Funerals, Family and Fun

 Funerals can be fun.  At least they can be if you come from an irreverent family like mine.  There are of course tears, copious amounts of tears, but at least some of those come because you are laughing.  My Grandma lived a good life; she used it up, wrung it out and then went back for more.  This was never more evident than at her funeral.  She was a fantastic lady, lived a fantastic life and raised a fantastic family.  I am so profoundly grateful to be a part of that family.

My grandparents had six kids, all of them married and had kids, LOTS of kids.  I have 31 cousins on my dad's side,  all but four were there (one just happened to be hanging out with my grandma on the other side).  We live all over the country, we range in age from 50 to 21, we are about as different as you can get and yet, it doesn't matter .  Maybe it's because we share the same gene pool, or maybe, and more likely, we were all raised by people who were raised by the same people (did you follow that?).  Either way, it doesn't really matter, because what you end up with is 30 people that are pretty awesome to spend time with.  Grandma's funeral was one part funeral and two parts family reunion.  We spent the weekend reminiscing, reacquainting,  and firmly committing to spend more time with each other.  I honestly think that's exactly what my grandma would have wanted.

Now in the interest of posterity I will share my favorite memories from this weekend:

1.  When my cousin Tom walked in I turned to my cousin Barbara and said, pointing at Tom, "Look, Grandma was so awesome that Donny Osmond came to her funeral."  From then on out Barb laughed every time she saw him.  That may seem odd to you, but I present, Tom:

Uncanny, isn't it?  P.S. Sorry, Tom, if you read this and it's embarrassing.

2.  My dad telling me that when he dies he wants me to give the life sketch and that if I take more than 15 minutes he'll get up and tell me to shut up and sit down.  He really would, and it made me laugh.

3.  The flower arrangement that I had done for my Grandma from her grandkids:

She'll probably come back and haunt me for letting them put cheap chocolate on her flowers, but they were awsome!

4.  This conversation between my daughter and my cousin's son:
A.J.(4) and Evie(5) are looking at Grandma in her casket

A.J.:  When this is over they are going to close the lid and then she will turn into a skeleton and then a ghost.

Evie:  (rolling her eyes) That doesn't happen, you have to take off your skin to be a skeleton.

A.J.: (nodding sagely) True.

Then they walk away.

5.  As my grandma was passing, my uncle thought it might be nice if they played MoTab singing the hymns.  Now we can debate the helpfulness of hearing "Press Forward Saints" as you go towards the light, but that was not my favorite part.  That came later when my dad said he would like us to play Pink Floyd's "The Wall" as he goes.

6.  Putting together the photo montage DVD of Grandma's life and finding this:

And this:

And these:

From when Grandad was wounded in action on one of his bombing runs.

Grandad in front of his plane the "Dinah Might".  That's my grandma's name on the right above his head.

And finally these:

 That's what my Grandma did on her 80th birthday.  Parasailing in Hawaii with a 650 ft. long rope.  They wanted to put her on the short rope and she got mad.  She was the oldest person they had ever flown.  She did that in her knee high pantyhose and walking shoes.  Remember how I said she was fantastic?

7.  Learning that, at least once, my grandparents had a "quickie" in a closet at Grandad's work. 

There are more but most of them contain family "secrets" that probably shouldn't be shared on a public blog.  Perhaps that caveat should have included that last one, but really, that was too good to not share.  All in all it was good day.  A fitting tribute to a woman who was all about her family.  Man, we're going to miss her.

Death is a funny thing.  Not funny as in "haha", but funny as in odd.  Despite a firm understanding of the plan of salvation, it doesn't change the fact that one day someone is here and the next day they are not.  Just gone.  Even when someone is ready to go, and my grandma was, it still leaves a ragged little hole that has to be filled by other things.  Mostly those other things are just life, the things we living do to keep on...well, living.  Problem is, those other things are also oddly shaped, not hole shaped at all, so no matter  how much you try to fill that hole it never really fills up completely, the ragged edges all exposed and hurt-y, until the simple passing of time does the job for you.  Time comes in and wears down the sharp corners and fills in the empty spaces and finally brings peace. 

