Here are some more treasures that have been found in the garage.
Grandma D’s bowling ball:
My first piggy bank:
An upright piano music box that plays “As Time Goes By”:
A music box Grandma M brought back from Germany that used to play “Brahms Lullaby”:
A silly little plaque I got for Todd years ago:
And a few miscellaneous treasures:
In an effort to kill two birds with one shot (photo shot, that is) here is a picture of Katie’s new old car AND the first snow of the season.
I wish she would settle on a name for her car. I’m voting for Scarlet, but the jury’s still out. It’s just that it’s so much easier to throw out a name whilst talking about her car than saying “her car”. Which sounds better to you?
1. Katie’s car wears the snow as if it’s a mink coat; or
2. Scarlet wears the snow as if it’s a mink coat.
(Killing birds, mink coat – I hope PETA doesn’t read Jenster’s Musings.)
Anyway, Todd’s been a very busy boy. In recent months he has gotten into wood working and has been slowly amassing equipment. All those power tools need a place to live and not in the middle of the garage willy nilly. We have a double garage with two windows on one wall so he’s decided to make that side his workshop. Which is a great plan, except for the fact that we have several boxes neatly tucked along that wall. Boxes that were put there by the moving guys when we moved into the house nearly 6 years ago. So now he’s going through the boxes and making a throw away pile, a yard sale pile, a put away pile and an I have no idea so I’ll have to ask Jen pile. It’s turning into quite a treasure hunt!
One of the first treasures he came across was a bag with our Christmas stockings in it. Yes, folks. We’ve celebrated Christmas six times in this house and never once with stockings. Christmas 2012 is going to be awesome!
Look at what other treasures he found:
I used to collect music boxes and bought this one at the San Francisco Music Company on Pier 39 in San Francisco about 25 years ago. You pull the little cable car down to the bottom of the hill and it slowly goes up the street to “I Left My Heart in San Francisco”.
My two favorite stuffed animals ever. My grandparents gave me Winnie the Pooh when I was really little and I can’t even count how many times he had to be sewn up here or there. When I was in elementary school and we would be learning about fire safety I would lay in my bed at night and go over how I would get out of the house if there was a fire. My plan would always include grabbing Winnie. When I would start to imagine the fire and NOT getting Winnie out I would end up crying in my bed. I loved Winnie.
The other is the first stuffed animal Todd gave me. I called him LT – short for Little Todd. Cheesy, I know. What can I say? I was young and silly.
I have no idea where I got this. Really? A size 5?
My Grandmother’s jewelry box.
Because of my love for music boxes I was given this one when my grandfather passed away. It had been given to him and my grandmother for their 50th wedding anniversary by my other grandmother so it’s doubly special to me.
There were other goodies (and a ton of junk) that was found, but there are still a few more boxes to go through. I can’t wait to see what’s to be found next!
Yesterday I found a box of old pictures out in the garage and looking through them brought back such happy memories and made me smile. It also made me the teensiest bit sad because I miss my cute “little” kids. Oh, how precious they were and what fun we had – the giggling and the snuggling and the playing. It doesn’t hurt that I was also one of their favorite people back in the day. Then they had to grow up and those apron strings they used to hold onto so tightly have stretched longer and longer and their grip has loosened. Almost sounds like a bad thing.
Except for they were cracking me up tonight. I mean really making me laugh. And it just reminded me (’cause I know this but I forget a lot) that while sometimes teenagers can be exasperating, they can also be a ton of fun. I may not get the snuggling (though I still get a lot of hugs) and playing is not quite the same, there’s still a lot of giggling. So I’m not the teensiest bit sad anymore.
Some of my fondest memories of my grandfather are when he would bring out his fiddle and play us some tunes in his living room. I can still picture him holding the fret board with his nimble fingers, hunched over with his chin in the chin rest, foot stomping and mouth twitching in time as he would run the bow over the strings and make his music.
