Humor, please

I need to make something funny or humorous happen fast!  I was reading through some old posts and it seems I only write when I am sad or nostalgic.  Maybe these are the only feelings I possess… DAMMIT

Eric Krepela

On November 22nd of last year.  I lost a friend and my business partner, Eric Krepela.  It feels like an eternity, so much has changed and everyone at Atmosphere is a bit worse for the wear as we have tried to navigate and survive such a drastic change to our DNA.

I got a call on Thanksgiving during dinner from one of our employees and a close friend of Eric's.  I thought when I saw the call come in that the warehouse had burnt down, there was no other reason Jason would be calling me on Thanksgiving.

Jason is a no-nonsense guy and he apologized for interrupting my holiday but he didn't know who else to call.  Eric had been in a biking accident and was dead.

"Are you kidding?" I asked.  Of course he wasn't.  Eric had gone out for a ride after putting the turkey in the oven and hadn't come back.  His son found him 200 yards from the back door of his house.  No sign of trauma or a crash, it just looked like he had fallen off of his bike.

This kind of news is so surreal.  There really isn't any way to process it in the moment so our practical brains kick in and we do what needs to be done.

I needed to call my other partners and break the news to them.  I needed to cry.

Eric was a good man.  During the time I had known him, he had been overworked and bitter but in the last year of his life, he had taken control of his work and personal life and was happier than he had ever been and I don't say that as a cliche, he had truly taken his life and turned it around to take  control of what was making him unhappy.

In the year prior to his death, Eric had made a connection with his birth mother and all of her other children just before losing both her and his adoptive mother to ongoing health issues.   It had been a very big year for him.

Mourning Eric's death has been tricky.  It was such a profound loss for me but he wasn't mine to mourn in a public way, which made me feel like I had to mask my sadness.  Eric and I had a tight connection but he wasn't my dad, my husband, brother or close friend.  He was my business partner who had become a friend but there is a difficult line to draw in a work relationship.

There is an additional element of difficulty because his widow never liked Atmosphere and had often commented on how much she resented the time he spent at work.  He confided in me about many of his difficulties at home because I was safe person to talk to but it was not my place to act knowingly after such a profound loss.

I did what I could to reach out to his family and offer help, trying not to be overbearing or intrude into such a personal time but I was desperate to share grief with someone.  Anyone.

At the service, people had the opportunity to say a few words and I had written some notes intending to speak because I desperately needed an outlet, a forum to tell everyone how much he meant to me. When the time came, it seemed trite and selfish.  Yes, I had lost him but I had only known him a few years compared to most.  There was a robust and full life outside of my relationship with him that I had no access to.  The people in those relationships were hurting much deeper than I had a right to be.  This was their venue, not mine.

After some time had past, I thought about sending a letter to Eric's widow to express my feelings to her but as I planned to do that, the situation with re-distributing Eric's share of the company got messy.  Really messy.  In the interest of the remaining partners and all of the other employees of Atmosphere, it was best for me not to be in touch with the family at all.

It is infuriating and sad that in death our worst selves can emerge.  I watched this happen after my mom died and as the legal troubles developed with Eric's estate, I watched it happen again.  It took nearly a year to settle with the estate and no one involved was happy with where it landed so talking about Eric among the partners is tense.

A year later, this is my forum.  These are the notes for a speech that was never delivered:


Compassionate

Craftsman

No Malice.  Trusting and kind.

Endless curiosity and veraciously seeking knowledge

He was a confidant, friend and partner. 

He was ever encouraging to me and believed in my ability to overcome and succeed

There was a constant and annoying drive for improvement 

To his children:  

• The more people you meet, the clearer it will become how extraordinary your father was
• He was so proud of his family.  Thank you for letting us borrow him, 
• He leaves a great professional legacy that you have not had a chance to experience but should know exists
• As someone who lost a parent too early, know you can carry him with you by recognizing the things that he gave you.  

To his "guys in the shop": 

• Eric had absolute faith in you as craftsman and people.  
• He stood behind you as an advocate, defender and promoter or your skills.

Atmosphere still has so much of Eric in it.  I think of him often and I miss his crazy hair, lust for improvement and good humor.  The pace and cadence of his walk and his distinctly heavy feet always announced his presence before you saw him.  I miss the balance he brought to our business partnership and his confidence in me.  I appreciated how encouraging he was to me as a new parent, reminding me often that it is all worth it.  He was gentle with Q, holding her during meetings and keeping her entertained so I could focus.  

