Unspeakable and Unimaginable

Unspeakable.
The unspeakable has happened again.
Our hearts are broken anew.
Another brilliant, gifted, valiant soul has lost his battle with depression.

Unimaginable.
The unimaginable has happened again.
Unimaginable.  That is the word my daughter used to describe suicide.

When I first heard of the death by suicide of Robin Williams, after the initial sudden wave of shock and sadness that hit me had passed, concern for those who suffer from depression, bi-polar disease, addiction, suicide ideation, or other forms of mental illness filled my mind with an all too familiar fear for their safety and well-being.  My mind began asking questions.  How will those who suffer deeply and struggle daily with these battles, these demons, respond to the news?  Will the insidious face of suicide ideation stalk the minds of those who struggle with an illness that can become so debilitating?  Will they know where to get help?  Will they get help?  Will suicide somehow become glorified?  Will the news media handle this news and all that might accompany it responsibly?

Within five minutes of hearing the news of the death of Robin Williams, my phone rang.  Having just driven into the driveway after a day spent on the road returning from a few days spent with my mother, and having just greeted my husband with a hug and a kiss, I took my phone from my purse and saw that the call was from my former husband, the father of my children. With my head still full of those questions I had just asked myself, and with a heart full of concern for others, the name on my phone screen triggered a deep reaction.  I think fear entered my mind when I saw his name because somehow I knew the call was linked to the news that we all were just hearing.  My mouth was suddenly dry when I said hello.  I struggled to remain calm as I awaited to hear the purpose for the call.  Fear was raging through my emotions.  Was something wrong?

Today, I have struggled over whether or not I should write this post.  I've questioned adding my voice to all the other voices that have been heard since yesterday's news of William's death became public.  I decided to write this post about suicide because I believe that part of my own healing involves me adding my voice to the throngs of others whom have lost a loved one to suicide.  I write this to bring suicide out of the darkness and into the light.  When we don't speak of what has been the unspeakable, those who struggle with depression and mental illness feel more alone.  The stigma of suicide becomes stronger than the message that there is hope and there is help for those who struggle.

On the evening before the day that marked what would have been the forty-eighth wedding anniversary for my former husband and myself, we spoke in voices to each other that expressed support and concern over our children.  News such as the news that has been all over the media traumatizes survivors of suicide.  My former husband, my children, other family members, and friends are all survivors of suicide.  Those who suffer the death of loved one by suicide are called survivors.  We also are quite familiar with the effects of PTSD that can be triggered very easily.  As my one daughter said to me today, "We have to give Mom and Dad a pass on this.  They have suffered deeply.  They will never get over Julie's death.  They will always fear for the rest of us.  We have to give them a pass."

I've read many things today about a subject that is just way too close to home for me.  Friends have reached out to me today expressing thoughts of concern and support.  I spoke with a trusted helper today who helped me understand why I seek to deal with those things which cannot be understood.

I will never fully understand why my daughter took her life.  I will never fully understand the pain and suffering that she endured in her life.  I will grieve her death until the day I die.  I will also celebrate the life and memory of the beautiful, talented, intelligent, funny, articulate, hardworking daughter that graced my life.  I will continue to give thanks for remaining four children whose lives enrich my life and bring me much joy and pride.

I was woefully unknowledgeable about mental illness when Julie was alive.  I am cognizant that awareness about mental health issues is where I must now focus my attention.  We all need to recognize warning signs of suicide.  We need to arm ourselves with effective interventions and treatments.  I carry a card with the warning signs of suicide in my wallet.  I have a list of them next to my computer.  I refer to the list of indicators of serious depression when I think I recognize it in others.  I ask hard questions when I think they need to be asked.  I try to keep my head out of the sand and my eyes open.  I try to keep my heart in tune so I recognize those who need a helping hand.  I will not let the stigma that once surrounded suicide silence me.

The topic of suicide has been unspeakable for too long.

The unimaginable pain that a suicide brings to those left behind is just that:  unimaginable.

Please join me in doing what you can to prevent suicide by arming yourself with information.  Visit the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention to print out this information.

If you are in crisis, or know someone who is, call 1-800-273-TALK (8255)

For My Grandchildren

This is a letter to my grandchildren, or perhaps, it is a letter to myself.  I’m not so sure my grandchildren will ever even read these words I have to say.  The words in my heart must be expressed even if the ones for whom they are intended never read them.

