more sunshine

For years now, Jack has wanted to take out a couple of big trees in our yard.  One is a pine tree on the front corner of our lot, right next to the sidewalk, that used to grow in the company of another pine and a blue spruce in the neighbor's yard.  But a couple of years ago, the neighbor had his two trees cut down, leaving our pine the sole tree, with its south half barren because it was previously protected by the now missing spruce and pine on the other side of the fence.  To be honest, our pine did its best to fill in that bare space on its south side, but it also always did its best to fill up the flower beds, lawn, and rain gutters on the house with fallen pine needles and cones.  Lawn mowers hated that pine, especially its cones that would shoot out like missiles whenever one of them was discovered by the blades of the mower and would explode and fly across the yard at any unsuspecting victim who happened to be wandering nearby.

During the last microburst rainstorm a few months ago, our newly remodeled basement was flooded with two inches of water when the rain gutters on the house couldn't effectively move water away from the roof line because of the winter-long collection of pine needles clogging them.  Two inches of water in a basement doesn't sound like much, but really, it is a lot when it's soaking through papers and books and dog beds and furniture and also newly laid carpet (but so glad we went with commercial grade, no pad required carpet squares last year).

The other tree Jack has wanted to remove is a silver maple.  It too must have been at least 30 years old and sat at the back corner of our yard.  It was huge.  Massive.  Many branches, a trunk so big I couldn't wrap my arms around it.  And while I loved that it tracked the seasons amazingly well (it always knew spring was coming and would begin to green up before I sensed the end of winter, also knew when fall was around the corner even though it felt like bright, hot summer still to me), it gave me a feeling that no matter what was going on in the world, the world was still right because the tree knew.  Spring follows winter every year, summer is next, then fall, and then dark winter.  But then fresh bright green spring again.  The tree knew and the world was constant and safe and right.

That tree also took very seriously its commandment to multiply and replenish the earth.  Every year, it sent forth millions--I don't think that's an exaggeration--but literally millions of its seeds to sprout in every bit of bare soil in my gardens.  Every year it tried to reproduce a forest of its seedlings in my gardens.  Honestly, I loved that tree for all of its gifts, but I really didn't want hundreds of it growing in my yard.  Or even tens.  Or more than just that one.  So every year, I spent a fair amount of time, pulling up countless tiny little two-inch seedlings, and every year, I pulled up more than a few six or twelve-inch tall sprouts that I'd missed during previous weedings, and every now and then, I dug up a young treeling that was certain it was going to establish a home in a bed in my gardens.

During one of the recent wind storms--which sounds so uneventful, but really was very eventful, tipping over trees everywhere, knocking down power lines, blowing away shed roofs and trampolines--anyway, apparently that wind storm got a little bossy with our maple.  A few days after the storm, we found one of the huge branches split nearly off the tree, laying across the roof of our shed.  Luckily, it hadn't crushed the shed, but probably only because half of it was still attached to the tree.  But poor tree.  A major limb hanging on but nearly torn off.  Seems to me that must have been painful.  And then we noticed the split down the back side of the tree.  Insects? Disease?  Lightning strike?  We don't know.  But we knew the tree was in peril of splitting and falling on our house, or shed, or block wall, or maybe even the neighbors' houses.  It was a huge tree.

Like I said, Jack had wanted to cut down those trees for years and I had argued against it because who can cut down a beautiful living thing without good reason?  But then I realized, we had good reason.  Both of the trees were doing damage to our home.  And it wasn't the trees' fault, they just grew where they were planted.  But they had been planted, wrong tree, wrong place.  Both of them are park trees.  Or forest trees.  But not neighborhood, small-lot trees.

So for Jack's birthday, I told him I was agreeing we could have the trees removed.  As long as we agreed to buy and plant new trees that would be the right trees in the right places in our gardens.

Jack knew this was a hard thing for me to come to, but he knew I'd come to it in my own time and on my own terms.  He said it was the best gift I'd ever given to him.

After shedding a few tears, I looked around and found a company that could remove these trees safely, who would make sure they didn't come back in suckers all around the yard, and who would take them to their yard to be made into mulch to be sold to add back to the earth.  I found that company and their guy came out and gave us a bid and we made arrangements for them to bring a crane and a crew with lots of equipment to remove the trees.  But they couldn't come for six weeks.

