Den Of The Danimal » Personal

“It’s not easy.”

Janet — Thu, 03 Nov 2011 13:58:22 +0000

Now that I’m a mother, I begin to understand and appreciate how children can inspire a parent to do something that otherwise wouldn’t be worth the effort. But pleasing that special little one will make them smile – and there is great value in that!

Recently Elizabeth came to me with a toy in need of repair. The paper wrapping on the play can of beans had been chewed and gotten torn and was in danger of coming completely off. She wanted me to fix it. I pondered, wondering how could I oblige her. In the end, I used some glue to affix the wrapping, then wrapped the whole thing in packing tape hoping that would keep every thing in place. It made her happy and that made it worth it.

It reminded me of a baby doll I had when I was a young girl. This wasn’t just any doll – you could bathe her and she even came with a tiny little bath sponge. Then one day the sponge broke – split right down the middle. I took it to my Daddy and asked him to fix it. His remedy? He used glue to put it back together. While the sponge was once again in one piece, it now had quite a solid seam running the width of it. I mentioned I was young, right? So you might figure I was still solidifying my language skills. I complained, “It’s not easy.” He had done his best and I used that little sponge for many more years. And we still remember that something “hard” is also something “not easy.”

Note: I thought I still had that doll in a box in the garage, but I looked and couldn’t find it. I tried finding her on the internet but wasn’t successful.

Grandpa Wright

Janet — Tue, 11 Oct 2011 13:42:42 +0000

My earliest memories of my maternal grandpa are of him in his work uniform, his Sears repair truck parked in front of their house. Grandpa could fix pretty much anything. I remember my Dad calling Grandpa on more than one occasion for some pointers on what to do about a malfunctioning appliance. And Grandpa could help – from 1,400 miles away over the phone – just by listening to a description of the problem.

Grandpa - September 2008

I mostly grew up in the Western United States. But Grandpa and Grandma were in Wichita, so of course that meant visits with them were somewhat rare. But they made extra efforts to spend time with me. I remember my parents driving us to Wichita one summer. Then they returned home while Karen and I stayed at our grandparents for a few weeks before Grandpa & Grandma drove us home. (And I remember my aunt rode in the middle of the backseat between us the whole way to California! She must really like us to have indulged us all that way.)

I remember Wright Family reunions in various parts of the country – Grandpa and Grandma always had their popup trailer. One year the Wright reunion was in California. Grandma & Grandpa came out early, picked up Karen and me and took us to the reunion. Then Mom and Dad came up for the weekend and we went home with them.

Despite the distance between us, Grandpa and Grandma made it a point to be at some of the most significant events of my life – high school graduation, college graduation, and my wedding.

Grandma & Grandpa - September 2008

Grandpa had a hemorrhagic stroke in June, just weeks after his wife of 66 years passed away. When he was recovered enough to be discharged from the hospital, he was very weak so instead of going home he was transferred to a nursing home. We all hoped for some time that he would regain sufficient strength and mobility to be able to return to his home – but that was not the case. I think he missed Grandma and without her much of his incentive to recover was gone. He passed away in September at the age of 90.

The last time I saw Grandpa was in November when I took a trip to Wichita over Thanksgiving. It was a hard trip. I travelled alone and was away from my girls overnight for the first time. At the time Grandma was living in the nursing home suffering from the late stages of Alzheimer’s while Grandpa was still at home. I think part of me knew it would probably be the last time I saw my grandparents even though I desperately wanted to plan another trip that would allow my girls to meet their GGma and GGpa.

I miss Grandpa and both of my Grandmas. But more important than that, I know that they are without pain and suffering now. So my sadness is only for myself, not for them. They have been restored. And I like to think that they can look down from heaven and listen to little girl giggles and laughs any time they want.

Mom & I with Grandpa & Grandma - November 2010

Grandma Wright

Janet — Sun, 31 Jul 2011 03:48:16 +0000

Me with Grandma & Grandpa – September 2007

My maternal grandma passed away in May at the age of 89 1/2. She had lived in a nursing home for the past year as a result of Alzheimer’s. My last opportunity to visit her was in November 2010. It was a hard trip — I had to travel alone and spend my first nights away from my girls since they came home from the hospital, and Grandma wasn’t the same as I remembered her from years past — but I’m glad I was able to go.

