The Good Deal and The Bad Deal

When I was living in my parents' home with my siblings, my father invented what he called "The Good Deal and The Bad Deal." Just writing that makes me smile. You may have read about my father's sense of humor here, and his very direct, dramatic, energetic personality. For example, you might recall the story of the time when I was a senior in high school and had done something that made him very angry. After telling me in no uncertain terms how furious he was, my father's way of delivering my punishment - taking away my driving privileges - was shouting, "You're a PEDESTRIAN!" Even in great anger, he could be witty and funny.

My dad has always had a great sense of humor

I'm the youngest of three - my sister Debbie is five years older than I am, and my brother Jim is three years older. I learned a great deal by watching them...watching what worked, what didn't work, what my parents would tolerate and what they would not accept. I observed the way my parents corrected us and disciplined us, what their standards were and how they responded if one of us fell short. I had an advantage in being able to watch the older two - and the advantage of their work of "breaking in" my parents.

By the time I was in my teens, my parents had figured out a lot of things; they had developed some calm in regards to certain teen behavior which had, at first, created some panic and major reactions in them. So I daresay it was much easier to be their 3rd child than their first - but isn't this true in many families? We learn parenting from our own parents - whether we like what they did or not - and mainly by doing it ourselves; many times, we learn by "doing it wrong."

When my brother and sister were deep into their teens, there was some conflict over the expectations in our home, and the way my parents felt they were being treated. In light of all that they did for us, and the teachings of the commandment, "Honor thy father and thy mother...," as well as their desire to raise courteous and respectful people, my parents held certain standards; at the time, these were not being met by the three of us.

My father, with a huge sense of humor and a deep sense of responsibility for his family, came up with a choice for us: The Good Deal or The Bad Deal. He and my mother obviously had a clear idea of which one they wanted us to choose, but they did allow us the choice.

Debbie, Jim and me, a few years after the Good Deal/Bad Deal offer

The Good Deal meant doing what my parents asked of us, including chores in the house and garden, following rules, helping out, upholding the family's standards. The rewards for that were total support, a great place to live, money for expenses, freedom to use the family cars, paid vacations, special privileges and treats, etc. A very "good deal," indeed.

The house where I grew up

This was actually a vehicle for work (my dad was a salesman with several states to cover), but it could also whisk you away for something special

The Bad Deal meant that you had more leeway to do things your own way, had fewer chores and expectations - but you were on your own financially. In-home services were reduced. You worked (elsewhere), and paid your own way.

My sister and I immediately opted for The Good Deal. My brother decided to try The Bad Deal. My father and mother stood back and waited.

My brother came back to ask for The Good Deal a short time later.

My family at the time of my first marriage

Why am I sharing these memories with you? Because I recently recalled the Good Deal/Bad Deal when facing a "parenting moment" with our own 19-year old son. I admired anew my father's creativity, ingenuity, humor and wisdom, and my mother's ability to flex with him. I am blessed to be their daughter, to be part of this legacy, and to be able to pass some of it along to our son...whether or not David appreciates that at this point in his life!

By the way: is it just me, or can anyone else see the family resemblance?

David in 2011

My dad in the 1960s

Note to Mich (Daisy): yes, David has a great sense of humor!

The Morals of Today (& Yesterday)

Having a college student return home for the summer is a kind of like a cultural exchange program. A person comes to live in your home whom you know, but you sort of don't know. Things have changed between the time you dropped him off at school in September and the time he arrives home in May; events have occurred for which you were not present, of which you haven't been informed - which is just as well, judging from some things I've seen on facebook. Not my son's facebook page, specifically, but facebook in general!

I am friends with our son on facebook, but I'm not allowed to comment or tag him in photos or postings. He set the ground rules. I'm fortunate to be his friend on facebook, from what I understand; not all parents are allowed to do this. I abide by the rules he set so that we can remain friends in that forum.

David has found some of our rules at home to be a bit uncomfortable, after being away at college. I recall the same feeling, returning from college in Southern California to my parents' home in Washington. I couldn't understand why they cared what time I came home at night, for example. I was away all year, self-regulating, and answering to no one. Why should I have to consider their rules over the summer?

Because I am their daughter and was living in their house, that's why.