I called my mom tonight to get my Grandpa/Fiddle facts straight because I had them a little skewed. So here are the facts as Mom knows them:
Grandpa started his musical career when he was just a kid in Abilene, Kansas during World War I. He and a friend of his would hang out on the steps of the town square singing patriotic songs. Doesn’t that just sound like something out of a movie?
Mom said she thought he might have taken some fiddle lessons when he was about 10, but he had to sneak around to do so. Mostly he taught himself to play the fiddle and he couldn’t read music so he played by ear. When my mother’s family moved from Kansas to California, my grandfather forgot his fiddle in the attic so in 1942 he bought this fiddle at a pawn shop in Oakland.
When I was a teenager I asked Grandpa if I could try to play his fiddle. I knew a little something about music, being a fair to middling pianist and a dabbling guitarist, so I was able to pick out Ode to Joy and he said it was the prettiest his fiddle had ever been played. So not true. It was squeaky and screechy and there were a lot of wrong notes. But I was his granddaughter and I was “playing” a classical tune on his fiddle. What else was he going to say?
Several years after he died my nephew, Matt – an awesome fiddle player, loaned Katie his 3/4 size fiddle and she and I took lessons together. Todd and Taylor took guitar lessons together from the same guy and he would teach Todd the guitar part of some bluegrass tune and me the fiddle part and we’d ho down in the living room every now and again. We weren’t so great, but it sure was fun!
Every time I look at the fiddle it makes me smile. I get my love for music (and a slight bit of musical ability) from both sides of my family and Grandpa’s fiddle is tangible evidence of what was passed down from my mom’s side. But even better are the memories and stories it provides – not just for me, but for all my mom’s family. I saw a lovely bit of sunlight coming through the window yesterday so I decided to get some shots of this beloved fiddle. No doubt the pictures don’t truly show it the way I see it.
And his rosin. I loved the way the sunlight made it glow!
Friday was one of those days I’ll remember for a very long time. The kind of day that wasn’t terribly uncommon when the kids were younger – back when we could say, We’re going to go see this movie or hike that trail or go on a picnic, or whatever and the announcement would be met with enthusiasm and anticipation. These days, however, trying to find a movie or an activity we can all agree on has proven nearly impossible. Turns out 17-year-old boys don’t like the same things 14-year-old girls like and neither of them care for what mom and dad prefer.
Todd and I both had Friday off and the forecast didn’t call for a speck of rain, a rarity these days. So we jumped in the car and took off for North Wales where we started our adventure with a great lunch at Chili’s – the kids’ choice. Down the street from the restaurant we played miniature golf, swung bats in the batting cages, raced each other on the Go-Kart track and just generally had a ton of fun.
In fact the good times started on Thursday. Just hanging out together, eating together, playing together, watching movies together. A lot of “together”. And I’ve cherished every second of it. Today after church the kids left for a Christian teen conference for a week.
How is it Taylor only has one year of high school left? He’s much closer to being a man than a kid. When did that happen? And why does Katie have to be a freshman in the fall? My baby will be in the same place as my firstborn before I’ve had a chance to catch my breath. And then what?
It used to be they were dependent on me for their fun. I was at home with them from the time they were very small and I enjoyed playing with them. The pool, the zoo, an easy hiking trail, the water park, etc. In fact, sometimes they were my excuse to get to do something fun like the science museum or the newest Disney movie.
When the weather was cold I would brew a pot of tea, make some shortbread and set the table nicely for an after school snack. During summer rains we would camp in the living room, eat Popsicles on the front porch and sometimes even play in the rain. One year we had a pretty good snow, but both kids were sick and couldn’t get out to play in it. So Todd and I loaded up a big bowl with snow and let the kids build little igloos and castles on cookie sheets in the kitchen.
Trips to the park, swinging into the swimming hole on an old rope, the weekly stop at the library, camping with just us or friends, pulling them in the double wagon, reading in the hallway while a storm raged outside, cuddling on the couch and watching the latest Disney release…
My mind has been filled with these precious memories and my heart with a mixture of sadness that those days are long gone and a joy at the prospect of what these children are becoming. Sometimes I wish we could jump in a time machine and go back to those treasured moments. But at the same time I love the people they’re growing into and enjoy when we do get to hang out together.
