Den Of The Danimal » memories

“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

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

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

Ophidiophobia

Dan — Wed, 12 Aug 2009 00:36:16 +0000

I’ve decided that I will occasionally attempt to write up some fun or significant memories from my life. Most blog entries revolve around current events, but there are always some old stories that are worth retelling. Hopefully these will be fun or informative for other people to read. The memories in this entry are primarily about Janet.

The earliest memory that I have of Janet is from my 21st birthday party. My roommates and I had about 30 friends over to our small 3rd floor apartment to celebrate the occasion. Everyone was crowded into just a couple rooms and a tiny balcony — sitting, standing, talking, shouting, playing, laughing, and generally having a fun and noisy time. (Our apartment was actually referred to as The Center Of The Universe, because there was always something happening there.) I had never even met Janet at this point, but she tagged along to my party with a mutual friend.

It was a great party, but to be honest, for some reason I was feeling a little bugged by my girlfriend at the time, and I wasn’t having the greatest night. But I was trying to make the best of things. Then suddenly, rising above all the noise generated by 30 college students crammed into a small apartment, an ear splitting scream rang out from the main room… All other activity instantly stopped and there were a few moments of dead silence, and all eyes turned to behold this terrified looking girl who had leaped up from the floor to perch precariously on the back of the sofa, obviously trying to get as far away as she possibly could from the floor.

That was my first impression of Janet. I had no idea who this girl was or why she was at my birthday party, but there she was, freaking out on my sofa and bringing my rockin’ birthday party to a dead halt. Unforgettable.

The culprit

What was she so freaked out about? Well, as you might have guessed from the title of this post, Janet has a genuine phobia about snakes. One of my friends was playing with a little wooden toy snake, and when Janet saw it she naturally assumed that a deadly rattlesnake was lunging for her jugular. Note that Janet’s phobia is not precisely the same thing as a fear OF snakes… I mean, she’s not simply afraid of being bitten by a snake or something like that, and it’s not just when there is a snake actually in her presence. No, Janet squirms with real and obvious discomfort merely from seeing a snake in a photograph or on TV. This is not merely an intense dislike of snakes. I think this really is diagnosable as a full blown case of ophidiophobia.

Of course, her irrational fear is most definitely accompanied by an intense dislike (actually hatred) of snakes. When Janet was growing up in Taft, she and her Dad would often drive out to the hills outside town to do some shooting. One of Janet’s most cherished memories is from the time a rattlesnake had the misfortune to cross her path while she was strapped with a .44 Magnum. Yes, that’s the gun Dirty Harry called “the most powerful handgun in the world, and it could blow your head clean off…” I think the way I heard the story was that she emptied all six shots into the snake (doubtless blowing it into several writhing, bloody pieces), then paused to reload before blasting away again.

That incident happened long before I met her so it’s not really one of my memories, but it illustrates the deeply rooted, bloodthirsty abhorrence that Janet has for snakes, and that’s important to understand when reading this next bit. There’s still one more memory I’ll share that involves Janet and snakes. This one happened just last summer on our family vacation. Janet and I were driving out to spend some time in the Eastern Sierras around Mammoth Lakes, and we were making lots of stops to find geocaches along the way. One place we stopped was in a pretty forested area near a nice waterfall, and as we were driving away we spotted a big rattlesnake crossing the road. Now, while I don’t have the same loathing of snakes in general that Janet does, I’m certainly no big fan of rattlers. Geocachers like me are constantly searching under rocks and in rotted tree stumps — prime locations for both rattlesnakes and geocaches.

So when I’m driving my car and a rattlesnake gets in the path of one of my wheels, I’m not gonna stop or swerve. Tough luck, Mr. Snake! Those poison glands mean you’re dangerous (or even deadly), and that means you’re living in Darwin’s world of natural selection — survival of the fittest, baby! When I need to reach my hand into a dark hole to search for a geocache, I remember that I’m on Mr. Snake’s turf, and I make sure to poke around with a nice long stick first. But when Mr. Snake decides to cross the road when I’m behind the wheel of my car, now he’s on my turf, and it’s his poison glands versus my steel-belted radials. The natural order is merciless like that.

I just kept the car rolling straight ahead, but I did slow down a little bit and looked over at Janet as we passed the spot where we had last seen Mr. Snake. To my surprise, dear Janet (savage snake-hater that she is) had her head craned way out of the car window so she could watch as the car tire crushed her nemesis. All I heard was a sort of wet “pop”, and then Janet quickly yanked her head back inside the car and started frantically wiping snake juices off her face and arms. MMMmmmmm…