Dreaming of a Little Patch of Heaven

In the summer of 2016, I began to dream.  It seemed like a pretty

huge dream at the time,  and one that would take a good deal of planning,

saving with intention, and some damn good fortune. 

You see, in 2015 I became overwhelmed and fed up with owning a camper. When I divorced in 2006 I came away with 5 kids, a dog, some personal effects, and our Jayco Kiwi camper.  The kids and I had some great camping adventures in that beauty!  So many great memories! Campfires, beaches, quaint towns to explore, raccoons to be lodged underneath…good times!  Alas, there had been a leak over the winter one year which required some floor repair, then other small issues that I always needed help fixing.  Fortunately for me, I have amazing friends from a coffee shop I worked in, and they stepped up to help me each time I asked.  They still do.  But back then I felt like it was all too much to deal with. Finding storage in the winter, hauling it out in the spring only to do weeks' worth of damage control.  The kids were getting older, some had moved away to college and had not moved back home. The others were in their teen years and held summer jobs that made it challenging to get large blocks of time off to camp with the family.  It seemed the camping season of life had come to an end. So I sold the Kiwi in 2015. 

And regretted it, when in the early months of 2016 I began to look for places to vacation near the beach. Wow!  There were some lovely places to stay.  Most of the goods ones were already snatched up by early February.  All of them were very pricey.  In the summer of 2016, we tried our luck at tent camping.  Fortunately, our friend had reserved 2 campsites in Pentwater, our favorite beach town.  It was also fortunate that she had a motorhome with all the bells and whistles.  We took a TON of supplies. Coolers, camp stove, camping table, the infamous Michelson Camp Box, or camp kitchen as the blueprints refer to it.  We borrowed a gazebo-style tent from a neighbor and a tent purchased from a friend, and our air mattresses and bedding.  I’m not going to say we didn’t have fun, because we did. It was a fabulous trip.  But camping in a tent is an enormous amount of work.  Fortunately for us, we had no rain, but if we had, our view of this experience might be very different.   Still, I missed the convenience and comfort of a camping trailer.  My dream began during this trip. My dream of a small, towable little camping trailer that I could haul and set up with very little effort.  That would keep me (and anyone with me) dry, warm, or cool, depending on the weather.  

For the next few summers, I booked small Airbnbs or quaint hotel stays. All of the kids and I didn’t go on every trip.  Elsa had moved to Portland, Savannah in the UP. Noah, Olivia, Fiona, and I were the travelers on most of these trips.  For at least part of the time.  Still, my dream of a little camper was being watered and nourished.  I spent hours online or walking around campgrounds looking at other rigs.  The Suitor and I went to a few camper shows.  My parent's health declined and the camper dream was put off for the future.  Still, I gathered ideas for how it would feel. One day.  What would be important to me in the little trailer. What memories and experiences I wanted to share with others and what I hoped for myself on the summers I would spend traveling and reviving in its company. 

During the initial pandemic lockdown, like many others, I took to social media for inspiration, dreaming, and connection.  It was there, on an Instagram account, @etst, a sister of a good friend, that I first saw The Mug.  A lovely pottery mug, created by  East Fork Pottery, that was produced in a variety of colors or glazes.  They have their standard glazes in stock always, but also limited-release glazes so that people can curate lovely collections.  I fell in love.  

Kelly Hampton had named all of her mugs after Little Women characters and artfully displayed them on a shelf in her kitchen.  When she made her annual pilgrimage to Northern Michigan that summer, she chose a mug that would make the journey with her.  The mug offered constancy and a summer vibe I could not stop thinking about.  It brought joy in some very dark times.  During this time frame, East Fork released several limited-edition glazes.  I began to think, perhaps I would invest in my own East Fork mug collection,  Invest is the right word too.  Like all handcrafted works, they came with a price tag that made me wince.  Because I knew, if I purchased one, and loved it, I too, would want a collection.  A collection that would one day, be my camping mugs.  In the little trailer, I was still dreaming of.   

In the autumn of 2021, the Harvest Moon glaze was re-released by East Fork.  I knew the instant I saw it, that this would be the first mug in my collection.   

Harvest Moon was followed by Rococo, released in November of 2021, a Christmas gift from Olivia, who understood my mug (and camper) dreams.  The following birthday, Utah, brought back in Feburary of 2022 was a gift from my sister, along with Eggshell and Panna Cotta, gifts from The Suitor on the same birthday.  Fiddlehead arrived on my porch that same spring, a gift from my BFF!  Bounty.  My collection was complete.  Ha!  No, it was not.  With the addition of Fiddlehead, I realized my collection lacked any sort of blues/browns/black colors.  

I began to watch for a new glaze release that spoke to my heart.  It arrived in the spring of 2023 in the hue of Secret Beach!  How perfect!  Had Secret Beach been released earlier, I might not have ever been able to afford a small traveling patch of heaven. I might have replaced all my dinnerware with that shade.  

Somewhere between Harvest Moon and Secret Beach, when some of the kids were visiting for a long weekend, maybe spring of  2022,  an elderly neighbor down the road had a For Sale sign on a little camper I had noticed often in their driveway.  Pointing it out on our way to the store, whoever was driving pulled in, went to the door, and asked if we could have a look.  

I knew immediately that this was the little camper layout in my dreams.  It was small, yet felt spacious.  It had a Murphy bed, which I had never considered.  It was priced right. It sold in 24 hours.  I thought about it for too long.  

Now I had in my mind what I was looking for, and for the following few months, I hunted the interweb for the same camper, maybe a newer or older model, perhaps with an oven. Maybe a little more storage. The Suitor was looking too. He found several to look at, but each time we went, the “This is Home,” feeling was missing.  While he didn’t give up looking online for me, he did say he was not going to look at any more campers with me until I found the right one.   Clearly, we approach something like this very differently.  I don’t think he fully gets the vibration that happens when you just know it’s the right thing. (I could comment further here and relate this to 3 previous committed situations, but I won’t, because that would not be kind!) 

While I was working one day, he sent a link to a little camper, the same model the neighbor had sold, but newer, priced right, and only 40 minutes away.  It looked,  perhaps, too good to be true.  I told him on the drive up, that I would not be committing to anything that night, that we would have to talk about it, I would need to think at least overnight.

 We pulled up to the seller's home, and when we opened the camper door, I KNEW.  I walked in and nearly felt it sigh and say, “I have been waiting for you!  Finally, you found me!” 

I tried to play it cool, looked at everything closely, and asked all the right questions.  Checked all the things.  When the seller went in the house to get a piece of information, I looked at The Suitor and started to say, “I know I said…,” but he knew too.  He could tell by the look on my face, the questions that I asked, that he was asking. He felt it too.  This camper could be our little patch of heaven when he could camp with me, but it was also easy enough to set up and haul for me to do alone.  We shook on it that night before leaving, I handled the banking the next day while simultaneously trying to teach America’s youth English concepts, while also fizzing at them with my camper purchase excitement.  We went to pick it up the next evening after work. 