I kinda like peace.

Passing

My Grandma is dying.  Even now, as I type, my phone is sitting beside me and I keep glancing down at its screen like somehow I might not hear its ring over the clacking of the keyboard.  It's silly, I know, and yet I keep on doing it over and over, the action of it somewhat reassuring.  This is not a sad passing, at least not completely.  Her body is used up, broken, her mind, more and more lately, the same.  She is not happy, often in pain and ready, I think, to go.  But still, she's my Grandma, and I'll miss her.

My grandma was not your typical grandma.  I had one of those, a grandma straight from the pages of a story book.  She belongs to my mom.  This one belongs to my dad.   This is the grandma that taught you how to play cards, let you drink caffeine once in a while, and let you stay up past your bedtime.  She was the one that always had Snickers bars in her freezer and a drawer full of the good stuff somewhere else.  She was the grandma that told you what short sheeting a bed was and then only manages a laugh and a "You little stinks!" when she climbs into bed and finds herself victim to her own prank later that night.  She made fascinating concoctions like fruit salad smothered in Miracle Whip and carrot pudding with caramel sauce, but she evened that out with applesauce cookies, chocolate cake and cinnamon rolls.  She had Easter egg hunts in her garden and took you out to fancy restaurants like Sizzler.  She sent you a dollar on your birthday, even when you were turning 30.  She was the kind of grandma who let you listen to four straight hours of "Maneater" on the tape player in her giant Chrysler when you were lucky enough to get to go on a road trip with her.  It was on one of those road trips, when I was eight or so,  that she introduced me to fine chocolate.  She took me to the shop and bought me a single dark orange creme, her favorite.  She handed it to me like she was passing on an ancient female secret, and that started what has become a lifelong relationship with the good dark stuff.  It was an experience that obviously had an impact on me; here we are 30ish years later, and I remember it like it was yesterday, but the older I get the more I realize it was less about the chocolate and more about the way she made me feel.  I was special and important enough to take part in that ritual with her.  She made everyone feel that way.  She was a great lady.   The proud matriarch of our big crazy family.

She was also a widow.  My Grandad died in 1979.  Which means, if you do the math, that my grandma was alone for three decades.  She never remarried, even though she was relatively young when Grandad died.  I don't know for sure if that was because of a lack of opportunity or by choice, but I don't think that it ever crossed my Grandma's mind that she could be married to anyone else.  She loved him and missed him.  On another one of those road trips we were on together, we passed an old couple driving an RV with plates from back east.  Grandma's eyes got watery and she swore (though she'd never admit it) and said it just wasn't fair that that woman got to be old and travel around in an RV with her husband and she didn't.  It was a rare break, one that I doubt she intended on sharing with her pre-teen granddaughter, but a revealing one, and I remember sitting there for a few minutes trying to figure out if I was supposed to say something.  I didn't, neither did she, and we went back to listening to "Maneater".   Now, the idea of my Grandma criss-crossing the country in an RV is laughable (that would mean giving up her weekly hair and nail appointments), but it was a rare glimpse, at least for me, into the depths of her loneliness.

The last several years my grandma's mind has been slipping.  Her usually sharp mind would easily forget conversations had only moments before, and days, months and even years became jumbled in her head.  Her past was, more and more, becoming her present.  My dad, who had lunch with her every Tuesday, was reporting more often that she was speaking of my Grandad, her parents and siblings (who have been long gone) in the present tense.  Often, she would be angry with Grandad, because while he would be with her at night, when she would wake in the morning he would be gone, off galavanting, she was sure, with the neighbors at the assisted living center where she lives.  My dad believed this was one more sign of her declining mind.  I choose to believe that Grandad was actually there at night, easing his scared sweetheart's transition from our world to his.

My dad told me yesterday that he hopes his mother passes today; that Grandma deserves a Valentine's Day with her husband after thirty years apart.  I told Ben last night I would give anything to witness that reunion.  Later, as I lay in the dark next my own sweetheart, I realized that while I may not witness it with my eyes, it won't matter.  After thirty years apart, the joy contained in that first embrace can't help but be felt on our side of the veil. 