My grandchildren, my dear grandchildren, you are on the cusp of life.  

The point of transition where all of you now stand is quite dramatic.  

There was a time a few years back, when together you climbed a fence to see what was on the other side.  With curiosity, together you all climbed higher to have a better view of what was beyond where you had been standing on your side of the fence.

Today, you are all four year older.
You are on the side of the fence that represents childhood.
You will quickly go over that fence between childhood and move into adulthood.

One of you has graduated from high school and is going off to college.  

Two of you are going to be getting your license to drive. 

Add caption

 I will have four of you in high school this year. 

I will have two of you in middle school.  

I look at this place where you all stand right now, this place where you will soon make the transition into the next stage of your growing up years, and recognize that those days when I was your grandma who took you on adventures to Lagoon, or to penny arcade, or out for an ice cream cone, or to the zoo are fading into the past. 

I must admit that I have tears in my eyes when I write these words.  I wish we would have had more times together.  You all lived far from me, so times together were not always easy to come-by.  Every single moment I have ever had with each one of you is a treasured memory in my heart.

These tears that are falling from my eyes are a grandma thing.  They are sort of like lipstick kisses, and grandma taking too many pictures of you.

The tears are there because I have loved and treasured my days with you as a grandmother.  I hope to have many more days with you all as you move into your futures.  As your grandmother, I also am taking this opportunity to speak to you about the lives I hope to see you live.

I have no doubt that you all will work hard and accomplish much.  You are a talented, intelligent, good hearted bunch of kids.  All of you have so much going for you.  I am very proud of that.  

Of course I want you to 

study hard,

read many good books,

write,

learn those math equations,

turn in your homework,

get to class,

don't skip school, 

put on your seat belts in the car,

drive carefully,

stay away from drugs and alcohol,

make good friends,

respect your teachers,

and 

make wise choices.

There is one more reason why I am writing this letter. 

There is a very important thing I don’t want you to neglect as you move on with your life: family.

We live in such a disconnected world these days.  It is easy to get busy living our own lives and forget about building those relationships that matter.  

Family matters.  

This summer, while most of us were at Ryan and Sheridan’s wedding, I was so thrilled to see how many good times you had with your cousins.  You hiked, fished, toasted marshmallows, played games, stayed up late, and talked, and laughed.  Times like these are more rare than I wish they were, but at least we have them now and again.

While we were together, I had the gift of having lunch with two of you.  We talked about divorce.  We talked about how hard it is for families who go through a divorce.  Divorce has touched our family more times than I wish it had, yet we have also seen new relationships bless our family after a divorce.

I never had to deal with the divorce of my parents.  For that I am grateful.  Even though I have not had to deal with what you are dealing with after your parents have divorced, I know one thing for sure, one must learn to forgive the failures of one’s parents and do one’s own part to make the relationship between the parent and the child a strong one.  Parents disappoint and hurt us.  It is a part of life.  We disappoint and hurt our parents.  That is why we have the opportunity to learn about forgiveness.  

As you move on into life, you have the opportunity to become mature adults and make your own way, but for now, all but one of you need the guidance and wisdom that comes from your mom and your dad.  

I left home at eighteen when I went off to college.  In those days, it was not easy to keep in touch with my parents.  Long distance phone calls were expensive and were only used for emergencies.  I wrote letters to my mom and dad.  I learned that from my father who always wrote letters to his mother until she died.  He was faithful to stay in touch with her on a weekly basis by writing long letters every week even though he was nearly seventy years old.  

As you know, my mom is nearly one hundred years old.  For nearly fifty years, I have made many car trips to see her.  She has never learned to drive and has not been to see me in my home over twelve years.  It has not always been easy for me to make these trips, but as a daughter who honors her mother for who she is in my life, I take the responsibility of making sure I see her as often as I can.

You are all just beginning the adventures you will have in your future.  As you move on into the next year, I am so excited for all of you.  I hope you have much success and a lot of fun discovering who you are and what you want out of life.  I hope you will stay in touch with me.  I love texts, phone calls, or video calls.  I am here.  Call me.  I’ll try not to bug you much, but I will check in once in a while with a text or a call.

