to/from Walgreens thereafter, one roll of film came back.  The other was problematic.  (More about that later.)

Out of a roll of 24 pictures, only 6 or 8 were printed.  Thank God, the photos were dated by the camera.  It was only by super-sleuthing with those dates and the appearance of my grandchildren and the picture backgrounds that I was able to determine what was going on when they were taken.  First of all, the pictures were NOT good.  They came from obviously old film dating back to late 2005 and early 2006.  The 2005 ones were of a just-post-Christmas visit to my sister Shari and Roger's in Springfield, IL, with my daughter and grandchildren.  The 2006 ones were a scant three weeks later, taken at the Bereavement Meal in Streator, IL, at the Leslie G. Woods American Legion Post, for our brother who had died suddenly.  Again, not good pictures, but they are the ONLY pictures I have of the event.  Can't pitch them!  

After several more calls to/from Walgreens, it seems that the second roll of film had been lost or overlooked.  The computer showed "processing" for weeks and weeks.  Finally, they came in.  The guy on the phone advised me that I should look at the pictures before paying for them, since the package had a price tag of $57, yet when they rang it up on the register, it said $14-something.  I glanced at the pictures before purchasing.  O.M.G!  They were wedding photos from the year 2000!  My daughter's wedding to Nathan, the father of my grandchildren!  

The first four pictures were of a track meet featuring an award-adorned young man that I didn't recognize.  I saw him acting as an usher at the wedding in another picture, so figured it had to be family on the groom's side (Ken), I believe.  His father Frank (Mother of the Groom's brother) did all of the wedding photos, so I'm thinking that he started a roll with a track meet with his son, and finished that particular roll with his nephew's wedding.  Since most of the pictures featured the bride and her family (my side), he just gave her the whole roll of film, which just sat for 21 years!

There was my beautiful daughter.  There was her half-brother Eric walking Grandma McNary down the aisle.  Then Mother of the Bride.  There was Cousin Ken walking the Mother of the Groom down the aisle.  There was the bride's father walking her down the aisle.  Pictures of the bride with Mom alone; pictures of bride and biological parents; pictures of bride with Dad and stepmother.  Pictures of the past.  I was younger and thinner with more-and-darker hair, but seeing those pictures just reminded me of the impermanence of life.  

The marriage didn't last, but the legacy did.  I am still married to the groom's family.  The photographer, Frank, passed awhile ago.  The bride's grandmother is no longer with us.  The bride's half-brother sadly died of cancer in his 40s, and the step-mother just this year.  I consider these pictures as treasures...not because of the marriage, but because of family.  Someday soon, I will also be just one of the memories.  Rejoice in what you have while you still have it!     

Teacher Dreams

 I retired from teaching in public schools in 2009.  I was probably three years premature in doing so, since I was only 62 at the time, and the general age for retirement (according to Social Security) is 65.  At the time, I was teaching 8th grade, but my daughter and grandchildren were living with me, and we really needed more child-care coverage at home for pre-and-post-school supervision, so I gave up three years of potential retirement benefits in order to stay home and help take care of the kids, who were very young--kdg and 2nd grade--at the time.  In those days, I could still breathe well and could stand/walk without problems, but I had a heart attack two months after retirement, so things changed quickly.  In short, although I didn't help myself financially, it was probably wise for me to hang up my teaching credentials after 40 years.  Honestly?  I didn't really miss it.  Oh...maybe at the beginning and the end of each school year, I missed the excitement of traditions, but as the years continued and I no longer knew the kids or even the teachers who came after me, I was okay with it all.

In the same year that I retired, both my daughter and my children left, against my better wishes.  I went into a tailspin for awhile...but I never left the classroom.  Every night, in my dreams, I was in class, facing students that were challenging me every second.  I'm always unprepared, and I'm always trying to be effective, to no avail.  Many times, I am lost in the school buildings trying to find my way to a classroom.  Often, I feel like a fraud.