I set about outfitting the little dream with organizational items that were also aesthetically pleasing.  I found plates and bowls that were reminiscent of the 60’s era of melamine camping plates from my childhood.  I ordered baskets to hold utensils on the wall, paper towel holders for over the sink, and purchased comforters, pillows, duvet covers, and towels that would be for camping alone.  I sifted through my parents' kitchen camp box for useful utensils, cookware, and marshmallow roasting forks.  I found the dogeared, tape-covered booklet of campfire songs that my dad had lovingly tended for years and popped it into a drawer.  When my mom passed in the fall of 2022, I plucked the basket of games out of her cupboard in assisted living and put it in the camper cupboard.  They will both always be traveling with me in spirit.  

When I sold the Kiwi in 2015 and simultaneously began dreaming of this future camper, I had no idea how life would shift and change over the next few years.  I didn’t imagine this experience without having both of my parents still here to support my efforts and cheer me on from the sidelines. I didn’t originally imagine the lovely mug collection that would fuel my dream and keep it burning through the difficult pandemic, or how that mug collection would sit in my cupboard at home, used daily of course, but knowing they were not truly “home” yet.  

Back then, I had no idea that this summer, I would set out on a camping adventure while also beginning grad school online, and that I would need to navigate Wifi and Hotspots in order to read and submit work.  I had no idea who, if anyone would join me. Back then, I had not even imagined grandchildren, and here I am with several!  

What I had imagined, was a day and evening just like this. With time to read, write, reflect, and take in all that is around me. The sounds, the scents, the dappled light through the trees.  I imagined it being just like this.  

Back then all I  had was a dream.  A big dream, but not an impossible one. With time and patience, some loss and heartache. It was a  dream fueled by my parents' love for camping, fostered by my own camping experiences in adulthood, and by this little mug collection that I knew needed a home in my little patch of camper heaven. 

It's a Mystery: Observations About Camping

A few things I have observed camping with a variety of people.

  

I spent the majority of this past week camping with girls. Women actually, but two of my daughters and two small children, ages three and ten months.  Camping with women and small children is a twofold experience. With women, the words “that won’t work" or "you can’t do that," or "it can’t be done,” aren’t part of the vocabulary.  If we want something to be done in a particular way, we will figure out how to accomplish that thing.  Whether that means parking the camper in a particular spot,  at a specific angle in order to optimize the experience, building a campfire, getting an umbrella in the sand or anything related to cooking/serving, eating. We also use the word “no” infrequently and do our best to not be frustrated by things like our pictures not sending or the lack of cell service in the great outdoors, other campers, bikes, or any of the chores related to camping.

Another thing, women don’t do a whole lot of is assessing how other campers got their rigs parked. I mean, we watch for sure, because that’s camping entertainment!  But musing on such things isn’t part of our conversation. Puzzling over it each time we pass, nope.   Now, assessing other campers set up?  THAT is something women do a lot. We take note of how their outside situation is configured and notice small things as we walk or bike by, like an aqua ice maker or the number of chairs gathered around in a circle related to the number of folks present at the site.  We notice those things. 

“What can I do to help,” is also a question you hear often when camping with women. Related to anything. Helping with kids, dinner, clean up, and organization. Whatever it is, our main goal is to have some fun even if it’s while we all cut up vegetables while feeding kids and “tightening up camp.” All of this, in order to get to some real fun, the beach, a sunset, a bike ride or sitting with our books. 

On the flip side, camping with kids is a damn lot of work.  We know this though, so there is no sense focusing on the fact. After all, our goal is to raise future campers who love the activity as much as we do.  We want them to have magical memories of camping like we do. Their memories will of course be different, but we realize that our tone and attitudes help to create those memories in a positive way. We don’t let them know how much work they are! (Mostly)  In their minds, we WANT to go run up that hill as much as they do. We are SUPER excited to wade into that ice-cold water and try to body surf!  This is because women are also really good at creating games on the spot that won’t require us to move from our beach chairs…like, “I’ll time you to see how fast you can run to that post and back. (something pretty far away that will take up time and expend a lot of energy, preferably) Then we high-five them with lots of praise and excitement and they feel like we participated, when in fact, we remained warmly nestled in our chairs and continued to sip our coffee, cocktail, or other hydration choice. We may have also read a few more paragraphs of your books, but not likely. 

The other thing about camping with kids is the napping.  Napping should be a gift of time to read, putter, or get a little mid-day rest too.  The thing about nap time is, that you damn well better have everything you need out of the camper because NO ONE is opening that camper door and potentially waking up the sleeping baby. NO ONE!  When kids and babies sleep or nap, this is the ONLY time you have to really relax, and we women know how to take full advantage of that. We also know how badly we need to this recharge!  I haven’t even addressed the bathing and attempts to get all the sand off of toddlers and babies in campground bathrooms where you would prefer to touch NOTHING!  That is a project. There is often a lot of crying in campground showers and the woman or women if you’re lucky, bathing the kids are so hot and sweaty by the end, we need our own shower just to feel halfway normal again. Or at the very least an ice-cold cocktail or steaming mug of evening coffee!    But if given the chance, we would do it all again, over and over, because there is something about camping that hits in our souls.  

Last night, when I went home for an open house, The Suitor surprised me with the news that he had Saturday off and could, in fact, come to my favorite campground for the remainder of the weekend. I was going to head over this morning, but he wanted to wake up here, so we made the drive back last night. I’m so glad we did. There’s nothing better than waking up in a camper.   We arrived 3 hours past his bedtime, but he was prepared for that and had a 5-hour energy shot to keep him going.  I had condensed and covered everything before heading home yesterday morning, so it took me a few minutes to get the campsite cozy and organized once we arrive but  I knew he would be awake long before me, and I wanted things plugged in, laid out and in order so that he could enjoy his morning. 

 Here’s the thing that is different with men. Or with this man maybe. They want to optimize their time. They work efficiently. They see the day before them and feel like minutes are ticking away before they have to be back at their grind again on Monday.  They feel this optimization diminishing at 8:00 am on Saturday morning. Or at least The Suitor does. At 8:00 AM,  I am still sleeping. When I am camping with him,  I sleep until I smell bacon or coffee, whichever hits first.  THAT  is a big difference between camping with women and men.  Men generally get the meat going in the morning, (no pun intended) and start working on breakfast pretty early.  The good ones,  like my Suitor, know how to wake a girl up so she has a good attitude about being woken up earlier than she normally would crawl out from under the covers when camping in the great outdoors.  Waking up to the glorious scents of bacon and coffee. That she did not have to make!  

When camping with a man, you realize the conversations are far different too.  They wonder and comment A LOT  about how backing in this or that rig was even possible for other campers. They seem to be able to determine how “damn close” the campers are to each other, and how “they really pack them in here don’t they?” They also notice how far the bathroom is from your setup, and unless it's really close, like right across the street, they comment on the long ass walk. It’s not that women don’t notice these things too, we just don’t talk about them much. I’m not sure why. 

It’s a mystery, this working of the minds between men and women. 

Another thing about camping with men, they seem to have a list of chores that need to be finished in a timely fashion. Like early in the day.  A timely fashion of their own creation mind you.  I think because they don’t really sit and linger over coffee for very long. Or really linger much at all.  I suspect this is because they have never learned how to just “be still,” and “enjoy their own thoughts and company.”   They want to get on with optimizing their day.   I sometimes wonder if The Suitor had two weeks to camp uninterrupted if this would change, but I think, probably not. It’s how he and men in general are wired. Mostly.  