So safe journey, Grandma.  Tell Grandad I said hi.

Snowed In...

Anyone want to guess where our yard ends and the street begins?

As in we really are.  Snowed in, that is.  Yesterday we found ourselves under a severe storm warning, and today it's a blizzard warning.  Who knew a blizzard was worse than a severe storm?  The things you learn.  Anyway, the city is shut down, schools canceled, the roads are closed and if you do venture out, good luck if you slide off the road, because no one's going to come get you.  By the end of it all there should be close to a foot of snow on my lawn, and the 30-50 mile an hour wind is drifting the snow, so it's even deeper in some spots, and you can't drive because visibility is zero.  To top it off, the high tomorrow:  4.  That is not a typo.  FOUR.  4.  FOR.  The low? NEGATIVE 11.  Balmy.  This is where I live.

All I keep thinking is, it's November.   If this is fall, what happens in the winter here?  Yesterday we ventured out in our "severe storm" to stock up on supplies like bread, milk, nacho cheese and Coke.  I thought we should buy things like water and batteries but, apparently, that is over-reacting and, besides, water seemed a little redundant.   I prefer the term cautious.  This weather doesn't seem to affect anyone here.  In SoCal, when it rained more than inch it became a county-wide state of emergency.  We'd watch Storm Watch 2010 on every channel for hours as we wait anxiously to see if that one dog is rescued from the roaring rapids of the L.A. "river".  An hour ago my sister called to ask if I wanted to have a girl's night tonight and I said, "There's a blizzard warning in effect until 11 pm." and she said, "And...?"  And?  AND?!?  And I intend my death to be from old age, not death by freezing in the TGI Friday's parking lot.

It has been 12 years since I've lived through a snowy winter and there are lots of things I've forgotten, like snow is only fun until you're old enough to pick up a snow shovel.  That's a lesson my two young sons are rapidly learning.  Also, it takes 3 times longer than the rest of your body for your butt to warm up.  This is because there is more fat in your rear end, which means less blood, which means less heat.  My tush is still warming up from yesterday around 2:45.   Also, there is a magical quality about snow pants that immediately makes every child have to pee.  It's a fact, look it up.

So I just wanted all of you to know we're fine.  We've hunkered down, waiting out the storm, doing things like making popcorn on the stove and playing Settlers of Catan with the boys.  We'll probably watch a Christmas movie tonight, under quilts, and drink hot cocoa until the kids start to bicker and fight because they've been trapped inside all day and someone is breathing someone else's air and then we'll all end up in separate rooms with a sentence of never-ending grounding hanging above everyone's heads if they dare speak to each other while Ben and I discuss how we're going to afford snow tires and Christmas at the same time.   It's gonna be a long, four five seven months.

Happy Winter everyone.  If no one hears from us by next week, please send help to dig us out!

In case you were wondering...

I'm sure some of you are struggling with what to get Mrs. Snowy Flip-flops for Christmas.  Well, to help you out there, may I present...

http://www.llbean.com/llb/shop/61959?from=SR&feat=sr

In green, please.

Little Miss Sassy-Pants

Scene:  Evie is taking a bath, I come in to check on her...
Me:  Evie, did you put that towel in the tub?
Evie: Yes.
Me:  Evie, you are not supposed to put towels in the tub!
Evie: Well, it's a little late now.

Scene:  Evie crawls into my bed about 2 am. into the empty space Ben usually occupies.  I let her f or a few minuted and then I say...
Me:  Ev it's time to go back to your bed.
Evie: I don't want to, I'm scared.
Me:  You can turn on the bathroom light.
Evie:  YOU can turn on the bathroom light, but I'M pretty much gonna sleep right here.

Scene:  Evie is looking through the Toys R Us catalog
Evie:  I think I'm going to have Santa bring me this WHOLE page.
Me:  I don't think Santa is going to bring you the whole page.
Evie: She looks at me for a minute, smirks and then says: That's what you think.

