Doing The Right Thing

July 17, 2012

Grandpa Bill with Patrick, Baby Coree and Troy 1997

What a whirlwind week.  We received the news of Bill's passing, and it sent us on a roller coaster ride...both emotionally and logistically.  I've read somewhere, or heard it said (or maybe both) that grief is magnified when you've been estranged from a family member who passes away.  It sounded reasonable to me, but I never really gave it that much thought until I was watching my husband try to navigate through it.  I don't have anything to compare it with, since I've never lost an immediate family member (estranged or otherwise) but it makes sense.  It adds another whole dimension to the process.  Instead of looking back on fond memories and loving bonds, you have heartache and regret.  There is no closure.  The relationship won't be "fixed" in this life.  It drudges up old wounds...and the complexity of the situation makes casual conversation about the passing difficult...and unfortunately, since getting a family back to the USA from overseas to attend the funeral involves a ton of conversation, it wasn't always pleasant this week.  

We learned first hand that the less you say, the better.  A heart-felt, "I'm so sorry for your loss" is really all that's needed.  Sympathy cards are awesome.  Probing questions are not helpful.  I told Cliff the next time someone asked if he and his dad were "close," he needed to answer with, "No, but thank you for reminding me that my dad was an alcoholic who never really had the capacity to love me, who shut me out of his life, regardless of my attempts to reach him."  I know people mean well, and I'm certain I've said plenty of dumb things myself, but it was a lesson to me to try my best to think about the possible answers to the questions before asking them.  It hurt my heart SO much to listen to him try to field these kinds of remarks graciously.  On the flip-side, I appreciated SO much those who were so kind and reached out to him, encouraged him to go to the funeral, and bent over backward to make sure it happened (even though Cliff is covering three jobs this summer...which meant others would have to pick up lots of slack).

Anyway, for the first few hours after we got the news, we didn't even think we'd go back for the funeral.  We didn't know if there was going to be a funeral.  His dad's wife was completely bewildered, her sister was trying to help from Alaska, Cliff was trying to help from Japan.  It was just madness.  Because of the time difference, we were making lots of late night and early morning phone calls.  We were trying to figure out what family members could come and when, as well as the details of the arrangements, the obituary, travel, etc.  Most family members didn't think they'd be able to attend, but as the days went on, things started to come together.  Schedules were rearranged, hearts were softened, plans were made, and Cliff put together a funeral from across the ocean.  I was in awe.  It would have been easy to bow out.  In addition to all the other factors (which would cause most anyone to give him a "free pass" from involvement).....we live on the other side of the world, for Pete's sake!  But in spite of it all, he did the right thing, and poured his heart into the arrangements.  Even though his dad wasn't a member, the local LDS ward where his dad lived was so generous in offering their help.  We were overwhelmed by their kindness.

So, tomorrow we start our journey to make the best of things.  Will there be family drama?  Psshhh...we're counting on it.  But we're also counting on the healing that gathering with loved-ones will bring...with people we won't even have to say a word to, because they'll get what a giant, soup-sandwich the whole situation has been, and they will help share the emotional burden.  Most importantly, Cliff will do his best to honor his dad the best he can...and have no regrets about it.

Royal Wedding

I brought home a special treat from Hawaii. (Besides the dark chocolate covered macadamia nuts.) A wheezing, hacking cough. It started subtly on the plane, but has increased to the point that walking from my room to the laundry room leaves me winded. I know. I just did it. My lungs are screaming.

Also, Cliff left town for a conference, which has only compounded the suckage. I think it will be good for him, though. He needs some down time. After the conference, he's going to go spend some time with good, old friends who I am confident will give him the TLC he is in need of. I wish I could go too. I could use some TLC.


Instead, I watched this. (An actual photo of my TV screen.) I don't know if you've had this same experience...but my Facebook newsfeed has been lit-up with people saying things like, "What wedding? Someone is getting married?" or "who cares about a blanking royal wedding" or disparaging comments about marriage in general. It's almost like they think the hating will make them look edgy and cool or something. It doesn't. It's just boring. If you don't want to watch it...Don't. There you go. I happen to think it is romantic. And it's watching a piece of history in the making. Maybe it also has something to do with feeling like I found my prince twenty years ago? I don't know. (Have you seen Cliff in his dress blues? Insert tongue trill here.)

Anyway, I thoroughly enjoyed the diversion. It reminded me of my mom turning on the TV back in 1981 to watch Charles and Diana's wedding. Until that moment, had no idea there were princes and princesses outside the Wonderful World of Disney. My little mind was blown.

I'll take a royal wedding over most of the garbage on TV any day of the week and twice on Sunday. I just wish I could have watched it with my prince. He probably wouldn't want me to cough on him anyway and would go play XBox Madden Football. Come to think of it, I don't think it would take wheezing to drive him out of the room if I turned on the royal wedding. That's OK, he's still my Prince Charming. I wonder if princesses get sick?