Truly a good man it was a pleasure to know.  

"It's just a place" - Golde

231 North 1200 East
Orem, UT 84057

The address where I grew up. In a yellow house with a peach orchard separating the front yard from the dirt road that connected Grandma's house next door.  There was a sumac and iris lined canal running in front that our parents effectively trained us to fear.

The grass was watered by flooding it a few times a week when dad would go out, often @ 4am to turn the water down our ditch.  This type of watering made it possible for asparagus to grow wild at the base of the peach trees in the orchard between ours and Grandma's house to the south.

My earliest memory is learning to buckle my brown sandals sitting on my mom's feet in front of the french doors leading out to our big grass covered yard and horse corral.

The barn and the fence were a source of great angst for my father every spring as the maintenance was more than he bargained for.  He was not a horse lover but he did it for my mom.  He assisted in births, tried training the beasts and carried water to thaw the horse water during the winter.

We had epic Sunday dinners in this house.  Life long friends were made here and it was a time and a place that is etched firmly in memories of those who gathered to be with our family in our yellow house.

The house was a symbol of sacrifice for my parents.  At one point, my mother sold her diamond to pay the mortgage and dad worked ungodly hours to keep the businesses open and the bills paid.  Mom valued that house above all other things and after she passed, dad let it go.  A symbol to him of too much sacrifice and the closing of a chapter that may have gone on too long.

We are preparing to sell our house. The house where I intended to raise my family. The house where we have been in hand to creepy-hand combat with raccoons, celebrated marriages, births, engagements & life milestones.

In this house we have hosted wild enough parties that it took a shop van to clean the front yard.  We came home to its plaster walls for comfort after death, recovery after surgeries and this is the roof we chose to protect our Quincey when we brought her home for the first time.




We are leaving because this house has been a constant struggle.  The ongoing project in the attic that has caused divorces of the last 3 owners.  We have sunk money into an un-winnable game of home improvement.  There have been floods, ceiling collapses, 6 years of never ending construction dust, mice, chickens, chicken murders and coop fires.  Years of abundance and years of disappointment in our vegetable garden.  Digging, digging and more digging to replace sprinklers, tear out the lawn, put in garden boxes, replace more sprinklers.


The house has become our unwilling hobby because we never seem to make any progress.  Now that we are getting ready to sell and are working hard to finish all of the aesthetic projects that have been nagging, the house becomes more appealing every day.  I knew it would be emotional for me to say goodbye but this struggle is deeper than I expected.

Update:  The house sold after 3 days on the market.  We backed out of the sale because the appraisal came in well under the offer price.  Now, we are going to go at it again in the spring and I am already tired.

Patriot's Day - Boston 2013

Written April 15, 2013






Here I sit in Boston, just having left the Marathon with E & Q and we have had a terrorist attack.

This is so reminiscent of  9-11 for so many reasons but one of the things that makes me the most uneasy is that although we are close to the site, we didn't know anything about it until I got a call from Timmy asking if I was ok.  So here we sit in the hotel;  Scared, unable to help, listening to the sirens outside the window and watching it all unfold on the news.   I don't mean to compare scale of incidents, just my disbelief that I have been in such close proximity to 2 landmark terrorist events and have managed to avoid being hurt, when so many have not been as fortunate.  At this point, we don't know much and I cannot pull myself away from the TV.    

I find it so disconcerting that in both incidents, I am sharing the same space with people who are suffering and I might as well be all the way across the world because there is nothing we can do to help.  All we can do is stay off the streets and out of the way.  Avoid crowding the airwaves with unnecessary chatter and stay vigilant.  It just isn't enough.  We should be able to help and it feels selfish to be tucked away safely in our hotel room.

Q and I had spent the morning marching with the Patriot’s Day Parade, I cried a little as we walked along the freedom trail next to the Italian North End band.  It was a beautiful morning and I was feeling so patriotic as we watched the Paul Revere reenactment.

E and I had such a good time at the marathon a few years ago, ee decided to take the T to the finish line.  I have been on the subway a million times but standing there, sardined in with our stroller, not able to move, I have rarely felt so vulnerable.  I said to Elliott, “this is a death trap”, “this is the perfect recipe for a panic attack for me” and I insisted we get off at the next stop.  We made it out just fine and I was felt ridiculous for panicking.

