Welcome Home

I think I have established that for Christmas I design sweatshirts for the family and then create a movie to refresh our memories of the past year. This year was no different.

Somewhere along the design road I have developed a "theme" to follow while creating the movie and the sweatshirts. I usually have a reason for my thinking and this year was no different.

It goes as follows:

My family is growing and changing and moving on. I have worked really, really, REALLY hard to always provide them a safe place to land. I WANT them to want to be home. I want their friends to ALWAYS be able to walk in and feel like they are home. And the desire continues on. Now I have the desire to make sure my extended grandkids as well as my own grandbabies know that when they need love, comfort, security, a warm meal, or bubblegum that they find themselves on my doorstep.

That was the driving force behind Christmas this year. Home. We have a good one.

Enjoy...

Our Sweatshirts:

Right Sleeve:

The Evil Among Us

I'm watching the news. I've been sitting here all day. I'm stunned that another human being could walk into a school, a theater, a mall and aim a gun at the innocent.

I'm disgusted that we do this to ourselves. It's not rocket science. Be nice to those you meet. Don't judge. Don't bully. Don't retaliate when you are hurt.  Remember the most important commandment?

Do unto others as you would have others do unto you. [Matthew 7:12]  

Maybe we all need to take a look at our moral compass and see what we stand for. According to Wikipedia, Malcolm X is the guy to say, "Stand for something or you will fall for anything."

Steel yourself to stand for good.

These are the best of times...and the worst of times.

Periodically I return to my blog and read my thoughts. Is that weird? Hmmm. I don't know if it is or not, but I do it and I will most likely continue to do so.

Some of my stuff is VERY dramatic. A couple of weeks ago a girl that reads Shelby's blog put her up for the Liebster Award. It's some award that is for bloggers that are just starting out in the blogging craze. It helps to get their name out there and let others see their stuff. Pretty cool, I think.

Anyhow, while looking into the award, I Googled "Liebster Award" and came across quite a few blogs that had been nominated. I read a few that were light and silly and fun and clever and humorous. Mine isn't really like that. I  don't know if that is good or bad. To be honest, I was a bit dismayed. I have this vision of myself as a 60's child. You know, light, airy, easy, free. After re-reading my thoughts I think my vision may be a bit skewed. Sigh.

Once again, I'll write about what is going on. It feels heavy. So much for light and airy.

I went to a funeral again this week. I should have attended another funeral. I intended to attend it, but I got hit by a flu bug this week and I spent yesterday snorting and sniffing snot instead of giving support to my friend, Brit. 

Shelby has a group of boys that are her friends. True to form, if my kids call them friend, I call them friend. So the correct statement would be that I have a friend named Charlie who buried his mother this week. It was awful. Charlie is Shelby's age and I couldn't help but think about my kids and how difficult and sad it would be to leave them. My heart literally HURTS for Charlie and his family. I have lost sleep worrying about them. Awful. Awful. Awful.

I was at the funeral (which was BEAUTIFUL). We sat near the back and I could hear the conversation between the two couples sitting behind us. They were friends that hadn't seen each other in a while. They were catching up on "how the kids were", "how they were growing", "how much time had passed". They laughed and joked and joshed with each other. It was quite entertaining. What gave me pause was when they were talking about "the only time we see anybody is at funerals." They talked about this for a bit. I didn't turn around to see them, but you could hear the sadness in their voices.

I contemplate on this "time" of my life. I love many, many, many parts of my life. I love being a Grandma. I love seeing my kids as grown-ups. I love that they are successful, kind, giving individuals that contribute to those surrounding them. I love adding members to my family. I didn't know we were missing anybody in our family, until Diana and Daulton rolled around and all I could think was "Oh, THERE you are. We were missing you." Every addition makes my family more and more and more and more complete. I love that I don't try to please people anymore. At times, I embarrass my kids (namely Shelby), but I don't have ANY tolerance for mean people, lazy people or bullies. And now I'm not afraid to say it out loud. I fight for those who cannot fight for themselves.

Yet, I'm afraid of losing my parents. I'm afraid of losing the Aunts and Uncles that were so crucial in forming and molding me into a somewhat decent human being. It saddens me that I don't have Grandparents around to see that I'm okay and to check in at times with my kids to tell them the stories that I used to hear.

My Aunt Sue was diagnosed yesterday with Breast Cancer. Yes, in case the name rings a bell, it's the Aunt Sue that just buried her daughter to Cancer. It's so scary. They caught it really early and I believe, hope and pray that all go well for her, but that's a horrible word to hear and I know she is afraid.

Makes me crazy with worry and fear and anger and sadness. 

I know I can't focus on the bad. I can't fear my future. Right now, I'll process this last week. I'll stop the pity party because it's not about me and I'll offer my love and support to the people who are REALLY going through this. 

Winnie the Pooh said:

“How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.” 

I'm a really, really, REALLY lucky girl.

Standing on Shoulders

The other day Mark and I had to go pick up a motorcycle from a guy that needed help getting his bike to our shop. We ventured to Orem and met him in the parking lot of WalMart and followed him to his house. We drove right by the house that my friend Becky Hoyt used to own.

A rush of memories flooded my thoughts. I always say that Becky was my Young Womens Advisor when I was young. But, technically, she wasn't. She was the Advisor to the group of girls younger than myself. Something clicked between the two of us. I liked her. She was funny. She was beautiful. She was a great mom. She was compassionate, caring and an all-around-pretty-great-gal. I met her and liked her, but I didn't know the true test of her character that I would witness that would weld our friendship together.

I was 16 and (keeping the story short) I ran away from home. I don't care to explain my actions. Suffice it to say that it was necessary for me to leave and I have ABSOLUTELY NO regrets. None.

Let me tell you, when you step outside of the box and do something that doesn't fit into regular Society, you find out REAL QUICK who your friends are. I'll just politely say that when I came home, many, MANY people had plenty to say to me and if they COMPLETELY lacked character, they would just say it behind my back. Whatever.

As I mentioned, Becky was in a leadership position in the church I attended. She heard the talk. She attended meetings and listened what the other leaders and the girls were saying. Becky made a stand. She climbed right over that wall that others had built up and she stood right beside me.

Years have passed, but my love for Becky has never dwindled. I have many, many stories tucked away in my heart. I think of the time, energy, financial help and friendship she has given me and wonder how my life would have turned out without her in it.

Becky used to take me for drives. She grew up here in the Provo area and she would drive me to her old neighborhoods and tell me stories. Her "stories" always had a lesson. Sometimes they were lessons on forgiveness, sometimes just about life in general i.e.,  motherhood, marriage, church, friendship. She became an integral cog in the wheel of Linnette-adulthood.

I went to her when I was lonely. I went to her when I was happy. She taught me to tole paint. I ironed while she sewed. Our kids played together. Our kids fought together. I love her dearly and am blessed to know her.

Becky might be one in a million. I'm pretty sure she is. What's really, really cool about my story, is that I won the jackpot when it comes to friendship and love.

Becky is the foundation of this story, but she isn't the only story I have. Maybe as my blogging continues, more stories will come out.

Isaac Newton said:

"If I have seen further than others; it is by standing upon the shoulders of giants."

I am surrounded by giants. I have been lifted upon their shoulders when I couldn't see my way. I have never been able to repay these gifts of love. I just pay forward. And maybe, someday, I'll be the Becky Hoyt in somebody else's life.

Divided We Fall

I pledge allegiance to the Flag of the United States of America, and to the Republic for which it stands, one Nation under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.

If you were to write a list of words to describe me, the first word that comes to mind wouldn't be "patriotic". The list would be composed of words like "crazy", "goofy", "clumsy" and then somewhere down the list you would find patriotic.