Surgery Day

Our day started out bright and early. No need to make time for breakfast with Jake's NPO status, so that bought us another thirty minutes of sleep. I was absolutely dreading going through the two-hour, pre-op appt. With good reason. I spoke to my friend Heidi about it last night, and she said it's not a pleasant experience. You are just basically shuffled around from room to room, signing in at each station to wait to have things explained to (and questions asked of) you. {Heidi's hubs is an LDS Army chaplain and we've gotten to know them through our October conferences over the years. They are stationed here.}

As soon as we arrived on the floor, I realized something. With all of the craziness in the clinic over the past couple of days...at least no one was rude. These nurses behind the counter on the surgical ward were just plain mean and nasty. I seriously wanted to ask if they were always this rude to people, or if I was just special. I was yelled at twice for standing in the wrong spot. I'm not kidding you. It's not like it was obvious or intuitive...I was just following the signs. {"Oh...I'm sorry, Nurse Ratched...this says 'check in here for surgery.' I didn't realize there was ANOTHER 'check in here for surgery.' Sorry I picked the wrong one."} When we got to the station where a nurse does the vitals and creates the chart, etc., we found out she hadn't gotten the memo that Jake was to be admitted (not an outpatient). This would mean a totally different chart and set of forms. She was obviously ticked and couldn't get a hold of the Dr. to confirm...and just got more ticked that no one would return her page. That was fun.

After several stations, Jake had his gown, robe and slippers and knew how to use them. We were finally in the last waiting room, ready to speak with the anesthesiologist. Into the room walked Heidi, her husband, and a military Sr. missionary couple. I can't even tell you how wonderful it was to see their shiny, happy, friendly faces. What a blessing! Right behind them came the anesthesiologist, so they waited while we met with him. He was absolutely delightful. Jake couldn't stop cracking up at his iPod playlist. I'm guessing because the music was right off the set of Soul Train, and he was Caucasian and obviously not even yet born in the 70s. While Jake found it amusing, I was thinking, "I could seriously be friends with this guy."

When we came back into the waiting room, Lee (Heidi's husband) mentioned there was a meditation chapel just around the corner. We went to the counter to tell Nurse Ratched and Co. that we were just going to go around the corner to the chapel for a few minutes, and she went into overdrive with "WHERE are you going? WHAT is the patient's name" in a tone usually reserved for someone who has just thrown your bike in a ditch. I couldn't help it, I turned around to Heidi and said (so anyone could hear me), "Do you see what I was talking about?" Strangely enough, her demeanor changed...as if I had just held up a mirror to her behavior.

In the chapel, we were able to shut out all of the craziness, rudeness and anxiety...and just focus on peace and each other. Lee and the Elder gave blessings to Jake and me, which was so helpful. Cliff had given us blessings before we left, but with all that had transpired, it was so nice to be brought back to center again. After a few minutes, they left...promising to come visit again tomorrow...and Jake and I made our way back to the waiting room. About 15 minutes later, a nurse came to lead us to the OR.

This is where Jake started to panic. "I'm not ready for this...I'm not ready to give up walking yet!" Hearing the panic in his voice was heartbreaking...but we had come this far, and needed to just push forward, so I just stayed calm and told him he could do it, it would all be OK. Jake got gowned-up and climbed into his bed to wait for his turn. In a matter of minutes, the surgeon came out and talked to us for a few minutes. Then the anesthesiologist tried to start the IV. Even though they had put patches on his hands to numb the skin, Jake panicked some more at the thought of the needle. He offered to give Jake the mask instead, but warned the gas had a very strange smell. Jake wanted him to describe the gas, but he had nothing to compare it to. {Jake later described it as a cross between BO, diesel fuel, onions and cilantro.} Then Jake wanted to know if he was going to dream. Then he asked how many people were going to be in the room.

By now, I'm getting the feeling Jake is just looking for ways to stall. He opted for the mask, and then the anesthesiologist asked Jake if he wanted ME to scrub up and accompany them into the OR and wait until he's asleep. I know Jake really doesn't need this, but of course, he agrees to the suggestion. Unfortunately, by this point it's after noon, I haven't eaten anything either, and I'm starting to feel sick. The thought of being in the OR makes it worse. I've just been waiting for them to wheel him in, so I can eat something and take something for my headache before I start dry heaving.

Luckily, Jake was understanding when I explained that I was feeling sick and needed to take some medicine, and agreed that I should just walk him to the OR door. I followed them to the point of no return, kissed him, told him I loved him...turned around and {surprise} started to cry. It was just a tension release, I'm sure. I knew he was in good hands...knew he was going to be fine and that this was for the best...but it was still stressful.

While I waited, besides getting some miso udon noodle soup and taking some Motrin, I went and got the temporary handicapped placard for the rental car, and picked up a little something for Jake to cuddle with when he woke up:


What can I say, he's not the teddy bear type.