I am thankful to God beyond measure that Todd and I have good relationships with our teenagers and that sometimes they like spending time with us. I’m also thankful for the friendships they have with other great teenagers, the majority of whom share the same values, morals and take their faith seriously. It’s no myth that friends make the person.
There is almost an urgency to spend as much time with them as I possibly can because it seems very limited. At the same time, however, I’m thrilled they both have the opportunity to go away this week and pray not only for their safety, but also for their spiritual growth.
When your kids are little you hear time and time again, “Enjoy them while you can because they’re grown in the blink of an eye.” Well I have enjoyed them from the very beginning and it does seem as though I’ve just blinked. The night before Taylor started kindergarten I laid in bed and cried because, “Tomorrow is kindergarten, then it will be college and before you know it he’ll be married and living somewhere else.” A little dramatic, yes (and Todd does still tease me about it) but not so far fetched.
This evening we had another break in the rain so I took Sookie to the park for a long walk. Families with little ones were out in abundance, making those bittersweet memories even sharper. I wanted to call out the above cliche to make those parents understand how fleeting this beautiful part of life is. But it’s not something you can truly grasp until you’re at the other end.
So Friday we played miniature golf and stopped keeping score after the 12th hole. We swung bats in the batting cages – my first time since the great breast cancer debacle of ’05 (and I can still smack a ball). We drove Go-Karts and I managed to spin Taylor, run him into a wall and stall him. But mostly we just had fun and made a few more memories to add to the stack.
Crossposted at Mothers With Cancer
Todd and I will celebrate our 21st anniversary in June. Some days it doesn’t seem half that long and others it seems like our golden anniversary is just a few years away. I’ve been trying to organize all my photographs from the past 21+ years and I can’t help but linger over pictures of the kids at different stages of 
their lives. It’s a bittersweet thing to be sure. How did Taylor go from that six-year-old muscle man to a junior in high school considering colleges and careers? Or that adorable three-year-old girl with the curly brown hair. When did Katie turn into a 14-year-old with the confidence to sing in front of an audience of junior high and high school students?
“Cherish these moments. They won’t last long.” How often did I hear those words when my kids were small? Probably more than I can count. I listened and I DID cherish those moments. The conveyers of such wisdom were right. Each instant was over in a blink of an eye.
I love getting a glimpse of the adults Taylor and Katie are turning into. Most of the time I thoroughly enjoy hanging out with my teenagers, but sometimes I wish I could just jump in a time machine and go back to when they were little.
Time is such a funny thing. It never goes at the same speed. When you’re sitting in a boring classroom those 50 minutes seem to stretch on forever. But when you’re doing something you love it seems to breeze by. While I was looking through the photographs it hit me. I’m three months shy of the four year anniversary of my diagnosis.
That first year felt more like several years. I’d start to see the light at the end of the tunnel, only to realize it was a speeding train heading right for me. It was a frustrating year, full of immense physical and emotional struggles. I really thought once I was told there was no more cancer (never thinking I might have a metastasis or recurrence) everything would get back to normal.
But instead of normal, my family moved, settled into our new home, and then I started planning my reconstruction. Once I felt recovered from that I found myself having a complete hysterectomy with removal of my ovaries, throwing me into instant menopause for the third time. It was just one thing after another after another.
2008 was the first year since my diagnosis that was truly good. It took three years for me to get to that point and it felt like forever. But now it sometimes seems like a lifetime ago. Until I wear myself out and end up with thrush and ulcers on the roof of my mouth, courtesy of whatever funky things chemo did to me three years ago.
I don’t delude myself into thinking it will ever be forgotten. My body will always carry the battle scars as reminders. I am once again a happy and contented person except now there is a bit of mournfulness just under the surface that wasn’t there before. That has gotten better with time and I am hopeful it will someday go away – maybe when I finally and completely accept my “new normal.”