Many people have dreams that they are walking around in public naked, or in their underwear.  I have dreams of being vulnerable in front of a class of students.  To me, that's the ultimate value of what I chose to do with my life.  Either I'm up for it, or I'm not.  Apparently, my subconscious mind thinks I'm a fraud.  While I'm always in there, kicking, in my dreams, I never deem myself successful.  When I wake up, I still don't trust myself as a teacher.  Maybe that's normal, but it sure doesn't help my Positive Mental Attitude, even though I've been retired for 12 years!

  

Little Things Mean a Lot

 I guess it's a common experience that "a stitch in time saves nine".  My dad used to call it "preventive maintenance".  If some little thing goes wrong, doing something about it quickly will usually preclude other problems later.  Yeah.

I live alone.  I have a helper.  She's my housecleaner-become-friend.  I'm not sure how I got so lucky to have found her, but she has been a tremendous help to me...not just with cleaning.  We've been working together for probably three years now, and she's a godsend.

I am also disabled.  Trying to do anything that requires standing or stamina is an issue for me.  I can still drive like a champ, but I can scarcely walk.  (Thankful that I live in a small house.  I'm never far from things I can hold onto while moving room-to-room.)  

That said, often little things don't get done, or if they do--and something else goes awry--it might not get fixed for months.  Then the little things become bigger things, and so it goes.  

My computer is on a hutch in the living room.  The top of the hutch has become a catch-all for "stuff".  When my gal was here today to clean, I asked her to clear off the "stuff".  Then she asked about the piano lamp on top.  Did I want it to stay?  Well, yes.  I use it...or did...until the bulb burned out.  It uses a tube-shaped bulb, so I needed to buy one.  With my gal doing all of the legwork, we tested it out.  Put in a new bulb.  Still didn't work.  Lamp must be faulty.  We trashed it.  She brought out an adjustable desk lamp from my bedroom to see if that was a good substitute.  I thought it was a stroke of genius.  I know she pretty much had to stand on her head to get it unplugged but was sure it would be perfect.  Ha!  Wouldn't turn on.  Changed the bulb.  Still no go, so hmmmm....  Maybe the problem is with the power strip way back in the dark knee-hole of the computer desk?  Bingo!  For reasons known only to God, the slot my computer was plugged into worked.  The rest did not.  

My gal (who knows more about where things are in my house than I do) appeared with a new power strip out of my closet.  She unplugged the old and plugged in the new, then tested it with the desk lamp.  Worked!  Then she fished the piano lamp out of the trash and tested it.  Voila!  It worked, too.  Problem solved, but at what price?  She returned both lamps to their original places.  She was up and down off the floor, reaching, testing, doing, and undoing.  These were things I could not have done and/or had no patience to do.  What a blessing!  It's such a little thing, but just having something that little turn into something that problematic...then resolved...brings enormous relief to me.

There is no end to the little things.  A silly example: dishes in the sink.  Need to get them in the dishwasher, but the dishwasher is full (and clean).  Can't wash the dirty dishes until the dishwasher is emptied.  How hard is it?  Such a little thing, but failing to do it prevents other things from being done.

And what about doing the laundry?  Sort it, wash it, dry it, fold/hang it, put it away.  So why do I have tons of it undone?  And how much better do I feel when I actually do all of that!  Little things...but having no clean clothes means not going anywhere, and not going anywhere means deliberate isolation.  

Little things make a huge difference!  I keep trying!  

Why Bother? Why I Live With Some Inconveniences.

 My mother and her mother weren't complainers.  Neither was my dad.  They just did what they had to do, and lived with it.  The only time my mother ever gave a hint that things weren't always quite right was when she would say, as she hobbled her first couple of steps off the couch:  "Growing old is hell."  Not much of warning about what was to come for me many decades later!  Mom didn't really take care of herself.  She died at age 67, suddenly, and sent me into a couple of years of numbness.  

I am also guilty of not taking very good care of myself when it was important to do so.  I'm better about it now that I'm 74, when it's almost too late, but I would have appreciated a little more by way of warning from my mom and grandmother.  As a result, I DO complain.  I'm not always aware that I'm doing it, but I'm trying to be being honest here.