Snow

So.  It has begun. 

I don't generally watch the news here.  Prime time starts at 7 here and that means the news is at 10 and since I don't usually settle down to watch TV until 9 or so, I tend to watch the recorded stuff and head to bed.  Sunday, for some reason I was able to catch the weather and so was witness to the announcement that snow showers were possible on Monday.  Just a skiff on the lawns, he said.  A few inches in the mountains, he said.

Stupid, incompetent Idaho weatherman.

There is five inches of snow on my lawn right now.

I shouldn't complain, this is the good kind of snow.  Did you know there is a difference?  This is the wet, heavy snow, perfect for snow forts and snowball fights.  The kind that sticks to your lawn and leaves the streets out of it.  The kids were thrilled and spent the whole afternoon out running through the white stuff, setting up forts and carrying out wars with the neighbors.  They returned to the homestead at dusk with red, runny noses and numb toes and grins that split their faces. 

I, on the other hand, suspect I might be suffering from PTSD.  Can you have snow related post traumatic stress?   Cause I swear I'm having childhood flashbacks involving cold feet and runny noses and walking to school in below freezing temps, because if your mom grows up on a farm in Idaho anything above 0 degrees is manageable.  Anyhow, after the kids came in and warmed up we decided to hit a movie for Family Night.  Later that night, when we left the theater, it was dark and another inch or so had fallen.  I took one look and I climbed into the van and told the boys to sweep off the windows.  Yes, I am that kind of mom.  So I'm in the car and my teeth start to chatter.  Not the little shiver kind, but the break your teeth, sore jaw kind of chatter.  Then, and only if you have experienced places like this in the winter will you understand this phenomenon , but the muscles in my thighs and lower back start to seize up.  Now this little ailment can only be solved by concentrated breathing and and finding a meditative zen, which is super hard to do while your swallowing bits of your own teeth, but I'm managing.  (How is it, as mankind, we have managed to build a super collider that can create a black hole and destroy the earth and still do not have a way to produce instant heat in a car?)  Of course, then the boys finish up sweeping the windows and get back in the car, which lets another blast of cold air into the van, so I'm back to square one with the zen. 

So anyway, now I'm driving on the snow swept streets of Idaho Falls, doing Lamaze breathing, and I'm trying to figure out how to not have to leave my house again until May.  Then I take a look around, and...It.  Is.  GORGEOUS.   Like something out of a Christmas card.  Sound also gets muffled in the snow, so even on the busiest streets there is a calm that is hard to describe.  It really is just another world.  We drive up to our house and the porch lights are reflecting off the untouched snow in the front yard and shining on the bare branches of the birch trees.  I want to race inside and and set up my Christmas tree and bake gingerbread.  It helps me remember how much I love this and how happy I am to be here.  I guess that's a good thing.

Two things I learned during our first snowstorm:

1.  My 12 lb., three legged, poodle mutt is, apparently, part husky.  He loves the snow.  LOVES it.

2.  When your husband is out of town and the snow has knocked out your Dish signal, your 5'11" son, armed with a broom, a lawn chair and a squirt bottle filled with hot water makes a pretty entertaining substitute.

It Is the Week/Holiday/Post That Never Ends...

Bellatrix and Dobby, aka: Evie and Eliza

So about 11 years ago I was preggo with a little boy who I begged to not be born on Halloween. You see at this point I only had Cooper and he was only 2 1/2 at the time and Halloween consisted of trick or treating at 6 neighbors and a hand-me-down costume. Still I knew people that had holiday birthdays and I always felt sorry for them because they always seemed to get gypped. So I begged little Zac to come before or after Halloween so that we would always be able to have a special day just for him. Wasn't I such a cute new mommy? Awww...the naivete.