The lack of cell service or internet connection seems to be a sticking point for menfolk as well. A lot of commenting over time like, “Boy, there sure isn’t any cell service here is there?” or “I don’t have ANY bars, do you?”  While this year I do need WiFi in order to do my school work, I looked up local coffee shops where I can get that done when I need to. I can set aside an hour or so to go do that when there is a window of time. Preferably when there are not gorgeous beach hours to be enjoyed. Otherwise, I have no need for cell service OR WiFi!  I’m camping! The great outdoors is my entertainment!  Important to note,  I have not even needed to utilize any of those coffee shops because the hotspot on my phone has worked great.  Problem-solving!  Finding a way to make it work.  Another difference between camping with men and women.  I’m not saying men can’t and don’t problem-solve while camping…they do! Just related to very different things than women.  

The ONE thing that men, women, and children ALL have in common when camping is the all-important trip or trips to get ice cream. Preferably hand dipped. Preferably made someplace in Michigan. Preferably ice cream with a very high-fat content and big ass scoops!  We’re all camping. We walk, bike, swim, lug water all day!  The ice cream and sunsets are our greatest gifts!  Camping cones just hit differently. There also seem to be no cost-cutting rules when camping. Want a waffle cone? Sure! Want a double dip? Heck yeah!  Want it rolled in sprinkles? Of course!  Banana split? No time like today! It is always so interesting to see what kind of flavors folks choose when getting a camping cone.  Women I notice, tend to throw caution to the wind and choose flavors they have never tried!  Lemon cheesecake, Michigan Pothole, Cowpie, Rush Hour, Eskimo Kisses.  Men stick to old favorites.  Vanilla, Butter Pecan, Mint Chip, Maple Nut.  Kids are wild cards.  They may try Superman or Playdough, but could also defer to a lovely Strawberry or Vanilla with sprinkles.  Me?  Blue Moon leads the charge!  But once I’ve had my first dip of the summer I mix it up with anything that has caramel, coffee, or toffee bits!  Eskimo Kisses gets mixed in pretty often as well.  The one flavor I am not old enough to ever choose is Butter Pecan or Maple Nut. I guess that’s 2 flavors…but still…I’m not 95!  Or male!  Those are old-man ice cream choices!  You won’t change my mind about this!  I’ve done my research!  Someone I camped with this week likes one of these flavors for sure.  I’m not naming names…but they fit the target demographic highlighted above!  Just sayin'.

All in all, though,  I love the mix of it all. The camping with women and kids. Camping alone with The Suitor. Camping alone period!   It’s a great balance.  I can’t lie.  It is nice to have some quiet today, to be able to craft this post and finish up some classwork. It was lovely to eat fresh bacon that I didn’t cook!  I was fizzing to stroll along the canal walkway showing The Suitor all of my favorite houses and telling him stories and just soaking in the late morning.  It’s nice to be here in one of my favorite places on earth with him, even though I think it will never be his.   It’s sometimes challenging for me to put myself in his shoes.  But I am trying.  I am trying to transition from camping with the girls and grands to a different perspective of camping with him.  And then camping alone None of these experiences are better or worse. Favorite or 2nd and 3rd.  They are all just different.  All wonderful in their own ways. 

 

Next week I will be in a different campground and the grands and women/kids will be in and out visiting and staying. So will their partners.  Hopefully the boy and his gal too! There will be bustle and child tending and camping games and bike rides. There will be games of corn hole and Jarts. There will be quiet nights by the campfire and some filled with stories and songs.  There will also be some quiet days like today.  

It is all a great gift, this camping tradition that I love so darn much. One passed down to me by my parents, who I know are looking down over it all and are pleased as punch that we are carrying on in some of the same ways they modeled for us.  Passing it all on to a new generation and to new people, like The Suitor, who are learning to love this experience as much as we do!  

One last thing. Whether camping with women, small children or men, nothing hits like a camping storm and a nap!   Which I am off to enjoy now! 

A Decade Can Pass So Quickly

A decade sounds like such a long time, when in fact, it is but a moment. A blink in this life we are here to live.  I have taken so many decades for granted as I lived in the moments of them.  I think you may have done that as well.  When life is happening, it is hard to imagine it not happening in the same way,  in perpetuity. 

That thinking changed for me a full decade ago. It has been ten years. Ten years have gone by both quickly and slowly. Until I was 48, I believed you would tangibly, physically,  be a part of my life forever.  I took our phone calls for granted, even while I cherished every moment of them.  I believed we would be visiting between St. Paul and Michigan each year until we could no longer travel. (I assumed you would stop traveling first because you hated flying and long car trips, both things I loved).  I knew when you no longer were able or willing to make the trips here, I would come to you.  I loved coming to the Twin Cities.  It always felt like coming home.  Maybe because it was your home, or more likely, because being together, being with you, felt like home to me.  

People sometimes ask me how close in age we were, given our strong connection.  When I tell them 7 years apart, they are often a bit confused.  They can’t seem to imagine how a 7-year gap could foster a sibling relationship that flourished and just “clicked,” especially when I tell them about the time you put a live toad down my shirt, which created my irrational fear of the damn things even at 58!  I don’t remember or know how you felt about me coming into our family.  I don’t know if our bond began then for you. My earliest memory, which I mark as the foundation of our mutual admiration and connection, is you telling me a story of a boy who lived in a peach. A boy with  2 terrible aunts, Sponge and Spiker.  You spun this captivating story as we traveled in the back of a Ford station wagon in the heat of the summer of  1969.  We were on a family trip to California.  That story, which you told bit by bit each day, held me spellbound for hours through the heat of the western deserts.  I believed you were just making it up as you went.  Imagine my surprise in 5th grade when my teacher read James and the Giant Peach aloud, and I realized you were a published author!  Also, imagine how much of an idiot I was!  But you told the story so well, from memory.  I’m certain it was embellished, you knew how to tell a story and hold an audience.  You held so many people captive with your storytelling during your too-short life.   It’s no surprise that it is that part of you I often miss the most.  Many who love you do. 

These past 10 years have been challenging.  It started with your passing.  Biggy Munn and Mom both developed health issues.  Caring for them was a gift.  And it was hard.  In all kinds of ways.  You would have been very little physical help, but there were so many times I wished you were there to share the stories with me.   They are both gone now.  I hope you are all reunited in some glorious place where you and Mom can hunt for mushrooms and Dad can sit by and supervise.  I hope the 3 of you are celebrating all of the good things that were part of this life and whatever it is you are experiencing now in this life in the after.   That part is a mystery, driven by Hope. 

There has also been so much joy these past 10 years.  Those are the times and experiences that make me want to pick up the phone and share the details with you the most.   The good stuff, that would make us both weep.  There has been a marriage, and another to come.  A new baby, who came with a bonus older brother.  There are performances and pets aplenty.   Our offspring are flourishing in so many different ways!  You would be captivated by all of their journeys and experiences.  The stories I want to share with you over beers and laughter could fill countless hours with joy!  Sometimes I share them with you when I am driving alone in the car.  I’m sure people think I’m nuts.  Sometimes someone catches me talking to myself softly…..I don’t tell them I’m talking to the dead; that would confirm their assumptions. 

As I look ahead to another 10 years without you, and  I think, you will never be truly gone from me.  I carry you with me wherever I go.  I see things, both magnificent and small, and imagine how you would marvel at them.  I spend time with my kids and yours and imagine how much joy you would find in those moments and mischief.  I speak of you often, gently, with an understanding of you that I didn’t fully possess when you were here.  