By the time of my visit, the disease had already taken a significant toll. She was pretty much non-responsive and it was hard to know how much she was aware of what was going on around her. But one afternoon the visiting family got to reminiscing about days long gone and distant family members from generations older than me. It was interesting to listen to the stories from the past. Apparently Grandma must have thought so too because at one point she laughed out loud! Granted, she wasn’t really making a laughing sound, but the body language was all laughter. I’m glad I got to see that fleeting glimpse of amusement. When it was time for the final good-bye, I gave her a hug and told her I loved her. She returned the embrace and we just sat like that for some time — I didn’t want to leave that moment.

Grandma lived in Wichita, Kansas which meant opportunities to visit were somewhat rare. I remember from my childhood that our family vacations usually consisted of road trips to the midwest (Mom’s family was in Wichita, KS; Dad’s was in Carmi, IL). My sister and I would chase lightning bugs around the yard.

Grandma was a great baker and candy maker and there were always lots of special sugary treats — assorted cookies, muddy roads, peppernuts, sugar glazed pecans, fudge — and loaves of homemade bread. She enjoyed crafts too and I remember several sweaters she knitted for me and quilts she made for me. She was also known to crochet, paint landscapes, and other crafts. One of the most important lessons I remember learning from her is that you take a recipe or a pattern and go from it. The recipe/pattern is just a starting point. Use your own ideas and turn it into something special. Of course, I also learned that if you asked Grandma for a recipe you couldn’t just copy down what was in the recipe book. You had to talk to her about it because the written recipe was just the first version and it was usually helpful to know how she was currently making that delightful treat you wanted to imitate. I look forward to sharing my joy of crafts and baking with my girls in the coming years. And I may have to mix up a batch of Muddy Roads in Grandma’s memory.

Goodbye Grandma. I love you.

Me and Grandma - November 2010

esCHEATment

Dan — Sat, 18 Jun 2011 06:05:09 +0000

I’ve owned some stock in a certain video game company for several years now. It does have some potential to really take off, I think, but for the last few years it hasn’t been doing much and so I’ve just been holding onto it. Then just recently, out of the blue, I got a phone call from someone claiming to be from my online investment firm, telling me that if I didn’t fill out a form or buy or sell something soon, the law would require them to report my account as “abandoned” and then the great state of California would basically seize all my funds from that account.

I was dumbfounded. How could that be legal? In fact, I just assumed that it couldn’t possibly be for real and that I was simply being made the target of some sort of scam. Well, it is legal, and it is a scam. I’ll explain…

Despite my initial gut feeling distrust of the guy on the phone, I decided to play along for a few minutes rather than just hang up. I discovered that I had indeed been sent an email about this (to an account I rarely check), and that email contained a link that I was supposed to click. When I examined the URL, it just looked like a bunch of gobbledy-gook, and it was not recognizably part of my online investment firm. My suspicion edged closer to certainty, and I did not click the link.

Later that day I got around to actually calling the company to report the suspicious call and email. But to my surprise, the person I spoke with confirmed everything the guy on the phone had told me. Apparently this is quite normal in the world of online stock trading! If an account has had no activity for just two or three years, the state arbitrarily assumes that the money has been abandoned and they grab it. Yes, there are ways to reclaim it again, but as you can imagine they sure as hell don’t make that easy, and there are almost certainly fees to pay. Two or three years?! I can understand that there are probably good and reasonable circumstances for this kind of thing, but I would have thought that the time frame would be more like forty years, or after the owner has died! I’m sorry, but two or three years is nowhere near long enough for money to be considered abandoned and “up for grabs”. Greedy government bastards. You have to hold it for at least one year to avoid getting screwed by the capital gains tax!

Oh, and the best part is that this practice is known as escheatment. It’s like they’re not even trying to disguise that this is nothing more than a shameless rip-off by the government! Err, I mean another shameless ripoff. Two or three years? Grrrrr…

Mother’s Day

Janet — Mon, 09 May 2011 04:39:33 +0000

Today was my second mother’s day since the girls were born. I love being a mom! And I feel so blessed by my daughters. They are very sweet little girls who bring much joy to my life. As I watch them grow and learn and develop, they’re becoming more and more adept at imitating and it’s becoming more and more apparent how important it is for me to be the best role model I can be for them.