Don't get me wrong - I do love this country in which I live. I love the Fourth of July. I love the flag. I cry at EVERY patriotic assembly my kids have done at Franklin Elementary. I am humbled at what our forefathers (and Mothers) had to endure in order to gain freedoms that they could only dream about and in which we now so selfishly take for granted. I was driving the other day and one of the radio stations began their morning with some students from one of our local schools reciting the Pledge of Allegiance. Brought tears to my eyes. Some of my favorite songs of all time are patriotic songs AND (I design for a living) I think red, white and blue go really swell together.

I think about the pledge. Years ago there was a HUGE controversy over "one Nation under God".  Yet, most of the time, I wonder if REAL controversy is the misunderstanding of the word "allegiance". I looked up the exact meaning of the word in my handy dandy pocket size Webster Dictionary. (Yes, I'm old and at times still look into BOOKS for answers.)

It is defined as:

2  : devotion or loyalty to a person, group, or cause

A little history lesson here from ushistory.org:

On June 14, 1777, the Continental Congress, seeking to promote national pride and unity, adopted the national flag. "Resolved: that the flag of the United States be thirteen stripes, alternate red and white; that the union be thirteen stars, white in a blue field, representing a new constellation."

Our country that I LOVE is falling apart. I watch the election process and follow the results and am disgusted at the dissension that immediately follows. I am not necessarily pro-Obama.  So don't think I've got my panties in a ruffle and am telling you he is the-most-wonderful-President-that-we-have-ever-had. I just want to say that he is THE President of MY country. He is the President of YOUR country.

From the time we are very young, we recite the Pledge of Allegiance. Every professional ball game begins with the National Anthem. Attendees and Players all stand with their hands over their hearts and mouth the words:

O say can you see by the dawn's early light, What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming, Whose broad stripes and bright stars through the perilous fight, O'er the ramparts we watched, were so gallantly streaming? And the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air, Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there; O say does that star-spangled banner yet wave, O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave?

I think that at times we forget what we were taught the very first day of kindergarten. Allegiance. I pledged at a very young age that I would hold true to my country. I plan to do just that. My flag DOES fly over the land of the free and the home of the brave.

One boy...one girl...

Of course this post is about the wedding. Duh! What a PERFECT event! Beautiful setting. Stunning bride. Handsome groom. Sigh. Perfection.

It warmed my heart to see the friends and family that attended. As the line came through, I was genuinely shocked to see so many loved ones that went out of their way to come out in the freezing cold and snow to give us a hug and whisper "congratulations".

My entire family cleaned up REALLY good. WOOT WOOT 

I couldn't ask for a better day.

Mark wrote a song and sang it to the bride and groom at the luncheon. When we get it done at the studio, I'll post it for you all to hear. Pictures will follow soon.

Until then, here's to dancing, happiness, twinkling lights, beautiful dresses, handsome men, Goose's firefighting brothers, Shelby's friends, my perfect family, good friends, great love...

Again. Really?

I've had a two week break from my computer. Again. I have kidney problems. Again. I've had surgery. Again. Pain. Again. Hurts to pee. Again. I'm frustrated. Again.

Tuesday the 23rd of October I found myself in severe pain. I knew it was kidney related, but I couldn't believe that I would have problems so soon after my last surgery in July. So I kind of ignored it and hoped it would go away. It didn't.

We called my doctor and asked if we should come there or just go to the ER. We were directed to come into the office and they would get my pain under control. We drove there. I swear I was beginning to wonder if I would make it. Funny how everything goes into slow motion when you are in that much pain. The drive took forever. The walk to the elevator took forever. Walking into the office took forever. Registration took forever. The pain medicine took forever.

Finally, we got the pain under control and Dr. Platt sent me down to get x-rays. Dr. Platt thought he saw a very small kidney stone in my left kidney. He told me to keep my pain under control with meds and hope it passes soon. I had overheard him tell Mark that if I had a fever I needed to get ahold of him immediately. He left instruction to call him at home day or night. (Yeah. He's a really good guy.)

We went home and I went to bed. I slept. I slept into the morning. I slept into the afternoon and when I woke up, I knew I had a fever. I could feel the ache behind my eyes. The ache was in my bones. I was sweating. I was freezing. And I couldn't find my dumb thermometer.

I called my ever-so-cute neighbor Celeste. She brought over a thermometer and Yep! I was at 101.5. Called the doctor, they said get to the OR right now. Poor Mark was down piddling in the garage with one of his friends when Celeste went barreling down the stairs to let him know I needed to get to the hospital RIGHT NOW.

We got to the hospital and 20 minutes later I was in surgery. Come to find out my kidney was blocked by something other than a stone and some of my urine had backed up. My kidney was septic. My blood was septic. I was in pretty bad shape. I stayed in the hospital until Friday. I woke up Friday with pain in my right side. When the doctor made his rounds I told him about the pain. He pulled out the CT scan I had done the night before and I have a kidney stone in my right side that will have to be surgically removed. Soon. Really?

The doctor had to put in a stent to help get that kidney to drain the infection. I've been on antibiotics. I had been in some serious pain. I had a stent in from June to July. I at least functioned. Not this time. I have barely been able to walk. It hurt to stand. Hurt to sit. Hurt to lay on my back. Hurt to lay on my left side. I could only lay on my right side and only until the pain medicine wore off and I could take more.

I am not a pain med kind of gal. I don't like how they make me feel. I used a whole bottle. I tried to stay off them, but by evening I had to take them or there would be absolutely no sleep for me. I was miserable. I was depressed. I was scared.

Goose is getting married in a week. I told the doctor that I HAD to be there. The way I was feeling, I could not have made it. He agreed to remove the stent.

Thursday I went to the office to remove the stent. I told the doctor I have been peeing blood since I left the hospital. I have been in excruciating pain. I don't know if he believed me until he got the scope inside and saw my insides are filled with blisters and sores. Apparently my body rejected this stent and every time I moved I was working sores and blisters into my body. No wonder I was so miserable.

I am recovering nicely with the stent removed I am terribly tired still, but I FEEL better. I have the wedding on the 10th of November and I will be there crying like a baby. But these will be tears of joy.

I have surgery again on the 16th and hopefully this will be the last bout I have to go through. Dr. Platt is going to have me come in at the end of the year after all the surgeries and infections are behind me and we are going to send in a sample of urine in hopes of finding out what is causing all this grief.

That's the update on me. That's why I haven't been writing again. I have plenty to say. I miss writing and hope to get back at it with vengeance. I think it's kinda cool that there are a few people out there that like MY words.

Thank you.

Hugs....

Blustery Days

Oh the wind is lashing lusterly

And the trees are thrashing thrusterly

And the leaves are rustling gusterly

So it's rather safe to say

That it seems that it may turn out to be

It feels that it will undoubteadly

Looks like a rather blustery day today

When you enter my house, you walk directly into the Pooh room. I started collecting Classic Pooh stuff a few years ago. I love this room. When I refinished my wood floors in that room, I decided to go with a more contemporary style and polished look. I bought new furniture and put in new lighting and finished the floors and painted and hammered and glued and nailed and made the room really nice. When I talked about changing the "theme" of the room, my kids just about fell apart on me. I was outvoted and the Pooh room it still is. 

Last night I was sitting in the Pooh room and my eyes landed on this picture of Pooh and Piglet walking hand in hand through a blustery day. I closed my eyes and smiled. I thought about what my family is going through. I thought about what my daughters (Shelby, Megan and Daulton) are going through. I thought about what my SuperWonderfulOhMyGoshILoveHerSoMuch friend, Pat, is facing,  I thought about my dad and how he's doing with his cancer treatments, but because I'm only human and sometimes I'm a selfish human, I mostly thought about me and what I'm going through and how I'm doing and what I'm going to do.