I was only back in the waiting room for about twenty minutes when they came in to get me, so it wasn't too bad at all. Jake spent two hours in recovery...he just wouldn't wake up. It was actually not too different than any other morning. He's always been a sleeper. The surgeon said things went great..two incisions...one on the foot, one on his calf, just above the ankle, to lengthen his tendons (which should improve his poor range of motion). Jake was now the proud owner of a dead guy's foot bone. How many kids can say that?

As I watched him stir, trying to fight his way out of his sleep, I had a vivid flashback almost twelve years earlier, back to the day (a week into his PICU stay) he was finally being allowed to come out of his drug-induced coma, with the hope that they could try extubation. I was dangling a necklace, back and forth, over his hand...trying to tickle him awake. I'll never forget the moment his eyes finally fluttered open and he tried to focus on the charms and moved his hand to grasp them. When he saw me, a big smile flashed across his face...but then his little face quickly crumpled into tears (but he couldn't really cry around the vent). Back then, we were only sent about an hour away to the nearest major military hospital, for what ended up being a two week stay (although a much scarier one). Now we are thousands of miles from home for almost twice that long...but again, just the two of us.



Jake at six months, during his PICU stay after contracting Infantile Botulism.


Anyway, as he did get more wakeful, he started expressing lots of regret...wishing he had never agreed to the surgery. He was complaining about numbness in his leg (turns out he just didn't realize the cast was what was keeping him from feeling the sheets) and pain in his good heel (maybe from the way it was resting during the surgery). Finally, he was awake enough for us to head up to the pediatric ward.

They have been really wonderful up here...and it is such a relief, I can't even express it. Why can't everyone be this lovely to deal with? I'm so glad we are staying the night. When I think about having to take him home in this condition, it just blows my mind. He's so groggy and anxious. Luckily, the chair folds out into a bed that is actually comfortable, so I can stay right here with him. (Beats the recliner I slept upright in,back at the PICU). There are three other beds in the room, but we have it to ourselves, at least for now.

Goodnight!

Our life as a dog family

My favorite picture, ever.


Since the last post was already so long, I felt like I really needed to do write what I wanted to say in two parts. The other post talked about her death, but I wanted to talk about her life, too.



This was our second Christmas with Brownie.

We adopted Brownie in August of 2001. As a 3 year old dog, she found herself being picked up as a stray by the animal shelter in San Diego. She had been there for two weeks when my friend Leah and I dropped by to look at another dog entirely. When that dog turned out not to be a good match, the handler asked what we were looking for in a dog. All of the dogs looking for homes were pictured on a giant display board. When we told her the traits we were looking for (patient, durable, able to accept a lot of affection, not a barker, a good therapy dog for a two year old with sensory issues) the handler looked them all over and pointed to our {then nameless} Brownie. She said she was the best behaved dog they had there, but people were leery of her breed. Leah mentioned Rottweilers were used extensively in pet therapy...so I said, "Bring her out so I can meet her."



This is Cliff's homecoming from his first deployment to Iraq. She made such a fool of herself over him.


I don't know if you believe in love at first sight, but I tell you...it was. I just fell in love with her. (I still remember that moment.) We went to a visiting pen and the handler showed me what she was trained to do. I was amazed watching her obedience and affection. She had Brownie down on the ground on her back, pinching her paw-pads, pulling her ears...and she just soaked all of it in like it was a good time. The handler said, "I would have bitten me by now...I'm really pinching her hard." Brownie could sit, lay down, stay, fetch and shake on command. (We later taught her others, like 'roll-over' and 'wait' and 'high-five'.) She was in perfect health and had obviously been well loved. I called Cliff to bring the rest of the family to meet her, and they were sold, too. We brought her home that day and have loved her ever since. We chose her name unanimously on the ride home. The Stuarts love brownies. We make them a LOT. Only, Stuart brownies do not have nuts in them. In place of the nuts, we substitute a bag of peanut butter chips. Brownie's eyebrows reminded us of little peanut butter chips floating in brownie batter. That's where her name came from.



She was really good at finding the comfiest places to nap.


Our entire identity changed. We were now a "dog family". We bought all kinds of cheesy, personalized Rottweiler paraphernalia...signs, doormats, windchimes, Christmas ornaments. We became familiar with every dog park and dog beach in town. The groomers knew her by name and when we called for her monthly bath appt, the response after asking "What is you dog's name?" was always, "Awwww! I LOOOVE Brownie!"



Balboa Park Dog Park. One of our favorites.


She helped children (and adults) get over their fear of big dogs. Once, a very aggressive 5 year old ran across the room, leaped into the air and landed on Brownie, knees first. (It's no wonder this child had been bitten by a dog before.) Brownie yelped louder than I've ever heard, jumped up and ran across the room...but did nothing to the child. We always said Brownie reminded us of Nana on Peter Pan...or even Carl in the "Good Dog, Carl" books. I really think I could have left her in charge of them and they would have been fine. She would try to tongue-bathe the kids, even sometimes pinning-down arms or feet to keep them from escaping while she did the job right.



Life is just better with a dog.