Cara, Phil & David hiking

David and I were discussing the difference between the way things are today and the way they were when I was his age. I admit to being a bit old-fashioned; I have a little bit of the Victorian, romantic and idealist in me. Dinosaur? I think not. Modern? Possibly not all that, either.

Anyway, I was discussing this with David, and the conversation went something like this:
Me: I just want you to be a man of honor, a man of integrity, a gentleman. You know, we named you after King David in the Bible, a noble man with a heart for God.
David:  You mean the guy who stole someone's wife, and had him killed so that he could keep the wife?
Me:  Well, yes...I mean, no - well, yes, he did that, but he repented! He was also a poet, a musician, a man of valor, and he had a huge heart for God...
David:  Yes, he repented AFTER he did the other things.
Me:  Yes, that's true, but...um...oh...

I just put my foot in my mouth and proved a point I didn't mean to prove. You can quote the Bible to support just about any point of view, by the way. It's a big book, full of the truth of human nature! (And I'm not suggesting that David was advocating adultery and murder; he was just following the trajectory of the argument.)

Possible Morals of this story: 
*Talking can get you into a lot of trouble. The Norwegians are mostly silent for a reason; we French/Germans have a lot to learn from them.
*King David is still a wonderful role model in many ways.
*Old fashioned mores are not bad.
*Loving and allowing people to make their own choices (and allowing them to deal with the consequences) is probably the only (albeit uncomfortable) way to go, at this point.
*Parents have a lot to learn, always.

"Do to others whatever you would have them do to you.
This is the Law and the Prophets." - Matthew 7

A Problem We Don't Have Anymore

Recently, a blog-friend posted about sibling fights. It was a heartfelt story and it ended with a question: what do you do about sibling fights?

The question took me aback, because it's not a problem we have around here anymore. But we did, at one time.

My mother is an only child. She grew up in a household with live-in help, which she did not enjoy. She always wanted siblings. What she got instead was grandmothers and live-in help. Her family's home had three bedrooms for family (my grandparents, my mother and my French great-grandmother, GrandMere) and two bedrooms for staff. The house had a beautiful, graceful, curving staircase with a white, wrought-iron banister, and a hidden back staircase for the help. It had gorgous gardens and an orchard, maintained by the help. When my great-grandmother moved in with my mother's family after she was widowed, she brought her own maid to live with her. I am not kidding.

The three of us kids thought this was hilarious, as much as we thought the need to have a chauffeur because my grandmother was afraid to drive (due to her one attempt at driving leading to a minor accident) was funny. We could hardly fathom the stories my mother told of insisting on being let out of the car a block or so from school, so as not to be observed getting out of the chauffeur-driven Big Car. Funnier still were the stories of my grandparents and other great-grandmother (Granny) taking their live-in help with them to their summer beach cottage - and making the help live in tents. Who needs help at a cottage? Who makes them camp out in tents? Who does that? It was beyond our experience, because we grew up in a much simpler lifestyle. Later in life, we saw more of the world and understood it from my grandparents' point of view (but it is still sort of funny, to me).

Debbie, me & Jim

The point of all of the above is that my mother thought that her three children were much more fortunate than she had been as a child, because we had each other. No matter how much we irritated one another, my brother, sister and I were always reminded that we were terribly lucky just to have siblings, and that we needed to get along with and love each other. It didn't stop us from squabbling and having our differences, even as we grew older, but it made a deep impression on me. I never intended to have an "only child."

David & Katie

When Katie was born, David loved her immediately and naturally. Though they did bicker occasionally,

David & Katie in our old house

it was clear from the start that he was delighted to have her as his sister, and he naturally understood that he was blessed to be her brother. She adored him in return.

He did a fair amount of bossing her, and as they grew, I would encourage her to stand up to him (I am the youngest of three, after all), which she did, in her own way. They had ingenious ways of negotiating deals ("I'll play this much Harry Potter with you if you'll play that many hours of Playmobil with me"). For the most part, though, they preferred one another's company to that of any other playmate. It made me very happy indeed.