When I was in 7th grade, my Girls' PE class was playing kickball outside on a crisp fall day.  The ball was kicked in my direction, but I missed it.  It just gave a glancing blow to one of my fingers as I tried to catch it.  It hurt.  I looked down and noticed a big lump on the first knuckle of the ring finger on my right hand.  I was convinced it was broken.  When I got home, I insisted that my dad take me to the ER, even though (as a football coach) he was telling me there was nothing they would do about it even if it was broken.  He was right, of course.  The finger wasn't broken, but there was a dislocated bone chip that gave the knuckle its lump.  They put a splint on it and sent us home.  I carry that knuckle deformity to this day.  The finger works, so why the fuss?  Why did I bother?

Another time in my childhood, I was playing tetherball with my best friend in her yard.  I came down from a hit and rolled my ankle.  It hurt like crazy.  I limped home.  That night, I had to get up in the night...stepped on that ankle...and nearly went to the floor.  Again, I was convinced it was broken.  Once again, I went to the ER for xrays, and once again was told nothing was broken.  Back home again with a wrap for a sprain until it healed.  More medical expense for nothing.  Why bother?  

I've had other aches and pains through the years, as an adult.  Just when I think I should seek medical attention for them, they go away.  Some come back intermittently.  Some never come back at all, and I congratulate myself for having waited just long enough to save medical expenses.  

Just a couple of months ago, I complained to my PCP's nurse practitioner that something wasn't right in my belly.  Among other things, my navel had gone from being an "inny" to an "outie".  All I could think of was that something was going on in there that I should probably look into.  The NP ordered an xray.  Nothing showed, but my belly hadn't improved, so she ordered a CT scan.  The scan showed...ta-dah!...pockets of gas in my large intestines. Gas, of all things!  The doc told me that it is diet-related and that I should probably begin to take things out of my diet to determine sensitivity.  Well, there you are!  There is not a single thing I eat that I can live without, so I guess I won't do anything, nor worry.  Why bother?  I love food!

I'm fairly crippled up with back problems that affect my ability to stand and walk.  When I first complained about it to my then-PCP, I felt brushed off.  Oh, they took an xray that my then-doc said showed "weakness".  I'm sorry?  An x-ray shows weakness?  I didn't go back to that dude, and since then, my back problems have only increased.  

I get yearly chest scans looking for lung cancer.  The scans almost always show spinal degeneration.  I've been told it is arthritis, but no one knows for sure because no one has been brave enough to order an MRI for my back.  I struggle around in my little house-on-a-slab, doing the best I can.

Interestingly, if I do have arthritis, it doesn't really bother my knees.  I did have a torn meniscus a few years ago, but my knees don't give me any pain.

Know what DOES give me pain?  The index finger on my right hand.  The second knuckle has a hitch in it, and now the whole finger lets me know if I'm doing something it doesn't want.  Like picking up a jug of wine by the handle, or opening a pop-top can.  I'm right-handed, so this is an issue.  Should I seek medical attention for it?  Why would I want to?  There's no way to fix it besides surgery.  I'm guessing it's arthritis, but why only in one finger??  I haven't "done my research" about it yet.  All I really want to know is if I am hurting it by continuing to use it, or should I put a splint on it to let it rest for awhile?  My general knowledge of arthritis is that you have to keep using an affected joint just to keep it moving.  

I'm extremely flinchy about seeking medical attention for anything that isn't critical right now.  The "why bother" attitude is in there, of course.  I don't want to whine about the little crap that nothing can be done about when the rest of the world is struggling with COVID.  I think my swollen finger can wait.  It's inconvenient...but why bother?          

Letting Go

Where has the time gone?  Just yesterday, I was busy raising my daughter and trying to help her find her way in life.  Today, however, the time has come that I am busy helping my daughter get through helping HER daughter take that next step.

My grandchild, Robin (now known as Adrian) will move into her college accommodations today.  She spent her freshman year at home, online, due to the pandemic.  This year, she's going to be in person on campus.  Her mom and stepdad took her on a week-long vacation trip to Oregon in their RV, then home for a couple of days before departing for WWU in Bellingham, WA.  They got there yesterday.  Today is move-in day.  