I'll begin with my girls. They have a dear, dear DEAR friend who was in a car accident and prognosis is grim. He has been in TICU for 9 days now. His mother posts updates twice a day on facebook. I have to hand it to her, it must be terribly difficult to write and attempt to keep your emotions in check in order to share medical information and the highs of good news and the heart dropping bad news. But facebook has become a lifeline to Christian and the girls are clinging to every morsel of information. I watch them and worry and worry and worry and pray that they will be okay and that Christian will be okay and that his parents and family will be okay and then I wonder if anyone will ever be okay after this. It's awful. 

Years ago I lived in an apartment complex in Provo and I became friends with the Nakai family. (pronounced Nah - KI) They are (politically correct here) native american. Pat is the mom and she is my friend. Our kids grew up together and we have remained friends through many years. Pat came to my house on Monday. She had just left the Doctors Office and has been diagnosed with breast cancer. She's scared. I'm scared. We're scared. I worry about her health. I worry about her mind. I worry. I worry. I worry.

I know this isn't "about me". But, if it's not, why is that my stomach hurts this whole week? Why can't I sleep? Why can't I concentrate?

Friday morning my brother, Scott, shot himself in the head. He's dead. I'm not freaking out. It is what it is. To be honest, I don't know why I'm writing all of it out, but it's one of those things that I need to tell my friends.  I'm not wanting to post it on facebook and I'm not wanting to make a million phone calls. I called an aunt on one side of my family and an aunt on the other side of the family and asked them to share the news. They have and I will be forever grateful that they took that burden from me and carried it on their own shoulders.

Without giving details, my brother and I were not close. I refused to be around him and can count on one hand the times we were in the same space since I was 18 years old. Time didn't heal those wounds and absence didn't make my heart grow fonder. Time has given me the opportunity to keep feelings at bay, and absence helped my heart to heal.

There is too much to say as to the why and how of all of it, but suffice it to say that it happened, my parents are in a turmoil. He hurt many, many, MANY  people and I can't seem to be able to sort through all the garbage right now.

Enough about that. Blustery days are upon me. I'm grateful for friends, family, even strangers that are walking through the forest with me. Pooh and Piglet have each other. I have you.

So it's rather safe to say

That it seems that it may turn out to be

It feels that it will undoubteadly

Looks like a rather blustery day today

On My Way

This last week I flew into Portland, Oregon to spend a couple of days with my biological Dad. He has been diagnosed with bladder cancer and prostrate cancer. I'm not at the "I'm so worried about him" stage. All the medical crap is just beginning and it will be a while before we have some informed feedback on "how to do" and "what to do". He's doing chemo, surgery, followed with more chemo. It will be a bit more time before the medical community can start giving us specifics.

But, Dad had a birthday on September 12 and a WHOLE BUNCH of family and friends (including me) gathered to celebrate him. Three words about the event. FUN, FUN and MORE FUN! More great memories to tuck away. 

Seems like the bookends of this visit were VERY significant to me.

Dad had an infusion scheduled right after I was to arrive in Portland, so my half sister, Sharron, got stuck with the "can you haul Linnette around" duties. Keep in mind that we are all still getting to know each other. I have worried about my siblings through all this "add another family member" process. I want to get to know them.  I'm selfish and I want relationships. I want them to get to know me and my family. I want to know them and their lives. I want them to like me. Heck, I want them to LOVE me. There. I said it. The cat is out of the bag.

I was SUPER nervously excited to see Sharron. I've only been to Washington 4 or 5 times since we made the adoption discovery, so I don't REALLY know many of "my people." I'm learning. But, I become chatty when I'm nervous and I'm finding that my siblings are more quiet. I think at times they look at me and wonder if maybe they should insist on DNA testing!

Sharron brought her daughter Mackenzie along for the event. We left the airport and stopped at Red Robin for lunch. We nearly stayed until dinner! We talked and talked and talked and talked. I can't describe how wonderfully, fabulous it was. I left thinking that we are so much alike. And it felt good.

Guess what? Sharron likes concerts. I LOVE concerts. So Sharron, myself, Mackenzie and Sharrons other daughter Ellie went to a vineyard nearby to see Huey Lewis and the News. OHMYGOSH what a great time we had!

Fast forward to my exit. (A little family history lesson here). I have two half brothers and one half sister. I have 2 step sisters and 1 step brother. Cheryl is my step sister. Cheryl is married to Tim and they live in Portland. Cheryl got the "can you haul Linnette around" duties passed to her and she gave me a ride back to the airport. 

When I first met Cheryl, it didn't go wonderfully. I have since found out the why to that. It had nothing to do with me. It was timing, and circumstance and events set in motion loooooong before I entered into the picture. Nonetheless, it was a rough beginning and I haven't quite known how to handle it. Cheryl had actually volunteered to haul me back to the airport. She had to get up at 3:30 am in order to get me, so I knew that she was okay with chatting with me. 

Cheryl arrived to pick me up, I said my goodbyes and headed to Portland. I wish I could find the words to describe how meaningful our conversation was. We talked and talked and talked. She offered me insight into her life and who she is and why she is and how she is. I felt a connection with her. I know I kinda, sorta freak her out. She doesn't seem to be overly emotional. I wear my emotions on my sleeve. So when we pulled up to the airport the first thought I had was "Man, I love her." And I hugged her and told her so. And I do.

I created a picture about a year ago with this saying:

"She wasn't where she was going. She wasn't where she had been. She was on her way."

Sharron, Cheryl and I aren't ever going to be little girls sharing secrets. I haven't mourned their losses nor been able to celebrate their triumphs. But I'm on my way.

Toy Surprises

I absolutely without a shadow of a doubt adore my grandparents. ALL of them. I was so blessed to have them in my life for many, many, years. Like most kids, I was devastated when they passed away. I lost a grandparent every year for four years. Aren't memories grand, though? Isn't it nice to close your eyes and remember the moments that mean the world to you?

I was driving to Springville yesterday to run some errands. I ended up on a back road that ran along a field that was being irrigated. I love irrigation. I remember irrigation day with Grandpa Pete. I remember him slipping on his waders and going outside with his shovel to toss the water into the flower beds. I remember my boys being very young and running out in their swimsuits to play in the water and Grandpa throwing water at them with that shovel.

Years later, when I came across this house, we irrigated! I loved it. Many, many, MANY memories of the dogs and kids playing in the water. Every time I see irrigation water, Grandpa comes to mind.

Grandma and Grandpa drank coffee. I was raised LDS so this fact MORTIFIED me as a child. I have since become more rational about coffee drinking. Grandpa got up every morning at 6:00 am. Let me tell you, you didn't go to Grandpa's to sleep in. He would come in and wake me up and I would help him set the table for breakfast. My job was to butter the toast. We would banter back and forth and EVERY SINGLE MORNING he would pretend to pour me a cup of coffee. He would tease me about it. I used to love the smell of coffee because I always thought about Grandpa, but when I was pregnant with Shelby, I walked down the fresh coffee aisle and someone had just ground up some coffee beans. The smell was VERY overwhelming and I vomited PROFUSELY all the way out the door. So ended my love for the smell. (Stupid Shelby)

Every single time I left my Grandma and Grandpa's house, they sent each of us off with a box of Cracker Jacks. I would savor every candy coated kernel and set the toy surprise aside for last. I would wonder and ponder that surprise and loved the anticipation of opening the little wrapper to see what I got. Still LOVE Cracker Jacks. Maybe it's something I'll keep around for my grandbabies.