Brownie loved the trampoline. On doggie playdates, she'd jump up on it, leaving the other dogs to stand there protesting her superior look. If the kids were on it, she'd jump up, too...and just lay there enjoying the freedom of the bounce. I've never seen another dog do that.



Poor thing. Desperate for her own bed, but the cat's will have to do.


Brownie wasn't perfect, by any stretch of the imagination. She was prone to wander (although this did get better as she settled into the idea that we were her forever family). She knew how to open screen doors with her nose...and how to climb furniture and punch out window screens. We had to be careful how close the trampoline was to the fence, because she'd use it to bound into the neighbor's yard and out. She would always come home (or we'd get a call from someone saying, "I think I have your dog"). And every time we found her, she'd duck down in shame, walking slowly toward us, knowing she'd done something wrong. We do think this is probably how she ended up at the shelter in the first place. Her previous owners probably just got tired of looking for her.



The kids brought Cliff breakfast in bed for Father's Day. Anytime there was excitement in the air, she could sense it and had to be in the middle, so of course she had to jump up on the bed with him.


I think Brownie would eat anything but frozen broccoli. But she would never try to take it while we were looking. She was the sneakiest, smartest dog I've ever known. If I saw her pass my room headed down the hall, I knew I'd better check on her quick. She would always be on my heels, laying right by my door...if she passed by, it meant she was casing the joint...making sure we were all occupied before she went "in for the kill" on some forgotten about food left on the table. We had to keep the trashcan shut in the pantry, all counters cleared and nothing left on the table for a minute. "You snooze, you lose" was her motto. If we forgot and left the pantry door open and left the house, not only would she shred the trash, but she'd help herself to whatever dry goods she could tear open, too. Lasagna noodles? Ciao! Pearled Barley? ByeBye! Seaweed? Sayonara! If we came home and she wasn't at the door to greet us, we knew what that meant...we failed to properly secure the house and she was hiding in shame.



Our last Christmas with Brownie.


As maddening as her antics were at times, I couldn't stay mad for long. They were small prices to pay considering how awesome she was in every other area. She never barked without reason...and by reason, I don't mean someone ringing the doorbell. She barked once or twice a year...usually startling us into remembering she could make noise. She loved other dogs...loved to play. And even though little dogs were often afraid to see her coming, they didn't need to be. She would adjust the level of her play to the size of the dog. She was so gentle.



She would follow me around like this all day.



She was my constant companion...following me as I went about my day...from the laundry room, to the bedroom, bathroom, kitchen, you name it. She just wanted to be with me. She made us feel safe. Through four deployments, she was such a comfort to all of us. There was just something about her presence. She didn't pester...other than her calm "pet me, you'll feel better" nudge she was famous for. She would just be with you. She was happy to be with us anywhere...whether that be a 2500 sf home, or six months in a 27' travel trailer...back in the USA, or across the ocean in Japan, she didn't care...she was happy with her people.

I don't know when I'll stop thinking I see her out of the corner of my eye, lying in a big furry heap, only to realize it's just a discarded jacket. I don't know when the impulse to secure the pantry and counters, before I leave the house, will stop. I don't know how long I'll think I hear her tags jingling down the hallway...or when walking by the dogfood section in the store will stop being so painful. But I am grateful I can still see her big brown eyes and adorable eyebrows in my mind...and that I can remember how her fur and her squishy neck-rolls felt. I am grateful for the imprint she has left on my heart forever.

You love who you serve...this is true. Before we got a dog of our own, I couldn't imagine having to pick up poop, or dog vomit, or torn-up bags of trash, or deal with constantly vacuuming shedding hair. I once had someone express thoughts about why anyone would want to sign up for any of that. But when it's your own dog, it's different. When she is a member of your family, you deal with or overlook the bad because the good is so worth it. You see the difference she makes in you children's lives...and through serving her, you learn to love her more than you thought you could love a furry thing, ever.

I'm so grateful to Brownie for turning us into dog people. I know we're better for it.

We Will Never Forget

November 11, 2001

It's hard to believe that this was nine years ago. I can't think about September 11th, without some degree of PTSD flashbacks. It was such an awful, awful time that was nearly my undoing. Since it was only the beginning of years of turmoil for our family, I'm grateful I was able to pull myself out of the hopeless, depressed state I was in, and live life again. (It's been too good to miss!)

We will once again be observing via the Internet (since it is still September 10th in the USA). Most of you have already read this, I'm sure...but if you haven't and care to know what we were doing on 9/11/01...please check it out.

Never forget...but don't stop living, either. God Bless America!

And That's No BS

Let me start by getting off-track. I'm wondering how many times I can reference Facebook on my blog in a week before people think I spend all my time there? I do have a life, honest. I even blog about it. But Facebook is my connection back to the USA, so I check it every day. I don't do any games or other applications. I refuse to poke people, or send them hearts or flowers. I simply scan my newsfeed and enjoy the glimpse into the daily lives of people I care about, and see if I can return the favor with anything worthwhile.