More importantly, keep communication open with your mom and your dad.  They are the ones who love you more than any other person in this world.  They have made great sacrifices for you so you have the wonderful material things that you have had in this life.  They have worried over you and cried over you when you are hurting.  They still do this, and they will always continue to do worry over you while they allow you to spread your wings and fly into the future.  As you soar off into those teen years and adult years remember, becoming a responsible teenager/adult involves learning how to love and show honor and respect to your parents.  

Our family has had a lot of sadness in the past few years.  I hope if there is one truth that you all know for sure, it is this:

We are all here for you.

You have grandparents who adore and love you and would do anything to help you.

You have aunts and uncles who adore and love you and are there for you.

You have cousins who will be there after your grandparents, your moms, your dads, and your aunts and uncles are gone.

Your family will always be here for you.  

Each and every single one of you.

My life has been rich in friendship.  My life has given me many great relationships.  The most difficult, and yet the most treasured relationships in my life, have been within the family.  Our family is not perfect, but I hope you all remember that we are all here for you cheering you on as you move into this next chapter of your lives.  Make it a good one.  

I have great confidence in you abilities to make wise choices.  I also know that if and when you make a misstep, and we all do, you know that you have a team behind you cheering you on in your family.  

Text an uncle or an aunt or a cousin, or make a call to you mom or to your dad, or to you grandma and let them know you love them now and again.  We truly are all here for you.  If you need help, ask one of us for it.

Know that I pray for you, each of you, every day.  

I love you all beyond measure.

Love,
Grandma Sally

A Perfect Summer Saturday

We've had some changes around here.

My husband has taken a job.

Yes, he is working.

Clear back in November we were at the Apple Store where my husband was trying to convince me I needed to buy a new computer.

I didn't agree.

My old MacBook Pro that I purchased ten years ago still works fine.

"Maybe you would like an iPad." says my husband.

"No," said I.

I'm fine without an iPad.

"Maybe I should get a job here," says the man in my life.

He turns to the one patiently showing us computers and iPads and asks,

"Do you ever hire old farts like me?"

Well, it turns out that my husband was serious when he asked that question.

Now, all these months later he an employee of Apple.

He trained for three days in Denver last week.

He worked another day at the store here in town on Monday.

Then, he had three days off.

Tomorrow, he goes off to work again.

What a change this is in our lives.

Today, we spent the day doing all the things we love to do together.
It was a date day.

We started out by driving to the nearby Margarita at Pine Creek, 

our favorite Saturday morning place where we can shop at the farmer's market

and eat the most delicious coffee cake and egg puffs ever!

We love coming to this place on Saturday mornings in the summer.

The ambiance is perfect.

What could be better than sipping coffee and eating a delicious breakfast

while sitting under the shade of a pine tree

on a sunny Colorado blue sky morning?

Just beyond the peak of the white tent set up as a place for farmers and artisans to sell the wares,

I can see the tip of Pikes Peak.

Pinch me.

Am I really back home living in Colorado Springs?

I love the rather funky features I find all over this place.

The gardens with untrimmed edges and a bit of whimsy provide interest when I'm not people watching 

or listening to music.

Today, Crystal Hill Billys were setting up to play when we were just getting ready to leave.

This blue grass group is one of my favorites.

They were quietly practicing "I Am A Poor Wayfaring Stranger" as we left.

I hated to miss listening to this group today, but we had a lot on our list for the day.

(Click on the link above to listen to them.  Don't miss hearing the song I mentioned.)

Next on the list for the day, was the Parade of Homes.

We saw some mighty expensive homes.

Can you say, $1million homes?

We even saw one I really did like that cost a little bit less..

Then, we saw homes where they said the price was half a mil.

They said it with a straight face while our chins dropped and we said under our breath,

"For this????"

One of the homes on the tour was an Eco Home.
Total square footage for the home: 320.
Jim is wondering if we can get permission from our HOA to build one out behind our house for him.

Touring those homes was exhausting,
so we decided to indulge in eating a big juicy hamburger.
Then, we went home to rest.


After our naps,
we rented and watched a movie in the comfort of our own home.
It was my turn to pick a movie.
I picked, The Grand Budapest Hotel.
At first, I wasn't sure Jim would like my choice, but in the end, we both really enjoyed the movie.
Have any of you seen it?
What did you think?

