lori's girl gets married

Lori's daughter was married last night.

It was an exceptional occasion--emotional, elegant, fun.

This goofy selfie Maria took while she was watching their baby.  Maria was the designated nanny for the wedding day.   Arrive at 8am.  Take charge of baby, nap appropriately and also feed.   Have at the church on time, take back home and put to bed during the reception.

She said she had a good time and enjoyed the company of this little child very much.

Lori's grandbaby--I nibbled her ears and smelled her hair.   She feels like family.    So does Lori's mother.  I did not nibble her ears or smell her hair, but we hugged each other tight.



Pictures from the Dollar Dance:  Heidi and Nicole

 Kirsten and Nicole:

 Three girls who did a lot of laughing.

John and Dannell had to attend a different wedding in Wisconsin, and John and Dan were texting each other during the reception, Dan taking great pleasure in teasing and needling John.

When the snappy responses arrived, then he was doubled over, laughing.

Alicia thought he should include some of it with, "jk." 

Dan howled, "He KNOWS."

Yes, he did, and some of his offended-type responses were placed specifically for effect.

I haven't laughed so hard in a long time.

Nicole and Lance?  So much love, and so many blessings wished for you both.  This day was a celebration of everything that has made you who you are and brought you together, and always love. 

Always--there has never been anything else.  xo

Jay and Val and EVERYBODY

fireworks, 2013

We went to them, and the little kids are so little they don't really remember Lori.  They know her through the voice of all the rest of us.

Well, the story is this:  For years and years, Lori would have us to her house for supper, and make bbq chicken, and late in the evening, we'd hike down a little rut of a trail to a viewing spot and watch fireworks.

So now we must do this without her.

The first year was the worst.  Other people lived in her house and we had no where to go, just each other.

But we found a new spot on the lumpy boulevard between the Chinese restaurant and the service road that buffers the highway.

And we have fun.  We love her far too much not to.

This is old history, been even on this blog before, but here we go again, another July summer night--2007, another bunch of fireworks, indistinguishable from any that have gone before:

"We went to the fireworks tonight, like we do mid-July every year.   Lori used to have us for supper and then we’d head down the hill from her house, following the little rut of a trail to the boulevard between the street and parking lot at the mall, sit on blankets together and watch fireworks.  We’d apply bug spray and there was bickering and also laughing.  So now we go to remember her.  Plus these are quite awesome fireworks.

Today though I’ve been so down, introspective, anxious.  I always get anxious when money is tight, yet we’re sure been in worse spots than this. This is seriously not a big deal.  Customers will pay. We’ll pay our bills. It’s business as usual, so why it’s stressing me out, I don’t know.     I suppose because two are tax bills and taxes always freak me out. You know they can FINE you and torture you and what-all I don’t even know.   So far, in all these years, it has not happened.  But it could. No, it isn’t.  But it could.  I told my brain to shut up, but I still felt a little short of breath.

We spread out blankets on the hard lumpy boulevard grass in front of the Chinese restaurant tonight.  We found this spot the year after Lori died.  Other people lived in her house; we had nowhere to go, so we improvised.   But it’s a great viewing spot.  We had our 8 youngest kids with us tonight, the little ones in pjs, and they were laughing and taking goofy pictures with a digital camera while we waited.  

Inside the Chinese restaurant, yellow lighting glowed against red satin wallpaper and dark laminate tables.  As the fireworks began, colors lighting the sky, loud pops and bangs, smoke illuminated from all angles in flashes, I thought, “Lori, Lori, Lori, Lori.  How could you leave me?”  Then I thought, well it wasn’t as if she had a choice.  She didn’t want to either.   Then it was just, “I miss you so much,” that old kick in the chest, and the kids and flowered pajamas, fireworks, colors all blurred together in the dark.

Then a baby appeared at my elbow, a little guy about a year and a half old, wispy hair, round belly.  He recognized kids—they always recognize their own kind—and came to sit with us.  In a minute, his socially appropriate parents tried to drag him off, “Come sit with Mommy.”  I could hear him angrily fussing at them, and when I looked he was arching his back while they tried to distract him.   I told them we did not mind if he sat with us. We like friends.   So they left him go, and he ran to sit close beside Julia and me.  