Adrian will be staying in an off-campus apartment complex.  She will share accommodations with three other students.  When she was here just a couple of weeks ago, she was on a quest to get things she thought she would need, so I was able to play a tiny part in getting her ready for her new adventure.  That's all I've ever wanted...to be a part.  I feel good about that.

My daughter, Adrian's mother, has been quite emotional about the whole process of letting go of her daughter.  Her latest message to me was, "I hope I can get through today."  I assured her that she could, which is probably not what she wanted to hear, but it is the truth.  We do what we have to do for our children and family.  Period.  And we adapt and move on.  It isn't always pretty.

I came from (at least) two generations of strong women who instilled in me that you pick up, dust off, and do what needs to be done in the moment.  Falling apart is never an option.  When my mother died unexpectedly in 1986, the funeral director met me in the parking lot just before Mom's funeral.  I recall putting my head on his shoulder, saying, "I don't think I can do this."  His response?  "Yes, you can."  It was such a Mom thing to say!  It took all I had to do it, but I  "bucked up" and got through.  I remember nothing about the funeral, but I got through it without embarrassing myself. 

Then, too, many years later (1990 or so), I was embroiled in determining what to do about my marriage in the midst of my then-husband's infidelity.  Every single day was a challenge.  I had a child to finish raising and a challenging teaching job.  One of my best teacher friends told me, "Peg, don't fold up.  You'll just have to unfold again."   Again, a Mom thing to say.  She was right, of course, and I didn't fold up, even though there were many, many times when I wished I could.  I knew that "folding up" wouldn't change a thing, so I did what I had to do.

Today will be hard on my daughter.  She has already been weepy about giving her eldest to the world in the midst of a pandemic that isn't over yet.  I am, too, but I have no voice or choice.  All I can do is prop up my daughter as she gives up HER daughter to the world.  All I can give her is words.

She doesn't know about the days I cried when she and the family moved to Muncie so many years ago, out of my immediate clutches.  I wept for days before I figured out that I would just have to drive a little farther to see them.  

She doesn't know about the days that I cried when my daughter and the children left the children's father and moved in with me for two years or so.  I had no warning.  I loved it but felt bad for the children who loved their father.

She doesn't know about the two years of tears and depression I went through when she gave custody of my grandchildren to their father so she could follow her boyfriend to California for a career with Microsoft.  The feelings of hurt, betrayal, helplessness all came crashing down.  It improved over time, but not without major trauma to the kids.  

She doesn't know about all of the tears I shed in the years of raising her alone, praying that I was doing the right thing, hoping she'd turn out well because I had no one else to blame if she didn't.

And now...NOW...my daughter is feeling the same pinch that I did in all of those years:  letting go, but not wanting to.  She and Adrian are sooo much alike, it's pathetic, but they love each other in ways that aren't always obvious.  But I know my kid...and I know my grandkid.  God willing, all will be okay.  My task for today is to reassure my daughter that her first-born will be okay.  She will be missed, but she's not gone.  We will weep together for a bit, but love will win.  Nothing is lost, but letting go is hard!

We are all treading on new ground today.  May God have mercy on all of us!

         

Godspeed

 Godspeed is not an expression that is often used these days.  I use it quite a bit, with my own interpretation of what it means.  To me, it is a blessing of sorts.  

I've looked it up.  It is an ancient expression that equates to wishing someone safe travels and good luck to be prosperous on a journey.  More than "good-bye"--which, btw, is derived from "God be with you"--to me, it is an investment in love and a prayer for the traveler.  To me, it is like "aloha"...hello and good-bye, until we meet again.

And that's the kicker: meeting again.  To me, Godspeed means "May God speed you on your trip and return you safely back to me."

If I tell you "Godspeed", you'd better bet that I love you and am putting my faith in Almighty God/Intelligence to make it happen.  Consider it my Mizpah:  The Lord watch between thee and me while we are apart, one from the other.  Amen!!

      

  

Gramma Time!

 (With apologies to American music artist M.C. Hammer.)