They showed up bright and early yesterday morning with the crane and the bucket truck and the backhoe and the dumpster and a bunch of smart, capable guys who did a remarkable job working together and removing the trees.  Maybe it was all of the cool equipment they brought, or maybe it was how efficiently they worked, or maybe the events of the past few weeks put it all into perspective, but somehow, yesterday wasn't a sad day.  The grandkids all came over to watch the crane and we played together and laughed and some stayed for lunch and in the end, it was all okay.  Sometimes your perspective changes and things you thought would be really sad, end up being okay after you've endured truly hard things.  The trees being gone is okay.  We'll find some new great trees.  And time will heal the pain of losing my dad.  And Stu is back home from the hospital again, looking much better.

Sometimes you just need a little perspective.   What seems like it will be so very hard, ends up being not so hard at all.

And with the trees gone, there is more sunshine then ever in my gardens. And who can't use a little extra sunshine in today's world?

we did it

We planned a funeral for my dad and we made it through.   I think he would have liked it.  It wasn't too long and so many people from all throughout his life who loved him were there to celebrate his life with us and also to give comfort to us.  He would have appreciated the military aspect at the cemetery too.

In many ways, he's been gone for much more than nine days.  But almost to the end, there were parts of him that didn't change.  My hands ache to hold his hand again and my eyes long to see his face light up at the sight of me.  Because he always smiled when he opened his eyes and saw me.  I miss him so much.

After the service, per the local norm, we all met back at the church for a meal.  I got to sit at my grandkids' table with Jessie.  It was so very soothing to my heart to be with these people I love so very much.

And it was good to see my mom smile again.

and now he is gone

My dad passed away on Sunday, July 17.  I've had so many thoughts about him and his passing and his life.  Some of the things I've thought:

• I know people's dads die all of the time.  I know that in my head.  I do.  But I had no idea how it would feel in my heart, watching him slow down, realizing it was soon, and then acknowledging he was gone.
• As the end neared, it felt a bit chaotic to me.  When it was very close, people, understandably, got stirred up.  For just a few minutes, I wished we had a doctor there, someone who had been through this who could calmly take control of the situation.  Probably wished there had been a wise, fatherly figure to ease us through that difficult time.  But I'm sure my dad would have chosen to be in his home, in his room, with his family close by.  He was and we were.
• When my brother called Sunday morning and said he thought dad wouldn't last much longer, I finished mixing the banana bread I was making and got Jr and Jack to agree to watch it and take it out of the oven when it was done so I could go to my parents' house.  When I got there, I could see that my dad's breathing had definitely changed.  It was disturbing to me to watch at first because it was so even and fast and shallow, but after sitting with him for a few minutes, holding his still hand, I knew he wasn't suffering or in pain but I also knew his mind wasn't still with us.  Holding his hand was comforting to me.  But the protective mom in me didn't want my kids or my grandkids to experience my dad like that.  My initial reaction when I walked in the room and saw him breathing like that felt like a punch in the gut.  I wanted to protect my kids and grandkids from that experience.  After a while, I realized it wasn't really my call to protect my adult kids or their children from seeing my dad like that.  They are adults and if they wanted to see him alive one more time, that should be their decision.  By that time, Jack had already told our kids about my dad and they were making plans to be there for me and my mom.  My nieces and nephews were all there when my dad passed.  My kids were there shortly after.  And I'm okay with all of that.  I know my kids have all spent time recently with my parents when my dad was more like himself and that was enough for them.  Everybody gets to do this thing called life in the way that works for them.  And we all did.
• After my dad passed and everyone gradually left the room, it was very quiet in there.  I thought of how much life and death are alike.  That when a child is born, there is lots of time waiting, then a flurry of activity, some various infrequently-heard human sounds, then the birth, followed by that moment when you're waiting for the baby to take its first life-giving breath.  I realized on Sunday that dying has many of those same components.  There was the waiting, the flurry of activity, some sounds I've never heard before, the last breaths, and then silence and he was gone.  It was as if the air had gone out of the room for everyone like it does when you're waiting for that first breath and cry of a newborn baby.  We are not here, we are here, and then we are not here, and our brief bright light is out.  Even 91 years can seem so brief.
•  We didn't know how long it would be before my dad passed, so my sweet sister-in-law and her daughters went out and bought lunch foods for all of us.  My parents' house is not big enough for all of us to sit in together so they set up chairs in the back yard under the shade of the big maple tree out there.  I know my dad would have been delighted to see all of his kids and grandkids and great-grandkids together at that time, sharing food and memories, and comforting each other.  It was a warm afternoon, but there was a nice breeze and it was good to see everyone together.  It felt like a scene from Steel Magnolias where you recognize the sadness of life ending but also the hope of life going on and on through the generations.  My sister-in-law had put a bunch of cans of soda with ice in a wading pool she found in my parents' garage, and for just a moment, I found myself walking towards that pool of ice with the intent of scooping out some to slip down my brothers' shirts, which would have started a water fight and would have been totally inappropriate considering the situation.  But it's something my dad would totally have done and would have totally approved of.  All the same, I'm glad I had some shred of self-control in that moment.
• That thing people say about grief being like the ocean, coming at you in waves?  Confirmed. 
• My big brown dog is stuck to my side.  She still seems to sense when I'm emotionally hurting.
• I know lots of people say that someone who is dying might wait to die until all of their family is there.  Or until everyone leaves the room so they can die in private.  Or some version of that.  When my gramma died on my birthday, I had to throw away that concept because I couldn't bear to believe that she would have chosen to die on my birthday.  That was too painful.  But then my dad died when he did.  Just before his 83-year-old baby brother arrived.  The brother who is eight years younger than him, who was his best buddy, who he shared with and protected and whose tender heart would have been broken by watching him go.  There is a part of me who wonders if dad saw Judd coming and stayed as long as he could without causing more pain to his dear brother.  And who knows, maybe gramma died on my birthday so it would be easy for me to remember when she left.  I'm still pondering all of this.  But I wouldn't ever have forgotten.