Grandma taught me to crochet. She had her own "mini business" going for years. She could make ANYTHING with a crochet hook, knitting needles and a skein of yarn. I would sit by her side for hours and she would explain to me what she was doing. We would talk the whole time while she crocheted or knitted. I look back now and think that I probably did most of the talking, and she probably was thinking "I wish this girl would STOP TALKING". But she endured me with the patience of a saint.

My Grandpa Lyn was a tall, slender man. He worked at BYU and was PROUD to be a part of that school. I don't remember watching much television at their house, but when BYU football was on we were glued to the screen. It's one of the reason's that I love football. I don't watch college football, but love, love, LOVE pro football.

Grandpa loved ice cream. When you went to visit Grandpa you could count on a bowl of ice cream sometime during that visit. It was usually Maple Nut. I'm not a big fan of maple, but that didn't stop me from having a bowl with him. He was a health fanatic, but he taught me that a person should eat what they crave. He taught me portion control long before it became a fad. Oh yeah, and he drove a beige Volkswagon for years. I don't know why when I was younger that I thought it was odd, but I did. As I grew older, it was cool. Still can't see a VW without thinking of him.

Grandma Adamson taught school here in Provo. In fact, my kids attended the elementary school that she taught in. Franklin Elementary. She didn't just teach. She developed programs that were used in the school system to help teach the kids. She once wrote a children's book and asked me to illustrate it for her. I remember being terribly flattered that she thought I was capable of such a huge job. We didn't ever end up doing it, but when I sent off "My Best Friend, Ray", to be printed, I thought of how proud she would be.

My Great Grandma Coltrin taught me to paint. She taught me the love of color. I remember sitting beside her for "art lessons". Her paintings hung in many of the LDS churches in the Burley area. I was VERY proud to see her work displayed for all to see. I think that she would like that I went into the creative area. I think my "style" would kind of freak her out. That AND the fact that I do it on a computer. But she influenced me tremendously to channel creativity and make something come alive with color and form.

I sometimes wonder what my grandkids are going to say about me. Crazy is a given. Beloved would be a bonus.

About Today

Today was Beck's funeral. I know funerals are supposed to be somber occasions. Don't get me wrong...I am so very sad that Becky died. It was awful to watch her siblings have to say goodbye. It's just all wrong that Chris lost his mother. It is outrageous that Aunt Sue and Uncle John have to bury their daughter. I DO get the meaning and the sadness and the tragedy behind funerals. I really, really do.

I don't know if it is good or bad, but I get so excited to see everyone that I become a bit giddy. I love to laugh and talk and tease and renew relationships that I have missed so very much. So I talk and talk and talk and talk.

My extraordinarily awesome cousin Mike and his oh man I love her so much wife, Sue, my ever so amazingly wonderful Uncle Pete and one of the coolest Aunts a gal could ever wish for, Ellen, met at my house and we all rode to Salem together.

I got to see cousins that I haven't seen in MANY blue moons and they have KIDS of their own. How did that happen? They're just little tykes themselves. There is so much catching up to do and such little time in which to do it. They probably ALL think I'm the cousin that has lost her marbles, but I enjoy it terribly.

It's WONDERFUL to see them all again. I am reminded how much I adore my family. My WHOLE family. To love and be loved back. Wow.

She's Gone

She died last night. I got a phone call from Aunt Sue at about 8:00 pm. Becky wasn't doing well, and she probably wouldn't last the night. I don't usually feel helpless, but that is the only way to describe how I felt. Helpless to change the fates that struck my family. Helpless to offer the correct words to Aunt Sue. I wanted to bawl. I didn't. I wanted to go shake something - REALLY hard. I didn't. I didn't really know what to do...say...feel.

Of course Aunt Sue blessed me with her sweet spirit, she asked if I would like to come be with them. I did. I had wanted to ask, but I was so terribly afraid of imposing on such a sacred family moment. But, the only thing Aunt Sue had to say to that was "You're family. " And I left to her house.

On the 20 minute ride to Salem, I thought about how ironic life can be. When Sue called we were whooping it up with a birthday party for Tyson. He turns 28 today. I celebrated the life of my beloved son while Aunt Sue was mourning the passing of her beloved daughter. Aunt Sue tells the story that Becky had come into this world wrapped in pain (Becky had broken her collar bone in birth) so can someone please explain why she had to leave this world wrapped in pain? 

Sue shared the story that at about 11:30 yesterday morning, Becky asked Sue if it was time to go. Sue told her that "she could go if she was ready." Becky said she was ready. 

Aunt Sue, Uncle John, Christopher (Becky's 15 year old son), Jennifer (Becky's sister), Rachell (Becky's sister) all surrounded her bedside when she died. It was 11:55. She passed amidst laughter and tears. And through it all the only words she could hear were "I love you." 

About Becky

My cousin is dying. I'm not kidding. She has cancer about everywhere you can have cancer. Her liver is failing. Her kidneys are failing. Her body is failing.

Becky and I were never real close growing up. I don't know how old Becky is, but I do know she is quite a bit younger than I. I remember when she was born. I remember holding her as a baby. I remember her playing in her house when we would visit.

After I got married, I heard once or twice about her, but I didn't go to her graduation. I wasn't there 15 years ago when her son was born. I didn't celebrate her marriage nor mourn her divorce. Would it be horrible for me to say that she just never played a significant role in my life? It sounds so crass, doesn't it?

I'm closer in age to Becky's older sister, Jennifer. I remember playing with her when I was younger. Jennifer is 4 years younger than I am, so we had more in common. She probably doesn't know it, but I always thought of her as my pretty cousin. She was more girly than I ever was. I remember being envious because my Aunt Sue made these really cute dolls and Jen had plenty of them. I always thought it was so cool that Sue would do that for Jen.

Of course, time, life, husband and kids got in the way and I haven't kept contact with my family like I should have.

I'm mad that I have done that. I'm disappointed in myself - in my actions and I want DESPERATELY to turn back the clock and have a do-over.

I would tell my Aunt Sue just how wonderful I think she is. I would tell my Uncle John that I always knew he loved me because he would tease and harass me - and that made me feel special. I would tell Jennifer that she is one of the most beautiful human beings that I know. I would be close with the cousins I vaguely remember and they would each know that I love them. And I would spend time getting to know them and letting them know me and my family.

I have been blessed with wonderful family. I have Aunts and Uncles that warm my heart. I have cousins that are more like siblings. I don't share the same blood with them. But, I assure you, I would give my blood to them. And I would do ANYTHING to take the pain away from Becky and her family.

Keith, the UPS guy

I've told this story this weekend to anyone who would listen. Since it's still on my mind - and since you are a captive audience - I'm going to write about it.

I have a set of neighbors that don't seem to like me much. Maybe they think I'm wonderful, I don't know, but based on the two years they have lived next to me, and the fact that I've about given up on them simply waving "hello" to me and the fact that they'll see me coming and hurry and turn their backs to avoid making eye contact with me, I think it is safe to say they aren't fans of the Deason clan.

I guess that's okay. I miss my old neighbor. I used to love stepping outside and being pleasantly surprised to see Brit or Jake out. We would wave, say "hello", sometimes have a conversation, but they never failed to put a smile on my face. I was thrilled when they got engaged, cried when they got pregnant, fell in love with their baby boy and full out bawled when they moved.

I don't know why the current homeowners don't find me fabulous. The dislike is compounded by the fact that their house has a small basement that has been converted into an apartment. Those renters don't like me either. I haven't done anything to make them mad. I keep my yard tidy. We don't have wild parties on the weekend. We mind our business. But our "hello" waves are seldom returned.