When I first became a grandmother, I had no clue how important any of my grandchildren would be to me.  I adored the first one; then, 15 months later, I adored the second one, too.  I did whatever I could to help make their lives, and those of their parents, pleasurable.  The kids are now 19 and 17.  They moved to the Pacific Northwest (Seattle, WA) a number of years ago, much to my dismay.  Too far away from Grandma!!  Still, I was blessed to visit them and my own daughter and husband, about twice a year.  Then the COVID  pandemic hit.  The world stopped.  I could not go there, and they could not come here.

From the spring of 2020 onward, I had no respite from the longing for my family.  My physical health and my mental health took a nosedive.  I finally went to my doctor and said, "I am not okay."  She put me on a low dose of Sertraline, which seemed to help.  Still, it's not a substitute for the ones I love.  I hadn't seen my babies since Christmas of 2019, and it killed me!

Last week, all of that ended.  The children flew to the Midwest, masked and fully-vaccinated, to see their father and their two sets of grandparents.   I hadn't seen them since the Christmas of 2019, and it was killing me.  

Friday, Aug. 20, 2021:

The kids arrived via Alaska Airlines in the late afternoon of August 20th, a Friday.  It was a very hot and humid day.  The air conditioning in my car only works if the car is moving, so I knew it wasn't going to be a good thing to wait in the Cell Phone Lot at the airport for word that they were down.  Thus, their paternal grandmother (my friend and co-grandparent who lives a scant mile from me, Judy) volunteered to drive us to the airport to pick up the kids when they landed.  We drove through a gully-washer rain to get to the CP Lot to sit and wait for a bit until we got the word "We down" from the grandson.  The rain had let up.  When they texted that they were off the plane, we headed to the terminal, just two minutes away, and there they were, waiting for us at the curb!  (They didn't have any checked bags, so could just deplane and head to the street.)   Judy brought us home and lingered in the driveway to hug her grandkids before heading home to have supper with her husband and live-in son.

In short order, I fixed "walking tacos" which is essentially tacos using corn chips instead of taco shells or tortillas.  We ate, chatted, settled in, and eventually went to bed.  (I should probably note here that when the kids come to Indiana, they generally sleep at my house because I still maintain their bedrooms from long ago.)

Saturday, Aug. 21, 2021:    

The kids didn't really unpack because their father and stepmom were to pick them up here and whisk them away to Muncie for a couple of days.  (Their dad lives in Zion, IL, north of Chicago, almost on the Wisconsin border. Their stepmother's mom lives in Muncie, and the day before was her birthday.) They were a tad late picking the kids up because of traffic between Chicago and Indy, but when they arrived, the kids' dad hugged them long and hard in the driveway, came in for a few minutes, then ran off to Muncie.  I don't think he has seen them any sooner than I did....  

Sunday, Aug. 22, 20211, and Monday, Aug. 23rd:

Nathan and Kendra (the kids' dad and stepmother) brought the kiddos back to Plainfield, to Judy and Phil's house (the other grandparents'.)  Apparently they had been to a car show in Muncie, and had gone mushroom hunting somewhere--or at least Nathan and son did.  They both came back covered in chigger bites!  I was invited to join them all for dinner, which I did.  Judy is a good cook!  

After dinner, we all sat down to watch Animal Farm.  We only made it halfway through when my stomach began to act weird, so I excused myself to come home.  The kids would come after the movie.  Just into the one mile trip between their house and mine, my intestinal urges became acute.  I was doing my best to get home, pronto...which I did...but only made it just inside the front door when the intestinal dam burst under pressure from muddy water.  I was in the process of cleaning myself up when their father brought the kids home to my house.  Yeah...that was fun!

Tuesday, Aug. 24, 2021:

The plan for the day was for everyone to go to the Indianapolis Museum of Art where they had a digital Van Gogh exhibit, and more.  Bless her heart, Judy had done a lot of research into it and had all of the details figured out.  As it happened, I chose not to go (because of my disabilities)...so did Stepmother....and so did Grandpa.  Thus, Judy, her son, and the two grandchildren were the only takers.  Thankfully, it was totally an inside experience because it was blistering hot and humid outside!  The kids came back late but in good spirits.  

