Quiet On The Western Front.

Hi!  Remember me?

About three months ago, I was reviewing blog entries and thinking that my blog is a bit stale...boring...so-so.  I thought I should probably find some new topics/projects in the areas of knitting, family, baseball, etc. to write about.

Then, in late September/October, I took off on vacation with my DH to visit family while they're spending a year in Alabama.  We had a WONDERFUL week, checking out the Birmingham area, playing with the grandkids, and just enjoying family time.  Even our youngest daughter and her husband came down from Boston for a few days!  Everything was perfect.

Shortly before we left to come home, both DH and I started to come down with colds.  By the time we got home, mine was making its usual progression to a sinus infection.  That seems to be my pattern for the last five years or so, and I finally know the drill (yes, I may be a slow learner...):  when the headaches start, call the doc to get some antibiotics, because it's not going to go away like a "regular" cold would.

So, that's what I did.  I made my appointment to see my doc.  By then, the headaches were feeling like something other than a sinus headache, and pain relievers weren't making a dent. When I described them to her, she said they didn't sound like a sinus headache, either.  Thankfully, I have a proactive doctor!  Rather than trying to fix it with antibiotics, she suggested we first do a CT scan.  I had one the next day and was in the hospital by that night after finding a cyst and tumor on my brain.  Come to find out, the headaches were the result of the left side of my brain being pushed to the right side of my head due to swelling from the cyst.  Ouch!

Two days later, a neurosurgeon removed the stuff, and two days later I was home.  Two days after that, I was informed that the pathology shows I have brain cancer.  They don't know what causes this particular type of tumor; however, they're the most common tumor in adults, the medical community doesn't know how to cure them yet, and they know they're not hereditary.   Sounds pretty special, doesn't it?  Maybe I should buy a lottery ticket.

In early November, an MRI revealed that they didn't get all of the tumor during the first surgery and that I'd be having more surgery to get the residual in December.  Yay, me!  Some things are just so much fun, you have to do them twice.

To this point, both surgeries and all follow-up have gone smoothly, and I've just begun radiation and chemo treatments.   Yes, simultaneously.  I intend to do everything within my power to fight this off and live a healthy, productive life for as long as I possibly can.  After all, I still have many people left to annoy around here. :-)

I have been the most boring person when it comes to health.  And, I mean that in a good way!  The last time I was overnight in the hospital before this little episode is when I was born.  I've not been on any prescriptions for my entire life.  Until now, of course.  I exercise, and--for the most part--I eat well.   Apparently, brain cancer doesn't care much about all those things.  When it's your turn, it's your turn.

Now, don't expect that this is going to turn into a cancer blog...that is not my intent.  I just think it's interesting how life changed so quickly, and completely took my focus off of my "boring" blog.  And, I decided that I should probably post something before those of you that DO actually read this wondered what's become of me!   I'm still here, and will again be searching for interesting stuff to post about.  Stay tuned!

Before I go, one small note:

In the few short months since I've been involved with all this, I've seen some valuable lessons brought front and center with great clarity.  I've always believed these things, but have really seen them in action lately:  

• Faith, family and friends will get you through just about anything. I've always known this, but have been astounded at the love and compassion all of my family and friends have demonstrated.  It's humbling and inspiring.  People can be amazing. A couple of examples:  
• Both of our daughters were on planes as soon as they found out about my first surgery; one of them with two small children.  Keep in mind, they both live 2,000-3,000 miles away.  No small effort for them to get here without a great deal of planning, quick action, and yes, travel fare!  And then?  Then, they turned around and came back out for Christmas!  DH and I are so blessed to be the recipients of that much love.
• Two friends who drove 4 hours each way to decorate our house for Christmas.  They both realized that I shouldn't be on ladders, lifting stuff, etc., and gave up one of their weekends to do it for us.  Those are true friends.
• All the little b.s. that happens day-to-day doesn't really matter.   Deal with it quickly, but then move on. Look for a way to impact someone's life in a positive way, and your day will be well spent. 
• It's really easy to overlook the simple beauties in everyday life unless you focus some effort on catching them.  Don't go through your day on autopilot!