I miss you, my brother.  Tom. Milton Chesmo. The Grand Man of Grand Avenue, with an ache that I cannot fully put into words, though I try with every year that passes. You are still loved, still a part of us, and still present in so many ways that matter.  My memories of you remind me to live fully in the moments, with each passing day…because the decades will be gone too swiftly and contain so much that is important for others to remember. 

Too soon and too quickly.

Precious Boy

 

Our lives are made up of a series of stories.  Big moments. Small moments. Milestones. Setbacks and successes.  Some of these stories are tied up in the mundane things of daily life, but that does not make them less important. Less meaningful. Some of them are big life events and celebrations.  All of our stories, mine, yours, and all of the people in our lives, intertwine at times. Sometimes they are moments that are ours alone.  

Precious boy, today, your first story became inseparably tied to my much longer story!  Your first story became part of your mom's story, and your dad's story too.  I don’t know those stories in the same way that I know my own, theirs are not my stories to tell.  You will eventually hear them from your parents.   But this letter, this is about how your first story became a part of my story. This is the first, in what I hope will be, many stories we share together!  

When your mom called to tell me you were going to be arriving, our family group chat (text thread on our phones, explained in this letter because, by the time you read it, that kind of thing might be obsolete!) lit up!  We were all so excited for you to arrive in this world!  Your mom was experiencing some complications, so there was also some concern about the whole event.  But we were all hopeful that things would go according to plan and our group chat was fizzing with banter and guesses about your major stats upon arrival.  Boy? Girl? Time of birth. Weight. What the prize would be for whoever came closest to the correct answer.  Naming rights, the first gift of Christmas, and some pilfered hospital items were all prize options.  This kept us all busy as we waited somewhat impatiently for your arrival.  We all hoped we would know who you were by the end of that first day. I had been so excited for you to get here that I drove to your Aunt Fiona’s house, (which was closer to your mom and dad) to wait for the news of your arrival! We struggled to sleep that night   As you probably already know, that did not happen.  Day 1 rolled into day 2.  

We were all trying to be patient, trying to keep busy and distracted. Aunt Fiona and I were out running errands when your mom called, a little scared and emotional, and asked us to come.  You were not doing super well inside of your mom and she was not doing great overall.  We were all pretty worried.  There were tears. Kind of a lot of them.  By the time you read this, you will likely be very familiar with our side of the family and tears.  We’re big weepers.  We weep when we are happy, we weep when we’re sad. We weep when we are worried, frustrated, angry, or scared.  On the day you were born, our tears were filled with worry and love.   For you.  For your mom. For what we feared we might lose.  For what we prayed we would gain!

Aunt Fiona and I drove like your lives depended on it.  We anxiously waited for your dad to text us.  To update us in any positive way.  It seemed to take forever.  Every moment we drove felt like hours.  Aunt Fiona kept checking my phone for messages.    Finally, a little more than an hour after your mom had called asking us to come, we got your first family picture.  Your mom and dad were both grinning from ear to ear.  You were mushed-faced with your eyes tightly closed!  But you were both alive!    Aunt Fiona and I could not stop crying!  We were so thankful and so, so excited.   We had to pull over to just look at you.  To soak it all in for a minute.  We also needed food!  Suddenly we were starving.  That’s another thing you probably already know about our family, we’re pretty good eaters.  Already, at 2 days old, you are proving to be a good eater as well.  This eating part of our story could really spiral here,  down a real rabbit hole. I’ll save that for another letter. 

Your dad sent that first picture.  And NOTHING ELSE.  We didn’t know who you were yet.  We didn’t know if you were a boy or a girl.  How much do you weighed?  What your name was?  Nothing except that you were here, and from all accounts, seemed to be doing well.  You probably know this by now, but your dad is not an over-communicator.  He’s succinct.  That is a great quality in a lot of situations. Not so much in this one!  We were thrumming with anticipation to know all of your details.  Again we waited for news.  

FINALLY, after what seemed like hours, but was only about 38 minutes, he told us who you were! All the things. Your name, weight, length, time of birth, and he sent the 2nd picture of you!  Your feet looked ginormous!  And again, we were weeping!  Our family had all placed bets on the time of your birth, your gender, and your weight.  No one was even close on the time, but I knew you were a boy from the very first!  I was over the moon with joy I had not really expected.  Something you don’t know, but I will tell you now, I was never really anxious to become a grandparent.  It wasn’t that I didn’t want to be one, but many of my friends are longing to be grandparents. I have always been ok with being one, or not.   I just wanted your mom and aunts and uncle to be happy, healthy, and living lives they loved.  If that included kids, great, if not, I would be ok with that too.  This joy your life brought to mine was unexpected and good Simon.  I had no idea how much I would love you.  I had no idea how you would impact my story! 

I will never forget the first time I saw you. You were sleeping skin to skin against your mom. The early evening light was glowing gold in the room, like an anointing, welcoming you to this world.   It was the most precious sight in the world. Seeing you with your mom, already cozy, peaceful, and trusting in your sleep.  You were maybe 4ish hours old. All of my worries from the day for your safety and your mom's went out that window in that golden light.   You eased right into my heart that day, where you will always remain.  When I held you for the first time. I felt like I was holding my breath.  It had been so long, probably 21 years, since your Uncle Noah was born, that I had held someone so new and tiny.  You felt so light in my arms and also heavy.  The weight of your importance in my story, in my heart, was so visceral at that moment.   

Writing this today, I have no idea what is to come of our stories together or separately.    Of course, I have hopes for you.  I can imagine beach days, camping, playing games, baking brownies or cookies, and singing songs. sharing my favorite books and stories with you.  Discovering new ones.  I can imagine hunting bears, slaying dragons, catching fireflies, riding bikes, and nerf gun wars….but today, I don’t know which of those things will be favorites for you.  Today they are all just possibilities.  So many wonderful possibilities.  That’s what this life here holds for you, Simon.  A world of possibilities and experiences.  

As your Grammy, I am so excited to share some of those things with you.  To be a part of some of those stories in your life and for you to be a part of them in mine.  There will be many stories in your journey through this life, as there have already been in mine.  The one thing I have learned is that the people that I experience those things with are what make those experiences and stories the best!  People like your mom and dad, your Aunt Fiona.  All of our family who love you so much already, and who haven’t even met you yet.  Today I am back home in Michigan,  feeling too many miles from you and your mom and dad, and I am longing for the next time I can snuggle you up and hold you in my arms,  soaking up more precious moments together.  I am full to the brim with joy, gratitude, and love for your safe arrival in this world and your permanent infiltration into my heart!

Becoming Caloria

 

In life, we often do not realize the exact moment or day when something significant occurs. A shift, a changing of the guard, when we go from child to adult, teen to responsible grown-up. Or  the day we "become" our parent.  I feel so fortunate that I am able to pinpoint this moment, this day precisely.  It was today!  July 6, 2022.  I turned into my mom!  

This has been no small feat.  I have ALWAYS shared far more traits with my dad, John.  His tendency toward playing the devil's advocate, his love of visiting friends unannounced, his facial expressions when concentrating on something, his disdain for exercise, his willingness to hop in the car and drive to wherever someone needs to be picked up or dropped off and his emotional responses to marching bands, a good song, movie, and peoples avid participation in anything they enjoy.  I have, however, never been a whole lot like my mom, despite wishing  I could be.