Saturday I was weeding my flower bed that is connected on one side by their driveway. I was digging and weeding when I heard their gate click. I turned to say hello when I realized the neighbor-gal had walked right behind me and was heading back into the house. I was so mad but all I could do was laugh.

I shook my head in dismay and continued with my gardening. A few minutes passed when I heard the sound of a stroller nearing. I looked up in time to see a young gal approaching. I recognized her from church that my neighborhood attends. I smiled and said "hello". She looked at me and turned her head the other way and ignored me.

WHAT THE CRAP?

I have raised my family to be friendly and helpful to all they meet regardless of the color of their skin, their financial place in society, any political standings and especially regardless of anyone's religious preferences. I have always felt it was important to really see the human being behind all the facades we inevitably build around us and judge a person on their character. Where I go wrong is expecting the same treatment.

Sigh. I'll get off my soapbox and back to the story I intended to write.

Okay, so the weeding continued. I was angry, hurt, dismayed, astounded. You name it, I was feeling it. I was furiously tossing weeds into the trash can when I heard the UPS truck pull up. Out stepped the delivery guy without a package in his hand. He was walking towards me, so I pulled off my gloves, brushed off the dirt and went to meet him halfway.

A couple of years ago I was taking Hailey to feed the ducks. I swung into the bread store to get some bread and was chatting with the gal at the check-out when the UPS guy came to make a delivery. We all ended up talking for a few minutes, but since then, I see him regularly and we smile and wave.

The UPS guy walking towards me was THAT guy. I know I must have had a VERY confused look on my face. Because, well, I was CONFUSED! He stuck out his hand and said, "I see you all the time, you always smile and wave at me. I saw you out here and it dawned on me that I don't know your name. I'm Keith."

That random act changed my whole day.

The Thrill And The Agony

Oh how I love the Olympics! I have waited somewhat patiently in anticipation for the beginning of the 2012 Summer Olympic Games and have not been disappointed one tiny bit. I have watched interviews with past Olympians and remembered fondly their Olympic moments. I have felt the excitement of the current Olympians. I love that the world gathers together for this short amount of time to compete. I exuberantly cheer for the Red, White and Blue. Of course I LOVE when we win. I study the faces of the athletes as they raise OUR flag and play OUR national anthem. I see pride for our country and pride for the accomplishments. The camera will land upon the weeping faces of the family members in the crowd and they, too, are bursting. The family, the athletes and fellow attendees (and some of us at home watching) whisper the words to our national anthem and for a brief moment we are all united.

I remember watching the Olympics as a kid. I revered Nadia Comaneci. I stayed rooted in front of the television to catch a glimpse of her. It didn't matter that she was from another country. She was perfection in motion.

Maybe some of you are too young to remember the television series The Wide World of Sports. It was a sports anthology that ran from 1961 to 1998. It highlighted athletic competitions. It always began with:

Spanning the globe to bring you the constant variety of sport! The thrill of victory...and the agony of defeat! The human drama of athletic competition! This is ABC's Wide World of Sports!


I remember letting those words sink in...the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat. I would watch the athletes, scanning faces to capture a glimpse of their reaction to their performance.  I wanted to run faster, jump higher, tumble perfectly and perform fearlessly right beside them and feel that victory first hand. Of course, I'm not quick enough to get out of my own way, so...I watch.

I still scan the faces. I get so excited for the winner (even if they aren't from USA). The thrill of victory is tremendously contagious. I usually root for the underdog. Sometimes that works out pretty good for me and other times...not so good. That's when the agony of defeat rears its ugly head. You almost feel the disappointment emanating through the television screen.

The 2012 Summer Olympics will soon be something of the past. Athletes will begin training for 2016. There isn't much time for looking back. Their sights will be set on the future and the winnings and failures will soon become a memory. Maybe, as Miley Cyrus sings in her song, "it's all about the climb."

Emery County Spartans

One of the pretty-awesome-had-a-great-time events that I attended this summer was Mark's 30 year High School Reunion. Yup, the Emery County High School Class of 1982 gathered for fun and activities at the Carbon Golf Course. We golfed, laughed, gathered for lunch, attended a social and dinner.

I graduated in 1983, so I'm a year behind the "old geezers" that gathered, but since our High School was pretty small I knew everyone and had many memories with most of them.

Because I am younger, these were the "Gods" of the High School. You know, the older, more experienced, DEFINITELY cooler kids of the school. Ah, the Glory Days, huh?

During the social, my friend Dave Owens, had put together a tribute to those that had passed away. I was shocked to hear how many of our classmates were gone. 8 from the class of 1982. I'm not sure how many from my class. I know it will be too many.

It was fun to see all that attended. It was pretty cool to "reacquaint"ourselves with those we knew so well just a few years ago. We reminisced on the old times and spoke fondly of the "now times". If you have a reunion coming up, GO! We've ALL gained weight, lost hair, developed wrinkles, grey hair and saggy rear ends! It wasn't a beauty contest. It was a chance to renew and revive. To speak fondly of the days when we ran faster, hit harder, sang louder, danced ferociously, laughed hysterically, got in "big trouble" from teachers, gained an education and prepared for our future. We LIVED to see these people daily. And then, all too quickly, it ends. Responsibility slams us upside the head. Bills come, families happen and work devours our lives.

SO...go to your reunions. See your old friends. Talk about the impact teachers made in your life. Take a moment to think of those that passed before...both friends and teachers. Remember those that helped you become who you are - either by bugging the crap out of you or just loving you. Remember the good times and try not to forget the indestructible teenager inside of you.

Introducing the CLASS OF EMERY COUNTY HIGH SCHOOL CLASS OF 1982.

Back in the saddle

In case you've wondered where the crap I took off to, I've been out of commission for a while. Last month I spent a day with a bit of a stomach ache. The stomach ache eventually landed me in the Emergency Room where I was diagnosed with a terrible kidney infection. They fed me antibiotics through my IV, gave me some pain meds, slapped me on my butt and sent me on my way.

Two days later, I was right back where I started. OHMYGOSH I was in some terrible pain again. This time the Emergency Room did a CT scan and told me that I had three kidney stones about 1/4" big that needed to come out.

I was so miserable that they could have told me that they needed to cut my head off to help me and I would have readily agreed. Off I went into surgery. They found my kidney so infected that they couldn't get rid of the stones, so the doc put a stint in, gave me 2 weeks worth of antibiotics and sent me out the door.

I have been hobbling around for a month waiting for my kidney to heal enough for me to have the final surgery. I know my family was getting fed up with my whining and complaining about how "I can't walk", "It hurts to pee", "I can't lift that", "It hurts to pee", I'm tired", "It hurts to pee", "It hurts to pee", "It hurts to pee".  Did I mention that it hurt to pee? Well, it did.

I had to say goodbye to my longtime friend Pepsi Cola. Used to be whenever I needed a break from reality I would load up in the jeep and run to the local convenience store, see my friend Nik, and grab a Pepsi. By the time I made it home, I was rejuvenated a ready to conquer again. Sigh. Those good times are over now.

Somehow, my tiny brain has attributed pain to Pepsi. I think it's probably right. I guess that soda plays a big role in kidney stones, but I'm not kidding when I say that the thought of having a Pepsi makes me want to vomit my brains out. Yeah...it will be a long time down the road before I'll be able to stomach a soda again.

So, Friday I had surgery for the stones. Turns out I had 6 stones in my right kidney. One was the size of a pencil eraser. THANK GOODNESS for modern medicine. Doctor Platt went in there like he was playing Asteroids on Atari and blasted the crap out of them. Had some minor complications that landed me in the hospital overnight, but I'm home now and back in the saddle again. (Albeit, I'm riding side saddle for a bit, but I'm in a saddle nonetheless.)