  

An eagle resting on the Deschutes River during one of our recent walks.   Beautiful!

Okay, enough lecturing!  Go out and have a great day.

Sometimes, nothing beats snail mail.

I to get to hug on these two in a few weeks!  You can be jealous.  It's okay; I understand completely.

Happy Grandparents' Day to all those who are!

Back to School. Or, the Summer That Was Beer.

It was the first day of school here in Oregon yesterday.  I have no children in school, and I haven't been in school myself in a very. long. time.  Our grandson did just start his first day of pre-school in Alabama, though (where did that time go?!?), so we got a little taste of the old excitement.  Big changes in his world this week!

 Backpack:  check!  Lunch:  check!

Is it just me, or does something about back-to-school time give you a swift kick in the backside and make you look at where you are and what you want to accomplish?   It always feels like the end of summer--even though technically there are a couple of weeks left.  And the transition to fall always feels like change is in the air; as though big things are about to happen.

I'm not talking about the weather here; we all know that's going to change, and a lot quicker than I'm ready for!  No, I'm talking about big, life-changing stuff.  Stuff like the fact that four of the five jobs I've had started in the fall...we got married in the fall...we've moved in the fall.  Stuff that you really need to have your act together for.

And then there's the stuff that's not so life-changing.  It's just more shape-shifting.

Even though we've been on the go quite a bit, our summer while at home has been fairly laid-back.  Something about living in a resort town can make you feel like you're on perpetual vacation, I guess.  When that resort town has seven micro-breweries, it just makes things worse (or better, depending on your point of view).  You feel like you should taste them all.

What?  You didn't feel that way?  Oh.

These past two months, my exercise, diet, and discipline have suffered, and I'm chalking it all up to beer and summer.  It was too easy to play without worrying about it being a school night.   Slingball in the neighbor's back yard with some Boneyard Girl Beer?  You betcha...Dominoes and dice until way past midnight with a little Cascade Lakes Blonde Bombshell?  Great idea!...Bend Elks games with some Deschutes Mirror Pond?  Of course!  Have to grab those games while they're in town, right?  And what's baseball without beer?...A trip to East Lake with some 10 Barrel Apocalypse IPA?  Of course!  Sign me up!...The Bend Brewfest? Can't miss that now that it's back, can we?!

Do you see what I mean?!?

Well hello, four pounds.  Thanks for visiting, but I really can't invite you to make yourself at home.  So, don't get comfortable.

It's time to get my act together.  Back to the school of exercise, diet and discipline.  Then we'll get on to the big life-changing stuff.

Dear Colin

You've probably noticed that I've tucked references to Bermuda into a couple of recent posts, whether or not it was really relevant.  That's because mentally, I'm still there.   I'm not sure what it was about that trip in June, but the sights and feel of Bermuda have stayed with me more than any "tropical" vacation I've taken.  We've been lucky over the years to have traveled to Hawaii, the Mexican Caribbean, and the U.S. Virgin Islands...all beautiful tropical destinations.  But Bermuda...ahh, well, it's just special.

Of course, it may have been the very special wedding; seeing your daughter so happy is bound to make for many fond memories.  

But, there was really something more than that.  From the time we stepped off the plane until the time we left five days later, I was mesmerized by this little island just 650 miles off the coast of North Carolina.

By the beautiful waters in so many shades of turquoise.

By the lush greenery and the colorful houses with their pristine white roofs (for collecting the rain water).

By the incredibly friendly, accommodating, and gracious Bermudians, who seem to have eluded my camera...

Bermuda's tourism slogan: "Feel the love".  It's truth in advertising.  I can't wait to go back.

So, dear Colin,

Please leave my island alone.   Thank you.

New Season(s).