Bedtime story

I begin to realize how fortunate I am that I had a pretty good role model about how to be a mom. I think my Mom would agree that she wasn’t perfect. Maybe there are even things she wishes she had done differently (I know I’ve already had those thoughts myself). But there was never any question that she loved me and wanted what was best for me. She was a stay-at-home mom for most of my childhood. Looking back, I realize not only how I was blessed by that, but also how it was able to bless my friends. Some of my friends had less than stable homes, and often we would play at my house. My parents welcomed my friends and I remember countless hours playing in the backyard (we had a great climbing tree), sleepovers (how did anyone sleep with a house full of teenage girls?), and birthday parties at Chuck E. Cheese. They listened to impromptu concerts when we were in first year band and were our faithful audience for skits and tumbling routines.

Me with my mom (~1972)

So as my girls grow, I hope I can demonstrate love, patience, consistency, and encouragement so that they will learn independence, confidence, perseverance, and that they are loved.

Thanks, Mom. Happy Mother’s Day!

Ten Years Ago Today…

Dan — Fri, 01 Apr 2011 17:12:45 +0000

Half Dome

Ice Cream Catastrophe

Dan — Tue, 12 Oct 2010 06:56:12 +0000

A horrible tragedy occurred in our household last night.

Yet the evening started out so well — Janet cooked the best homemade pizza I’ve ever tasted, we took the girls out for a nice walk around the neighborhood in the stroller before putting them to bed, and then we watched some TV. Around 7:15 PM, Janet mixed up another batch of our incredibly yummy homemade ice cream and started up the electric ice cream freezer. Normally, this process should take no longer than an hour, unless perhaps it’s a particularly warm day. Already, our mouths were watering at the thought of the delicious dessert that awaited us… It is rare, in this household, that a week goes by without us enjoying our homemade ice cream. It’s that important.

And so, for the next hour or so, we both dutifully checked on the ice cream freezer periodically, ensuring that it was topped off with ice and sprinkled with rock salt to speed the freezing process. But to our dismay, at 8:30 PM the motor was still running strong, churning away with its annoying drone with no signs of slowing — as if it were taunting us! Well, that’s about the time of night that we wake the girls back up for a nighttime snack, and usually, Janet goes to bed directly after that. While feeding the girls, we both remarked that it seemed to be taking an extraordinarily long time to finish freezing, and still the motor didn’t seem to have slowed in the slightest. Around 9:15 PM, as we settled the girls back into their cribs (to the annoying drone of the ice cream freezer in the background), she said with a dispirited sigh, “Well, take care of the ice cream when it finally finishes freezing…” And then she added wistfully, “Enjoy it.”

With all the rest of the family in bed, I sat down and began playing a video game (all the while listening with one ear for that annoying drone to slow and then stop, which it was obstinately refusing to do). Every 15 or 20 minutes I’d get up to go check on it again, add more ice, add more rock salt… And then I’d just stand there, utterly baffled as to why it was still running!

Did Janet accidentally mix some antifreeze into the ice cream recipe? I reasoned that would explain why the machine was still running, but it just didn’t seem like the kind of thing Janet would be likely to do. Perhaps our ice was not cold enough? I didn’t really see how that could be. It was just regular ice, and I know I certainly wasn’t skimping on the rock salt. The water condensation on the outside of the bucket was freezing up into an icy shell, so I knew it was cold.

And so, as the infernal machine droned annoyingly, on and on and on and on, what had begun as a wonderfully enticing promise of delicious ice cream became an increasingly cruel taunt.

Eventually I glanced up from my video game and realized that it was after 11:00 PM. That stupid ice cream maker had been running for at least almost four hours! Something was obviously wrong; I didn’t know what it was, but I was sick and tired of listening to the damn thing, so I decided that I would just pour the ice cream out into some tupperware containers and then stuff it in our freezer and be done with it for the night, even though I was rather disgruntled at not being able to eat any right then. Besides, I figured, maybe I didn’t really want to eat any until after verifying the antifreeze theory with Janet.