In recent years, due to age and a "busy" mind, I have taken to making lists. This is something I learned from my mom.  She always had lists and even saved them for years.  I mean YEARS!   I have Thanksgiving prep lists from the 80s in a folder upstairs, along with the menu and food layout from my high school graduation party in 1983!  She is an organized saver of documents as well, something I am finding I have done partially, but not quite as well.  I'm a work in progress in this area.   In these ways, I have become a little like my mom I guess, but they also seem like more widespread practices, at least I see a lot of "organized influencers" boasting about the necessity of lists and documenting things so that my life can be well ordered and peaceful.  Jury is still out on all of that....I digress. 

For as long as I can remember, my mom  (and dad) were planners and organizers.  They were thrifty as well, in a way many people these days are not. That trait may be coming back into fashion given the current economic state of our world, honestly.  My mom scoured the grocery ads for sales and stocked up her pantry with key items she used throughout the year.  She even stocked what we used and by  "we" I mean me and my family because for most of my adult life we have lived relatively close to my parents.  I tell this story pretty often, but I do not remember buying toilet paper, peanut butter, or syrup for most of my adult life, until early 2019 when my dad's health began to decline and shopping all the sales became far less a priority to being his loving and attentive caregiver for my mom.  I was 54 years old!  My sister always said I would have a rude awakening when I had to add toilet paper to my budget with all of my kids still home!  I feel like I dodged that,  as 2019 was the year I was supposed to be living in an empty nest!  Somewhat unrelated, but also curious, until that same year, I never really bought my own underwear.  Six or seven new pairs of practical panties always came by way of a Christmas present from my mom.  Along with socks.   Again, I was FIFTY-FOUR YEARS OLD!  I should be horrified, but oddly, I'm not.  

While stocking the pantry, my mom also had a fully stocked freezer.  She had a couple of favorite meat markets/grocery stores and loaded up when things were on sale.  She would buy 40 lbs of ground beef or chicken breasts, then cart it all home to cook, package and freeze.  She also bought roasts and other cuts this way, but not in such great quantities.  One of my earliest blog posts here was related to a "Good Chuck Roast" she gave to me back in the early 2000s shortly after my divorce!  My sister and I have chuckled often about mom's packaging and labeling.  I'm not going to pretend I don't miss all of those wrapped and labeled packages from my parent's freezer.  It is weirdly something I miss a lot.  I find it interesting the things that spark memory and reflection for me.  I remember weeping (my dad's trait) when I used the last packaged item from my parent's freezer in mid-2020.  I don't recall what was in it but understood that it was the last time I would probably pull our freezer wrapped anything with my mom's handwriting.  Or freezer-wrapped anything at all.  

Which brings me to today.  Olivia, my third child, is having a baby soon.  In preparation for that, I decided to fix a few meals and things for her freezer.  So yesterday I got some chicken and ground turkey, in pretty large quantities, but not nearly 40 lbs!   Today I set about cooking up some taco meat, cut up chicken and cooked it, and packaged up chicken breasts to pull out for dinners later in the year.  It was then I remembered that I had kept what was left of my mom's freezer wrap from when we emptied their home in early 2020.  It was at that very moment, I crossed the threshold from being fully "me" to becoming a morphed version of me/my mom!  Carolyn and Gloria.  Caloria I will call this new version of me.  

I cooked, weighed, measured, wrapped, and labeled ground turkey and chicken for my own offspring.  I even dated the packages!  While I was in the process of doing it all, I didn't really even think about how weird this was (for me to do, not in general) It just seemed natural.  A natural progression.  A right of passage if you will.  I can't wait to tell my mom all about the process.  She will probably laugh, and think, but not say, it's about time!  You are 57 after all!  

Significant moments of transformation happen all the time.  We are transforming into better versions of ourselves every day if we are inclined to bend and stretch ourselves and not stay cemented in our experiences and practices.  Most of these significant moments happen without our realizing them.  But once in a while, we get a moment like I did today.   A moment when we realize we have come to embody some of the best parts of the most amazing and influential people we know and love.  Our Parents!

Mixing Things Up

 A year can fly and drag by in tandem.  Today I feel this contradiction of time in my innermost parts.  Grief and loss are weird things.   Grief seems such a visceral thing, both cathartic and immobilizing alternately.  Loss is different though.  Loss can sometimes be put out of mind, we don’t always feel it or think about it. But then loss , and the weight of loss,  can hit us out of nowhere, reignighting that flame of grief we thought we had extinguised better.  

I guess we never do that.  Not if we have loved and been loved well by people.

It’s been a year since my dad passed.  It’s also just “been a damn year” right?  The phone call that moring took me so by surprise.  I was not prepared or ready. Are we ever really ready to let go of someone we have loved and been loved by so much?  I don’t think so.  Nothing really prepares us for the empty pit that ebbs and swells inside of our innermost parts.  

If I could do anything or be anywhere today, it would be with my mom.  We would have spent the day celebrating the life my dad lived, the love and “words of wisdom”  that he offered  so freely.    I think I would have made bologna stew and homemade bread and cookies!  All some of his favorites.  

But here we are, a year into this pandemic, and mom is sequestered away in assisted living, unable to leave or have visitors.  That’s how we have had to grieve for most of this last year. Separated. Separately. Oh, we visit at her window, FaceTime, talk on the phone.  It’s not the same as being together in person.  It’s not the same as looking through pictures or watching family videos together, weeping and laughing and remembering together.  But we do the best we can.  We’ve had to.  

Remembering my dad today, I think about this past year and the things he has missed.  Not the pandemic, or all that has happened in out world and country. That stuff would have fired him up!  Or made him sad.  It would have all been very difficult for him in memory care.  I guess in that regard, he left this earth at the right time for him.  Bigger things though, things he would have been proud of like Elsa’s graduation from college, Noah’s new apartment, Fiona’s new cat, Clementine, Olivia’s leadership for safety equality in her job, Savannah and James new jobs and all the pictures of everyones pets!  My dad would have loved all of that.  He would be so happy that Hannah has found a life partner and is engaged.  He would totally want to road trip to that wedding.  My cleaned and organized garage!  Lord how I wish he could see that!  I finally got rid of all the damn bikes he fretted about for so many years.  

I want to do something that honors and remembers him today, but here I am on Weight Watchers,  so getting a good donut at Max’s or a  Clark Bar are off the table.  The garage is organized already, so not that.  I have a few extension cords that would keep him up at nights, but I really need them, so I can’t change those.  What to do, what to do?  

So, I will intentionally be present  to whoever may need someone to stand with or beside them.   Offer my own words of wisdom, however unwise they may be.   I have a lot of students and life is challenging right now for many of them.  I can be here to listen and share what I can, be available,  keep the door open….like my dad always did. A garage door and a classroom door aren’t all that different right?  Today and really most days, I hope to honor him by living a life like he did. Willing  to help, to walk alongside, to teach what I can, and make people feel seen and valued.  Loved.  

You won’t find me in the garage like Mr. Michelson, but I will be in my classroom or my kitchen if someone needs a listening ear or a bit of perspective.  I also serve this all up with whatever I may be cooking!  The counter is open, and today the conversation is going to include lots of “Johnisms” and memories. They will be mixed  up with  grief and loss and laughter and served  up with a side of encouragement.  I can’t promise I won’t tell anyone to “get their head our their ass”, but if I say it, it will be salt and peppered with unconditional love, just like John I hope!  