It's the first day of summer!  After spring pulled a no-show, I'm thrilled to see summer starting off with blue skies and warmer temps.  It feels like we're getting a fresh start and putting a long, cold winter and spring behind us at last.  Seeing a forecast that calls for near-80's this week makes me very happy.  I think I've mentioned it before:  I'm a Bend-in-the-summer girl.

Today is actually beginning a few new seasons for our family.  After a magical wedding and honeymoon in Bermuda, our youngest daughter and her new husband are starting a life together.

Hitched!

After five years in New York City, our oldest daughter and her family are re-locating to Birmingham, Alabama for a year, while our son-in-law completes his fellowship in sports medicine. 

We're looking forward to visiting them, to see if we notice any differences between NYC and Birmingham.  Ha!

Here at home, we're looking forward to what might be a little bit quieter season.  The past three months have been filled with lots of travels and many very special family events, none of which I'd have ever considered missing.  But, I'm ready for a new season...to garden, create some new bag designs, reconnect with our friends and neighbors, curl up on the front porch or back deck with a good book or knitting project, take some hikes, have some picnics, catch a Bend Elks ball game or two, and just enjoy beautiful Bend.

 I hope your new season holds warm and wonderful things!

Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes

Forty-three years ago, my parents bought a 160-acre property in rural northern California. It was what would be known today as a "hobby farm". We moved there when I was two, and I grew up there. At the time we called it a ranch, though in retrospect I know it doesn't qualify due to its size. We grew alfalfa, grain, pasture grass, and over the years raised beef, dairy cows, chickens, pigs, kept bees and extracted honey (if you've never extracted honey, I highly recommend it!), had dozens of barn cats, two fox terriers, and had a couple of horses around for general purposes.

The house was nothing to write home about...built by the original owners in the 1940's, it has always been obvious that many corners were cut. Insulation was apparently deemed an unnecessary luxury, and the plumbing and wood stove flue/chimney would often set my Dad reciting a string of expletives that I've yet to master (think "A Christmas Story" and the boiler in the basement, and you'll get the idea). By the time we moved to the property, two of the six kids were already grown and gone, which made the three-bedroom, one-bath setup a bit more bearable...only six people to accommodate!

Our view out the front window was of Mt. Shasta. 14,162 feet of wondrous Cascade volcano. No matter where life and travels take me, I always get a special feeling when I round a corner on the highway and see that mountain come into view...I'm instantly home.

At some point along the way--I don't remember the exact year--Dad and Mom sold half of the property, leaving them with a more manageable 80 acres. When one of my four brothers returned from college with his degree in field agronomy and became engaged, they sold half of the 80 to him and his new wife.

I learned about responsibility and work ethic on this property. My Dad worked full time as an appraiser for the county before retiring in 1982. Watching him work a full time job, and then work a second full time job irrigating, haying, calving, feeding, milking cows, etc. gave me an appreciation for doing what needs to be done.  The rewards were tangible, and the most basic of farm chores stay with me today in the form of fond memories.  To this day, one of my favorites is getting up with Dad around 4:00 - 4:30 a.m., climbing on the tractor with the baler in tow, and baling hay for a few hours while watching the sun come up over the mountains that rim the Shasta Valley.  The smells, sights, and sounds of that experience will be with me forever.  It was heaven on earth.

And now, the time has come for a new chapter for this beautiful piece of property.  Since Dad passed away in 1984 (having only two years of retirement to enjoy his beloved ranch), Mom has stayed, feeding calves and thawing the water trough in the winter, hauling wood for the wood stove, working in the yard.  She's 85 now with macular degeneration, and none of those things are nearly as manageable for her as they once were.  After much deliberation on her part, she came to the realization it was time for a change.  Which explains my absence for the past couple of weeks.  I've been down helping her sort through nearly 44 years of memories, paperwork, and STUFF.  And, for the first time in 60 years she now lives back in town, out of view of her mountains. To say it's a big change for her would be an enormous understatement.