After the movie, we took Boston for a walk in our wonderful part of the world.
It was a perfect Saturday summer evening.
In fact, it felt more like an early fall evening.
Will winter come early this year?
Immediately, as we walked up the street, we saw the field across the road a block from our home was filled with a herd of deer having dinner.
I counted nine.
A little bit up the road, I saw three more buck.

I think we are seeing the buck early this year.  Usually, I don't think they come down this low until later in September.  This is another reason why I wonder if we will have an early winter.
Next year, I must record when I first see the buck down in this area.

In the park, we see three doe.
They are always interested in Boston,
and he is interested in them.

While this photo isn't the greatest, you can see the field on the mountainside where I counted nine deer.

One of the doe lingers to watch Jim and Boston walk by.

With my iPhone camera, I was unable to capture the doe and her two fawns that were up on the hillside.
The fawns were scampering about as the mother kept a watchful eye.
This year, I've only seen the twin fawns, and they were born later than I saw fawns last year.
I did capture this photo of the doe feeding her twin fawns as we walked the other evening.
They were feeding right next to the walkway just three houses up from our house.
We live on Fawn Meadow View.
The street was well named.

Tonight as we stood and watched the buck and doe dine on the lush grass growing so well after all our rains, and watched the fawn playfully sprint among the trees,
I turned to my husband and said,
"It's just magical here."
"Magical."
"If you come into a million dollars and wanted to buy me a million dollar home with a fancy address,
I'm not moving."
"Priceless, our neighborhood is priceless."

(Yes, I do get frustrated  when the deer and bunnies eat my flowers.  "Look, now they've eaten the lupine and poppies, and even the bee balm." I must be honest in my frustration as I marvel at the beauty of of those who dine on my perennials.)

I really don't want to live any place else.
I love it here,
and I'm so grateful to live in such beauty.


That is how we spent our perfect summer Saturday.

We've Had A Crazy, Busy July

Blogging has been on the back burner for the month of July.  We are having a busy, happy, productive, and wonderful summer.  I hope to catch you up on all our news soon.

As July ends, I hope we have warmer days in August.  We've had very strange and unusual weather around here this month.  For days it has rained.  We've had so much rain, I am beginning to think I live in the Pacific Northwest.  It has been so cold and rainy that the moisture came down as snow on top Pikes Peak the other day. I haven't seen the mountain itself in days, so I can't tell you if there is still snow up there or not, but I would guess there is.

If one lives in Colorado, we spend a lot of time joking about the weather.  We say, "If you don't like the weather, stick around for five minutes and it will change."  One thing doesn't change around here: the beautiful scenery where we live.  Until I have time to write a more detailed account of our summer, I thought I would share a short video that illustrates some of the reasons I love where I live in beautiful Colorado Springs, Colorado.




As the summer progresses, I hope all of you are having fun with your family and friends.  I heard a quote the other day that really spoke to me.  As our summer days fill up with busy activities, I hope we all remember this adage while we strive to work towards balance in our lives.

Families today are 

overcommitted 

and 

under connected.

I Am An American

I am the daughter of

America.

The Isle of Jersey
was home
to my first American ancestors.

In 1676,
 a young man,
Philippe Gavit, (also spelled Gavet, Gavett, Gavitt, and Gavvitte)
 a Frenchman,
 left that island in the English Channel off the French coast of Normandy,
and headed for America.

He stepped ashore in Marblehead, Massachusetts.

Soon, he married and established the beginning of what would become my American family.

I am the daughter of early American entrepreneurs and land owners.

Philippe Gavit's granddaughter,
Prudence Gavit (Gavet)
married
William French,
a Protestant Scot-Irish from Londonderry, Ireland, in 1738/9
at Westerly, Washington County Rhode Island.

Their son, William French, Jr., my father's namesake,
 fought in the Revolutionary War.

A great grandfather on my maternal side fought in the Civil War.

My father and all of my uncles served proudly during World War II.

French Family sons and daughters during World War II
Father, of Sally French Wessely, William French, is on far right.

I lost a first cousin, Steven Reichert in Viet Nam.

French Family Cousins
1964
Steven Reichert, killed in Viet Nam at age 19, is third from top left.
Sally French Wessely is second from left.

Steven Reichert
First Cousin of Sally French Wessely
Name on
Traveling Viet Nam Memorial Wall
2010

I am the daughter of Americans who went to war for this country.

My grandfather when asked what nationality we were always said,

"We are damn Yankee rebels."