Three-and-a-half years ago, when I had just barely started down this path, I thought the journey ended after the treatment and the reconstruction and hearing the words, “No Evidence of Disease”. At that time I felt as though I was progressing so slowly and the road to the final destination would be an excruciatingly long one. What I have learned, however, is the journey never ends. Thankfully the scenery changes, though. The desert that appears never ending does finally lead to greener pastures and the journey becomes much more tolerable and eventually pleasurable.
Just like I would love to travel back in time to when my kids were little, I would love to travel back in time to four years ago; before my world changed forever. But if I were to stay in the past I would miss out on so much the present has to offer. Two incredible teenagers who make me laugh and smile and, yes, a little crazy. And a life with more wisdom and depth and even purpose than I knew before.
So if you are in the middle of the desert and are blessed to fully recover from cancer, I offer you hope. The time may drag by right now, but this too shall pass. I promise.
Today is my dad’s birthday. Oh how I wish I could take my motley crew and impose upon my folks to help celebrate another milestone. Instead I’m just gonna talk about him (in past tense just because I’m thinking back to when I was a kid) a little bit.
I’ve always seen my dad as a quiet, unassuming man and also one of the smartest people I’ve ever known. He could carry on a conversation with a brilliant scholar or an uneducated dockworker – no one was above or beneath him. Everybody, no matter their education, station, race, whatever, received the same respect. He never flaunted his intelligence and I think there were probably a lot of people who never had any idea just how smart he really was.
He loved classical music and dixieland jazz and I would say he gave my sisters and me an appreciation for all different forms of music. I can remember him sitting in the big, plaid chair in the living room, enjoying a drink while Rossini’s William Tell Overture played on the stereo, my sisters and I galloping around the house like the Lone Ranger. Or secretly loving (though I acted embarrassed) watching him dance around with a cigar in his hand as we stood in line at the French Market Restaurant in Disneyland as the jazz band played away.
Mom and Dad were known for their ability to cut a mean rug, too. Every wedding reception where Glenn Miller’s In The Mood was played found them doing their thing on the dance floor. Embarrassing to a stupid teenager, but impressive to everyone else.
Dad taught us girls how to read a map and gave us each a pretty good sense of direction. He also taught me to fish and pee in the woods. He never managed to get me to hang over the side of a boat and pee, much to his frustration. I made him take the boat into the dock just as the fish started biting. Of course by the time we got back out to the same spot the fish had moved on.
I love the memories I have of a regular Saturday at home. He would mow and trim and do all the yard work, take a shower and clean up, and then grill in the backyard while he smoked his stogie. The smell of fresh-cut lawn, grilling meat and a cigar equal such happiness to me. Once when I was about 14 or so, I begged him to let me try his cigar. “No, no, no”, he kept saying, but I pestered and pestered. So he handed me the cigar and I took a puff, only to turn green and nearly upchuck in the flower beds. As I recall he got a big kick out of that. And I never had a desire to smoke a cigar after that!
Both my parents have always be great examples of serving others. Long before I came along they were active at church, helping in whatever way they needed to. I never thought a whole lot about it – it’s just what they did – until I got much older. Now I realize how much of their lives they’ve given to help others. Even now they work at their church and once a month at a local food pantry. Because it’s just what they do.
One of my favorite things to do growing up was our family outings after church on Sundays. Sometimes we’d drive up Western to the Tide Pools and then stop at Arthur’s Ice Cream on the way home. Or sometimes we’d take a change of clothes and a picnic lunch and go for a long ride over Mulholland or maybe up to Oak Glen for apples. When most teenagers abhorred hanging out with their folks, I loved to do these fun things with mine.
I was blessed with a very happy and secure childhood. I never doubted my parents loved me and I never doubted they loved each other. Of course Mom played a big part in this security, but today’s post is about Dad. 
) To say Dad never got mad would be a falsehood, but he wasn’t one to fly off the handle. Usually when my sisters or I were in trouble we deserved it. Of course, we may not have seen it that way at the time.