Anyway...there is a Facebook group called, "You know you've lived in Okinawa when..." that went viral. I haven't actually checked it in months (because it was getting redundant) but it was so much fun to laugh at the common experiences I've had with others, being an American living on Okinawa. One of the items I saw listed repeatedly had me baffled.

"You see a man walking his bull down a busy street like it's no big deal."

OR

"You see a man taking his bull for a walk by the nose."

What?! How had I missed this? Where would one find a man walking a bull down the street? A couple of people mentioned the area near Camp McTureous, which is just north of us but on the Pacific side of the island. I rarely get over there, but decided I'd have to go sometime just to witness the man walking the bull.

Well, on our way back from Peace Prayer Park today (which was a fabulous experience I will blog about later) on the very southern tip of the island, I saw a sight that led me to near-hyperventilation and back-seat-driving ("Oh my gosh! Honey...turn around! Turn around!!!")

We were on a very busy street, but Cliff made the next possible U-turn as I grabbed my camera. He pulled off on a side street and I bolted out of the van to capture this:




Just like people said.



And there's the rope through the nose. (Look at the first picture. You can barely see it...but if you look closely, you can see the knot at the end of the rope in his other nostril.) This is ALL the control this man has of his bull. He was so gentle. I even got to pet him.



The man was so patient. He gave the bull the command to stop when he saw me coming (he's probably used to crazy, camera-wielding Americans) and he just waited patiently for me to get my fill. He made a few size jokes with hand gestures (about the bull...not me) and then I reluctantly left the scene...



And he continued his walk, turning down the hill, toward his farm. All in a day's work, I suppose.

It made me wax a little nostalgic for this.

I love this place!

Gold Stars

My oldest two boys are like chocolate and peanut butter. They always have been. Born 19 months apart...it's hard to remember Troy without Patrick. I wouldn't want to think of one without the other...they are thick as thieves, those two. Their personalities are so different. Troy is calm, introverted, reflective, go-with-the-flow, with a surprisingly subtle sense of humor. Patrick is a raging extrovert...and while he has always had a serious, thoughtful side...he's mostly dynamic, confident, "if you don't like me, your loss", wild-and-crazy.

When I think back on the years raising these beautiful boys, thousands of random moments flash through my mind: Blanket sleepers, two boys in a tub, road trips, camping trips, pushing them in the jogging stroller, sweet baby curls, chubby cheeks, arm rolls poking out of little tank tops, making cookies, matching outfits, swimming, snowsuits, bedtime stories, Barney, Thomas the Tank Engine, Buzz and Woody, Star Wars, Hobbits, Harry Potter, matching sandals that light up with each step as they run...squealing, "DADDY!!!" (Man, that's the good stuff!) And as they grow into men in these next couple of months and years, I still see them like this. I still want to hold them, still find them adorable, still delight in their friendship and swell with pride in their milestones. When they have families of their own...oh my goodness, I'm going to be a force to be reckoned with! (I just hope their wives like me.)

It wasn't until recently, that I thought of my sweet grandmother in this context. My Great-Grandma Nellie Parks ("Sugar Grandma") was an angel. I feel so blessed that I actually got to know her and have precious memories of her. But I just knew her as a very old woman (albeit an old woman who always seemed to just be delighted with my presence) without really relating to her life.

Even as a little girl I knew she was anxiously engaged in doing good. She was in her 80s and still doing volunteer work at the VA hospital with disabled vets. She continually gathered clothing and household donations for a nearby Indian reservation. She was actively involved in veterans organizations. She was the wife of a WWI navy veteran (an aviation rigger first class and pioneer in naval aviation)...and she earned a title none of us ever aspire to.....Gold Star Mother.

You see, Sugar Grandma also had two cherished, delightful, hand-and-glove little boys. Fishing, skinny dipping, ditching school, running around barefoot, little buds...who lived a life in San Diego, California that was straight out of a movie. (As my dad says it, they had a "Little Rascals" childhood.) My Grandpa Tom, born there at Balboa Naval Hospital, was the youngest and the quiet one...his older brother Jim was the outgoing one.



I think about how proud she must have been of her boys...the hopes she had for their future. Uncle Jim joined the Navy in 1937, following in his dad's footsteps... and his little brother Tom wasn't far behind, enlisting in 1939. They both served in the Pacific...Jim on the USS Langley (The Navy's first aircraft carrier) and my Grandpa Tom, after unsuccessful attempts to secure orders to the same ship, served as a submariner through the war.

On February 27, 1942...the Langley was hit by Japanese bombers and sunk. Only 16 perished...my Great Uncle Jim was one of them. My grandmother heard the news of the sinking over the radio...and received notice of his MIA status by telegram. After her death in 1980, I remember going through her cedar chest of mementos with my family. In a box of telegrams she saved was the telegram. I can't even imagine what that must have been like to receive it.