Draco and Voldemort

Let's begin...it all started two weeks ago with the going away party for my sister Lora. Lora was moving to St. George and since she loved Harry Potter so much and it was just before Halloween, why not have a Harry Potter themed party? It was a few days later that my niece shows up as an owl delivering our scroll inviting us to Hogwarts for a party, costumes required. Ben takes one look at the scroll and shakes his head claiming that my sister and I share the same disease. I assume he means gift because, HELLO, a red-headed OWL, just showed up at my door with a PARCHMENT SCROLL, inviting me to a party at HOGWARTS!! That is not a disease, that is party planning at its finest. But anyway, now the work begins. This is two weeks before Halloween and I have to convince my kids that what they really want to be for Halloween is Harry Potter characters. This flies with Isaac, because he knows it's all about the candy and Draco Malfoy is just another conduit to sugar. Evie, on the other hand has been talking about Princess Tiana for months and no matter how hard I try, Bellatrix is not an equally acceptable option. But whatever, I hold the purse strings and Bellatrix it is. We round out the family with Fred Weasley (Cooper), Professor Umbridge (Me) and of course the bald guy went as Voldemort.

Food

So the party was great. I brought pumpkin pasties and licorice wands, Holli had the butter beer, cauldron cakes and jelly beans and others brought cockroach clusters, baked brie, acid pops and others I'm sure I'm forgetting. We also had pigs in a blanket, because what party is complete without those? We played games, were sorted into houses, had a tri-wizard tournament. Okay, maybe it is a disease. Plus, I want to mention that I never said we weren't the dorkiest family on earth. Don’t judge us.

Ron Weasley

So now we come to the week of Halloween. First on the agenda are school parties. These happen on Thursday because school is out for end of term on Friday. These are relatively painless, as all I have to do is send costumes to school and treats for Isaac's birthday. That night we decide to go to the trick or treating/Halloween Carnival at the assisted living center down the street. I figured this was a very sneaky way of hiding a service project: my kids get candy; we make old people happy; everybody wins. It actually was pretty fun, my kids loved the seniors and, with the exception of the one lady who had her teeth out, covered in candy, and was hitting the kids hands as they came anywhere near her bowl of stuff, the seniors seemed to enjoy my kids.



We follow that up the next night with my parents Trunk or Treat and Chili Cook-off. I was was robbed, I tell you. My chili was that is. I suppose that's what happens when you have two 19 year old boys from the Midwest judge. The winner’s tasted a lot like baked beans. I will not be bitter, but I will refine Idaho’s palate, even if it’s one mouth at a time. Anyway the kids garnered even more of the sweet stuff and we enjoyed the company of my parents and a few of my siblings. Let just put it out there that SoCal has it ALL over I.F. in the trunk or treat department. Can we say BORING? (Sorry, Mom and Dad) My kids were looking around like, "This is it? Where are the handfuls of candy? Where are the awesomely decorated cars?” The flip side was it was a gorgeous night with perfect weather.



So next. (See it really is the week that never ends). Ben was leaving for L.A. on Saturday, so instead of a birthday dinner, Isaac opted for a birthday breakfast. He wanted McDonalds, so we had McDonalds. Nothing like a week’s worth of saturated fat to start out your 11th year. Ben headed out the door shortly after and we started getting stuff ready for the rest of the day. Our ward had an afternoon party, which I wisely decided to skip, because one really can have too much fun. Later that night, the rest of my family here in town came over for pizza to celebrate Zac's birthday. The kids did their best to eat, but most of them were too hyped for trick or treating that most of them just played with their food. So, since we live in a predominately Christian area, everyone trick or treats on Saturday. I hoped, perhaps, we would only have to go to part of church and get released early to enjoy the festivities of the day like we do at Christmas, but…no go. Apparently, there are some fundamental differences in the two holidays. So…trick or treating…home for cake and presents…everyone in the shower(not together, that would be weird)…off to bed.



Good grief, are you tired just reading this, or have you all just given up, due to the novel like nature to this post?



Sadly, we are not done.

Sunday, real Halloween, we head over to my parents house for hot chocolate and my Dad's famous cinnamon rolls, and Christmas music. Just like most families on Halloween, right?

Yeah, its over. So, yep, Isaac being born the day before Halloween really helped us out. Silly young mommy.