So, with a grimace of disdain for the uncooperative ice cream maker, I yanked the power cord out of the wall socket and then snatched the lid off the canister in order to glare at the ice cream. What I saw within nearly made me cry…

NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

The ice cream was, of course, frozen solid. It had probably been frozen solid for at least 3 hours already. The reason that the motor never stopped (or even slowed) was because the blasted thing had stripped away the cheap aluminum post on the dasher and sprinkled a mound of aluminum filings down through the hole in the lid — all over our ice cream! Our beloved ice cream! I was absolutely shocked.

Even at first glance, the situation confronting me was a full order of magnitude worse than anything I had imagined. But as I stood there pondering (no doubt with my eyes bulging and my mouth hanging slightly open), the full depth of the horror became apparent to me. You see, at first I thought it would be no problem to just scrape off the top layer and enjoy the rest of the ice cream. Then I realized that I had no way of knowing when the motor had stripped that cheap aluminum dasher rod. Maybe it happened when the ice cream froze, and all the bits of metal really were in the top layer of ice cream. Or maybe it was stripped right from the beginning and had never actually stirred the ice cream at all — in which case not only would the ice cream have separated somewhat before freezing (which is not good), but the tiny chunks of aluminum might have filtered all the way through the entire mixture (which I think would be really, really bad).

And of course, the final insult — our ice cream maker was now clearly a piece of WORTHLESS JUNK, so when I tearfully dumped this entire batch of ice cream down the sink, I did so knowing that I couldn’t even start over and immediately make a fresh batch to finally satisfy my craving! No… Now we have to go through the whole painful process of selecting and purchasing a new ice cream maker; and since I’ll probably do that online, then I’ll have to wait for it to be delivered…

Life can be so cruel sometimes.

I Scream

That reminds me…

Dan — Fri, 20 Aug 2010 22:18:52 +0000

Our family’s recent cave swimming excursion reminded of another time I visited that same area… Oh, I’ve been there lots of times over the years whenever I’d visit the Talbot’s cabin during the summer months. Twenty years ago, I don’t think there wasn’t even a real trail that led down there — we’d just hoof it cross-country, straight down the hillside — and I seem to recall having to squeeze through a barbed wire fence, as well. Fifteen years ago, Janet and I even made a stop there during our honeymoon. And while that was memorable for its own reasons, the particular experience I wanted to write about here involves the time when some friends and I decided to go swim through the cave in the middle of the night. In December. With snow right on the banks of the river. Naked.

This is what the cave looks like in daylight.

I’ll admit right up front that this may well be the stupidest, most insanely reckless, practically begging-for-death bit of lunacy I’ve ever committed in my life. It’s definitely in the top three, at any rate. Don’t try this at home, kids! And while I’m at it, here’s one further disclaimer… I’m going to tell this story the way I remember it, but that won’t necessarily be what really happened. It was a long time ago, and the events of that evening were so outrageous that they have become somewhat legendary (at least for those of us who were there). In some senses they are burned into my memory forever. Yet strangely, many details are simply gone, and although I have asked everyone I can remember for further details, most have only vague recollections. I can’t even remember everyone who was there, though you would think that such a traumatic experience would forge a lifetime bond of brotherhood, or something. At any rate, this is my version of what happened.

It was probably 1988, sometime during the week between Christmas and New Year’s Day, and it was probably around 9:30 or 10:00 PM. It was freezing cold outside, naturally, and although it wasn’t currently snowing there was plenty of snow all over the ground. Then completely out of the blue, my friend Adam Beason said “Hey, you know what we should do tonight? We should all drive down to that cave and go skinny dipping through it!” It wasn’t exactly a dare, but it might just as well have been. There was a moment of silence as everyone looked around at everyone else, trying to determine if Adam was just saying something crazy or if he was actually making a serious proposal. With Adam, it was often hard to tell. Perhaps there was a chuckle or two. How could he possibly be serious? The idea was clearly insane! Surely, I thought, nobody would be crazy enough to…

Ahhh, but I was forgetting that Tony Sorensen was there. “Sure!” he said. “I’ll go!” Then Todd Beason, who was Adam’s cousin and was crazy enough to go along with whatever crazy ideas Adam and/or Tony came up with, chimed in too. “Yeah, that’d be awesome!” At this point, I still felt reasonably safe, so I may actually have said something like “Yeah sure, why not?” But you see, I seriously doubted that anyone was really going to drive an hour down the mountain in snowy weather at night just to swim through a freezing cold pitch black cave in the nude. But then Ed Talbot, the supposedly responsible “adult” cabin owner and our former High School Youth Group leader, said “Sure, if you guys want to do that, I’ll be happy to drive you down there.”