That loss left a huge hole in our family. How could it not? I think about what it must have been like for my grandmother through the years. Did she ever wonder what her son's life would have been like? Who he would have married? How many children he would have had? I remember right before I left for boot camp in 1989, my Grandma Corenne telling me that when my Grandpa Tom came back on his first leave after their marriage, he pleaded with her to have a baby. She was taken aback at the thought of having one so soon and initially protested, but my grandpa thought it would do much to heal the void in his parents' hearts.

In January of 1945, my dad was born, bringing much joy and healing to this family. But I still wonder, did Sugar Grandma only experience joy in her remaining son's family...or were there times she was reminded through them what she had lost? When she looked at her grown son, did she flashback (like I do) to her sweet Jimmy and Tommy playing in the back yard, reading them bedtime stories, drying them off after a bath? I don't know how you recover from a loss like that. But recover she did. And was she bitter or ruined? No. She was gracious and loving. Besides serving her family and friends, she recorded more than 10,000 hours volunteering at the VA hospital.

I wish there was some way that as an eight or a ten year old girl, while she was still alive, I could have expressed my gratitude to her, that I could have acknowledged the sacrifice she made for our country...but of course that's not possible. In order to truly appreciate what she lost, I would have to have some idea what she had to lose...which only comes with age and experience.

So I will just say it now, where hopefully in heaven she can hear. Thank you, Sugar Grandma...not only for your sacrifice, but for your legacy. I will never forget.

Milk Cracker Memories

Do you have a food that you associate with a particular childhood memory...like a certain candy or a holiday dish? I have a few. Salisbury steak, mashed potatoes, frozen peas and green salad with homemade buttermilk dressing remind me of Sunday dinners at Grandma Cramer's house. Huge, crumbly, lard-laden cookies {whose yumminess can only come from a real Mexican bakery} remind me of trips to the desert with Grandma and Grandpa Parks.

Two of my earliest childhood food memories come from my sweet "Sugar Grandma" {my Great-grandma Parks...who earned her name from the way she would stand out on her Spring Valley, CA porch (on Troy Street) and wave to us as we left, saying, "Bye, Sugar"}. The first were butter mints...which she kept in a little white dish with a cat on the lid. The other was Nabisco Royal Lunch Milk Crackers.

I should back up, though...because until about a month ago, I just knew them as "milk crackers". I remember each and every time I visited, (and I'm talking preschool age here) Sugar Grandma would ask if I wanted a milk cracker. Of course I did. They were large, tender, flaky and had a very distinctive, mildly-sweet flavor. My favorite thing about them was the way you could use your teeth to break them open and they'd split evenly through the middle and you'd have TWO crackers. How cool is that?

No one else but Sugar Grandma ever had those crackers, so I only associated them with her. She died in 1980 (when I was ten) and I don't remember ever having another milk cracker...although I do remember looking for them in the store from time to time as a teen and young adult. I never found anything remotely close. Butter crackers...no. Water crackers...not even close. Digestive biscuits...nope. Since I was so young when I last had one...I had no other info about them...I just knew they were milk crackers and they didn't taste like anything else.

Well, a few weeks ago, it occurred to me to Google it. {What did we ever do before the WWW? Honestly!} Anyway, I put "milk crackers" into the search, and it didn't take many hits to see a picture of the Royal Lunch Milk Cracker box that took me RIGHT back to Grandma's house. I recognized it instantly and was SO excited...until I read that they were discontinued about four years ago...and apparently, I was not their only fan.*

I couldn't help myself...I spent a couple of hours reading blog posts and comments calling for Nabisco's boycott, letter writing campaigns, etc...to bring back the beloved Royal Lunch crackers. How did I miss out on all the fervor? Well, from what I read, these crackers were no longer available in California around the 80's (about the time I left) and then were only available in the New England area up until their demise in 2006. So my great Google idea came too little, too late.

One thing I learned through some of the comments was that there was a close second...Heritage Mills brand milk crackers.


They are only available in Canada. Before I knew it, I was spending $17 for 2 boxes to be shipped here to me in Japan. They arrived inside of a week. I opened them as soon as I got to the car and was amazed that the flavor took me back 30+ years. The secret ingredient....malt! (No wonder I loved them so much...I LOVE malt.)



These crackers have the same basic look as Royal Lunch, only smaller.



Except that these are flat on one side...Royal lunch was rounded on both sides...



Kind of like this. Not quite as satisfying as jimmying them apart with your teeth...but close.


Anyway, my husband and kids were not as enthusiastic. They didn't get the hype. To them I say, "GOOD...more for me!"

It was very satisfying to have this 30+ year mystery solved. I said I'd only buy them once, just for old time's sake. After all, $17 is a bit much for 2 boxes of crackers. However, now that I only have six crackers left, $17 isn't seeming so steep. {My, how the human mind has an infinite capacity for rationalization!}


*The source of the first image above.

Hard to believe they used to get compliments...