 I touched his hair, rubbed his tiny back.   His parents crouched next to us commenting on the fireworks, did he see them?  He didn’t; he was looking from one kid to the next with a grin on his face.   Lori loved babies as much as I do, and this guy with his handsome Hispanic dad and cute biker mom, was quite adorable.  It turns out the baby’s name was Timothy Dean, and I introduced him to our own Timothy Dennis, who was quite pleased to meet him.    It all felt like a hug on a beautiful summer night.

No conclusions to be drawn, nothing.   When the fireworks ended, we waved good-bye to sweet Timothy Dean and his parents, folded up our blankets and headed home for bed—the end of July 15, 2007."

One of my most favorite-ist pictures:  Lori and Little Jay:

Lori, Lori, Lori.  How very loved you are.

Good night.  The sweetness of July kind of carries the whole year.   love you all, Val

19 years ago today

This is a picture of my niece. For a minute I considered cropping this picture, but then thought, oh no. Let's include Heidi's hyper face, the gaudy linoleum, the old laminate counter tops all cracked and terrible.

The girl in the blue print shirt is Lori's little girl. She's in all the birthday party pictures.

About my niece-- When she was little, she didn't like to talk to people, not even me. Sometimes when I'd talk to her, she'd actually turn her head away. Pam insisted she really did like me, that she was just shy.

When Little Jay was a baby, we called him Baby Jay. Well, my niece had a big doll she called Baby Jay. She took care of him just the way I took care of Jay. Pam pointed out how she even said the same things to her baby that I said to mine. And hers started crawling just about the same time Jay did.

Here she'd been quietly watching everything the whole time.

This is a picture of her from a couple years ago-- all grown up, all of us cooking hot dogs in the campfire on a summer night. She's the tall one in the pink t-shirt. Hey, honey!

So nineteen years ago today, when she was three, her mother happened to leave her and her older brother here to be babysat. While she was here that day, she stuck right by my side, even sat on the stool next to the sink with her cupcake while I loaded the dishwasher.

Later in the afternoon, we sprawled crosswise on my bed, chins propped on our hands, and watched the leaves falling off the maple tree. It was sunny and they were illuminated orange and yellow, dusting down every which way in the breeze, just a gorgeous afternoon.

And she talked. She went on and on about their trip to the apple orchard, the wagon ride, the apples, and I was almost afraid to even ask any questions in case she'd get shy again.


Anyway, you. Thanks for making October 6 a magic day I won't ever forget. love, Aunt Val

the fireworks

Today was the parade, very warm afternoon, candy thrown, snacks eaten, frisbee, fun, a few hugs from very hot, sticky b.g., and one from his dad.

The neighbors next door freaked out when the Democratic candidate went by, yelled and called her a communist.

Wow.

That was unexpected and uncalled for. She used to teach high school, and I had her as a teacher. She's a first rate person, phenomenal. She degrees in numerous areas of study from public policy to Latin and Greek, is a Harvard graduate, plus she is incredibly kind. Even if they disagree with her politics, no need to treat her like that. (She serves on a very important, but very dull revenue committee, has for many years.)

The people behind her in the parade were a raunchy rock radio station who scolded the neighbors, "This is not the time or place for this."

ANYWAY, other than that awkward moment, it was all good.

We made it to the fireworks, though it took three cars to get us all there. (Little Jay had some friends along, and Heidi came too. Kirsten and her friends walked, so they didn't have to fit in any cars.)


And my hibiscus bloomed today. I'm not going to lie. This has been a difficult week for a few reasons--one predictable, but still hard to manage in terms of uncertainty and stress. The other was a little unexpected, but nothing needs to be done about it, and here we are.


So today, when I went running out the door and saw this huge bright blossom on this brambly hibiscus we've had for a dozen years, it caught me by surprise. I stopped and tilted it up for a minute to enjoy the vibrant color, and accepted it as a blessing for today--God throwing me a much-needed biscuit.

Wishing the same tonight for you. love, Val

This was written three years ago--July 2007. For better or worse, not much has changed. I'm glad it's now.


We went to the fireworks tonight, like we do mid-July every year. Lori used to have us for supper and then we’d head down the hill from her house, following the little rut of a trail to the boulevard between the street and parking lot at the mall, sit on blankets together and watch fireworks. We’d apply bug spray and there was bickering and also laughing. So now we go to remember her. Plus these are quite awesome fireworks.