Jamming Your Worries into a Crevice and Getting Out of the Way

I wrote this in August and for some reason didn't press "publish."  So here it is now...

Peace.  Something I, and literally millions of people around the world are in need of today.  These days.  During this time of global pandemic and devastaion.  Inner peace.  Peace of mind.  Peace that someday things will return to normal.  That life as we knew it will one day be again.  Peace that quells all of our "what ifs" and worries about the future. 

I am desperate for this peace.  Today,  reminders of this need for and promised peace has cropped up in all kinds of unexpected places. 
Waking, if you can call it that, as I really didn't sleep, there was a heavy longing for peace of mind.  
Something to assuage some unnameable fears or restlessness of my mind.  A longing for the freedom to grieve the passing of my dad unfettered by worries about my mom who is no isolated from all of us when she needs us most.  

I remembered reading about the Wailing Wall in Jerusalem. A place where Jews have been going and leaving behind their petitions to God for hundreds of years. An act which I am certain brought them a sense of peace.  

I'm unsure if there are guidelines, religous or lay,  related to leaving your prayers and such there, but often people write down their worries and simply  stick the little scraps of paper in the ancient crevices. And then they just walk away.  Worry free?  Fears abated? Filled with peace?  From what I have read, that is the point of the action. 

While I've never been to the wailing wall, and honestly I probably will never go....the idea of writing down the things that are weighing heavily on me and sticking them in a crack somewhere seems kind of appealing. But then what? I think I would go back and pull out the paper and see if somehow God had penned back a solution, or a quick fix tip...or even a small word of encouragement to let me know that turning it over to Him was a good step. I'm not really good at relinquishing control. 

My big issue with anything that I need to turn over and let go of is that I don't do it completely. I seem to always rethink and come up with some different slant or angle and then think...hmmmmm...I can handle this thing or that thing again...I just need to do it a little differently. And these days? These "unprecedented circumstances"  are beyond my ability to handle, control or understand. This grief is a thing I cannot escape. Yet still, I busy myself attempting to handle it all.   So ultimately, I am back to a place  where  I need to jam the little scrap of worry or struggle in the crack to begin with, and where does that leave God?

Still there, just looking at me a little more perplexed by my lack of faith and trust. I think He shakes His head and laughs alot at people like me....the ones who say they trust Him, and try and put Him first. The ones who know, know, know that they know....

In the turning over and letting go of things, in the trusting and waiting....well, I kinda suck at that...its HARD.....

I read this today and it kinda helped my perspective a little: "Maybe turning things over is not the solution to everything but, you do what you can. Then you get out of the way, because you're not the one who does the work anyway."

All I have to do is turn it over....and then He does the work? Tonight I'm writing some things on scraps...and turning them over....cuz I am getting weary of trying to do the work. Oh yeah, and I need to find some kind of crevice to jam em in.....

...I can think of a couple of places....but I probably need to write those down too!

New Year's Eve: A Lengthy Reflection on a Shit Storm of a Year

 Some may be stunned to discover that New Year’s Eve is not a big holiday for me.  I don’t really look forward to it, but honestly think of it as a night and following day I just need to get through.  Weird, I know, with my penchant for the barley and vine.  

The night always seems a tad bittersweet, melancholy even.  I don’t love change, and I am not one to want to hurry time along.  I never have been.  I love to bask in moments in time  and hold on to them as long as I can.  So ushering in the new year with celebration and anticipation always seems like I have to be letting go.  This year I think most people would agree that there is much to want to let go of.  It’s been a doozie!  Yet still, I look back and hold this year close.  

Reflecting back, for me it was ramping up in August of 2019.  My dad’s dementia was getting worse, we hired caregivers to assist/relieve my mom at home. But in October he took a spill walking to the bathroom at night and cracked a rib.  Over the next week pneumonia developed and ultimately he was hospitalized.  The night he went in I remember him being so disoriented and restless.  I stayed with him all night, and finally about 3:00am he drifted off to sleep. I was sitting by his bed with my head resting on the bedrail, sleeping as much as possible.  At some point about 4am he woke up, clear eyed and looked over at me and said, “ Carolyn, what are you going to do with those sleds in your truck?” I lifted my groggy head, looked him dead in the eyes and said “I’m going to put them in the garage on the shelf.”  I had no idea what sleds he was talking about and he hadn’t seen the inside of my suburban for months!  He pursed his lips together, looked at me, shook his head a little and responded back, “I don’t know how you’re going to get them in there with all those damn bikes!”  

Oh! My! Gosh!  Here he was, in pain from a broken rib and pneumonia, dementia that was stealing his memories and understanding and in this one moment he was lucidly fixated on my cluttered garage!  He recognized me and called me by name, and he was still worrying and nagging me about the number of bikes I had in my garage!  This had been an issue since my divorce in 2006!  Every time he came to my house, he would walk through the garage, count and assess the bikes, come in the back door and ask, “How many people are living here? Because there are (insert number of bikes, sometimes between 8-11) and 6 people surely don’t need 11 bikes.  I would then explain why we had so many bikes, some were in case friends came over to ride, a couple were just for riding trails and I was storing the Earth Cruiser for my friend Darrel!  My dad was really concerned about the amount of space the bikes took up in my garage.  I assured him that I didn’t need that space for anything else but I could tell the bike situation was a constant vexation for him.  Even delirious with medication in the ER, when he hadn’t remembered my name in weeks, the bikes and sleds were worrying him!  And I was so damn happy about that, because for that brief moment at 4am in the ER, my dad was back! 

Fast forward.  We ended up needing to put dad in memory care after being discharged from the hospital.  That was a hard decision.  Really hard.  My mom was exhausted.  My sister flew home to handle a lot of the logistics.  She stayed a couple weeks.  My mom developed some back and leg pain.  She was trying to rest and heal at home while Patty and I took care of getting my dad settled in.  This was all so difficult emotionally for all of us.  

Patty went home.  My mom’s pain got worse.  She called at 8:00am on October 30th because she couldn’t  get out of bed due to the pain.  Fiona went immediately to help.  I went over  after work.  She didn’t want to go to the hospital.  By 7:30 that night, she knew she would have to go in.  She wanted to wait for shift change in the morning.  Once a nurse always a nurse!  

There are a lot of great details that I am leaving out here, they really are a story of their own.  We called an ambulance at 6:30.  The biggest concern for my mom was the pain in her back and legs.  The biggest concern for the doctors was her heart.  At some point she had developed Afib and she had a lot of fluid around her heart.  And still the pain!  She also had a new compression fracture in her back that was pinching nerves.  She needed surgery, but the heart issues made that a very dangerous thing.  She wanted to call hospice.  Thank God for her friend and cardiologist, Dr. Harris.  He and the neurosurgeon Dr. Barret, along with the hospice nurse, convinced her that even if she chose hospice (she was not a real candidate at this point) they would insist she have the surgery.  Dr. Barrett stayed late to talk to her about this on Halloween, while his kids were waiting for him to take them trick or treating.  He talked fast and seemed rushed, but still, he stayed to make sure my mom didn’t take a blood thinner that night so he could operate the next day.  He assured her she would feel 100% better than she did right then.  They were all worried about her fragile condition.  They let me stay with her right until they took her to surgery.  Dr. Harris, Dr. Barrett and the anesthesiologist all prepared me for a “worse case scenario’.    The waiting was horrific.  But she made it through.  