Q and E one block from the finish line @ the marathon

We went to the marathon and had some cocktails near the finish line at the same spot we had enjoyed them last time we were here, 2 years ago.  I sent a text to Amy with a photo of an interaction I saw happening on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant.  Ironically, it was a text about the goodness of strangers.

We walked over to the race and Quincey started to get very restless so we headed back to our hotel, about 2 miles away.  The subway had been such a disaster on our way to the race we decided to take a cab.  We left the area of the finish line at about 2:30.  The bombs went off at about 2:45.  The bomb went off while we were in the taxi on our way back to the hotel and we had no idea.

Elliott had been at work all night so he went to sleep with Q and I went across the street to Quincy Market. While I was walking around I got a all from Timmy asking if I was ok.  At the same time, there were quite a few other phones in the store that started to ring and I could hear as each person responded the same why I had, "I'm fine.  Why, what happened?"

All Tim could tell me was that a bomb had gone off at the marathon, he didn't know anything else.

I ran back to the hotel and it was on lockdown.  They asked for my room key and my ID in order to approach the front doors.  I woke Elliott up and told him to text his family to let them know we were fine, still not knowing what exactly we had escaped.   Just knowing that we needed to communicate while we still could.

On 9-11, all communication systems were taken down and it seems that has happened again.  We cannot call out and I am sure others are trying to reach us.

I am so grateful that Q was tired, that the subway trip on the way to the race was so trying and that I am with my family.

When Adrian and her family were in Tokyo during the earthquake, I was panicked that I couldn’t be near her.  I lay in bed that night shaking with sobs, feeling a sense of helplessness like I have never felt.  I couldn't stand being so far away.

Q on the balcony of the hotel, hours after the bombing

Tonight I went to the North End to get dinner and all the streets were abandoned.  We were the only people in a very popular restaurant and the mood is obviously sombre.  As more information comes out, it seems that the people who planted the bombs are on the loose.  We will see how this all unfolds.

Bored and restless in our hotel, waiting for news

A side note:  There is an interesting lesson I learned this week about people's behavior in emergencies.  2 nights ago, we were evacuated from the hotel because of a fire.  I had always heard that women and children got to go first but as we reached the stair well, Q strapped to me, everyone moved aside and I led the pack down the stairs. I was so touched by this.  These people were making the decision that my and Q's  lives more valuable than theirs.  What an incredible and humbling gesture from the strangers on the 3rd floor.  

Public Therapy

Written sitting in rehearsal for "Why We Tell The Story" 


Tonight I have chosen to do something very public as a form of personal therapy.  Selfish?  Perhaps.

I chose this venue to conjure my mother because the theater is one of the only physical places left that I know I can find her.  Most of the places I associate with her are gone but her spirit will always dwell inside the walls of theaters, so that is where I will go to be with her.

It has been a strange experience asking to be a part of the fund raiser this year.  This event has been a source of resentment for me for a few reasons but years have brought enough perspective and time has softened me and I have found I don't have room in my soul for resentment.

It was so funny to say to people that I had rehearsal.  We would mock my mom for that being her key phrase and I found it endlessly frustrating that no matter what my ask, that was always her excuse.  And here I was, not able to attend a family function or help with packing up our house to move because I had rehearsal.

This event was a great reminder that we all loved Syd differently and each knew her in our own way, conjuring different strengths.  I love these people.  I love Ashley Gerrett's disarming laugh, Chris Higbee's crooked mouth when he sings, I love that Angie Boyle is unaffected by all the drama surrounding her and her sincere gaze, I love that Zac Wilson can shed his shyness under the lights of the stage and I love that Natalie Hill is no nonsense.  These people are frozen in time for me.

I am wearing my mom's wedding ring tonight.  Hoping to feel her close while I stand on the stage knowing that she is cheering for me.  She is sitting on the edge of her seat leaning on the row in front of her or perhaps with her right hand on her knee, elbow popped. A 44oz Dr pepper perched precariously on the arm rest on front of her, leaning into my performance.  When I finish, she will clinch her fists an say a quiet but triumphant, "yes".

I know I can sing this.  I know I can.  Can I get over my fear?  I will tell myself the same thing I tell people who are heading into an audition,"the people who are here want you to succeed, as much if not more than you want yourself to succeed."