Today though I’ve been so down, introspective, anxious. I always get anxious when money is tight, yet we’re sure been in worse spots than this. This is seriously not a big deal. Customers will pay. We’ll pay our bills. It’s business as usual, so why it’s stressing me out, I don’t know.

I suppose because two are tax bills and taxes always freak me out. You know they can FINE you and torture you and what-all I don’t even know. So far, in all these years, it has not happened. But it could. No, it isn’t. But it could. I told my brain to shut up, but I still felt a little short of breath.

We spread out blankets on the hard lumpy boulevard grass in front of the Chinese restaurant tonight. We found this spot the year after Lori died. Other people lived in her house; we had nowhere to go, so we improvised. But it’s a great viewing spot. We had our 8 youngest kids with us tonight, the little ones in pjs, and they were laughing and taking goofy pictures with a digital camera while we waited. Inside the Chinese restaurant, yellow lighting glowed against red satin wallpaper and dark laminate tables.

As the fireworks began, colors lighting the sky, loud pops and bangs, smoke illuminated from all angles in flashes, I thought, “Lori, Lori, Lori, Lori. How could you leave me?” Then I thought, well it wasn’t as if she had a choice. She didn’t want to either. Then it was just, “I miss you so much,” that old kick in the chest, and the kids and flowered pajamas, fireworks, colors all blurred together in the dark.

Then a baby appeared at my elbow, a little guy about a year and a half old, wispy hair, round belly. He recognized kids—they always recognize their own kind—and came to sit with us. In a minute, his socially appropriate parents tried to drag him off, “Come sit with Mommy.” I could hear him angrily fussing at them, and when I looked he was arching his back while they tried to distract him. I told them we did not mind if he sat with us. We like friends. So they left him go, and he ran to sit close beside Julia and me. I touched his hair, rubbed his tiny back.

His parents crouched next to us commenting on the fireworks, did he see them? He didn’t; he was looking from one kid to the next with a grin on his face. Lori loved babies as much as I do, and this guy with his handsome Hispanic dad and cute biker mom, was quite adorable. It turns out the baby’s name was Timothy Dean, and I introduced him to our own Timothy Dennis, who was quite pleased to meet him. It all felt like a hug on a beautiful summer night.

No conclusions to be drawn, nothing. When the fireworks ended, we waved good-bye to sweet Timothy Dean and his parents, folded up our blankets and headed home for bed—the end of July 15, 2007.

blooming catalpa

The catalpa is blooming, big blossoms that look like popcorn balls and smell like bath powder.


We planted this tree back when Little Jay was tiny. Both he and the tree came up to my waist. Catalpas seem to double in size every year at first, and now look at it.


It shades the whole side of the house, almost conceals the flat roof behind it. Some people don't like these trees, too messy. The pods are huge and fall all over. The kids fight over them, harass their dad to jump up and pull down this one and that one, and who has the biggest. The blossoms fall and stick to our feet, end up in the house.

I don't care. They're great shade trees, and they remind me of Lori. She had trees like this in her front yard, and there's one at my grandparents' too.

Beautiful June. love, Val

from Christmas, 2006:

There comes a time where you realize you must wake up. The snooze alarm keeps blasting at intervals and it’s just time to get up. What I thought was real was not, and so I faced the fact that I was pretending, living in a space created in my imagination.

It was a little startling to discover this, but it’s also freeing to know the truth. It has allowed me to embrace what’s good, because most of it actually is, and to feel clear about what didn’t make sense before. It also gives some sense of truth to realize that the person at the center of my life is me. Girls, realize: All the kids and family you wait on, all the people clamoring for this and that—it’s YOUR life. You own it.

A couple years ago a dear friend died, and she took with her a lot… my sense of security in the world, the history we shared, the complete safety and peace she brought to my life, the laughter (and hard times too) we shared, the meals she cooked—chicken and dumplings, minestrone, bbq chicken and potato salad….her delicious Betty Rubble snicker, our shared lust for John Travolta, her unpretentious and completely beautiful self.

She ate many meals at my house too, but I don’t remember those. It’s her cooking I miss. We loved each other’s children, and behind their backs laughed at how comical they were. I know she took me as much for granted as I did her, and at first when she died I wished we hadn’t taken each other for granted. Now I’m glad that we were so comfortable together that we did.