Wednesday, Aug. 25, 2021:

The kids' dad picked them up sometime in the morning and took them to the Heffelman grandparents' house for one last gasp before the parents left to head back to the Chicago area.  They planned to be gone by noon, but the weather had other ideas.  A thunderstorm hit about 11:30 AM.  Some wind.  HEAVY rain.  Lightning and thunder.  At one point during the storm, several tree-sized limbs came crashing down from one of their oak trees onto the two cars in Judy and Phil's driveway.  Both vehicles were totaled, and the kids were wide-eyed.  A little Midwest weather action to keep things hopping!  (They don't get much by way of thunderstorms in the Pacific Northwest where they live.)

When their dad delivered the kids back to my house after the storm so they could head north, everyone was a bit in a twitter about the storm and the cars.  The children and I just "vegged" for the rest of the day.  The day's excitement had been enough!

Thursday, Aug. 26, 2021:

Grandma Judy had planned to take the children to the Indianapolis Zoo on this day.  I had already called Grandpa Phil the afternoon before and suggested that, due to the heat and car circumstances, it would be better to cancel those plans.  Though I never got an official cancellation from them, the zoo trip didn't happen, which was an enormous relief.  Ryan had already declared that he just wanted to "hang out here", and that his "social battery [was] drained".    

Grandpa had requested Ryan's help in cleaning up tree trash in their yard early in the day.  Robin drove him over there in the morning.  I would have let Ryan drive himself, but I thought we would need the car.  Both of my grandkids are licensed drivers, although they have never driven in Plainfield, IN, to know how to get anywhere, including the other grandparents' house.  I swallowed my fear, gave Robin my Proof of Insurance card and car key, and prayed a lot.  She was home almost before I even knew she was gone! 

Here is where my memories of what happened on which days gets a little cloudy.  There was a musical slated for the entertainment center at our biggest community park in Pfield for the weekend of August 27-28:  Newzies.  It piqued Robin's interest and mine; Ryan even said he would go if that's what the rest wanted to do.  (Bless him!  Ry was definitely being a team player this trip.  He usually excuses himself from things like this if he has a choice, but he was clearly focused on doing family things this time.  My grandson is maturing!)  Meanwhile, the heat/humidity wave had not abated.  This was an outdoor event, complete with walking uphill on grass--not great for me, even with my rollator--and finding enough folding chairs for all of us.  I was having heat-related breathing problems...and I know Grandpa Phil doesn't handle the heat well, either.  We all just kind of let the event slide by without making much of an effort to go.  Too blasted hot! 

On one of those days, I turned Robin loose with my car, my credit card, a budget "rice point", and off she went, using Google Maps as her only means of navigation.  (I did steer her in a direction that had most of the stores she would need but knew that she was better off shopping without me.)  Robin is preparing to attend her sophomore year at Western Washington University on campus, having spent her entire freshman year online at home, due to COVID.  She is vaccinated; faithfully wears a mask; and is one sharp cookie.  Still, she hasn't lived away from home before, so has a list of things she thinks she will need, augmented by friends and family.  Since she came with only carry-on luggage, I proposed to ship her overage to WA, then hatched the idea of packing her overage in an extra suitcase of mine and give her the fee for a checked bag.  (Cheaper to pay the checked bag fee than USPS would charge to ship, and they would all arrive at the same time!)

Robin arrived safely at home with her treasures hours later.  We did Show and Tell.  She made great choices, in my opinion.  A couple of days later, Grandma Judy took Robin shopping, too.  More goodies!  

Sunday, Aug. 29, 2021:              

I did online church, as usual.  Can't remember much else about the day except that we went to Judy and Phil's for Sunday dinner.  As usual, it was good!

Monday, Aug. 30, 2021:

Can't remember!

Tuesday, Aug. 31, 2021:

This day was the last full day that the grandchildren would be here.  I had already invited the Heffelman grandparents to share dinner with us, as a "last gasp" before the kids left AND their 60th wedding anniversary two days after.  My senile brain had been working overtime to find ways to make the meal special for them.  As it happened, it was a semi-disaster on my part.  (More on that later.)  