I got an email today from my beautiful aunt Cori that put the situation perfectly:  You carry her name, and have inherited her gifts and struggles, and I have confidence that she will help you tonight because she is just that way, and she loves you, too. She can direct you from within.

2012 Closes. Finally.

This year has been too hard and I will raise a glass to see it pass.  We should not wish away time, not when it is so scarce and precious but the passing of time this year has been heavy.  I had no idea there could be such deep sadness and such profound joy all tangled together.  I suppose that just means I haven't lived long enough yet.

Q joined our family this year and I would say she has changed me but I think it is more that she has tapped me.  Meeting her has released a better version of myself than I had access to before we met.  It is clear to me now that although I have doubts about my daily approach to parenting, being a mother is what I was meant to do.   I am often cynical about it and dismissive of how fulfilling it is, but I truly feel that this tiny, infuriating, person was the missing piece.

Q joining the family was its own set of dramatic circumstances I care not to repeat.  Thinking about them makes me cry for the frustration of the pain, the length of recovery and for the time lost while I was in a pain killing stupor and should have been loving and bonding with my baby.  In 2013, I hope to be able to let go of the guilt and anger surrounding her arrival.

Too many people were lost this year. I had 4 dear friends lose their fathers: Allison Green lost her dad, Garry.  Amy Holt lost her dad, Holt. Angie King lost her dad, Doug and Natalka Zeleny lost her dad, John.  Our friend Jeff, husband to Natalka lost his sister, Kristi.  E' s long time best friend, Elaine, lost her younger brother, Alex.  I lost my friend and business partner, Eric and we also lost E's Gram, mother to my favorite people and the matriarch of a tight, wonderful family.

Each of these losses was no more than one person removed from our daily lives and it has profoundly effected me.

I also need to mention all of the lives lost in mass shootings across the country.  The Colorado movie theater massacre, the Sikh worshipers in Wisconsin and the Sandy Hook Elementary shootings.  151 people lost members of their families to crazy people with guns. It has made me question if bringing Q into this world was too selfish.

I feel the loss of life very profoundly, not necessarily more than others but it strikes me deep.  It has been a year of aching hearts for so many around me and I feel helpless to comfort them.

This year has made me tired.  I go into 2013 with deep breaths and hopes of a calmer, kinder passage of time.

Happy New Year.

Saying Goodbye to Sweet Gram

1923 ~ 2012
Afton Parrish Hansen, 88, gracefully stepped into eternity on August 22nd, 2012 from her home in Farmington, Utah. She was lovingly surrounded by the ones to whom she had given life. Though her heart was stilled, her love and influence live on.
Born November 13, 1923 in Blackfoot ID to George Washington Parrish and Elizabeth May Wood, she spent her childhood embracing the world around her, gathering asparagus from canal beds and cutting ice from the Snake River for the old Parrish Ice house. She was fearless and creative; hard working and driven. Her devotion to her family and her Lord kept her centered through a sometimes tumultuous life.
Afton was a deeply devoted mother who rose above her own struggles to provide for her seven children; Sharon Davis; Susan (Steve) Taylor; John (Jennifer) Hansen; George C. (Cyndy) Hansen; Ann Marie (Michael) Mullen; Corinne (David) Connors; and Elizabeth Hansen. Her children call her blessed, as do her 11 living grandchildren and their families, including 16 great grandchildren. We are comforted to imagine a joyful reunion with those who preceded her in death; including her grandson Clayton Hansen; her parents; four beloved sisters and four brothers. She is survived by her sisters Mae Merkley of Blackfoot, ID and Rebecca (Richard) Miskin of Ammon ID, as well as all her children, remaining grandchildren, great-grandchildren, nieces and nephews.
A skilled fisherman, she enjoyed the natural beauties of her home state. In 1963 Afton moved with her family from Idaho to Pittsburgh, PA. When she found herself a single parent she began a career path in sales that eventually led to a successful career as a Real Estate Agent and Broker. She was a lifetime member of the Million Dollar Club and a GRI graduate. She became one of the top selling agents in the Pittsburgh area. In 1982 she moved to Farmington Utah and continued her success in Real Estate. Her relationships with her clients deeply broadened her circle of friends, as her open heart seemed to bond people to her quickly. She truly loved the people she served.
A devotee of the arts, Afton took advantage of the opportunities afforded when she lived in PA. She spent Saturdays with her children at Carnegie Museum; took spontaneous trips to historic places in the eastern US, from bustling cities to quiet hamlets in upstate New York with sacred groves and hillsides. She recognized the beauties and opportunities around her and sacrificed in order to provide cultural enrichment to herself and her children. She was a world traveler, accompanying her daughter Libby on many international excursions. She appreciated good art, lovely writing and fine music, embracing many musical forms, and she encouraged her children and others to find and develop their talents. She taught her grandchildren to love poetry, and they can recite to this day the poems they learned at her knees.
Faithful to the end, she lived what she believed. Her devotion to, and confidence in, her Savior Jesus Christ was central in her life. And yet she allowed all people full access to her heart regardless of their beliefs. She was so well loved, by so many, because she loved so well.
Her physical challenges necessitated assistance in her waning years, and her family is eternally indebted to her youngest daughter, Libby, for her devotion, diligence, tenderness and personal sacrifice as she cared for our mother's every need. Gram was able to live and die with great dignity because of the devotion of our sister. 
The family also acknowledges with gratitude the exceptional care of Dr. Bruce Burtenshaw, as well as the tender attention and skill offered by Sharon Christensen with Rocky Mountain Hospice.
Friends and family may gather at the Hansen residence, 832 Emerald Oaks Court, Farmington, UT 84025 from 6-8 pm on Sunday, August 26. Additionally they may visit at the historic Rock Chapel of the LDS Church at 272 N. Main St. in Farmington from 10:30 -11:30 am on Monday, Aug 27th. Funeral services will follow at noon under the direction of Lindquist's Bountiful Mortuary.
We will lay our matriarch's earthly body to rest in Farmington City Cemetery. Her passion…her good humor…her dedication and devotion…her love without end…these we will keep forever alive in the memories we cherish and the way we live our lives. Condolences may be shared at www.lindquistmortuary.com