Katie & David on the front lawn

David & Katie in Palm Desert

Around 5th  grade (age 10 - 11 years), Katie started to want to spend more time alone in her room. She wanted David to knock before coming in. She even made a sign to remind him, which he pointedly ignored. I remember hearing her shriek at him, "Can't you READ? It says, 'Knock, Please!' " She also screamed, "I.HATE.DAVID!," which used to deeply upset me. I did my best to stop that kind of talk: we don't say "hate;" we don't say "stupid;" there are rules to fighting fair; you can disagree, but you must be nice. And then I would hear myself telling them how lucky they were just to have a sibling...my mother's words.

When my blog friend wrote her post and her open question, I wondered how (or whether) to answer it. I disliked the sibling fighting, and I knew that deep-down, our children loved each other in spite of it. Sometimes they were simply bored, or had an excess of energy. Underneath the squabbling, I could see their mutual enjoyment and affection, and I saw it in action after Katie's cancer diagnosis. David moved his entire life to Seattle in order grant her wish and to support her. He was by her side every single day. When she was dying, she worried about him walking past her room, and finding it empty, and she told him so. He was with her when she died. He is the best brother he could possibly be.

The answer to the blog question is:  our children did fight sometimes, and it always disturbed me. I tried to stop it, if they didn't stop themselves. Gregg tended to let them try to work it out on their own longer than I would have; he would "tune out" their bickering.

I only wish they could still do it.

By now, who knows what their dynamic would be? David is away at university most of the year, and Katie would be a junior in high school. Perhaps most disagreements would be replaced by shared confidences, friends and happiness to be together when they could. Or perhaps they would have grown in different directions. We will never know.

I didn't comment on my friend's blog posting, because my comment would have been longer than her post. I also didn't want to overshadow her simple, perfectly natural parenting question with a tragic, dramatic answer. I don't want to be one who introduces the subject of cancer, dying and death just by showing up! Yet it is part of my life, and it shaped my response, even if that response was only in my head. So I wrote it here, instead.

By the way, I even hesitated to post this here, because I have noticed that some people feel that they have to compare their problems to our bereavement. No matter what their problem is, after discussing it with me, some will add, "Of course, this is nothing compared to what you have been through."  I want you to know that I don't evaluate life that way. When you tell me about your problems, I do not say in my heart, "She has a hangnail, but my daughter died; my  problem is bigger than hers."

Cancer and Katie's death are not the first, greatest, or only things on my mind; they are a part of my life, but not the biggest part. I do write about them a fair amount, because writing is a healthy outlet, and it keeps me from talking about them too much. Cancer and Katie's death do inform my values. However, I have a normal household with bills, pets, dirt, responsibilities, chores, concerns, joys and irritations, just like anyone else. My life and interests are diverse. I exercise; I read about all kinds of things and enjoy art, creativity, music, socializing, great stories and trivia, too.

Sometimes I do think that much is made of small things in this life, particularly by the news media and entertainment industry, but I make much of small things, too, occasionally - so, if you tell me your hardships, please do not assume that I am sitting in judgment of you or comparing your difficulties to mine. That will handicap our friendship. My heart and my capacity for caring are bigger than that.

This, That & An Anniversary

We had a great weekend here. I hope you had a great one, too.

Before the weekend, on Thursday, David and I took a beautiful walk on our beach - for a couple of miles each way. It was a gorgeous, sunny & warm day. For you mid-western & easterners, that is obvious, but for us here in western Washington, I have news: summer has been one fickle guest. So it was a big deal to have sunshine on one of David's days off. It was lovely to spend that time together.

David also accompanied me to go shopping for a new phone. He knows more about technology than I do, as he's 18. Those of you who have mobile phone plans will understand this story: I was due for a FREE new phone. Awesome. I've always taken the offer of a FREE new phone to heart (and wallet). But this time, there was a decision to be made: dumb phone or smart phone? - because now, we have a choice. The difficulty is that dumb = free, while smart = I pay for the phone itself, and for extra service, each month. Frankly, that doesn't sound smart at all, to me. Yet I did the dumb thing, and got the smart phone...a phone which is a whole lot smarter than I am, at this point. I'm still learning how it works.