As I lifted the last box and prepared to leave the house on Saturday, I stood in the kitchen and replayed my own decades of memories.  The huge family dinners; the nights when my parents would have their friends over to play cards; game nights with Dad, Mom, and my brother; quiet Sunday afternoons with a book in front of the fireplace.  I feel blessed that the vast majority of memories were filled with lots of laughter and contentment.  My parents provided me with a wonderful home life and childhood, and I will be forever grateful.

And now, while one book closes, another begins.  My brother's son has purchased the ranch from Mom, and will relocate there soon to return it to its prior operation.  Cows, dogs, hay, grain, and early-morning baling will return as the next generation takes its turn. I think Dad would approve.

Happiness is...

Fifty. Yes, fifty.

Wow. Another month has passed since my last post. Doesn't exactly make for an interesting read, now does it?

I honestly thought life was back on track there for a while, settling into some kind of normal routine. We helped Mom celebrate her 85th...
With her 12th great-grandchild...
Spent an afternoon with friends at Mt. Shasta Lavender Farms:
Unfortunately, we weren't to see the full glory of Mt. Shasta that afternoon...it's there in the clouds.But the new shop is beautiful!And, oh, the smell of all the fresh lavender. Heaven!

If you get to northern California between mid-June and mid-July in any year, I encourage you to make a stop at the farms. Take a picnic and enjoy the views of the Shasta Valley and the mountain. The sights and scents will do you good.

Yes, that was a lovely weekend, and we returned home with the expectation of settling back into the regular flow of the weekdays and weekends of a Bend summer. Then the phone started ringing.

In that last full week of June, two days apart, I lost two of my first cousins. One from each side of the family. Neither one expected. It's been hard. Really hard.

I'm part of a huge family. Loads of aunts and uncles on both sides of the family (Mom was one of seven; Dad one of eleven), many of whom had loads of children. I came along at the tail end of the generation, so it has become a fairly frequent occurrence that one of my aunts or uncles passes away...most into their 80's or 90's. I miss them all, but am grateful for the long, fulfilling lives they led and for the chance to have been able to know them and hear first-hand the stories and experiences of a Depression-era generation.

As a result of all those aunts and uncles (and I know what you're thinking, but no, they weren't all Catholic, and none of them were LDS...), I am one of 50 first cousins. Yes, you read that right. 27 on my Mom's side, 23 on my Dad's. I haven't recently made a count of these cousins' families, but I'm pretty sure if you put us all in one place we could incorporate a small city. I have my "go-to" cousins for a wide array of issues and advice. They are relatives, but they are also friends. Thankfully, I can say the same for my brothers, sister, nieces and nephews.

It's a mixed blessing, this huge family thing. On one hand, I've had--and continue to have--a lifetime of picnics, weddings, BBQ's, reunions and other assorted family gatherings that have made for a lifetime of happy memories.

On the other hand, I've attended way too many funerals at this point in my life, and I know there are far too many ahead. But, as our family tends to do, we use humor as our coping mechanism. They're now called "going away parties."

Jackpot: 46, PJ: 0

Alas, foiled again for another year (see previous post). One of my nephews found it. Somehow, the camera didn't make it to the hunt with me, so this has to be a photo-free post. For the record, though, it turned out to be a gorgeous afternoon: mid-60's...sunny, blue skies...ahhh...

And now, I'm off to devil the dozen I did manage to find. I always think of deviled eggs as such a "retro" dish, but I have to admit I love them. Any favorite recipes out there? Here's mine:

To six mashed egg yolks, add:

1/2 tsp. dry mustard
1/8 tsp. salt
Dash pepper
3 tbsp. mayonnaise or sour cream (I prefer mayo here, even though I'm not a mayo fan)
1/2 tsp. white wine vinegar
1/2 tsp. Worcestershire sauce

Mix together, refill the egg whites and dust with paprika and chopped parsley. I think it's the Worcestershire that makes the difference. Mmmm...