So there we were — five or six guys between the ages of 16 and 19, with an absolutely crazy proposition on the table, and a respected adult giving at least tacit approval. I don’t think anyone really wanted to do it, but neither did anyone want to be the first to chicken out. I wish I could write the rest of this entry as a nice little narrative, but at this point my memory of events gets a bit sketchy. I remember driving down to the cave huddled in the back of Ed’s truck camper shell. I remember stumbling down the steep hillside in the dark, with no idea where the “path” was, my feet crunching through snow with every step, already getting wet and cold… I remember standing at the edge of the river, the black mouth of the cave barely visible in the moonlight, thinking “Am I really going to do this?” And right about then, crazy-fool Adam proved himself to be the wisest one of the bunch (which, perhaps, is not saying much), because he bailed out, deciding there was no way he was going to get in that water. But by that time, I guess the rest of us felt we were committed. (Indeed, we should have been committed.)

This is what the cave looks like at night.

I remember hurriedly stripping off my clothes and then putting my feet into the bitingly cold water, causing them to ache painfully for a few moments before rapidly going numb. At that point, standing around and mentally preparing for the challenge ahead just wasn’t an option anymore. The only options were to chicken out (which didn’t really seem like an option, despite Adam’s belatedly wise example), or get through that cave as fast as humanly possible… So I just decided to go for it, and jumped in. I can remember almost nothing of the swim itself, except that I had a tiny little mini-maglite clenched tightly between my teeth as I furiously dog-paddled through the icy blackness like a deranged lunatic. I couldn’t really see anything except an occasional glimmer from someone else’s crazily bobbing flashlight, but that did nothing whatsoever to light my way. I think the only way we could tell which way to go was some vague sense of echolocation produced by the sounds of our own splashing and gasping for breath. We might have been screaming, as well. The water was so unbearably cold that, literally, the only thoughts left in my mind were paddle-paddle-paddle and get out of the water! I instinctively dog paddled instead of using a proper swim stroke because I must have felt that I’d lose consciousness if my head got wet.

And now let me really emphasize how PROFOUNDLY STUPID this whole undertaking was… I truly believe that it is only by the grace of God that we didn’t all drown in that cave. It’s one thing to go swimming in icy water when you can see where you’re going, and where other people can see you and attempt to help if you get into trouble. But in that cave, it was pitch black. If one of my friends had succumbed to hypothermia and started drowning just 10 feet away from me, I almost certainly would not have known — and even if I had noticed, I probably could not have helped at all. The walls rise straight up out of the water for most of the 120 yard length of the cave, and there are few handholds (not that we could have seen them, in any case). Adding to the danger, there are several submerged rocks lurking beneath the surface. There was really no possible way for anyone to have helped anyone else if there had been any mishap whatsoever — and in those conditions, I think that any mishap whatsoever could have resulted in death. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Yet, God was merciful, and we all managed to survive.

As I was preparing to write this, I had some email correspondence with a few of the other people who were there, to help jog my memory. Todd wrote:

I do remember and consider it at the top of the list of the craziest/stupid things I have ever done. I remember all climbing in the back of Ed’s truck having no idea what I was getting into. The idea seemed very bad at the time but I figured I would do it if everyone else did. We parked on the side of the road and stumbled down the path in the dark. We sent Ed and the girls to the other side of the cave with our clothes. Adam did not do it, he did chicken out (just confirmed this with him). I jumped in and lost my breath instantly. I had one of those big mag lights that took 4 D cell batteries, which made swimming even more difficult. I did not think I was going to make it, it took all I had not to panic. I remember being so relieved when I could finally see the end. I was the last one out of the water. It was a true miracle that no one drowned.