On Saturday, we hosted a party. I don't like to talk about parties because I think it is bad manners, when obviously all of you (especially out-of-towners) can't join us, but party is what we did, so it shows up here on the blog. We combined neighborhood friends with old friends, friends from different circles and parts of our lives, and it was great fun. I love to host gatherings, especially with 20+ people, especially in sunny weather.

The photos that I took turned out to be awful, but Paul Dudley of Paul Dudley Photography took these, and as usual, he worked magic with the camera:

Miss Ellie (my mom) & me

Me & my dad

Because I have a horror of running out of food, the new ways of society (let's call it the looseness about RSVP's) make me a little nervous when hosting 30-some people. My way of coping is to buy too much food, and host potlucks. People brought salad or dessert & wine; we provided everything else (& some wine). Right now, I am making split pea soup with the leftover bones and meat from two of the three hams. My in-laws are coming over to eat dinner with us and share the bounty.

While I was chopping, sauteing, juicing and stirring, my heart was with our friend Allegra, who is a chef de cuisine and who once owned a restaurant on the Oregon coast. How I wished she was standing beside me, sharing the wisdom of her experience! Allegra is recovering from chemo right now, and I am sending her love and healing energy. You are invited to join me in that.

I have to say that I am a bit stymied right now as a blogger, because one of the richest veins in the Mother Lode of my writer's brain is filled with parenting stories, and I cannot share them with you. I respect my son's privacy, but I tell you, my mind is overflowing with things that have happened here. I am sure they are normal in the larger picture of life, but I would say it's been colorful.

Four years ago today, Andrea & Mike got married and granted Katie's great wish to be a bridesmaid. It was a huge gift for them to move their wedding up 6 months in order that Katie could be part of the day. A week later, she was paralysed from the waist down (and could no longer walk); a week after that, she passed away. So you can see how important their invitation - and the timing -was.

Happy Anniversary, Andrea and Mike! - you have our love and gratitude FOREVER.

Daily Office, Otters & Others

Liberty Bay & Olympic Mountains

Through my friend, Robin (of the blogs Metanoia and Desert Year), I found this blog: The Daily Office. It has prayers for the day, posted throughout the day. What a gift! I have been loving sitting quietly, reading and praying along with the printed verses. If you are interested, click on the link and check it out. It is good to find new ways to pray. I have my favorite habits - favorite place to sit, time of day, etc. - but prayer is an always-present possibility, sort of like an open-ended conversation - like facebook - with God. On a walk, in bed, in the shower, in the car...I believe there is no "right" way, place or time to pray. Sometimes when I can't sleep, praying for others is the best sleeping "medicine."

For the past two days, I've been supervising Operation Otter Cleanup at my mom & dad's house. River otters decided to take up residence underneath their home. If you've never seen nor experienced this, here is a visual prompt for you:  imagine the aftermath of a college fraternity party, with rotting fish carcasses, fish vomit and poo, instead of spilled beer, broken bottles and smashed cans. Fortunately, it's very cold here right now; I canNOT imagine what the stench would be like if the weather was warm.

Some wonderful, fearless workers arrived, went underneath the house, took up the insulation and plastic that were strewn with Otter PartyWare, and hauled it out. They repaired the insulation and plastic, put down clean, new plastic on the ground under the house, and closed up the places of entry and exit in the foundation which the otters had been using. NOTE: between Day One and Day Two of this operation, the otters succeeded in opening new places to enter and exit, and re-opening one of the places closed by the workmen. HELLO? Persistent! I will be back to see whether they are clever enough to circumvent Day Two's preventive measures. If so, we may need to call in the big guns (professional exterminator).

During the otter cleanup, I was able to finish the draft of a book on which I am collaborating. It is a wonderful book that I learned about from blessed Renee, called "Cancer: 50 Essential Things to Do" written by Greg Anderson, a cancer survivor and founder of http://www.cancerrecovery.org/ . I approached Greg about editing the book for the adolescent and young adult cancer audience, and he agreed. I was able to complete and send off a big chunk of that, and it feels great.

David texted me yesterday, to say that classes were cancelled at G.U. due to heavy snow on the ground (about a foot) & a blizzard warning; he followed that up with the news that he was planning to go SKIING. I wondered: if the university staff saw fit to cancel classes due to snow and a blizzard warning, why would teenage boys decide to leave campus in a car to drive for over an hour to a ski area? What is it about Blizzard Warning that suggests Ski Trip? I sent a message (HELP!) to Gregg.