That's MY Mamma

It has been an emotionally challenging week.  But lets be honest, most weeks are emotionally challenging for me and I get to start the week wherever I want.  I am emotionally challenged lady, who reacts to those challenges in an emotional way.  Its a train wreck, just ask the people living and working with me who have spent the last year picking up, or more recently, stepping over the wreckage.

As I posted a few weeks ago, it was the anniversary of my mom's death.  Still so hard to believe she is gone because when I imagine my life I still see her in it.  I say it more often than I should but I honestly believe her death has made our relationship better.  A tragedy but a reality.

We struggled.  Two people with big personalities, strong opinions and only one of us had grown into her oversized personality with grace and the wisdom of years.  I was, and still am, self righteous and stubborn and now barreling through life with few people to keep me in check, like I relied on mother to do.

My mother loved me, in fact I think she loved me more than she loved her other children.  Part of my mom's magic is that each of us felt like we were the favorite and I will remember her with that understanding.  I was a challenge for her.

There was an amazing outpouring of love and grief from my mom's people on the anniversary of her death.  I am so grateful that she was loved by so many because I was not good at showing it.  Perhaps I didn't understand how love works when I had the opportunity to express my gratitude to her.  She certainly deserved the praise and needed the reassurance, something I could not offer.

Sadly, I find myself resentful of this public outpouring and I have been trying to come to terms with why I feel this way.  This is where I have landed to explain my emotional reaction:  she is my mom but these posts make it sound like she was everyone's mom and they were her favorite.  A privilege I would like to be limited to biological offspring.  I am afraid that all these people knew her better than I did.  I don't like that.

I don't like it but I think it may be true.

I was part of her but we were not part of each other's lives for years proceeding her death.  I thought she had found a better daughter (or 3) to fill my spot, who could love her the way she wanted to be loved.  I found boys and a career.

I would screen her weekly calls on Sunday, always a 2 show day and a load out. But she never missed a week.  Always leaving a message to tell me she loved me and wanting to know how I was and where I was.

I think of how much panic I feel when I don't know exactly where Q is and how permeating that anxiety is.  I am hoping that subsides with age or we are going to find ourselves in some trouble.  It must have been so hard for my mom to send me off to live on a bus, work with hoodlums, knowing I was drinking too much, not sleeping enough and without knowing where to find me as we moved from city to city.   Sorry Mom.  I should have answered the phone.