And Ed had this to say:

It was quite an adventure! And one we will remember for the rest of our lives. It was risky, but then so was riding bikes down the coast…and down from lake Tahoe…and tubing on the Stanislas and backpacking and everything else. God blessed us richly on all those adventures and the fellowship we shared (and continue to share!) is sweet.

While I certainly agree with the part about God’s blessing, I must differ about the level of risk. Ed didn’t get in the water! To my mind, this was many orders of magnitude more dangerous than speeding down the mountain passes of Tahoe and Yosemite on our bicycles. Floating down the Stanislaus river in an inner tube isn’t even in the same category. But Ed also wrote:

This from Elizabeth Barrett Browning comes to mind…

Earth’s crammed with heaven, And every common bush afire with God; But only he who sees takes off his shoes – The rest sit ’round it and pluck blackberries.

I’ve no regrets that we decided to take off our shoes (er, clothes…) and experience heaven crammed into earth firsthand. The laughter, the memories, the friends and the feelings will be with us for eternity. Let others sit ’round and pluck blackberries!

I wouldn’t have missed it for the world!

I suppose I can’t disagree with that. But I certainly wouldn’t do it again, and if someone told me they wanted to try it, I’d smack them upside the head until they thought better of it. What a stupid idea!

Grandma Upton

Janet — Sat, 17 Jul 2010 23:41:39 +0000

Grandma on her front porch - 7/2007

My paternal grandmother, Doris Upton, passed away on Friday. She lived in Carmi, Illinois so I didn’t get to see her much when I was growing up. I remember many years where we used Dad’s two weeks vacation for a summer road trip to visit family. We would stop in Wichita, KS to visit with my Mom’s family before arriving in Carmi for the 4th of July Hutchcraft family reunion. I remember spending time at my great aunt and uncle’s cabin on the Little Wabash River, running all over the place with cousins galore. I remember one of the adults giving each of the grandkids a quarter and we’d run down the street to the local market. (We really would run – and it was 90 degrees and 90% humidity.) Each of us would carefully consider what candy we wanted and we’d return with a small brown paper bag filled with our booty. When we were really lucky, we got to make the trip more than once in a day! I remember lighting bugs. And mosquito bites (LOTS of mosquito bites). I remember shucking piles of corn in the back yard. Trash was burned in a 55 gallon metal barrel. Grandma was an avid crafter – ceramics, crocheting, plastic canvas, and card making. I think I can attribute some of the joy I get from crafts to both of my grandmas.

I feel fortunate that we were able to travel to Illinois a couple of weeks ago. (See the post about that trip here.) It had been two years since I had seen Grandma, and she had never met our little girls. She enjoyed seeing them and I think the entire nursing home staff had been told we were coming.

Goodbye Grandma. I love you.

Grandma & me - July 2007

Family

Janet — Sat, 17 Jul 2010 02:28:28 +0000

Last weekend we took the girls on their first overnight trip away from home. It was an all out adventure as we loaded up, got on an airplane, and headed to Southern Illinois for a week. My Dad was born and raised in Carmi and each year over the 4th of July weekend aunts, uncles, cousins, and distant relatives return there to share family time together. In addition, Grandma will turn 90 years old in October so time was set aside this year to celebrate her upcoming milestone birthday.

4 Generations on the 4th of July - Carolyn & Elizabeth with Grandpa Hucker and Great Grandma Upton

It was a great joy to introduce our little girls to more of their extended family. And of course everyone loved meeting them! Grandma’s party was on Saturday and quite a few people dropped by the open house style party to congratulate her. Sunday evening we took the girls and went downtown to see the fireworks display. Elizabeth watched the fireworks. Carolyn mostly watched the people and the cars.

Ooh! Fireworks are fun!

The family taught the girls some new things while we were there. The girls learned to blow kisses and “give me five.” They are becoming more and more interactive and social. They’ve begun to reach when they want to be held. They hand me things and smile in satisfaction when I take it from them and say “thank you.” They’re developing physically as well. More and more we see them let go of things while they’re standing. I know their first steps will occur in the very near future.