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.

My Happy Book

Years ago, Mark and I were divorced. We remarried on New Years Eve several years ago and have FINALLY found our "happily ever after". It was a difficult road to go down, but I now see us sitting in our rocking chairs on the front porch and enjoying the grandkids' antics together. And it makes me VERY happy.

There was a time when the sailing wasn't very smooth. To say it was a rocky road would be an understatement. Divorce was difficult. Being a single mom of four little one's wasn't too easy. Leaving the kids at daycare and going to work every day sucked. Finances were a joke. Every day was a struggle and I remember being sad all the time.

I love to read. I make time to read every single day. I'm always in the hunt for a good book and somehow, I had found myself at Barnes and Nobles Bookstore. I was wandering around looking at the new books that had just been released and ran across a book by Barbara Ann Kipfer. It's titled 14,000 things to be happy about. The back of the book read: A quirky, compulsive, irresistible list of all the little things that make us happy. I opened the book and it was exactly as stated. It was a list.

I read:
ice cream sandwiches
red leotards
a baseball game going into extra innings
wet babies
Bugs Bunny
the beach in the fall

I smiled. I took the book to the register and purchased it. Within a couple of days I had read the book cover to cover. 612 pages of a list. Silly, I guess, but I needed to be reminded of the little things that bring happiness. That book changed my life.

I found myself thinking about that book all the time. I began to notice some of the things that were listed in the book and that those items brought a secret smile to my face.  Problem was, it was someone else's happiness. Some of the items applied to me, yet some didn't. On the list were items like: yarn lampshades. What the heck are yarn lampshades? True, some things I related to, but there were other items that left me wondering. I wanted to be reminded of things that made ME happy.

I went back to the bookstore and bought a cute book with blank pages. I began creating my own book. I wrote the title So Many Things to be Happy About on the inside cover. I put the book in my nightstand drawer and I wrote in it every single night.

I found myself changing. My nightmares lessened. The nights I cried myself to sleep decreased dramatically. My heart was lighter and I began to pay attention to my day again. I began to look for things I could write in my happy book. I spent more and more time looking at the good and less time focusing on the bad. I found happiness again. I was surrounded by it. It hadn't gone away. I had just forgotten to take note.

I don't write in my happy book as often anymore. I guess I don't need it as much as I had in the past. I feel like I have gotten back on track with myself. I still keep my book in the nightstand and every once in a while I open the pages and reminisce on my happy thoughts.

If you're feeling sad, lonely or have somehow lost your way, you just might need to rediscover your own happy thoughts. Get a notebook, a scratch pad or a blank book and put it by your bed. Take note of the happiness in your life. It just might change your world.

Unless...

Mark was on the road a week or so ago and during some downtime he had, he pulled up Netflix on his computer and looked for a movie to kill some time. He ended up browsing the documentary section and ran across a movie that piqued his interest. It's called 180˚ South. He really liked the movie. He told me that it changed his way of thinking and that I needed to watch it. I told him "Oh yeah, I'll have to watch it." But, what I was really thinking was "I'll get around to it sometime." And that's where I left it.

Then, Mark was home last week and suggested that I turn on the movie and watch it. So, I curled up on the couch and prepared myself for the inevitable boredom that was about to engulf me. I'm not a big fan of documentaries. To me, most documentaries are sad. I guess they can be inspiring at times, but they are usually about someone/something that is oppressed and I just get upset. So, for my own self-interest, I just stay away from things that make me sad.

Except, this movie was REALLY GOOD. You need to find it. You need to watch it. I liked it so much that I made both Tyson and Goose watch it. They agreed with me. Great movie.

IMDB.com says The film follows adventurer Jeff Johnson as he retraces the epic 1968 journey of his heroes Yvon Chouinard and Doug Tompkins to Patagonia. It was more than that. True, the adventure was pretty awe-inspiring, but it was the beauty and the simplicity of the film that struck me. Our earth is splendid. And we're killing it.

You and I probably won't see the effect of our choices. But, I promise you, our grandchildren and their children will experience fall-out from the decisions that we have put into play. I'm not naive enough to think that corporations will stop building, or that we will stop the cultivation of the natural resources surrounding us.

But I do think quite often about waste. I think about how we are in charge of our own decisions. Nope, I can't stop some of the big stuff, but I can control what I do.

The following statement is from the movie: "It's easy for us to blindly consume, when we don't see the effects it has on other places. The hardest thing in the world is to simplify your life, it's so easy to make it complex. What's important is leading an examined life because most of the damaged caused by humans is caused unintentionally, I think. And in response to people saying,'You can't go back.'  I say, 'Well what happens when you get to the edge of the cliff. Do you take one step forward or do 180° turn and take one step forward? Which is progress?' The solution to many of the world's problems may be to turn around and to take a forward step. You can't just keep trying to make a flawed system work."

 “Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot, Nothing is going to get better. It's not.” 

-Dr. Seuss