As I typed that last paragraph, I decided I am pulling a Rapunzel on Miss Q.  I will start construction on the tower this weekend.

Now that I have come to terms with why I feel so possessive of my mother's memory, I hope that I can let go a bit and better appreciate the outpouring that happens on her days.  She was in show business, where it is rewarded to wear your heart in a place others can see and feel every emotion.  I should not begrudge the publicly emotional nature of her people for they are my people too, even if I am removed from them now.  It is my heritage and where I go for refuge.

Won't you be my client?

Yesterday we took one of my clients out on a little adventure on the Weber river.  

It was my first time on the water since Q came to stay and I don't know why I chose to do it with a client in tow but I am good at making snap decisions that get me trouble so why not do it with a business relationship at risk?

It actually turned out to be a really great day and the client had a grand time.  I wish I was my client, life would be really good.  

I got a little tan, a little exercise and conquered my fear of the Highway 84 pylons gauntlet that took me down last time I floated that stretch of river. 

Perhaps it is time to get back on water a bit more often.  I just need to find a spot for my breast pump in the kayak. 

Let's make an event of it

Outdoor Retailer is over.

It was a bit of a challenge trying to manage child care, choosing between client socializing or being a responsible parent and after taking a year off, my legs are bloody sore from walking on the concrete.  I think a little bit of my sole leaked out with each beep of the forklift.

Fortunately we had another project going on at the same time, which was kinda my baby.  What I really want to do with my life is Produce Events so this was a nice break from the trade show world that put a little spring in my step.  We get to do some of this kind of stuff, but not enough to meet my appetite.

The idea was a little music festival sponsored by Keen Shoes in conjunction with Outdoor Retailer.

The event was done on the lot where Club DV8 burned down so a few safari tents, a mural and a waterfall later, we went from this:

to this:

to this:

We did everything except the waterfall and mural, those were farmed out.  

It was successful and hopefully we will be doing something similar for each upcoming show.  

New Website & Logo

I am really proud to be a partner and proud of the work we do at Atmosphere but I have often been apologetic about our image.  We suffer from being too busy to take care of ourselves.
Finally we have taken some action to fix it.  New logo, new website.  Take a look and find out what we do. A lot of people ask us and it is hard to explain so this website does a much better job than I often do.  If you see it in these pictures, we designed, built and installed it.  We are fancy.

Restoration

There is new life in the soil for every man. There is healing in the trees for tired minds and for our overburdened spirits, there is strength in the hills, if only we will lift up our eyes. Remember that nature is your great restorer.

CALVIN COOLIDGE

What we do best...sleep

Love to my boys who don't get enough attention or patience these days.  I adore you both, especially when you are sleeping.

On this day

I miss my mom.  Today is the anniversary of losing her and every year I think it will get easier but it doesn't and it infuriates me.  There just isn't anyone who will ever love you the way your mom does and this year, more than most, I have craved her.  I know she has been with me as I have gone through a pregnancy and the drama surrounding Q's birth but sometimes you just want to be held by your mom.

As we were driving last night, Q fell asleep with her head hanging to one side looking cramped and uncomfortable.  As I gently lifted her tiny head to prop it on a blanket, I burst into tears.  I cried because no one will ever touch me again with the deliberate tenderness that comes from your own mother's hands.  There is an unapologetic intimacy between mother and child that I find so much joy in, especially now that I am a mother.

I'm not the first and certainly not the last to lose my mother too early and am only one of four Riggs that miss her touch but it feels so personal and impossibly tragic today.

I have so many things I want to ask her.  I will keep those questions with me and as I travel through motherhood perhaps I will find the answers.

Thanks for loving me mom, the only way a mom can.

Blogging in my sleep

I have been blogging in my sleep, or my wake-sleep state, that is.  I can't believe the clever and insightful things I think of in my tired haze.  Now, can I conjure them in my more aware state of mind?

The Party

Grandma's party was a great success and we had more people come than I could have hoped for.
Grandma was overcome with joy as she saw each person arrive.  Her memory was sharper than usual, she was in great spirits and she looked beautiful.  I loved seeing her so happy.

 Grandma arriving at the church with her sister-in-law Pat Nix and her son Scott, where she announced, "there really is a party!"

 Grandma with her brother-in-law Kasey DeYoung, who lost his wife Pat in the past year.