I am the daughter of Welsh coal miners.
From the green hills of Wales they came to the dry hills of Colorado
  to work in the mines.

I am the daughter of coal miners,
union members.
railroaders.

I am the daughter of proud Democrats who always voted the Democratic ticket.

I am the daughter of Scotch Presbyterians.

I am the daughter of those who worked for the WPA.

I am a daughter of those who came west to breathe the high mountain air because
 asthma
 had made life in the humid east unbearable.

I am the daughter of storytellers.

I am the daughter of those who searched for gold in the west.

I am the daughter of
shop keepers,
a telegrapher sending and receiving messages across the wires,
housepainters,
milliners,
seamstresses,
homemakers


I am the proud granddaughter of a homesteader.
My grandmother, as a single woman, established

and lived in a homestead on her own.
It is my great sadness that I never knew this woman.

My mother as a child with her parents
Albert and Lulu Townsley.
Lulu homestead by herself prior to her marriage

I am the daughter of strong Christian believers,

and renegades who never believed.

I am proud of my heritage.
I believe in extending the American dream to others.

I am a teacher of immigrant children.

Their stories could break a teacher's heart.
They left family, culture, language, and friends,
sometimes unwillingly,
to have an opportunity for a better life.

These children have taught me more about the American dream
than I ever learned in any class in American history I ever took.

I married a man whose parents were refugees from Nazi Germany.

James (Jim) Wessely
with his parents
Kurt and Emmy Wessely
1962

I am grateful this country provides a place of refuge to those escaping
The Holocaust,
genocide,
persecution,
poverty,
and the horrors of war.

I am grateful this country remains the land of opportunity for many.
I am also aware of how much poverty and inequality we have in our own country.

I am well aware of the need for immigration reform.
Few things anger me more than calling a person "illegal."
People are NOT illegal.
Some are in the country without documentation.

This problem of immigration is a complex, generational problem.
I know many families who might not have had documentation to be in the United States.
I know this because students have trusted me enough to tell me this.
As a teacher, it is my legal responsibility to provide an equal educational opportunity to every student
K -12 regardless of immigrations status.
(Plyler vs. Doe 1982)

I am an American teacher who worked with marginalized populations.
I am proud to have worked with this strong,
determined,
hard-working,
courageous,
group of students and their parents.

I am an American.
May I never forget my roots in this democracy.

Sometimes, I see us fighting over the use of words in our Pledge of Allegiance and it breaks my heart.
We have our freedoms,
thankfully we have,
and I support,
our freedoms,
but at times it seems that we are forgetting that we are to be indivisible.
It seems our  First Amendment Rights
are used in ways that appear to shout that we no longer believe in
liberty and justice for all.

We live in troubled times,
 America,
but I,
an American,
 continue to believe in the dream my ancestors,
those damn Yankee rebels,
fought to establish.

There are fifteen lines in that famous poem, The New Colossus, written by Emma Lazarus
that became associated with the Statue of Liberty.

I am an American.

I am pondering every line of that poem written about the "Mother of Exiles."

I hope you will do the same on this Independence Day.

Read more about the poem and its author here:  How a Sonnet Made a Statue the "Mother of Exiles."

Remembering My Second Mother

My former mother-in-law passed away last week.  She was nearly 89 years old.  I first met her when she was a young 41.  I was 21.  She became a role model for me.  More than that, she was a second mother.  I've not been an official member of her family for over thirty years, but our hearts were linked, so she continued to be a dear and important figure in my life.  I visited her when I could.  I loved her dearly.  This is my tribute to her.

Nearly fifty years ago I met her.

I don't even remember our first meeting.

It must have been not long after I met her son.
Was it when her son took me to his home where he lived with his parents after an early morning motorcycle ride or tennis game?
We worked nights together.
So, we would go on dates during the day.

Or, was it on a Sunday afternoon that I first went to the home of my former mother-in-law?

Time has taken the first memory of her away from me;

Time has preserved so many more memories.

Gloria Marie Christiansen was like a mother to me for a bit more than a decade and half.

The things she taught me remain forever in my heart and mind.

She was such a quiet, dignified lady.

Always proper,

she had a dry wit that would zing my mind and cause me laugh out loud.

When I first became a regular visitor to her home,

I felt so loud.