Teaching an old dog new tricks

I have made many, many, MANY mistakes in my life. I don't know if I regret anything I have done. I'm not at the point in my life where I do the whole introspective search to see where I have fallen short. I'm pretty much the "it is what it is" gal. But, I do know and am very aware of some of my short-comings and have worked hard to better myself along the way. I'll tell you one thing for sure, there are many things that I have done that I will NEVER do again.

Recently, the old Linnette had opportunity to rise from the ashes. That certainly would have been the easy way out. I'm prone to over-react. I'm emotionally charged and can set fire to the whole universe if I feel betrayed or hurt. I am very much like the Tasmanian Devil. I can spin around in circles without regard to my surroundings nor the people in my path. BUT this time, I thought VERY HARD about what I wanted say. I took a long look at the person I needed to talk to and what it was that I really needed to communicate. Oh, I wanted to yell, holler to the heavens, cry, rip flesh, fling myself to the ground and start kicking and screaming, snarl, and gnash my teeth. I wanted to turn loose that Tasmanian Devil inside of me and have at the entire world!

I didn't do it. Maybe I have grown up a bit. I addressed the problem. I explained how I felt. I behaved like a big girl and together we SOLVED the problem.

You CAN teach an old dog new tricks. Especially if the old dog you are training is yourself.

Spitting In The Sink

Years ago, Marks grandmother came to visit me. Mark and I were divorced at the time, so for Granny to make it to my doorstep was quite significant. Grandpa Jack had passed away quite a few years before that, and I had not had the opportunity to meet him. His legacy lives on and on in this family.

I'm understanding that he was a good man with a good heart. He was honest, fair and walked a straight line. He helped to raise Mark and his brothers when Gerald and Linda were unable to take care of the kids. (That in itself, deserves angel wings!) He was a good father, a terrific grandfather and a loyal husband. It's more than fair to say that he led his family by example.

Granny and I were sitting in my front room, sipping on lemonade and talking about Grandpa Jack. She relayed a story to me. Grandpa used to chew tobacco and he would spit in Granny's sink. Man oh man, this really made Granny mad. They fought about it constantly. Granny sort of smiled while she was telling me about the arguments that they would have. Trust me, I could relate to the frustration. I'm not sure that Mark fell far from that tree!

Anyhow, we were in the middle of stories and laughter when Granny got really quiet. I looked over and I could see tears dripping from her cheeks. After a few moments, she composed herself enough to say "Linnette, I would do ANYTHING to have that man spit in my sink again."

I carry that story with me. It put so many things in perspective. That story played a significant role in the reuniting of Mark and myself. Suddenly, so much of what we had fought about just didn't matter any longer. My long haired, hippy, guitar playing man could stay just the way he was.

My Little Black Rain Cloud

The end of school is looming. There are signs at the elementary school displaying the date of the final day of classes, flyers are being sent home exclaiming in bold lettering "End of school!" and the kids are talking about it with excitement. Even our breakfast table is a bit jubilant. I have begun counting down with Jaden to keep him excited to go these last few days. He is sincerely looking forward to this break. 

So why do I feel glum?

Don't get me wrong, I do so love the summer. I have always looked forward to having my kids home with me. I love the noise and chaos, the fighting and laughter. I'm the mom that cries when I drop my kids off to the first day of class. I cry HARD. My neighbor, Britney, used to sit on her front porch and await my return walk home. I'd sit on her porch and cry and cry and cry. I know she thought I had lost my mind, but I missed them. I'm nearly inconsolable that first day of school.

My kids have all attended Franklin Elementary School. Man oh man, I love that school. The principal is such a solid man. He has a very supportive staff and I have yet to have any real problems with any of the teachers. 

The final day of school at Franklin is a dance festival. The parents gather outside around a basketball court and each grade performs a dance for us. Kindergarten kids usually dance to "Splish Splash" or to "The Chicken Dance". Ohmygosh, it's so dang cute. I get so excited to watch the dances. I don't allow the kids to practice around me. I want to see the WHOLE performance with the WHOLE group for the first time on the day of the festival.

I guess I'm trying to tell you that I'm not a TOTAL funsucker, I enjoy the little things that come my way. But it's like Sunday night to me. I hate Sunday night because I hate Mondays. I hate the Fall because I hate Winter. I know what's around the corner and it fills me with dread.

I will not have another child attend Franklin Elementary. Jaden graduates sixth grade this year and he's off to a gifted and talented program at the High School. You do know what that means don't you? No dance festivals, no fun runs, no more cute homemade Mothers Day gifts...sigh.

I'm proud of my kids and the adults that they have become. They are an asset to society and each child is an integral piece within our family. I love that they are strong, independent human beings. I know all the right answers to why I feel the way I do. But I can't seem to change my heart. I miss my KIDS. I miss the little moments of wonder that children provide. I have thoroughly loved watching them learn and grow and conquer and become stronger over things that would have brought lesser people to their knees. Yet, I feel melancholy when I reminisce on the alone times that seem fewer now that they are busy.

I remember putting all the kids to bed on Friday nights, then sneaking Tyson out of bed so we could eat popcorn and watch the Utah Jazz play. I miss homework time with Goose and walking with Tanna. I miss the alone time Shelby and I shared together while all the other kids were in school and she had half days in kindergarten. I miss holding their hands while I drive and cuddling on the couch. I miss yelling at them to "go to sleep" or "turn down your music" or "clean your room" or "what the CRAP were you thinking when you shot out all the windows in the playhouse with your paint ball guns?"

It's Sunday night in my heart. I know what "tomorrow" will bring. I'm going to blink and Jaden will finish High School, finish college, find a Diana or Daulton, get married, have kids, stay busy and I'll be the old lady on the street with purple high top tennis shoes, waving my hand and yelling "Hey! What about me?" There it is. I'm a selfish girl and it's ALL about me.

It's A Good Story...And It's Mine

I'm adopted. I've always known it. Hearing the story of how I came to my mom and dad was as natural to me as hearing your own birth story is your "normal".

I knew I was born in Seattle. I remember being told of the phone call my parents received telling them that there was a little girl in need of a home. My mom always told me that although she would never give birth, she knew that she would be a mother.

I had had some medical problems and was not released from the State of Washington for adoption until the problems were resolved. I got better and my parents were handed a healthy, 10 month old daughter.

Time passed and I was faced with the normal adoption "wonders". I would fill out medical records, and I had to write "unknown" on my side of the sheet. I didn't know what medical history was in my family, and I didn't like that my kids wouldn't know either. I think it is such a roadblock that medical history isn't a legal aspect of the adoption process. I would wonder about my medical history. I wondered who I looked like. I wondered what my story was. I wondered and wondered and wondered.

I had tossed around the idea to find my biological mother when I was younger, but I had always questioned why I wanted to know. Was I being rebellious? Was I being selfish? What did I wish to gain from the knowledge? I would analyze my answers and always felt that I fell short. The timing was never right. I'm usually uncomfortably afraid of the unknown so maybe I was afraid? Whatever the reasoning, I didn't ever move forward in my quest for my bloodlines.

When I turned 40 I decided that I was ready to find my biological family. I really believed that I had no selfish interest in finding them. I can't really tell you what I expected. I think that I thought it would be like joining a club. You know. Meet some people that you like, add them to the Christmas card list, remember them on important occasions...I was wrong.

