Mom--Why I am who I am

There have been many "mothers" in my life and each one has contributed to me being the person I am today. It started, obviously with my grandmothers, Grandma McQuiston and Grandma Talcott. Grandma Talcott, my mom's mom lived in Iowa so I didn't get to see her much. But I do remember visiting her home when I was 6 and hiding under her bed with my cousin Caroline until the thunder and lightening storm passed. I remember her coming to visit and she was so sympathetic to my brother when he come home from two a day football practices sore from head to toe. I remember going to visit her in California right before she passed away. I envy that my sister was able to know her more than I but I know enough to know that the compassion, intelligence and devotion passed to me from my own mom came from her. Grandma McQuiston, my dad's mom lived in Tacoma and as luck would have it, in her older years I had the privilege of spending a lot of time with her. She was an amazing woman who raised 6 sons through the depression, lost one to WWII, but managed to do whatever was necessary to make those around her happy. Like many senior citizens, she lived on a very limited income but when I was headed to college she took me shopping and bought me a winter coat and a nightgown for the cold winters of Pullman. I saw how she adored my dad, and he adored her, and I saw how this lead to his devotion to her in her final years. She gave this to me and I was able to then give back to my dad in a similar way in his final years.

Without question, my own mother gave to me in more ways that I can know. I ran across this picture of my mom when she was a girl with her dog, Jiggs. I am certain I did this same thing with my dog Darby many times. I wonder if I would have the love of dogs that I have now if my mom had not shared that with me?

Jean Talcott Wicks was really a pioneer in many ways. She was one of the first women in the first group of Navy Waves during WWII where she worked on airplanes. After I was born, she went back to school at UPS and graduated with a teaching degree. Imagine how hard that must have been with four kids! When I went to Kindergarten I got to sit in her second grade class in the afternoon and, although I would not realize it until later in life, I learned what an amazing person she was with such an inherent ability to understand people and their individual needs. I am sure my two sons who are now both teachers got much of this from her.

My mom was also fun loving. She acted in local theater groups. She insisted on family outings in spite of things that may have needed to be done at home. She went along with my dad's craziness at the state photography conventions, this photo is just one example of that. Note: She is wearing one my costumes from Carousel!

But I think most of all, my mom helped me become the Queen of the Beach. Rather than feel it was beneath her to move to Day Island and rent a small house which was slightly tilted with many other odd quirks, she embraced the fact that we were literally 10 feet off of the beach. Until then, I never knew that my mother, raised in the landlocked land of Iowa, was really a beach sole. We spent many days walking on the beach together and had those kinds of talks that are so often not shared these days. She loved days when the storms would hit and the waves would crash against the rocks splashing salt water onto our porch or window. It's easy to love the beach on sunny, warm days but she loved it most on those stormy days. I think that is why she understood my love for the water, my need to stay out in the water or on the shore all day, searching for firewood for our little trash burner on the stove or for treasures that washed up into the rocks, hiding, waiting to be found. How special I feel to have had these times with my mom. I prefer to remember those time and not the later years of her declining health. That is what she would want.

I have aunts, nieces, a sister, and friends who are all wonderful mothers. Terri has given so much love to her babies, Ray and Aaron I know it is hard for her to see her son growing up so much. All I can say is hang in there and know that what you have done for him will always be remembered. Jen devotes herself to her children, Alex and Maddie. They have had more experiences in their short lives than I gave even to my own kids and that was quite a bit. It is my fervent hope that someday these two nieces and four great nieces and nephews can someday get together and understand how special each is in their own way. And Briana is the newest mother of Haywood. She has many great examples from whom to learn and take what she wants from and I am most certain that she will excel in her motherhood. How could she not with a grandmother like my mom.

Finally, I am very fortunate to have a mother-in-law who has really taken over the role of mother for me since my own mother passed away. She will be 90 on her next birthday and she is as vital now as ever. I know from experience how hard it is to see your son grow up and move on in life and for her to take me in and love me as unconditionally as if she were my own mother is an experience I sincerely hope that I will be able to share with my future daughter-in-laws.

So, whoever you are, you are someones child or grandchild and if nothing else, today is a day to think about who you are today and how these special people helped you to get there.

Survival turns to living

I was talking to my very good friend on the phone who lives at Salmon Beach. I follow his blog so check it out if you can. Anyway, I was telling him that I was thinking of changing my blog name to "Queen of the Beach" at the suggestion of my son. This came up after my previous post about dogs in my life. And my friend made the comment that I had survived. I had to think for a minute and indeed, I have survived. There is no longer a need for "Empty Nester Survival".

Survival has turned to living. I guess it is kind of like an accident victim. If the wounds are deep, they need intensive, round the clock care and life as they know it is even in jeopardy. But then, those wounds begin to slowly heal due to that intensive care. At that point they have survived but they have not healed. That takes time. That takes the "one day at a time" philosophy. So they make small strides in their recovery and one day, suddenly they are back to where they were before. Finally, they realize the can live again.