I sent Robin out to find some little token gift to give to the grandparents for their anniversary.  She returned with a plant, then asked for supplies to make a homemade card for them.  In the meantime, I had to clean off the kitchen table, dig out the fine china and glassware, put a leaf in the table, set the table, and somehow have energy left to cook.  Grandchildren to the rescue!  Both kids dug right in to help get things done.  I'm not at all sure that a respectable family dinner would have happened without them!  I had changed the dessert menu several times.  Cooked the stir fry too long.  Added WHOLE water chestnuts to the stir fry instead of sliced because, apparently, that's all I had.  Long story short, the kids saved my life on that dinner, and I was totally aware that I could not have done it alone.  Thank you, Robin and Ryan!  We ate and visited, then spent the remainder of the evening starting to organize for the next day's departure.

Wednesday, Sept. 1, 2021:

Thankfully, the non-stop flight from Indy to SeaTac happens in the late afternoon.  We determined to leave for the airport at 4:30 PM.  Grandma Judy wanted to go with us, but she was participating in a Homemaker's Club outing to Beef and Boards dinner theater for the matinee.  She had Phil call to say she would be here to join us at the airport drop-off.

Meanwhile, Robin had already determined which of her purchased treasures would not fit in her carry-on bag.  She felt certain that if Ryan let her pack his bag, she could find room for it all so as not to have the expense or responsibility for a checked bag.  It worked!!  In our down time before departure, we conversed.  The heat wave had relaxed, so the humidity was down...and the kids and I had long, introspective discussions out on my patio.  I do so love these young adults!

At 4:30, Judy pulled into my drive behind my car, in her rental.  I asked which car.  She said hers, so we packed up and headed to the airport.  It's about a 10-15 minute trip from my door to the terminal.  We dropped the kids off at the curb by Alaska Airlines, hugged and kissed them both, then drove off as they walked into the terminal.  I didn't cry until I got home, and then the tears flowed.  I settled down to track their flight on the Internet for the next four hours.  They arrived safely.  Their mom and stepdad and Ryan's puppy greeted them inside the terminal.  Nyla (the puppy) didn't recognize the kids until she smelled them, and then all wiggling broke loose.  Ryan had worried that Nyla wouldn't remember him.  Nope!  Once I knew that my grandbabies were in the clutches of family, I could breathe and relax.  I already miss them terribly!

Conclusion:

 Throughout the course of the Covid crisis--which is far from over--I had myself convinced that I would never get to see my family again.  That I would die alone and lonely.  They live half a continent away from me, without much hope that I could move there and maintain a place of my own.  Thanks to my former son-in-law, this trip happened.  I enjoyed every second of it!  

The children have changed since December of 2019.  I'm amazed at their maturity and have dropped back from thinking of telling them what to do, to enjoying their personalities.  They are questioning, evaluating, thinking critically--much more than I ever did at their ages.  I am so blessed to be their grandmother!

There is nothing that my grandchildren could do or be that would ever cause me to turn my back on them.  I will go to my grave adoring them.

September 11th Revisited

 I have written about the tragedy of 9/11 in the US before, but I am revisiting that awful day in our history just to show that I have not forgotten.  Today marks 20 years since four planes were crashed into significant buildings in New York City, Washington DC, and into a field in Pennsylvania (a thwarted attempt to destroy another building, as the news was getting out) by Middle Eastern terrorists.  

Most people clearly remember where they were and what they were doing when they heard life-changing news.  I was still teaching high school at the time.  Third period (about the time that the disasters were happening) was my free period, but because a substitute couldn't be obtained for a particular teacher's absence, a number of us lost our free periods that day to cover for him.  That particular class was 8th graders.  He had left them with an assignment.  All I had to do was supervise.  (Translate: babysit.)

Before I left to go to that wing of the school to meet up with the class, I used the passing period time (5 minutes in those days) to check my private email.  I normally got a daily devotional from a particular website which I would quickly read and clear.  Had done that already...but there was another one from that site.  Strange.  It said there was a report of planes crashing into the World Trade Center in NYC, and ended with "Please pray for the people.  Please pray for our country."  That was my first word that the world was forever changed.  