On Tradition (warning: long post)

I love a good tradition. I find great peace in knowing that no matter what else changes in my life, there is something I can count on to remain constant through the years. It helps me mark time, reflect on my past and shape the future. It ensures a real-life, non-electronic connection in a world that now relates largely via facebook, twitter, and email. While those are fabulous tools, and I use them, they're no substitute for the real thing.

My favorite tradition comes this weekend. Every year for the past 85 or so--rain, shine, or snow--my Dad's side of the family has gathered on Easter Sunday. Not for brunch. Not for dinner. No fancy Easter dresses. This is not your average Easter tradition. It goes something like this:

Sometime around noon, after attending various Easter services we all converge on the home of one of my cousins, several miles outside an already remote town in far northern California. We number around 80-100 people most years, ranging in age from newborn to 90. I travel four hours to be there; others travel twice that. While waiting for everyone to arrive, baseballs and Frisbees are tossed; others pass around new babies or give hugs to a great-aunt or -uncle. Eventually, we head for the food.

Ah, the food. Each family brings a main dish plus a salad or dessert. There are at least a dozen iterations of fried chicken, plus lasagnas, baked beans, green salads, bean salads, brownies, deviled eggs, cakes, pies, cookies... This is not a day for counting calories or fat content. You won't find a nutritional label for miles in any direction.

The food line snakes through the house, out the door and around the yard as everyone fills a plate and finds a place on the lawn to sit and catch up with someone they haven't seen for a year or more. In addition to our roles as parents, children, brothers and sisters, we are cousins, aunts, uncles, nieces, nephews, grandchildren. We are second cousins, first cousins-once-removed, and other relationships we've yet to figure out.

Oh yes, the eggs. Usually about 70-80 dozen of them, for the hunt. Each family brings one or two dozen depending upon the size of their crew. One of my older cousins is currently responsible for creating the Jackpot Egg...the holy grail of the hunt...elusive to me for the past 45 years. Judging from the way we all talk about this egg, you'd think the prize for finding it must be an all-expense-paid trip to Hawaii. No...it's a bag of chocolates and bragging rights until next year.

Being selected as a hider is a big honor, usually bestowed on four or five of the uncles and older cousins who are most immune to bribery from those wanting the jackpot egg. The hiders gather up the dozens of cartons and head for the hills a mile or so from the picnic. They have about an hour to hide nearly 1,000 eggs before the rest of us arrive.

Easter Egg Hill is divided into two sections, separated by an irrigation ditch. To the east is gently sloping pasture, set aside for the kids aged 8 and under. There, eggs are resting on tufts of new grass, easily visible to the 2'- and 3'-tall set. West of the ditch is for the big kids aged 9...to 90. It's a hill covered with chaparral, wild celery (icknish), oak and ponderosa pine trees. On this side, the eggs are harder to spot: tucked into the bushes and plants, down squirrel holes, in the crook of a tree branch.

The little ones go first, so everyone can watch them run aimlessly over the pasture, tripping over their baskets and walking directly over top of several eggs.
Then, it's a sight to behold when the starter turns toward the hill and yells "3...2...1...go!", and 60 adult bodies launch themselves across the ditch and up the hill, risking twisted ankles and scraped knees.
The race is on for the prizes that will be awarded to Finder of the Most Eggs and Finder of the Jackpot Egg. It's a tough crowd and competition is fierce. As I mentioned earlier (and I'm not bitter...really...), I've yet to find the jackpot egg. My totals are always respectable, but never prize-winning. No matter how I change my route up the hill and try new strategies each year, my totals always seem to be around 13 eggs and not one of them bears the word 'JACKPOT'.