The great thing is that looking to the future, my sons will be such a big part of my living, loving and being happy. I think, no I know, we will always stay connected, they will never be too far away, permanently anyway. The things our parents were able to enjoy with them will be things my husband and I can enjoy with them and whatever families they may have. And, if they never left home this wouldn't be the case. So, it just took me longer than most to realize this.

I have so much to look forward to. I am so lucky to have my life, my husband, my sons and everything that a future with them holds. I have survived. I am living again!

Happy May Day

I realized driving in to work today that it was May 1st, May Day. Most people will say so what but to me, this day has lots of special memories.

May Day Celebrations have their root in history. Check it out: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/May_Day.

In the United States, and what I remember of this day, is the celebration of flowers. I remember growing up and making little paper baskets in school. We would cut strips of different colored paper and weave them together to form a square and then roll that square into a cone, add one strip as a handle and then it was ready to put freshly cut flowers into it. I usually found dandelions and scotch broom for my mom. We always had a May Day Festival at school also. Every class would march out to the playground with their little chairs and form their groups watching the other classes do their little performances, waiting in nervous anticipation for their own moment in the spotlight. Wow, I haven't thought about that in years!

I always loved getting up on May Day because I would go around the neighborhood and put the traditional May Day Baskets of flowers on certain doors. On Day Island, there was an old couple at the end of the road, really ancient to a 10 year old girl. Mr. and Mrs. Dean were fairly reclusive in their lifestyle and most people were quite frankly afraid of them. I, however, being the Queen of the Beach, had come to know them and they weren't scary at all. I loved putting a May Basket on their door, ringing the doorbell and running away. The tradition is that if they open the door and catch you, then they would kiss you. Glad I didn't know about that tradition then.

At some point in my maturation I stopped doing this. But then when I had kids, I thought it would be fun to revive it for them. I can't remember if they still made May Baskets in school by then. But our yard had an entire row of Pinks that would be in bloom right around this time so I would have the boys pick some Pinks and put them together for the neighbors, The Watsons and Cliff and Barb. I would make them sneak up to the doorsteps and put the flowers there, ring the doorbell and run away. The joy this brought to me was only equalled by the humiliation that showed on their faces each time I made them do it (although I think that deep down they did secretly enjoy it).

So, on this May Day, remember to be extra nice to your neighbors and if the urge strikes, surprise someone with flowers. You'll be surprised how good it makes you feel.

Man's Best Friend

I was going through some old photos looking for something and found lots of memories. Since it has been such a long time since I posted, I thought I would share some of those memories.

Last night I talked to my son who is happy to be heading back home to a new place and if all goes well, he would possibly like to get a dog. While a dog is a lot of responsibility and would limit the free roaming lifestyle I know he embraces, I simply can't say it is a bad thing. Thus, my thoughts on dogs I have loved.

My first dog was named Dinky, a family dog. I have vague memories of him but he was tragically run over in our driveway on 29th street when he went out to greet the truck coming up the driveway. This was my first brush with death of any kind but thankfully, being as young as I was, my memory of that pain is not so strong now.

Then, when I was 8 years old, the family got a puppy for Christmas. This was to be the beginning of the most special relationship of my childhood.

Naming a dog is almost as important as naming a baby. It can shape their whole personality in my opinion. This puppy was named Darby. The story goes that on Christmas morning, my sister called him "here doggy" and everyone thought she said Darby and when we repeated it, it stuck. My parents had really been against getting another dog but more than being against that, they wanted to give their children pretty much whatever they wanted and that being a dog, they got a dog. He was the runt of the litter at the B & I Variety store in Tacoma. The purchase price was cheap but getting him treated for his various ailments wasn't.

It didn't take long for Darby to really become my dog. My sister left for college shortly after that, my oldest brother went into the Navy and my youngest brother was more involved with sports, girls and teenage life. When we moved to Day Island when I was 10, Darby stayed by my side and really was my best friend. Darby became the ultimate beach dog and I soon earned the nickname "Queen of the Beach", given to me by the four bartenders who inhabited bungalows at the end of the Day Island Spit. I would spend hours on the beach, in the water and climbing the rocks, always with Darby. But Darby didn't need me to enjoy the beach. All I had to say was "the tide is out" and Darby would run to the beach and play. He would turn over rocks and chase the crabs, he would wade into the water and roust up flat fish to chase and on hot days, he would just swim. No need to throw a stick, he would just swim.

Darby got into his share of trouble. One morning Mom had made a whole platter of bacon and eggs but all of us got up too late to eat it so Mom fed it all to Darby. I got home from school and Darby's face was as big as a balloon. Turns out Darby was allergic to that much protein. Another time, Darby ate half of the anniversary cake I had made for Mom and Dad, never mind the fact I had hidden it under my bed. Darby chewed a lot too, enough said of that. But the biggest incident was when a neighbor who was fed up with our dog in her yard decided it was perfectly acceptable to pour motor oil on him. So, when he came into the house, he just looked wet like he always was but when he rolled on the carpet, it turned black. We got new carpet.