 Grandma with her granddaughter, Jennifer Crist

 I love this photo because of her finger.  She is a pointer.

 Me and Miss Q, who slept through most of the event.

 The arrival of Marie Newton, Grandma's long time friend and roommate that she hasn't seen in years.  They served 3 missions together and lived in Grandma's house as roommates for years.

 Jennifer Crist, Adrian Young, Stephen Samuelson, Scott Samuelson, Shauna Samuelson and Melissa Samuelson Turley

 Elliott and Q, chillin

 Pop-pop and Q, falling in love.

Elliott's Gram, Elliott, My Grandma, Me & Miss Q.  

Cousins, grandkids and great grandkids

The Sweet Life @ 215 North

It is Grandma Dona's 90th birthday this weekend and as we prepare for the celebration she has been filling my thoughts more than usual. 

I took Miss Q to visit her in Rexburg last week and I had a rough time with how dramatically she changes each time I see her.  She has aged so drastically over the past 2 years and it is difficult to spend time with her and not be sad about the deterioration of her mind and body. 

She could not remember who Q was or what was happening one moment to the next.  She tried to make a cake to welcome us but even reading off the box she wasn't able to remember how to do it.  Uncle Scott stepped in to help so it would be ready when we arrived but the way it was frosted absolutely broke my heart.  This woman who taught me to be so particular when baking, was unable to assemble and frost this simple cake and it embarrassed her.

Her current state is difficult for me to accept but I have been unbelievably lucky to have her so close for many, many years and that is how I choose to think of her.

I grew up with my grandma living next door.  Any time I needed a lap to sit on or safe haven from my small world, all I had to do was cross the peach orchard to the white house on the South side of the family farm and there I would find Grandma Dona.  

Grandma working in her raspberry patch
October 2008

The orchard seemed so big to me when I was tiny and I would hurry past the mangled tree (where uncle Scott had glued eyes to the trunk), knee deep in asparagus and find my grandma working in the garden or kitchen. Despite the scary tree, I would never walk on the gravel road to get to Grandma's because that would mean crossing the irrigation ditch and it was made clear to me that doing so unattended, surely meant sudden death. 

I assumed everyone grew up this way; with fruit trees scattering their yards, large canning kitchens in the basements, wheat grass growing year round in mass on shelves in the house. Parents who got up in the middle of the night to turn the irrigation water down the ditch and flood the lawn and orchards, horses in the back yard and riding with my mom on an old white tractor to turn the soil.  The best part though was having my grandparents a 1 minute walk away.  We lived on our own farm oasis in the middle of the suburbs where having my grandparents at my disposal was taken for granted.

Grandma in her raspberry patch.
I love this photo because she is using a bucket tied around her waist with a dog leash
October 2008  

Me and Grandma at Timmy's high school graduation
 She told, "any girl wearing that dress needs a blessing"
May 2002 

3 Generations
May 2002

We had to have mom cover up her raccoon eyes she got from working outside at the Scera Shell
May 2002

The Yellow house where I grew up

About 2 years ago Grandma Dona had to leave her house on the farm, which over the past 15 years has become an island of memories amongst newly built homes, on land that once belonged to the family.  

The work in took to maintain her garden and the energy to care for thousands of square feet of house that was home to countless families in need for 35 years, had become too much for her.  Her aging body compounded by the anguish of losing my mother and being faced with looking out of her bedroom window onto the yellow house where I grew up, that is now filled with unkind strangers, was too much.

Me and Grandma at my wedding
February 2006

Me and Grandma on my 30th birthday
September 2007

Grandma at Sydney's baby shower
January 2008

Uncle Scott, Heather, Me & Grandma
After recording some history at the Story Corp Booth
April 2009

Me and Grandma @ Sydney's 2nd birthday party
February 2010

Grandma @ Sydney's 2nd birthday party
She could not keep her hands off the cotton candy
February 2010

Heather & Grandma @ Sydney's 2nd birthday party
February 2010

Last summer as we were having a garage sale to get rid of the last things Grandma had left behind, I took my grandma's favorite rose bush from her house.  It had been nestled next to her kitchen porch my entire life and at her mother's house before that.  Last week the first bud emerged from this antique briar and I felt overwhelmingly blessed to have this growing piece of history as a daily reminder of my young life on the farm, living next to my grandma, where every little girl should grow up.

(Visit my other blog to see photos of Nana and Q)