Both of us extracted a promise from David to stay within the bounds of the ski-patrolled area (David likes back-country & tree-skiing). I even stooped to send him a text with something along the lines of "I would be devastated if anything bad happened to you." This is probably a normal feeling for any mother of an adventurous young man, but it is painfully so for the mother of a child who has died. I don't want to fill David with fears, or keep him tied to me, but certain risks are not worth taking. I felt a little bit bad about the emotional weight of my message - but not bad enough to delete it before sending.

Over dinner and a beer at the pub, I read the text messages to Gregg. After my plea for help in the morning, Gregg had emailed David, keeping his words factual and calm. But guess what he admitted? He had composed a message to David, filled with logical, sound, fatherly advice...and had included something along the lines of "We couldn't bear to lose you" - and then deleted that part before sending! It was a quiet affirmation of my feelings to hear that Gregg, the unemotional one, had the same kind of fear in his heart...even if he deleted that part of his message to David.

David texted us during dinner that he had had a great day on the slopes, skiing in two to three FEET of fresh powder. We're glad he had fun, but even more happy that he is safe.

Katie's bench is the one on the right.

It's a gorgeous, cold day here, with sunshine, blue skies and snow-covered mountains gleaming over whitecapped waters. After I had my hair cut, I stopped by Katie's bench; it now has a lamppost behind it. You can see the Olympic Mountains from there, across the bay. It's a beautiful spot.

Did You Cry?

People have been asking me, "Did you cry when you left David at G.U.?"
The answer is "No," but it's not that simple.

I cried a lot during the Welcome Mass at St. Aloysius, the parish church at Gonzaga. I allowed myself to cry in mass, as I often do. There is something about the crucifix, with Jesus hanging on it, suffering, that strips me right down to the core of my being. Statues of his mother, Mary, also have that effect upon me. They make me think of his agony, and her agony, watching him. Tears come easily, then.

I observed a number of tearful mothers, and some kids who were looking emotional, too. It's normal, it's understandable, and I get it. But I didn't want to do that to David.

Having walked Katie's cancer journey and through to her death with her, I have schooled myself to control my emotions. I did not want Katie to pay for my grief. I did cry in front of her when she was dying - we wept together - but in general, my attitude was, The buck stops here; I'm the Mama. You can count on me. Whatever it is, I am trustworthy.

Living with a man who is half Norwegian and half German, I have learned to control my emotions when necessary. Living with a high school senior who is getting ready to leave home, I have been controlling my emotions for months now. By controlling, I simply mean containing them within, and allowing them out in ways that do not distress others, to the best of my ability. Obviously, this was not a success at all times.

David is not dying; David is starting college. David is doing what his father and I have been preparing him to do since he started preschool. David is blessed that his work, and the work of those who love him, has made this step possible. It's the natural order of things. David still has his room here at home, and David will be coming home for Christmas vacation. David is alive and well.

I faced his departure with a different perspective than many other mothers have.

So I wept during mass. I prayed in mass for forgiveness of my shortcomings as a mother, I prayed for David and his well-being, I prayed for his classmates, their parents and other community members, and for our family. I cried in regret for what has happened, and for what has not happened, to my children. I cried for all that I tried to do, and tried to give them, that went astray. I wept freely, and I intentionally left some of my teardrops on the wooden pew as I knelt in prayer. I thought, Let this wood absorb my tears; let them remain in the sanctuary of St. Aloysius as part of our history here. They will be safe in that sacred space. I am sure I am not the first, and won't be the last, parent to do so. I saw a lot of others weeping quietly in mass.

And when we left him on the corner of the street by his dormitory, I didn't shed a tear.

Wise? Perhaps Not

One of the facts of life about being a writer (it feels very presumptuous to call myself that, but there it is, in black & white) is the amount of time that I spend alone, in my own head. I love to spend time this way, but it has a few drawbacks:
1. I think...a lot.
2. I become a bit self-absorbed.
3. I think I am right, perhaps more right than I actually am, because I'm spending so much time in a world populated by people who think as I do (me, myself & I).
4. I think my ideas have more importance than they really do.
5. Writing a blog and receiving kind comments can certainly swell a person's head.