On their behavior in restaurants. Seriously...whenever we took our kids out when they were little, we'd have at least one or two couples approach our table and say how refreshing it was to see so many children together being so well behaved. I'm not bragging or saying it's anything that I did in particular...I'm just saying it was what it was. (Although I do think I was very conscious of the fact that people go out to enjoy themselves. Probably because on those times I had a sitter, I wanted to get my money's worth out of the date and not have to deal with the misbehavior of others' kids...{I could get that at home for free} so I did a lot of coaching beforehand and was pretty "on top of them" in public.)


Lately something's changed. How is it that this boy is approaching adulthood and suddenly, thinks it's OK to lick his plate...because "the teriyaki sauce is SO good"?!



Or that he can fake-punch his sister in the face...three times?



Or this! Now this is just unacceptable! (OK, I admit...after he did this, I made him take them out...but then told him to put them back in just for a sec so I could get a picture while no one was looking.)



Remember that last post? Yah...this is what I'm talking about. This is the new smile.



At least Troy behaves. Must be that he's so much closer to adulthood.

Wait...



That theory would be difficult to prove here, wouldn't it?

(Love you, Grandpa!)

Hummus Recipe

OK...since you asked...here it is!

I have been making homemade hummus for over 10 years, and should add that I was a big hummus fan before it was even mass-marketed. When I was about 10ish, my grandpa taught me how to make it. Falafel and hummus, actually. I was in love.

(Trivia: I LOVED cooking with my grandpa. I trusted him implicitly. If he cooked it...I'd try it...and I always loved whatever he introduced me to. One of my fondest memories with him was when I had moved back to California while in the Navy. I spent most weekends down in San Diego with him. We always ate such wonderful things. Anyway, I loved the time we went down to Tijuana, taking a journey which involved walking, a cab, two separate and harrowing bus rides through hilly, third-world neighborhoods...all to experience a restaurant full of worn-out, painted-red, wooden picnic benches, a deep sink in the back to wash your hands...and a big pot of goat stew. Yum!)

Anyway, through the years, I've discovered there are lots of recipes out there...and I've tried many...but this one is my favorite blend. You can (of course) adapt it to your tastes and make it your own!


Carrie's Favorite Hummus Recipe

• 2 (15.5 oz.) cans chick peas* (also called garbanzo beans), drained...but reserve the liquid for blending
• 1/3 cup tahini (sesame paste)
• 1/4 cup lemon juice
• 1 tsp salt
• 2-4 cloves of garlic, crushed (I like 4...but I LOVE garlic)
• 2 Tbsp olive oil (you can add 1 Tbsp, and then drizzle the other Tbsp on the top for presentation, if you like...but I just add it all)
• 1 tsp. cumin
• 2 tsp. fresh parsley, chopped
  

Peel chick peas. You may want to sit in front of the TV with a tray and a bowl in your lap for this. It's easy (all you do is give them a little pinch and the peel comes off in one shot) but those are a lot of peas...it takes some time. You can honestly skip this step...I've made MANY a hummus without shucking the garbanzos...but once I did it, I really liked the buttery smooth consistency, and the flavor seemed more intense without the bland peels in there.

Place chick peas, tahini, lemon juice, salt, garlic, olive oil, cumin and parsley in blender or food processor.

Here's where the reserved chick pea juice comes in. You'll need some of it to get the consistency you desire. Too little and it won't blend...too much and it'll be too thin (and you'll get all that extra sodium). I think I end up using around 2/3 cup. It's somewhere between 1/2 and 1 cup.

OK, so now just pulverize it until it's all smooth, adding the juice as needed.

Garnish with extra parsley, paprika, olive oil, and/or toasted pine nuts, if desired.

*You can use dried chick peas instead...in fact it's more authentic and nutritious that way. I sometimes use dried...but to tell you the truth, only when I don't have canned on hand. If you use dried, you'll probably want to add more salt to taste. Although I can't tell you the precise ratio to canned...one cup of dried equals 3 cups of prepared chick peas. Since a can has a little over 2 cups of chick peas...I'd say to start with 1 1/2 cups of dried chick peas in this recipe to get the right ratio. Just cook them according to the directions on the package. Also, remember you'll need to reserve some of the liquid for smoothing the texture of the hummus.

I hope you love this as much as I do!

We've Got Spirit, Yes We Do...

Oh my nostalgia! I normally don't make it a habit to attend high school functions which don't involve my children performing in a way that might appear to obligate my attendance (you know...sports, drama, etc.). Maybe it's just me...but this is NOT my idea of a good time:



Going through this once was too much for me...and it's WAY too weird stepping back into time...because nothing has really changed. Same scenario, same characters, just played by different performers.



Unfortunately, the ASB President asked me if I'd come in and play the part of a "football mom" in a skit he couldn't tell me anything about. Hmmm. It's not that I don't trust Josh...but high schoolers and secrecy cannot add up to any good.

When I showed up ahead of time, he went white (which is quite a feat for him...I'm just saying) as he realized that he had forgotten to let me know that the skit was cut due to time limits, thinking that since I am his neighbor, of course he'd have a chance to tell me.