As I went through the emotions of grieving, I realized that none of my other friends were going to fill the gaping hole that this one had left. I miss her so much! And later it occurred to me that I had the power within me to be the friend to myself that she had been to me. I didn’t need someone outside of myself to do it. On a July afternoon a few days before Julia was born, I stood by myself at her grave in the beating sun and looked down at a pile of dirt. It was miserably hot and ants crawled over the dirt and that bothered me.

There weren’t even tears, it felt so overly bright and desolate. And then I realized I could hear the chirpy voices of kids playing on the water slide at the community pool beyond the hedge, the very one she had take our girls swimming at. In the air was her voice, “Let’s get out of here.” I don’t feel her around me much, and her sister has said the same. We’re both glad of that. She’s gone on to better things. But that day, she was right there at my shoulder.

One of my friends is always preoccupied, only ever available on her own terms. I don’t resent that anymore, and don’t feel inadequate or insecure when she blows me off. It’s her, doing her thing. I appreciate what she brings to my life and don’t blame her for not being what she isn’t.

Others are very busy with their own lives, and I’m not sad about it any more. I have a life too, and though connections with other women have always been a lifeline to me, I really can be a lifeline to myself, and more and more I am figuring this out.

I also have a husband who can be moody and exuberant, a roller coaster of moods, which is partly why my friends were such an anchor for me, and I relied on them way too much to steady my course. I used to ride this with him, feeling like there was some validity to it, like he knew something I did not.

He doesn’t, and I adore him, but since my friend died, I’m off the ride. He’s free to have his moods, but I’m not getting tugged along. He thoughtfully buys me Fostoria cake plates, pretty jewelry, and chocolate. He’s generous, huggable, devoted to our kids, has a rowdy sense of humor, and treats me with great sweetness most of the time, and I know he loves me the best he can, the best any mortal really could.

Moody as he may be, his integrity frames his life. He’s reliable and decent, and he makes me happy. I am long past wishing he were someone else, some perfect romance-novel hero of my imagination. Whatever: Time to grow up, Val. You’re into middle age now. Who he is, is nothing short of great, even if we drive each other crazy some days.

Tonight was our family Christmas party. Years ago, we moved our party to the 23rd to avoid conflict with other family parties, and it was just convenience that motivated it. How I did not realize what genius this would later become! And what is special about the 23rd anyway? Nothing. We can do this on the 22nd or the 26th or 27th just as well. It’s a state of mind, an appreciation of the spirit of Christmas, a being togetherness that drives it, and that’s all we need.

Tonight though, today, the whole day, all week, I’ve been melancholy, which isn’t really like me. I’m not sure why. I was angry (not toward her, but inside) with a very elderly aunt who is always demanding. She always has been, and I always give her a pass, so why I’d fume about it now makes no sense, but I did! I was a tad bit irate! And why so blue all week? I have no idea.

After our family Christmas party, as I waited for Julia to fall asleep, I sat here and viewed a New York Times photo montage of joyful people –the montage was called this, and I watched the photos flip by and they could just as well have been photos from MY house, tonight. My beauteous grandbaby in his pajamas—the puppy pajamas I gave him as a gift and my daughter in law was thoughtful enough to put on him, literally brought tears to my eyes as I hugged him tonight, squeezing that precious rascally baby against my chest, kissing his cheeks. (He lets me. He’s generous like that.)

And the photos flipped by of laughing people and I pictured Dan, age 26, sending matchbox cars sailing down a plastic runway and Tim, age four, at the end in a fuzzy Dora the Explorer chair with his mouth open to catch them. (Impossible.) And Dan’s doubled-over laughter as the cars sailed over Tim’s head and into the college-girl sisters beyond, busy playing Mexican Train.

There were meatballs and shrimp, cheesy potatoes and salad… cookies with sprinkles and the most divine handmade gingerbread. The grand-dogs ran wild, jumping off our normally sedate sofas, tearing up wrapping paper and stealing treats… tomorrow is church and the more somber remembrance of the religious meaning of Jesus’ birth. But today is our day and it’s goofy and fun.

Eventually Julia dozed off, full of my milk, dolly in her arms, and I went to Tim’s room and found his dad… everybody’s dad, my own crazy husband, asleep on the pillows next to him and I kissed his ear and thanked him for the beautiful necklace, waking him up as I nibbled. I don’t know why I’m in a funk this Christmas, but it’s certainly not lack of joy or blessing in this house. Maybe it’s just more change, all the time change? or the headlines? or just life? Love and good wishes to all of you in the year 2007.