She needed to go to rehab before she could go home.  Patty came back.  Ultimately, mom decided to go to assisted living and not home.  There was a small room available in the memory care unit and she could have that while waiting for an assisted living apartment to open up.  She was near my dad.  We made the room as cozy and homey as possible. There were several nights that I went and stayed with her while she slept in her lift chair, still in pain.  Those were not bright days in 2019.  I was looking forward to 2020!  Imagine that looking back!

After a week or two when mom was feeling a bit better, we wheeled her down to the sun room to see my dad for the first time in 2 months.  It was precious!  He recognized her. They held hands looking out at the birds.  Noah and I cried and soaked up the moments. This all felt so surreal. This was never their plan. 

We celebrated Christmas with both parents in that same  sun room at Devonshire.  My dad,  still sneaking and trying to open his presents before his turn.  Elsa, Fiona, Olivia and Noah each taking a turn distracting him and laughing...basking in the normalcy of it all.  We sang carols. We didn’t know what was coming.  We took pictures to document the moments, even though they were bittersweet moments. 

And 2020 rolled in on us all.  In a whirlwind of decisions, we sold my parents home and disseminated 63 years of memories and possessions .  Treasures, what- nots, trinkets and tools.  That was hard. It’s still hard.  

Mom’s back improved slowly.  Dad was holding his own.  Trips to Devonshire to visit and take things they needed happened almost daily.  They both had so many friends and neighbors stop in to visit with them.  It was amazing for us that other people checked on them both when we couldn’t.  We were all getting to know the staff pretty well  and they probably got tired of us being there. We didn’t really care!  At the end of February a room opened up in the section of memory care my mom was living in.  They moved my dad to a room right next to hers.  They could eat together at meals and my mom was able to “teach” the staff his eating habits, likes and dislikes.  He didn’t really  eat much there.  He spent a lot of time sleeping.  He recognized us less often.  He did have a few really good, lucid days. Days he remembered us and where we had glimpses of his old self.  

In the last week of February an apartment finally opened up for my mom in the assisted living section of the building.  It was at the opposite end from memory care, but mom really needed to be with other people who still had their mental faculties.  She could still visit dad and the staff was good about making sure they spent time together.  Patty was still here wrapping up the sale of the house, and was able to oversee the transition.  She was heading back the morning of the 29th, but staying in Detroit on the 28th. I was out of days at work but  I took a half day on Friday, February 28th to help her  get mom settled.  There were boxes everywhere!  Patty was at the end of a long stint here filled with so many decisions, organizing and wrapping up the sale of the house.  She was ready to be home with a lovely glass of wine!  

And she almost got it too!  She had just arrived home in Oregon and poured herself a lovely red, when Devonshire called to tell her dad had fallen in his room.  Saturday, February 29th. I’m sure she emptied that glass in one slug.  I’ll bet money she didn’t share the rest of the bottle!   I went over first thing in the morning on Sunday.  Mom and I stayed with him in his room most of the day.  He was in pain, hospice came in and ordered an x-ray.  We were pretty sure he had broken a hip.  Mom had already made the decision that if this were to happen, surgery would not be an option.  The hospice nurse agreed.  The x-ray,  when finally done,  showed no fracture.  They were giving dad morphine for the pain, a low dose, because moving him to change his Depend was painful.  He had some lucid moments that day.  He recognized mom and I both.  He ate for the caregivers and they were so good with him.  I fed him 2 popsicles, the last right before leaving.   Mom and I decided we both needed to get a good night's sleep, because we felt like the week ahead would be filled with hard choices and long days/nights. I let my boss know that I would likely need more time off that week but I would come in and work at least a half day Monday to get things organized for the week. I might even work the whole day, it would depend on the call from hospice in the morning.  

I went to the bathroom during  my 2nd hour.  I missed the hospice call.  I had a text from Patty telling me to answer the call because she was boarding a plane and couldn’t.  I called, expecting to hear the new, revised plan to manage dad’s pain and get him up and moving, since there was no hip fracture.  The hospice nurse was so kind.  “Carolyn, I’m so sorry, but your dad passed this morning.”  The next moments were a blur as I stood in the hallway trying to assimilate this information.  I was crying, loud.  Co-workers came out of their rooms to check on me.  My students alerted my co teacher that something bad was happening.  She helped me gather my things as I tried to process it all.  As I walked to my car crying, my friend Nate was coming in.  He had lost his mom earlier in the  year.  His dad went into assisted living.  He and I and another co worker were all sharing this phase of life journey together.  I was the only one who had not lost a parent. We had lunch together every other week or so and prayed for each other.  Running into him helped me focus.  I pulled myself together enough to drive.  My mom was waiting for me to get there to go see dad.  

I called each of my kids individually as I drove to Lapeer.  I wanted them to hear this news from me.  Noah was on a cruise.  I did not want him to find out via social media or from someone else.  At some point I had my friend Tony try to track down the ship.  Mother of year had no clue what ship Noah was on or where his cruise was actually going!  

When I got to Devonshire and mom’s room we just took time to weep.  We both felt like we had made the wrong decision the night before.  Neither one of us had been with dad when he passed.  He was alone and we both were devastated by that.  We went down to say goodbye. The 2nd most difficult  goodbye of my life. The most difficult goodbye to watch as my mom squeezed his hand and kissed his forehead for the last time.  The two of us were just stunned and bereft.  We also had decisions to make and plans to put in motion.  First we ordered lunch. Michelson’s are Michelson’s after all, even in grief, we still needed to eat! 

Olivia drove home from Kankakee that day to be with me and Grandma Gloria.   Fiona had just gone to Buffalo for spring break. She headed home.  We met with Todd Muir from the funeral home that day.  He was amazing.  There was no way Noah could be home before Saturday.  He still didn’t know yet.  We made the decision to put the  funeral  off until March 13th and 14th.  

Over those 2 weeks the Coronavirus was spreading quickly across the U.S.  Hospitals were filling up.  On February 28th Governor Whitmer had activated a state of emergency operations center to prepare for potential Coronavirus cases. On March 10th the first 2 confirmed cases of Covid-19 were confirmed in Michigan.  On March 11th Governor Cuomo of New York moved SUNY and CUNY to distance learning.  Fiona’s boyfriend was teaching and learning from Michigan. Colleges and universities in Michigan were following suit.  Social distancing measures were being implemented.  Masks and PPE were in short supply for healthcare workers.  The general population was encouraged to limit contact with others. On March 13th gatherings of 250 or more were banned in Michigan The visitation, funeral and dinner were in question.  Muir Brothers were prepared to supply hand sanitizer at the door and other locations at visitation and the funeral.  The pastor wanted to cancel it all.  Todd Muir put his foot down.  Visitation at assisted living facilities was restricted.  Devonshire made an exception for mom given the circumstances.  Things were changing daily as the pandemic swept across the country and globe.  We were concerned about the visitation, and tried to limit hugging ect.  Of course at some point, all of that caution became lax.  Those 2 days of family viewing, burial, visitation and funeral were all we had hoped they would be to honor my dad.  In the aftermath we held our collective breaths hoping no one got sick.  Thankfully, no one did.  There were people who opted not to attend in an abundance of caution. We totally understood those choices.  