So, accepting that another year will pass with me in the middle of the pack, I turn to my personal tradition. Once I've found the majority of my eggs, I wander the hill, breathing the fresh air, listening to the birds, and taking in the new spring growth around me.
I remember my dad and aunts and uncles who have wandered this hill before me...the way they made their families top priority through their actions, words and traditions. I say a silent "thank you" for them having been such strong, positive influences on my life. I miss them, and I recommit to paying forward the gifts they gave me.

Within an hour, we're all gathered back together, reporting our totals to the counter and waiting for the prizes to be awarded. Invariably, we learn there are still 97 eggs out there somewhere. We agree to leave them for the squirrels, deer, and other residents of the Hill and we all head home, another Easter complete and a week of deviled eggs on the horizon.

In our Monday-to-Friday lives, we are business owners, lawyers, veterinarians, engineers, ranchers, artists, judges, homemakers, teachers, etc. But on this day we're just Bray kids, doing what we've done every Easter for as long as we can remember, because the generations before us did it, and we've learned from them the importance of continuity. And we know we can count on each other to show up. And isn't that really what life's about? Learning from the old and teaching the young. Being present for those who matter. Showing up.

I think so. It's tradition.

Happy Easter.

In freak of nature, 45-year-old turns 13

You'd think I'd be past it by now...this business of feeling like an adolescent, expecting to break out in bouts of acne and attitude at any moment.

I'm off to spend a week with my Mom, working on projects around the house that she can no longer see to do. Each time I make these trips back to the ranch solo, I feel as though I immediately revert back to that awkward teenager. The "ahh, to be a kid again" sentiment doesn't apply to me, I guess. It's a strange phenomenon, vaulting back through the years. Things are certainly different now: Dad's gone (has been for almost 25 years), the animals are gone, and Mom's the one who needs care now; not the child. And yet, she still manages to wield that Mom-ness that has me flipping between "it's good to be back home" and a bad burst of back-talk.

I doubt I'm unique. I suspect most women go through this at one time or another. You tell me. I'm just saying it's weird, and I'm not wild about the feeling. On the flip side, though:

• I'll get a few days of digging through the old fabric stash. Who knows? Maybe I'll find some "vintage" stuff from my high school days. Ouch.

• I'll get to run Sophie all over the ranch (one of her favorite things on the planet).
• And I'll get to stare at this out the front window (one of my favorite things on the planet).
  

Maybe it will be good to be a kid again. I'll let you know.

I'm committed. Or maybe I should be.

Not even a week. That's how long it took me to decide to do another 1/2 marathon. Am I insane? I don't even know the race course yet...how many hills will I have to trek? Will it be raining? It's Seattle, so most likely the answers are "lots" and "count on it". But hey, what the heck. I seem to have built some momentum with this fitness thing, so maybe I'm just afraid of not having a date out there to work toward...? Truth is, it's also a great chance to spend time with two of my nieces that I don't get to see nearly often enough.

What keeps you motivated to stick with your fitness routine?

Twenty Years

Two decades. 7,305 days. 175,320 hours. I could keep going, but you get the point. Today is our 20th wedding anniversary, and I consider it a pretty big milestone. Has it been all roses? Of course not. But it's been a wonderful journey with a good man, and I wouldn't trade any of it. So, in honor of our special day, I present twenty things I love about my husband (in no particular order):

1. He always wakes up in a good mood.
2. He's my biggest cheerleader. Very supportive.
   
3. He likes to cook, and frequently does.
   
4. He's incredible with animals.
5. He's not snooty.
6. He loves farming.
7. He's openly affectionate with his family.
8. He makes incredible french toast.
   
9. His marinara sauce is amazing.
   
10. He likes to garden.
11. He doesn't shy away from hard work.
12. He drives when I don't want to, which is often.
    
13. He shovels the snow.
14. He's great at meeting people.
    
15. His positive outlook.
    
16. He doesn't spend all weekend watching football.
    
17. He puts up with my moods.
18. He spoils me.
19. He's got a great sense of humor.
20. He's young at heart.
    

Happy Anniversary, Honey. I love you.