sometimes it's hard or even harder

The past week or two have been buggers, haven't they?

It isn't enough enduring the never-ending nightmare that is the past year of politics.

Or the rise in violence and brutality and division in our country that is overwhelmingly painful.

Then there was the several-days long recurrence of Stu's liver issues.

And, you know, ants invading the pantry.

And, of course, the air conditioner breaking down.

While the politics will go on for months, and the chaos and divisiveness continues, at least we conquered the ants, Jack repaired the air conditioner, and Stu gradually recovered from his last stay in the hospital.

But then there's the part about my dad. 

It turns out his dementia has progressed.  A significant downturn. 

I knew from watching him the past few months that he was declining.  Sleeping more.  Eating less.  Interacting infrequently. 

Last week, the family all agreed it was time to bring him home and accept help from hospice for however long he lasts. 

The hospice nurse and aides are incredible.  They are kind, compassionate, even-tempered and so very capable.  They have allowed my mom to release herself from the incredible demands she has lived under for the past five years so she can try to just enjoy the remaining time she has with her husband. 

The hospice doctor says maybe a couple of weeks.  The goal is to keep him comfortable.  How many times have you heard that about hospice?  It sounds so very different to me now.

This is so hard.  You know that thing where you wake up in the morning and for just a brief flash everything is okay and then suddenly you remember life is not what it was just a few weeks ago?  And you really want to just put your head under the covers and stay there all day or for however long it takes for life to go back to normal?  But you know it won't because this is real life and you can't stay in bed all day every day.  So I get up and go to work and call my mom when I think it's late enough that she might be awake, but of course, she's been awake for hours already.  And at her house, it isn't normal either.  Just a slowly changing new normal.  And by lunchtime, I think I might be able to get through another day. 

But it would be so much better if I could just go sit with them.  Quietly sit and be present.  For however long we have.

lagoon

Yes I still love going to Lagoon.  Always have.  Always will.

Yesterday was a perfect temperature day.  Warm enough to dry us off quickly after the water rides and not sweltering or too humid.  The lines were short and the crowds were small, tiny really.  Lots of walking but many exciting rides.  Some fear and trembling and trepidation, but mostly that was overcome.  Courage was found.  People survived their fears.  We ate pretzels and chicken strips and fries, Icees and ice cream and ribs and jello and roasted corn on the cob.  Herschel talked us into playing a wacky midway game that he ran when he worked at Lagoon one summer years ago.  We may have played it too many times (because that's midway games for you), but eventually everybody won/walked away with a small stuffed lemur prize. 

Yesterday was midday to after dark good times.  Especially with my people.  Almost all of them.

True, I confirmed I can't take the roundy-round rides anymore.  Vertigo.  Blah.  And I was exhausted by the end of the night, or maybe before sundown.  But it was all good.  So great seeing my kids happy together with their kids happy together.  Good times.

about europe

At some time, every day since we returned from Europe, I open Safari on my phone where my blog is my homepage, to check the blogs I frequent, and I am disappointed to see I haven't yet posted about the details of our visit to Europe.  I've thought frequently about the trip and about what I want to write, what I will remember for having written it down, what I want others to know about the Europe we experienced.  I've thought often that it would have been good to have written something before going to sleep, but honestly, I was exhausted each evening, which is no excuse, because it would have helped me remember each day's activities. 