March 11th was the last day schools met in person.  I had come back on Monday/Tuesday of  that week but took Wednesday-Thursday off.  I wasn't there to say goodbye to my students. I had no clue I would not see them in person again. This year was already surreal and it was only March!

Statewide stay at home orders were being implemented in Michigan and many other states across the country.  Elsa made the decision to stay in Michigan for the remainder of her senior year, as it would be online.  Noah had moved out of the dorm and back home.  Fiona was teaching from home and Sean, her boyfriend, did not return to New York.  The 5 of us sheltered in place together.  Toilet paper became a scarce commodity but I was not worried.  I had stocked up before everyone came home for the funeral.  I didn’t stock enough!  Savannah and Olivia returned to their homes after the funeral.  Oliva continued to work in labor and delivery and Savannah was working from home helping many who were out of work navigate the overwhelmed unemployment system.  Bars and restaurants were closing on March  16th at 3:pm.  We all went to Johnny’s Pour House for breakfast/lunch/drinks one last time.  It was eerily empty.  We made sure to tip well.  We celebrated St. Patrick’s Day at home, but did it up right!

The shelter in place order  was honestly just what we needed. Except that after  March 16th we could no longer go in and see my mom in her apartment.   The kids couldn’t go in that day, only me.  I took her birthday tostadas and lemon meringue pie.  The kids all sat outside her window in lawn chairs, holding umbrellas, wrapped in blankets.  It was a sweet moment.  We thought it wouldn't be long until we could all be inside together again.  We were so wrong.  

There are so many good moments and memories from our time sheltering in place together.  We cooked a lot!  We rested. We grieved.  We taught and learned remotely.  We learned HOW to teach and learn virtually.  It was weird.  And good at the same time.  We all looked for toilet paper if we ventured out.  We went through pounds of coffee.  We missed my dad and missed being able to see my mom.We watched home videos.   We Facetimed Grandma Gloria and that was good.  I had Zoom happy hours with friends.  It wasn’t the same, but we stayed connected.  We went through a lot of booze. And then we got a hold of ourselves.  I started to walk daily.  Healing was happening.  

June arrived and while the pandemic restrictions were lifted and modified, social distancing and masks became our new version of normal.  We were eventually able to take mom out for drives and even dinner in restaurants that  were practicing safe Covid protocols.  We vacationed with caution and did so much more outside than ever before.  I continued to walk daily and honestly, there were good things that happened during those months.  

Preparing for fall and the return to school had us all apprehensive.  The virus was on the rise again by late August, just as Dr. Fauci had predicted and cautioned, just like the Spanish Flu in 1918.  I was not in favor of returning to teach F2F.  Fortunately, neither was our superintendent.  We began the school year teaching remotely, which honestly was weird.  Being in my classroom with no students, the halls quiet.  But I did enjoy collaborating once again with dear colleagues.  Those days had some fun moments as we navigated trying to meet, yet stay distanced.  My room is huge, so we often met there.  

Eventually, the students came back in a hybrid model.  The numbers were rising, students and staff alike tested positive, were quarantined, traced...it was good to see those kids in person, but the constant stress and worry about exposure to this virus took its mental and emotional toll.  By the middle of November we were going to be  back to virtual learning.  I breathed a sigh of relief.  My biggest exposure risk was now going to be gone.  On November 12th I had an intestinal issue at work.  I had to leave early or risk soiling myself and decimating the staff bathroom.  As this was a Covid symptom, I had to have a negative test to return to work. I was certain this was not Covid related.   I went to an urgent care 1st thing Saturday morning, was the 3rd person in line. I waited 4-6 minutes in the waiting area  before being put in a room, swabbed and sent  out the door.  The test results didn’t come back until Tuesday but they were negative!  We started virtual learning that Thursday.  I was in the clear and breathed a huge sigh of relief.  There were 14 days until Thanksgiving and while we had decided to not have everyone come, I felt good about Noah and Olivia coming home.  Sean too.  We continued to do all the right things.  

The night before Thanksgiving Brian’s allergies flared up.  Or he had a cold.  I joked about Covid.  The neighbors came down and had drinks on the  deck as we prepped dinner inside on  Thursday afternoon.   We kept the sliding glass door open so we could visit easily. I kept telling them I was ok with them coming in.  Shelley did not want to risk exposing me if she had somehow been exposed.  They stayed on the deck.  Thank God!  

We did our usual decking of the halls that weekend.  I developed my usual cough that happens when I haul out the holly from the dusty, musty basement storage.  Brian didn’t feel great on Monday so took the day off.  Tuesday they didn’t have anything going on so they told him to stay home another day. Wednesday they told him to get tested before coming in.  I worked from my classroom on Monday and Tuesday, but focused on getting a lot of things organized so that I could attempt to teach from home.  What better joy than to be at home all day during the holidays, teaching and working by treelight!  I was just getting ready for my first Google Meet when Brian texted me to call as soon as I could.  I knew.  He tested positive.  We were both stunned.  I tracked down a place to get a drive through test the next day at 4:30.  I was terrified.  Fiona’s boyfriend came back from his parents.  He had only been there a few days.  Hopefully if he had been exposed, he wasn’t contagious yet.  He came here to quarantine.  My test came back Friday at 2:30. It was positive.  

The first word out of my mouth started with an F.  A really BIG F!!  But I felt fine.  I had my usual holiday decorating cough...but F...maybe it was more than that!  I called my doctor who called in preventative steroids.  I purchased a pulse oximeter.  I busted my ass finishing up the Christmas decorating, getting the Christmas bedding on all the beds and all the things I hadn’t quite finished on the weekend. Just in case I started to feel worse.  Being sick in a half decorated, cluttered space would be untenable, clearly!  Then I packed a bag to quarantine at Brian’s “island of no chores” for the weekend...maybe longer.  He felt like he had a bad cold, a little crummy, I felt okish.  And then I didn’t.  Ultimately, we all survived.  I was hospitalized, I thought for sure I would be part of the global pandemic statistics, but here I am...looking back on this New Year’s Eve.

It’s been a freaking shit storm of a year!  There has been sorrow, loss, grief, celebrations of life and death, unexpected gifted time quarantined for months with adult children, the unexpected joy of eating in our favorite restaurants after months of them being closed, cooking new things, and a brush with death.  Oh yeah, I also refinanced my house and did a massive remodel!  I was without a washer and dryer from September 17 to December 18th!  In the big picture of surviving Covid, this seems inconsequential, but let me just say, those appliances are a bright spot in an otherwise really dark year.  

This year I have learned to look for the joy wherever and whenever I can.  This New Year’s Eve will not be spent out with friends, or out at all. Everything is closed.  This New Year’s Eve will be spent looking back, letting go, giving thanks for life and lives well lived and looking forward! 

 Looking forward to whatever changes and challenges await us in 2021. Looking forward to vaccinations and the opening up of the global community.  Looking forward to living life as fully and joyfully as possible, knowing that each moment of it is a gift to be treasured and held close, because things can change so quickly despite our best laid plans and intentions.  I will always hold this year close because of all that we have endured and learned and shared. But on this New Year’s Eve I am so ready to let this year go and move into the next, with a bit of trepidation, quietly so as not to awaken any sleeping giants, but with hopeful anticipation of change and goodness that surely must be coming!