There was also an email from a dear radio friend with whom I was particularly close.  He worked for the FAA as a technician for the Air Route Traffic Control Center at Indy International Airport.  (In other words, he was not an air traffic controller, but worked in the same space, side by side with them.)  His message was short and sweet, mentioning that they/we were in crisis.  He ended it with, "This is the real deal."  He was generally a jokester but didn't kid about serious stuff.  Seeing "this is the real deal" is akin to hearing, "This is not a drill" on board a Navy ship.  

I left my classroom and headed to the Industrial Arts wing where my charges were.  I was all a-twitter.  Something big was going on in the world and I was stuck in a classroom with no contact with the outside world.  After introducing myself to the kids and giving them their assignment for that period, I started scouting around.  The teacher for the woodshop next door had a TV up and running for his class.  I asked to bring my charges in with his group...just for me, really.  He agreed.  I only had to move the kids a few feet from where they already were.  They found places to sit as I was glued to the TV.  Honestly?  I'm not 100% sure that ANY of the kids in that room had any clue about what they were watching, IF they were watching.  I didn't editorialize.  I just left them to their own devices as long as they behaved...and they did.  (Thank God.  I think I would have exploded if anyone had expressed boredom or complaining!!)

I watched as the towers came down that period.  I was largely speechless and didn't hear much about the Pentagon or the Pennsylvania field until I got home.  I was transfixed with the news.  In shock, I think.  The world stood still for days and weeks.  American air space was closed for four days.  (It really felt strange to look up and see not a single con-trail in the sky.)  We were all focused on "Ground Zero" and the responders that were climbing around the "pile" in search of survivors.  (Essentially, there were none but maybe four fireman in a hole in the wreckage.)  It was a very long time before normal television programming returned to normal.  ALL of the news was about NYC.  

I was caught up in the futility of the situation.  Hundreds of people were jumping from the buildings, choosing to die quickly rather than to fry or suffocate.  I simply couldn't/can't imagine the agonizing choice.  And then there were the pictures of first responders--tough firemen and police who were dedicated to rescue--covered in dust with faces that registered shock and helplessness.  I think those images burned into my psyche more than anything else.  Twenty years later, I am still haunted by those thoughts and pictures.  

Then there were the 35 folks in Flight 93 who discovered the truth about the plane's mission and took it upon themselves to rush the cockpit full of terrorists in an effort to save the potential target...knowing full well that they had nothing to lose.  The plane was going to be crashed whether they acted or not.  They called their relatives and said their good-byes before they took action.  I can't even fathom that kind of courage!  The plane was crashed into the ground and all were lost, including the terrorists, but what heroes the passengers on that plane were!  

As America was still traumatized and trying to celebrate Thanksgiving and Christmas after that, my daughter had found fabric that had little flags on it.  She made cloth Christmas ornaments out of those flags, with white backing and ribbon handles.  On the back, she wrote, "United we stand.  September 11, 2001."  Then she gave them to family.  I cherish mine.  It is a yearly reminder that Christmas is still gonna happen, no matter what tragedies the world presents.

In the two decades since this horrible event, life has changed.  Airplane cockpits have been reinforced to make them impenetrable.  Getting through airports is tougher.  Security is tighter.  People in  airplanes that contain others who pose threats to the peace and security of the flight are taken off the plane as soon as possible.  Passengers are no longer passive bystanders.  In a pinch, they take action to prevent being sitting ducks in an aircraft in flight.  We all look at each other a little differently.  It isn't always a good thing, but it is understandable.

We Americans are so spoiled.  We got sucker-punched on December 7, 1941, but apparently we forgot how really vulnerable we are to those who want to do us harm.  We lost our innocence on September 11, 2001.  Twenty years later, we have gone back to old ways of thinking; old ways of being.  Can 9/11 happen again?  You bet it can, not just to the U.S. but to any other free country in the world.  I worry about the world that my grandchildren are inheriting on so many levels.  I'll be gone before long, but I pray every day for peace and love to prevail.  Yeah...I'm that much of a dreamer.