But here I am, two weeks later, having thought about it all a lot, and finally deciding I just have to write something and then maybe write something more later or perhaps I'll just move on from here.

We'll see.

So.  Europe. 

Most of it was like this:

I'm pretty sure we saw all the things tourists are supposed to see in the countries we visited.  Much of what we saw was only the exterior of the site.  For example, we didn't go inside the Louvre, which was, honestly, at the time, disappointing.  In Paris, we went on a boat ride on the Seine, we went to the top of the Eiffel Tower, we toured the Palace of Versailles.  So we saw the things tourists see.  We even went to the Moulin Rouge, which was entertaining enough, although parts were a bit, uh, distracting. 

After two nights in Paris, we headed south through the Alps, seeing castles and fortresses and vineyards.  We spent a night in Lucerne where we were touched emotionally by the Lion monument, walked across the covered bridge, and rode trams up one side of Mount Pilatus and a cog train down the other side of the mountain.  It was beautiful and the goat/sheep/cow bells we heard in the distance made me feel like we were living in the book Heidi.

After Lucerne, we crossed the Alps into Lugano and cruised across Lake Lugano to one of the most entertaining dinners I've ever had, at a delightful family-owned restaurant right on the edge of the lake. 

The next morning, we drove into Italy, passing the marble mountains where Carrara marble is mined. 

We spotted the Mediterranean Sea on the horizon, but drove on to Pisa.  Truly another tourist site, but how do you go to Italy and not see the leaning tower? 

That day ended in Florence, where we spent time in the Academy, seeing the David.  It was breathtaking.

We began our second week in Europe in Rome.  In one day, we visited the Forum, Colosseum, Spanish Steps, Trevi Fountain, the Pantheon, and the Vatican, including St. Peter's Square and Basilica.  The Pieta in the Basilica moved me deeply and was probably my favorite of all the things we saw.  It brought tears to my eyes.

I did not take this picture (it's from the internet), but taking pictures of it felt irreverent.  And pictures simply don't do it justice.

We also had a delicious, entertaining dinner that night in Rome.  We were really exhausted that day but it was a good day.

The next day we drove to Ferrara, visiting yet another castle, and then headed to Venice where we cruised up the Grand Canal, saw St Mark's Square, Doges' Palace, the Bridge of Sighs, and a glassblower demonstration before enjoying dinner in yet another incredible restaurant that we would have never found on our own. 

We went back to the canals the next day for a serenaded gondola ride with the singer on our gondola because our tour guide wanted us to have a romantic time.  She was funny that way, always looking for a way to treat us a bit special.

The next morning, we headed north over Brenner Pass in the Alps to Innsbruck, Austria, and after a few hours in Austria, rode on to Munich, Germany.

In Munich, we had dinner at the Hofbrauhaus.  It was loud and chaotic and the food was tasty. 

We drove further north the next day to Rothenburg and then on to Rhineland.  The next morning, we cruised on the Rhine passing many more castles, churches, vineyards, and fortresses.  And we had cake on the cruise.  Because apparently cake is a thing in Germany.  A thing I like.

So many castles and churches.

We left the ship to again board our bus headed to Amsterdam where we did a walking tour that included a visit through the red light district, which was, frankly, seedy and discouraging.  I didn't know if Amsterdam could ever redeem itself in my mind.  But dinner that night was delicious, and another canal cruise was interesting, as was a trip to a clog maker, a cheese maker, a windmill, and the village of Volendam.  I think I had the best fish I've ever eaten in Volendam. 

Early the next morning, we boarded our bus and drove to Brussels, where we spent a few hours sightseeing and then boarded the Eurostar through France, the chunnel, and into London.  Our awesome tour guide left us to go back to her home in The Haigue and we spent our time in London with a local guide from the area. 

Dinner the first night was of course, fish and chips, at a traditional English pub.  After dinner, we did another river cruise, this time on the Thames, so we saw many of the sites of London from the river.  It may be that by the time we got to London, we were really exhausted, but we both thought London was terribly chaotic and overwhelming.  On the cruise and also the next morning on the bus, it was, "on your right is ..., and on your left is ..., and on your right is..." and on and on and on.  It was distracting and wearing on the nerves trying to sort out the new from the old amidst all of the construction and traffic, but we did enjoy walking through the quiet of St. Paul's Cathedral.

We also watched the changing of the colors, which was a parade of sorts of all of the Queen's men, I suppose. 