I had turned down a lunch date (not that I'm bitter) but it gave me the opportunity to enjoy the rare experience of the high school pep rally. Yay!


The football players are pumped and ready to kill.



And everyone was sorted into class according to bleachers and class colors. Woohoo!

(See Patrick in the red cape? We discovered too late that he is the only one in the family who doesn't own a red shirt.)

What would the high school pep rally be without the class tug of war?




Here, the sophomores demonstrate that they are one year stronger than the freshmen. Impressive!






The pic above is actually the football team going Varsity vs. JV (I'm sure it doesn't take a rocket scientist to predict the outcome of that one)...


And here are the seniors proving they can squash the juniors. Shocker!



Then they announced the results of the spirit week competition. The seniors might have lost it again this year (because do seniors really care?), were it not for that dedicated, spirit filled kid who, in the eleventh hour, sprayed green paint on enough Burger King crowns for the entire senior class...thus assuring 100% participation. Thanks, crown-painting kid!

Troy, hoping the Kubasaki Dragon will rub some good luck on him for tonight's Homecoming game. Go Dragons!

Families Can Be Together Forever

I have a confession to make. I really don't like having to do Sharing Time at Church. It's not that I don't like the "doing" part...I love interacting with the kids, who are usually SO sweet (well...except on "those days" where nothing/no one cooperates)...but it's the figuring out WHAT I'm going to do, how I'm going to do it, and gear it toward a huge range of ages (3 to 11) and tie it in with the weekly theme. That part I don't like. I'm the one who suggested that we, as a presidency, each take a month at a time...because while I don't enjoy having to do it for a whole month, I do LOVE having 2 months off, so it's worth it!

At any rate, I LOVED working on this Sharing Time. the monthly theme was about how Temple work strengthens our families and the weekly theme dealt more specifically with genealogy. I decided to do a picture family tree of my own family, beginning with me (on my first day of Kindergarten). I already had most of the photos I'd need, but I had to solicit a few from family members.

My plan was to share (very briefly) what I loved about each of my parents, grandparents and great grandparents, including some visual aides (dolls, sewing stuff, pancake syrup, a book on submarines, etc.). I knew that the kids in our Primary LOVE real stories...and true to form, they sat captivated for this. They especially loved all the uniforms in the pictures, as most of their dads wear uniforms, too.

The message I left with them was that the more they take an interest in and get to know their ancestors, the more they will love them. I left them with a couple of questions to ask their grandparents or aunts and uncles next time they go to visit them or talk to them on the phone so that they can begin to get to know them better, and I encouraged them to write what they found out in their journals.

Cliff sneaked into the back to listen, and when it was over said, "I know what WE'RE doing for Family Home Evening tomorrow." So since only Jake (and Cliff) had to sit through this the first time, I did the whole thing over again for the rest of the family on Monday. The picture above is of the dining room wall with pictures removed, where I taped up my display, since I had no big, rolling whiteboard with magnets at home.

By the way, for those of you that are enlarging this photo for a better look...the extra picture on the right (of my great grandparents and their two boys) was so that I could talk about my great uncle who died in WWII, and how even amid all the pain, my great-grandma, rather than becoming swallowed up in pity or bitterness, chose instead to spend the rest of her days volunteering at the VA hospital--thousands of hours.

I had SO much fun preparing this Sharing Time. It reminded me of how much I love my family, and how I hope to be with them forever. I loved sharing what I love about them with others, and it was wonderful to ponder on some things that make each of them special.

Awl My Kids....In A Low Rider...

Well, it only took a couple of days to find our next ride. Meet "Lopez":

Pretty shiny, no? This vehicle was obviously owned by someone who cared WAY too much about his vehicle...cared too much about his MINI-VAN, no less! Lopez is ten years old, and on the inside, he looks new. (Which we are so grateful for. A lot of cars here, you just open up, get one whiff, and know that there's no way it can come home with you.)

Dealerships don't allow you to test drive cars here...so after Lopez was ours, it didn't take us long to figure out why he was so inexpensive for being such a "pimped ride". Obviously, your typical American family here is not in the market for a low-rider in the first place...and we quickly discovered that Okinawan driveways are a challenge to maneuver in this thing, so we have to take it sloooow! (And I guess I should add, Lopez is not technically a low-rider. He has a standard suspension...it's just the aero kit that makes him look like one.)

He has dual sunroofs, the seats turn around to face the back, AND he has a built in navigation system (which might be useful if we could read Kanji) that also gets TV reception. We get one English channel (ABC on AFN) and several Japanese channels. (Have you ever seen a Japanese game show? Crazy!) He does not, however, play DVDs.



Too bad we have the perfect road trip car when the longest road trip we could take is about 2 hours!

Navigator



Driver
(Yes, with his eyes closed! How scary is that?)



That's better...


It didn't take long before I heard yelps of, "Mom! Tell Patrick to stop touching me!" I'm thinking, "With all that room back there? Honestly?"



"What? I'm just sitting here!"



Maybe it was a better idea to keep them separate. And bring candy.