Darby died in my senior year of high school. We came home, he had been in a fight of some sort and had wounds on his neck. That apparently released a dormant cancer that quickly took over. But I think Darby knew it was his time. I was leaving for college, Day Island had passed a leash law that would have killed him anyway. No longer my first experience with death but definitely the hardest and I still remember the pain.

I then went through college, a year studying abroad in Germany, and got my own place in Tacoma, the downstairs of a house. By that time I had met my husband and while we tried to hide it from my parents, for all intents and purposes, he lived with me in that house. The next natural progression was to get a dog, right? We found Beau at the pound. Beau was a yellow lab puppy, as close to purebred as I think you could get. Soon after bringing him home, the landlord found out and kicked us out. We found another house, upstairs this time and Beau helped us reveal our living arrangements to my parents, out of necessity. It was okay.

Beau took us through our younger years as a couple. He was with us on our 16 day honeymoon camping in Western Montana. I can't imagine it without him. He moved with us to Conconully where he loved to go into the woods when we cut our firewood for the year, go fishing and jump into the water scaring them off or just lay in the sun on a lazy summer day. Beau was there to welcome home both of our sons when they were born. We had to share baby toys with him so he wouldn't get jealous. Beau moved back to Gig Harbor with us and for the first time in his life was mellow enough to just be allowed outside without being tied up or contained and I like to think the last years of his life were the best.

Beau had epilepsy, probably the result of getting hit by a bicycle when he was a puppy, and sometimes had seizures. I still have a scar on my arm from a scratch I got holding him down during one. He was so strong. It was on February 17th, 1990 when Beau was 12 years old, on my son's 4th birthday, that Beau went outside in 1 1/2 feet of snow and suffered what we think was a heart attack and died on the floor of living room with all of around. We buried him that day in the back yard of the house we were buying and Beau was with us until we moved from there. This was the first time I had to try to explain death to my sons. I definitely remember that pain, more for them than myself.

It's hard to lose a dog and equally as hard to decide to get another one. After all, the end is ultimately going to be the same, right? But when you 9 year old son decides that he wants a puppy for Christmas, just like my parents, we had to get it. Santa found a little female yellow lab puppy on a farm in Puyallup. She was only 4 1/2 weeks old on Christmas Eve but she was brought home, stayed with the neighbor until early Christmas morning and Santa delivered her. That was such a special Christmas morning and little did we know, it was the beginning of so many adventures, ups and downs. involving this dog over the next 16 years. We named her Murphy Brown.

This post is already so long and to do Murphy justice, I really should devote an entire post to her. My sons grew up with her. She was part greyhound or whippet and could run faster than any dog I have ever seen and jump so high. She would jump up to the top bunk to sleep with my youngest son every night. He would torment her but she seemed to love it and while my oldest son was her master, my youngest son was her friend and he got the best end of the deal.

Murphy chewed more than any animal I have ever seen. Nothing was off limits. Boxes in the garage were destroyed, including my entire journal from my year in Germany, not her finest hour. Before we moved, she had destroyed the insulation blanket on the hot water heater, chewed up the plastic sink in the garage, starting with the legs and working her way up and had made quite a dent in the wood studs and sill plates.

Her master went away to college, we moved to a new home with hardwood floors. She had a hard time dealing with that and shortly after that, she became paralyzed. I was coming home from Mom's Weekend in Pullman and got a call that something was wrong, she couldn't move anything but her head. I got home and we took her to an emergency veterinary clinic. It was determined she had ruptured a disk in her neck. Apparently, all that jumping and disintegrated the disk and some sort of sudden move, possibly on the hardwood floors, had caused it to rupture. When we carried her out of the house that night, our son said "Please bring her back to me". She was 11 years old. It would have been logical to have her put down at that point but not after that. We ended up taking her over to WSU where the only doggie neurologist was at the vet school there. She ended up having a cervical fusion surgery, stayed there for 2 weeks with her master visiting her every day and then she came home. Her friend had to come home from school every day for about 6 weeks and walk her with a towel to support her spine but she slowly but surely got better. She never ran or jumped like she did before but she was able to spend another 5 years with us.

Murphy was the first dog I had where the decision to have her put down had to be made. It was by far the hardest thing I have ever done. My husband spent the day with her laying in the sun in the yard, taking care of her. My sons, having moved on in their lives, were able to meet us at the vet's and we all said goodbye as she peacefully moved on. Even now this brings tears to my eyes. I wonder if it was her time or if we should have done more. She trusted us though and I think it was the right thing to do. We brought her home and buried her in the yard she loved. My son and I planted flowers and a tree over her and I still talk to her there sometimes.

That was almost 2 years ago and maybe someday I will be ready for another dog but not now. I have had all the best over the years. Why mess with that. But understanding what these dogs, best friends, brought to my life, how can I tell my son it isn't wise to get dog? I can't. In fact, I think it is vitally important in life. In fact, I look forward to having a grandog.