I made phone calls to the state of Washington where I was born. I made phone calls to the state if Idaho where I was adopted. Washington was willing to help, but I had a closed adoption and my records were held by the state of Idaho and in 60 years not a single adoption had been opened. I posted my information on several websites established to help adoptees find their biological families. A year passed and I was not any further than when I had started.

I had put together a file of my adoption information and I pulled it out one day to go through the paperwork and see if I could drum up more ideas. My mom and dad had given me the paperwork that they received from the courts when my adoption was finalized. I studied one of the legal size documents with tiny printing and there it was. I'm sure it was a mistake but written in the document in fine, fine print were the words "baby girl Vermeire".

I remember freezing up. I called Mark and told him the news. Then I got nervous and I didn't do a thing. 

Mark got tired of waiting on me, and while he was on the road one day, he pulled up a search on his cell phone for the Vermeire name. He came up with a list of names and phone numbers in Washington, Oregon and California. True to Mark's nature, he started calling. I don't know how many calls he had made before he called to tell me he wasn't having any luck reaching people. He was getting answering machines so he was LEAVING A MESSAGE with the details of my adoption and a request that they call him. I had to put the kabosh on that one. Can you imagine checking your machine and getting that message?

Mark promised not to leave anymore messages. He placed a call to one of the numbers. It rang and rang. He was just getting ready to hang up when the phone was answered. He told the story and the woman said that "if anyone in my family knows about this, it would be grandma Norma". She graciously gave Mark the phone number to Norma and hung up. Mark called Norma and was able to relate the story to her. Without missing a beat, Norma said "My God, she's Pearls." Mark said it made his hair stand on end. He had found my family. After Norma (my Aunt) and Mark talked for a while and exchanged contact information, he called me. When we got to the part of the conversation when he said "I found your Mom", I sunk to my knees in complete shock.  I wish I could describe the feeling that came over me. My eyesight blurred and my hands went numb. I found myself taking gulping breaths and yet felt as if I was being deprived of oxygen. It was surreal.

There was a process that followed to contact Pearl. I won't go into details of the "why" but regrettably my biological mother chose not to meet with me. I was devastated. Mark was pushing for me to locate my biological father, but I was not having it. I feared the rejection.

Time passed and I began dreaming about my dad. I would wake up in the night crying. I began moping around the house tired and an emotional wreck. My family was fed up with my behavior and one day Mark asked what it was that I wanted. I thought about it for a bit and finally asked him to quietly go about finding my dad, but he was NOT to let me know what he was doing or how it was going. I designated him as the mediator. He was to do what he could to find my father and if he found him, I was not to know unless it was possible for us to meet. Otherwise, the subject was never to be brought up.

Enter Aunt Norma, again. I don't really know the steps that led Mark back to her, but he ended up making another phone call to her. He asked Norma for any information on my Dad, and come to find out, he lived about a mile from Norma and her husband Henry. (Little note of information here, Henry is my mom's brother.) Not wanting to risk any conflict, Norma requested that she be able to go talk to my Dad and make sure that he wanted to be found. If he was in agreement, she would leave Mark's number.

I might be wrong, but I believe that Mark received a phone call from my dad that night. They talked and exchanged stories and information. I was lost in my oblivion while all of this was going on. 

Mark gave my phone number and the following day my phone rang. (My side story is that I have a graphics client that had contacted me a couple of days before requesting his logo in a specific format. I had emailed him the logo the day before. My clients' name is Bob.)  I was working at a magazine one week a month and it happened to be my work week. My cell phone rang and after I said "hello" the caller said "This is Bob Allen". Funny how your brain begins working and mine was thinking "I emailed him yesterday, I wonder what is going on with the file." When I suddenly hear "I understand that I am your biological father." What? My head began buzzing. I couldn't hear the rest of the conversation. I stepped outside, sat in the grass and had a conversation with him, but I honestly don't remember any of it. I do remember getting his call-back information and politely saying "Thank you for calling" and ending the call.

I immediately dialed Mark. He happened to be home (which is a miracle in itself as he drives long haul and is always gone). He asked me questions and I couldn't answer them. I swear I was in shock. It was so surreal. Within a few minutes, Mark picked me up to go to lunch. I was FREAKING out. Not in the screaming-crying-yelling sort of way. I was dead silent. While headed to lunch, Mark said "Don't you think you should call him back?" I didn't know what to say. How do you fill in 41 years of history? I didn't know where to start and really didn't know what he thought about me entering into his life. I suddenly realized that I did have selfish interest in finding my family. I wanted to know them for ME. I wanted to fill in the gaps in my life. I wanted MY questions answered and I really, really, really wanted a relationship. I wanted to rid my thoughts of the rejection I felt and fill the holes with love. I wanted this to be more than another name added to my Christmas card list. And I really didn't know if this was a good thing or not. 

I called Bob back, but I think he was as freaked out as I was. He is not the type of guy to make waves and neither am I. In fact, if it weren't for Mark and Arlene (Bob's wife) we probably STILL wouldn't have met. Those two got on the phone and made a plan to meet "the day-after-tomorrow". After 41 years, I was about to have many of my questions answered. I was going to meet my dad in two days. Bob and Arlene live in White Salmon, Washington which is about 12 hours from where I live. Mark's dad lives in Caldwell, Idaho and is about the half-way point between the two of us. We were going to Caldwell and they would meet us there Friday evening.

I got home that evening and told my story to anyone that would listen. I talked to the kids. Tyson and Goose had work and Shelby had a dance performance that she could not get out of. Mark, Jaden, Tanna (along with a friend of Tanna's) and myself loaded up Friday morning and headed to meet my dad. I have a nervous habit of biting the skin around my fingernails. I nibbled and gnawed on my hands for 6 hours. By the time we arrived at Mark's dad's house, my fingers were bloody and I was a wreck.

Every insecurity and doubt that I had ever thought streaked through my mind. What if he doesn't like me? What if he is disappointed in me? What if he really doesn't want a relationship? There was the other stuff too. What if I don't like him? What if it hurt him too much to know me and he left me? Why did he let me go for adoption? Was I going to be mad at him for it? To say I was a mess would be an understatement. I was scared to death to meet him. Minutes slowly ticked by, then all of sudden it was time to head to the hotel to meet with Bob and Arlene. I was going to meet my dad.

It was only a couple of miles to our meeting place, but it seemed like another 6 hour drive. My heart was racing and my thoughts were out of control. I was nearing a panic attack when we pulled into the hotel, went around back to park the car and THERE THEY WERE. They were in the parking lot walking their dogs. I slowly got out of the car and began walking toward him. I wasn't going to cry. I didn't want to cry. I wanted to be mature and grown-up about this. Guess what? I cried. He reached out and when he pulled me into his mighty hug and I wept. 

We met on April 14, 2006. We just shared our 6th anniversary. I have loved every minute of it. I have my dad and my heart feels like there was never a gap in our lives. It just fits. I was able to go to Washington in June of 2002. I have brothers and sisters! I met aunts and uncles and cousins and the thing that is REALLY cool is that my family on my mother's side live in the same area as my dad. We had a huge barbecue and I met and met and met so many of my relatives. I jokingly tell people that it felt like a petting zoo - that people came to see the "display".  That's really not true. The connection was instant. The moment I hugged my Uncle Eddie and Aunt Alice I knew I was right where I belonged. After some of my cousins left, I remember turning to Mark and saying "We would have been really close if we had grown up together".

I have found a perfect peace and acceptance in this wonderful family...MY family. I have traits that are built in me that are "so Vermeire" or "so much like Dad". I love, love, LOVE to sit and listen to the stories they share about their childhood or my Granparents and family members I haven't been able to meet. I try so hard to remember names and events. I fall short, but they just giggle and remind me of the who-is-who-and-what-is-what.