Later that day, we headed to Windsor Castle, where my dislike of the Brits was confirmed by an encounter with one of the helpers at the castle.  Jack is still telling people at work the story of the helper woman who responded to my polite query about something at the castle by correcting my manners.  "Hello mum" will forever be associated in my mind with England.  Obviously she was still annoyed that we, America, broke away from them in the 1700s.  Whatev.

And then we came home.  Writing about all of the things we saw and the places we went has nearly exhausted me all over again.  And I'm sure I haven't noted everything.  It was a crazy pace to keep up with for 16 days.  The good things were the great hotels and yummy food everywhere we went and the brand new comfy bus with wifi.  An incredible bus driver and even more amazing tour guide who knew everything about the art, architecture, history, current events, food, and everything else.  We loved those two. 

Our bus driver, Franco, and Mareeka, our awesome tour guide

 

And of course, seeing everything we saw was a good thing.  While I was disappointed to not go inside of the Louvre, after going through all of many rooms of art in Rome, I realized that if we go back to France, I'm going to research the Louvre and decide ahead of time which pieces of art I truly want to see and then I'll focus on those instead of wandering past hundreds of items that will overwhelm me. 

It was good to be in a tour group so we avoided long lines getting into various places, but that meant getting up at 6:00 am everyday to have the suitcases in the hotel hallway by 6:30, eat breakfast and be on the bus by 7:30 or so.  It was really great not having to haul around our suitcases.  It was good having someone plan and take care of so many things.

Another good thing was Diet Coke.  It's called Light Coke in Europe and it was pretty much available everywhere and tasted pretty much like Diet Coke at home.  Simple things matter.

I was stunned by how many bikes there are in Amsterdam.  

 This is a bike parking ramp for 2,500 bikes.  Walking in Amsterdam required us to always be on the lookout for bike riders, especially in the bike lanes.  You could get clobbered and seriously hurt and never even know what hit you.  And nobody who lives in Amsterdam wears a bike helmet.  Only tourists have helmets.

I was saddened and angered by the mentality that allows a red light district where women are displayed like animals in a zoo but are described as business owners who pay for business licenses to sell their bodies.  Where pot and hash are legally sold in caffee shops that can't legally sell other drugs but those other drugs are obviously sold right outside the caffee shops.  And next door to the caffee shops and women are churches and kindergartens.

People always say that Europe is so old.  I didn't understand what "old" meant until I saw it.  

I loved listening to and trying to read words in Italian. I think I got pretty good at it even if we didn't know what I was saying.  I'd see a sign on a shop and read it in my best Italian and we'd try to figure out what it meant by the stuff being sold in the shop.  Five days in Italy was probably not enough for a whole lifetime. 

I had no appreciation for the power of the Catholic church throughout history and no understanding at all of how much stuff it owns and controls.  True, the Church has had thousands of years to collect stuff, but still.  I had no idea.

Everywhere we went we saw vineyards.  Acres and acres of vineyards over miles and miles of flat ground and hills and mountains.

 This is nothing compared to some of the areas we drove through.  Everywhere, rows and rows of grapes.

And fields of wild poppies.  Not anything people were growing to harvest, but acres and acres as well as little bits everywhere of poppies.

I have a long list of movies to see and books to read that were suggested by our guide because they relate somehow to the places we visited and saw.  I'm looking forward to them.

What I realized on this vacation is that there is so very much I don't know about the world.  About history.  About other people.  I was surprised by how different we are and how very much alike we are.  Everywhere we went and everyone we talked to seemed to be disappointed in their government and unhappy with their healthcare plan.  Except maybe the Aussie couple who were originally from Figi and loved their retirement plan in Australia but insisted Figi is the perfect tropical vacation place.

When we left for our trip, everyone said we should take lots of pictures.  Now I wish we'd taken more, but at the time, I just wanted to soak it all in and I thought I'd remember it all and there would be better quality pictures on the internet of everything we saw.  I quietly mocked the others on the tour who were snapping pics nonstop.  Now I wish I'd taken a picture of every meal we ate, pictures of the people we toured with, pictures of every dog we saw, every flower and bird.  It was all so incredible, so memorable, and I wish I could share it with everyone. 

Maybe next time.

and now we're back

Europe was so much.

It may have been the 16-day tour through eight countries--so lots of bus time seeing lots of stuff on a very surface level.

Or it may have been that Europe is quite simply, so very much.

So much history.  So much architecture.  So much art.  So much acreage.  So much food.  So many people.  So many languages.  So very much.

Our tour guide told us on the first night that the tour we were on was an appetizer.  Something to whet our appetites that would make us want to come back for more, over and over. 

She was right.