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.