These have the potential to damage perspective, and possibly even relationships, wouldn't you agree? (See, there I go, thinking I'm right.)

When you dear readers write nice things here, it makes my day sweeter. But I also take those kind words with a grain of salt, because you dear people do not have to LIVE with me. My husband and son, my parents and closest friends, those are the people who know all of the darkness and neuroses that lurk deep within this loving heart of mine, right alongside my good qualities. I know we all have dark places within us, but still...

I am not very wise.
I have some crazy ideas, many faults and plenty of obsessive thoughts.
I should not write a parenting book, but you are kind to suggest it.

I thought for years that I was a sub-standard parent, because I did not enjoy breastfeeding, diaper changing, children's games and picking up after little people. I did not join a mom's group; in fact, that was the sort of group that I wanted most to avoid when my kids were little, because I wanted some other kinds of input at that time. I wanted to stretch & use my mind, which was the main thing for which I have received praise during my life. I didn't want to talk about binkies and blankies, and who was teething, etc. I wanted to talk about legal issues, business issues, art, travel, and anything else but babies.

Nowadays, I love babies, and could sit quietly for a long while, just holding and rocking a baby or listening to other moms talk about their kids. Now I know how creative homemaking can be. But back then, I didn't know, and it was difficult. I was restless, and wasn't feeling complete within myself, so I thought that meant that I was lacking in maternal instinct. Now, I know this is not true. I learned from being with Katie and my family through her cancer journey that I am, in fact, a good mother...a much better mother (and woman) than I ever thought I was.

It was the adversity, the suffering, the strain, the pain and heartaches that taught me who I am. It wasn't through pleasure and getting my way; it was through endurance, and even that was not through my own goodness; it was God's loving grace in giving me strength for the moment, each moment. He formed me as the demands grew; he stregthened me, mothered me, walked beside me, gave me who and what I needed to do the job at hand.

Lately, I've been nostalgic for our days in the hospital and Ronald McDonald House. I miss those days only because I miss Katie so much, and that time looks rosy compared to these days without her. Living without Katie hurts. But I realized, this weekend, that I am looking at this with hindsight. During the hospital stays and the weeks in between, we were all suffering greatly, and no one was suffering more than Katie. We were putting her through hell to try to save her life, with the only tools at our disposal. But it was HELL, and I would NEVER wish for her to be back in that bed, with IVs running into her arm, delivering poison into her system. I would never want her to be living again with the anticipation of her own death, watching her body disintegrate from the inside out. NEVER.

Perhaps I should write a book about grief, or cancer, or living with a child who has a terminal illness, or life after your beloved child dies. Those are possibilities, and I would love to do something like that. But I am not any wiser than you are. I have simply lived some experiences that perhaps you haven't...but you have lived some experiences that I haven't, and you undoubtedly have some unique wisdom of your own, that I don't have.

On Saturday, I accidentally drank some tea with caffeine after dinner, and I lay awake after Gregg went to sleep, worrying. I was thinking, I can't believe I'm sending "my baby" to work at a job tomorrow! What was I thinking? He's only 16; he only has one childhood! Why did I feel so strongly about him needing this now? Then I went on to other worries, but each time I did, I tried to give the worry to God. I said to God, "Please help me; I'm yours. I can't do this on my own. Help me to listen. Help me to do what You want me to do. Show me, clearly. Please help me." I kept letting go, and I kept worrying, letting go & worrying. Eventually, I got some sleep.

David went off to learn his new job on the 7:05 a.m. ferry. He arrived in Seattle, walked to the Argosy pier, boarded the Argosy boat and rode over to his job at Blake Island. He worked harder than he has ever worked in his life, raking, sweeping, mopping, washing dishes (by hand and using a commercial dishwasher), helping to refill the dinner buffet, hauling firewood, greeting guests and serving fresh steamed clams to them. He met new people; he loved it! He is proud of himself, and we are proud of him. It's going to be fine.

No, I'm not very wise, but you are kind to say so. Thank you so much for reading and commenting kindly here.