I now have a really long Christmas list. I like that. I have heard my history and that's pretty cool, too. It's a good story...and it's mine.

It's in a song, somewhere....

I love music. Who doesn't? I'm a fan of most genres. I love the old Frank Sinatra, sing ferociously to 80's rock, enjoy my country music and even have some Eminem on my playlist.


Yesterday, while cleaning my house for the upteenth time this week, I heard a line of lyrics that stuck. It's from the song "Springsteen" by Eric Church, and it sent me into a whirlwind of memories. Eric sang Funny how a melody sounds like a memory.


I thought that was a nice way to describe how we relate music to moments.  Here are a few of mine:


"You Are My Sunshine". I used to sing this to my kids when they were young. I still sing it to Jaden. I guess they will never be too old to hear it. It's pretty significant in my relationship with Shelby. Periodically it appears in little notes or texts between the two of us.


"Faithfully" by Journey. Mark and I designated this "our" song a long, long time ago. Journey was the first concert I ever attended. So began my love affair with concerts. 


"Like A Rock" by Bob Segar. When Keith died, I went through cd after cd to find the perfect song to fit into the slideshow we played at his funeral. Mark told me to use this song. Of course, he was right on. Good, strong song for a good, strong boy.


"Leather and Lace" by Stevie Nicks. I remember going over to Lynnette Richardson's and cranking up this song while we cleaned her room.


Anything by Heart. My friend Michele Skanky was in a band with Mark waaaaaaaaaay back in the day. She could belt out Heart with gusto. Beautiful lady with amazing talent and grace.


"God Be With You 'Till We Meet Again" Gospel Hymn. I have attended a couple of family funerals where I have ended up sitting in front of my Uncle Lynn and this was the closing hymn. Wow. He sings it beautifully.


"Every Rose Has It's Thorn" by Poison. One night when Tyson and Goose were little, little, little... Mark and I stayed up ALL night singing this song. I sang the song along with him while he played the guitar.


"Mamma Mia" by Abba. I went to the play in Vegas with my friend, Laurie. It was my first "big girl" event. I ended up having to go twice. On my first attempt, one of the performers PASSED OUT on stage and they had to close the show for the night. We were rescheduled and I had to get back down there. It was worth the trip. LOVED IT!


"Jet Airliner" by Steve Miller Band. If you were able to hear Mark sing this on stage with his band, you would know why it's ingrained in my heart.


"Angels Among Us" by Alabama. This song will forever be my Beckie Hoyt song. She has consistently been an angel in my life.


"Live Like You Were Dying" by Tim McGraw. The first time I heard this song, I was in my car heading to the funeral for Denise Jeppson.


"Hotel California" by The Eagles. Mark began to teach himself to play guitar in high school. I don't remember how it came to be, but we (along with two other members of our self-proclaimed band) played this song at a "gig". HILARIOUS! We played for OOOOOOLLLLLLLDDDDD people. I looked out over the audience and they were PLUGGING THEIR EARS and tapping their feet along. OHMYGOSH....still makes me laugh!


"Change The World' by Eric Clapton. I have always loved Mark. Even when I "hated" him, I loved him. We were divorced and he had learned this song. He had me come over to his place and he played it for me.


"Have You Forgotten" by Darryl Worley. I don't think many of us will forget where we were when we heard the news.


"Crazy Train" by Ozzy Osbourne. This was my first album.  I listened to it every single morning while getting ready for school.


"I Can't Drive 55" by Sammy Hagar. Need I say more?


"Eagles Fly" by Van Halen. I saw them in concert and Mark had scored 5th row seats. They had a video of Eddie playing piano on top of a mountain. It stuck in my brain. OhMY. I do SOOOOOOOO love Sammy. 


"YMCA" by The Village People. I went to a concert with my friend, Marilyn and The Village People were the opening act. Halfway through this song they stopped everything and gave us the "lesson" on how to do the hands correctly. I'm sure it was all staged, but it was REALLY fun to be taught by them the exact science of how to perform the YMCA.


"Piano Man" by Billy Joel. I saw him in concert a few years back and there was a camera directed exclusively at the piano keys. He plays effortlessly.


I'm sure there would be more if I had taken the time to really think about it. But, these were the ones at the top of my head and I just went for it.

Funny how a melody sounds like a memory.  Yeah, I like that.

Just Around The Corner

I love the summer. I love the heat, bare feet, the pool, barbecues, tank tops and shorts, and working in yard. I hate the winter and I'm NOT a fan of the Fall. Yeah, yeah, yeah, the colors are pretty and all, but I'm usually already cold and am getting a glimpse of what is to come. MORE cold.

I can't say I LOVE the Spring, but I have to say it renews my hope of survival. It's verification that sunshine is just around the corner. I had a neighbor once say to me that I was like a little flower. I'm only seen in the sunshine. Just as the ground begins to thaw and the blossoms begin to peek out, I, too, begin to thaw and am seen periodically outdoors.

I have a tree out my bedroom window. I know when Spring has arrived because most mornings I wake up to the chirp of baby birds. Without fail, it makes me smile. Not a bad way to start a day, huh?

So, here's to Spring.  I can't wait to don tank tops, shorts and remove my shoes for a few months. I'm anticipating taking the top off my jeep, cranking the ever-so-fabulous 80's rock and driving without a destination. I can't wait to dig in the dirt, plant some flowers, weed the garden and trim up the trees. I'm excited to try new recipes for the back porch barbecues. I'm nearly giddy with excitement over the family-get-togethers and the summer nights of mush-ball or kick ball. I'm counting down the days to be able to take my granddaughter, Hailey, to the pool. Here's to new life, new hope, new smells and the promise of a great tomorrow!

The Sound Of Angels

I went to a funeral today. Although I knew the sweet woman that passed away, for the most part I went to support my friend.

It was a nice funeral. Each of her kids spoke, but what struck my soul was the music. Her grandkids performed a musical number. Those that played a string instrument played their respective violins, cellos, etc. I think Laurie told me there were 55 kids up there. It was a spectacular sight. And it sounded like heaven.

I'm not very comfortable in funerals. Let's be honest. Who is? They are incredibly sad. I have attended funerals that did a great job of celebrating the life of the lost loved one. There have been funerals in which I have left angry because the entire funeral seemed to be a conspiracy to sign up new members to join the church in which the funeral was held. This funeral was a celebration of life. I like that.

While the kids were performing, I found myself lost in thought. I contemplated the music, the talent that is abundant in that family. I gave pause to my own life and gave a fleeting glance to the future funerals that will most certainly come my way.

My thoughts drifted to a funeral that I had attended in September of 2007. A friend of ours died with his wife in a car accident. It was a tragic experience for everyone who had come in contact with Eti. He grew up in our neck of the woods and he, as well as his siblings, were great friends with my kids.

Anyhow, I had not experienced a Polynesian funeral before. The evening before the actual services, I went to what I thought was a viewing, but instead it was a gathering to celebrate the life of Eti and Trichelle. Many family members spoke to the over-flowing congregation. Quite often, they spoke in their native language and that meant I didn't know what was being said. What was easily understood was the anguish they felt.

Once again, the speakers were great, but what truly struck me was the music. There would be speaking, then suddenly someone would begin to sing. Soon, the entire congregation was singing. I had never heard these songs before. The songs were all a cappella and perfectly in tune. I wish I could describe the sound. I know I left feeling that I had just heard angels singing. It was a bit of heaven on earth.

I can't tell you for sure about heaven or hell, christianity versus atheism. But I can tell you that angels do speak to us. And when you get a lucky enough to hear them? Stop and listen.