My dad and I danced to Daddy’s Hands by Holly Dunn at my wedding. I can’t hear that song twenty years later and not get choked up. I heard it in the grocery store as I was checking out a couple years ago and I could hardly hold it together. But the words couldn’t have been any more perfect:
I remember Daddy´s hands, folded silently in prayer.
And reaching out to hold me, when I had a nightmare.
You could read quite a story, in the callouses and lines.
Years of work and worry had left their mark behind.
I remember Daddy´s hands, how they held my Mama tight,
And patted my back, for something done right.
There are things that I´ve forgotten, that I loved about the man,
But I´ll always remember the love in Daddy´s hands.
Daddy’s hands were soft and kind when I was cryin´.
Daddy´s hands, were hard as steel when I´d done wrong.
Daddy´s hands, weren´t always gentle
But I´ve come to understand.
There was always love in Daddy´s hands.
I remember Daddy´s hands, working ’til they bled.
Sacrificed unselfishly, just to keep us all fed.
If I could do things over, I´d live my life again.
And never take for granted the love in Daddy´s hands.
Daddy’s hands were soft and kind when I was cryin´.
Daddy´s hands, were hard as steel when I´d done wrong.
Daddy´s hands, weren´t always gentle
But I´ve come to understand.
There was always love in Daddy´s hands.
Daddy’s hands were soft and kind when I was cryin´.
Daddy´s hands, were hard as steel when I´d done wrong.
Daddy´s hands, weren´t always gentle
But I´ve come to understand.
There was always love …..
In Daddy´s hands.
OH MY GOSH! I’m blubbering again! Dangit! Anyway, my dad was an electrical engineer so I doubt his job ever caused his hands to bleed, but the chorus sums up my daddy’s hands perfectly.
And speaking of his hands, I always loved them. They were always neat and clean except when he’d been working in the garage or in the yard and then he’d scrub them with Lava and they’d be clean again. I always thought of them as elegant hands and one of the first things I noticed about Todd was how he had hands like my dad’s. Isn’t it funny the things that make an impression on us?
I could go on and on and on, but I’ll bring this to a close by talking a little bit about my other dad.
Because God is an ethereal being we tend to project our own experiences to create a God we can relate to. Some people see God as distant because they had a father who was distant. Some people see God as indifferent because their father was indifferent. Some people see God as totally absent because, well, you get the idea.
Myself? I’ve never had a problem seeing God as the perfect and wonderful God He is. Loving, kind, gentle, just, stern when needed, merciful, etc. Now I’m certainly not saying my dad IS God. Just ask my mom and she’ll tell you he hasn’t walked on water. But what I am saying is that he has always been a great example of a kind and loving Father. Just like my Heavenly Father.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DADDY!
Where has the year gone? I can hardly believe it’s already October. Mostly I’m very happy about it. I love the cooler temperatures and the changing leaves and the smells of autumn. And as I said in an earlier post, every weekend this month is something unusually fun for me.
At the same time, however, I can’t escape breast cancer. Now granted I have learned to embrace pink and I write about my experience, but that’s all on my time. If I want to hang up my breast cancer hat for day or so I can. Not this month, though.
I’m hoping this year will be a little better than last year. Not once during October of 2007 did I talk about breast cancer. It wasn’t until November when I wrote Blasted October, a post lamenting my dislike of Breast Cancer Awareness. I mean, for hundreds of thousands of us every month is Breast Cancer Awareness Month.
I am farther along this year than I was last year, but I still haven’t totally accepted my new normal. I’m getting there. Slowly, but I’m working on it. So I may not write a lot about breast cancer, at least not on this blog. Then again every post might be about the disease. Not likely, but I suppose it could happen.
On a VERY happy note that totally overshadows whatever feeling I may have about all the pink ribbons out there, our weather is going to be Fallish tomorrow and Friday we’re driving to Rutgers University to meet up with our Hawaiian friends and watch their daughter play soccer. She was recently named the BIG EAST Offensive Player of the Week, a first for Rutgers in six years!
So watch me go, all enjoying October and having a good time and ignoring the pink splattered throughout the rusts and golds and burgundies and oranges of Fall. I may not have the best eye, but even I know pink clashes with the warmer tones of Autumn!
I think today was a pretty good day despite the fact we decided to attend the new 8:00 service this morning. We’ve been going to the 11:30 service from the beginning, but now that we’ve outgrown our parking lot and building and need to spread out the attendance, the church has added a fourth service – 8:00. A couple weeks ago they asked for volunteers and Todd made me write on the attendance card that we would go to the 8:00 service until the new building is finished in April. APRIL! 8:00! A!M!
In case you’re new to the party, I do not do mornings very well. So I consider this a sacrifice for Jesus because that’s how I roll.
A nice little surprise was seeing my friend, Beans, at the same service. She came and sat with us so that was good.
Today’s message was the first in a series called Everything I Learned About Life I Learned From The Beatles. That went a long way in assuaging my gripey, too-early, caffeine-deprived self because I love me some Beatles. Today’s song was Help!, one of my favorites. Brian Jones, the pastor, transitioned nicely from the rock song to Psalm 121.
Another score! This is one of my favorite passages of scripture. I was challenged to memorize it several years ago in a women’s bible study, only to cling to it and make it my anthem, if you will, when I was diagnosed. Funny thing is I just commented this very thing on our women’s blog about prayers and such yesterday.
One more bonus about going to the 8:00 service is that we were home about the time we usually start getting ready for church. Sunday mornings have been slow and lazy, but I actually like having a longer day. Especially when it’s rainy like today. Even if it does mean I have to get up earlier than I think is appropriate on God’s day of rest.
I’ve also had some moments today I don’t necessarily enjoy. I’m working on two separate writing projects, both dealing with cancer, and it makes me go places I’d rather forget about. But I know I have to – not just for the writing, but because ignoring the still raw spots don’t make them go away. And I keep thinking I’m past the hurt, but obviously I’m not. Oh, it’s very true that time heals old wounds, but the scars never completely fade.
But this stirring of emotions wasn’t enough to ruin my day. Strangely, I think it added to the goodness. Because even though these memories remind me of sad and sometimes terrible things, they also remind me that my help comes from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth. The whole time I was in the bad and scary place he watched over me, never sleeping even a second. And it just doesn’t get any gooder than that.
A couple weeks ago Cheryl at Life with Cheryl tagged me for this fun little meme. Apparently I had a two-week senior moment because I totally forgot about it until last night. So without further ado, here we go…
Ten years ago I was:
Loving life! Todd and I had been married ten years, Taylor was 6 and Katie was 4. What incredibly fun ages! Taylor was in 1st grade and Katie was in preschool along with several of my friends’ kids. Every Thursday we would take our kids to preschool and then meet at the cute little coffee shop around the corner. It got to where the people who worked there knew what we were going to order. Good times. In fact, some of the best times. (Wouldn’t you agree Rhonda, Beth, Shelly, Kim — who am I missing??)
Five things on today’s To Do List:
1. Laundry. (Just like Cheryl said, why is this ALWAYS on my daily list?)
2. Dust the first floor, not to be confused with the basement which is really the first floor.
3. Vacuum the first floor (see #2 for clarification) and the stairs.
4. Sweep and mop the kitchen.
5. Work on the CLEAR website.
A snack I enjoy:
Peanut M&Ms.
Things I would do if I were a millionaire:
* Give more to church
* Support my beloved charities more
* Support other charities I like but can’t afford to right now
* Decorate my house exactly the way I want to
* Do a little remodeling to the house
* Travel a LOT
Places I have lived:
* SE Pennsylvania
* Central Arkansas
* Las Cruces, New Mexico
* Torrance, California
- That’s the West, the Southwest, The South and the East. While I’d love to hit every region, I think I’d rather just stay put now.
Now who should I tag? I’m going to say everybody because I’d love to know these things about all of you! So if you do this meme please let me know.