They were all so quiet.
She especially was soft spoken.

I am not quiet.
I am not soft spoken.

I am loud.

I doubt she, my former mother-in-law, ever raised her voice.

After my first born's birth, I told her that I could hear him crying louder 

than any of the other babies in the nursery. 

"Oh no, he will take after me,"

I thought.

She said, that it was normal to hear my child above all the other children.

She could always hear my baby's father's voice louder than any of the other kids on the block, she said.

Did we tune in to hear the voices and sounds of our own children over others?

Was this a mother's instinct?

I think she thought it was.

Later, she told me never to take up the side of your own child with another child's parent when the children were having disagreements.

"You never know what your own child did first," she told me.

That was wise advice.

I took it.

I followed it.
She followed this same advice when her son and I divorced.

In my mind, the image of her on the day her son and I were married 48 years ago is still very sharp.

We were engaged, but a wrench had been thrown in our plans for getting married when my former husband received orders to report to boot camp for the Army Reserves.
We knew the orders were coming, but didn't expect them so soon.

We went to talk to her about what to do.
Should we get married that day?

Should we  'elope' by walking across the street to the church to get married?

Could we find a church official to marry us on such short notice?

What time should we marry?

She just listened.

She didn't tell us what to do.

I see her sitting at the dining room table painting her nails as she talked with us.

Finally, she said,

" I wish I knew if we were going to have a wedding tonight or if I should start supper."

I guess that decided it.

We decided we would have a wedding.

The photo of so long ago is cracked and faded.
We all look so young.

Our quickly planned wedding was attended by just my mother-in-law and father-in-law,
and my sister-in-law and her husband.
I wore a quickly purchased dress.
My sister-in-law did my hair.
We walked across the street and were married.
We then all went out to dinner.

At our engagement dinner, she served liver.

I hated liver, but I ate it.

Actually, I could eat liver when she cooked it.

She taught me how to 

can fruit,

and make apricot syrup.

I think of some of her great recipes:

cracker pie,

potato salad,

a tuna casserole made with Bisquick.

I remember all those Sunday afternoons in the summer when we would eat homemade ice cream made from the abundance of raspberries that grew in the garden.

The summer I married her son, 

I had an apartment that my new husband never stayed in because he went off to boot camp.
I guess my mother-in-law thought I needed something to take up my time.
Not long after we were married, she delivered a basket of un-ironed, freshly washed shirts belonging to my husband to me.
I still smile at the memory.
I love that she did that.
Why should she iron them?
Now, that job was mine.

That summer, the summer of 1966 was a hot one.

I spent so many summer afternoons and evenings on the front steps of his parents' home that year.

His sister and I would eat the sour green apples that we covered in salt.
 The apples came from the tree in the backyard.
No doubt my mother-in-law had carefully picked a few good ones for us to eat as we talked with her late into the evening.
My sister-in-law was pregnant and craved green apples covered with salt.
Good times.

Those steps we sat on,

how many times did I sit on those steps with my mother-in-law and other family members and talk?

If we went over for a visit, she'd say, 

"Let's go outside where it's cooler."

Out we would go to sit on the steps and watch the happenings in the neighborhood.

We watched trees being planted,

children riding bikes,

folks walking to church meetings,

teenagers driving cars too fast,

and neighbors who were all a major part of her life.
She'd tell me stories about everyone on the block.
Not gossip, just good stories.
She told me stories of her life.
She was a great storyteller.
(Two of my grandchildren with their great grandparents on the front steps of their home. Parker is next to Grandma and Regan is on her lap.)

I also remember that she would sometimes go out for a walk.
She said she needed time to
"air out her brain."
I think of that statement so often when I walk and think about all I have to think about.

She 'adopted' the elderly neighbors next door who never had children.

She took care of them until they died.

She had a grace and wisdom about her that I've seldom known in others.

When I'd have a new baby, on the first visit to 'meet' the baby,
she'd bring gifts for the other children too.

I remember her bringing a lunch box filled with treats to my firstborn when she came to visit his new sister.  She didn't want him to feel left out.  He got his gift first.  

Her hands, her lovely hands, always carefully manicured by herself,

were busy, productive hands.

She crocheted many treasures.

She taught me to crochet, even though I never mastered it.

She taught me to quilt.

I never mastered that either.

Her home was always tidy as a pin.

Nothing was ever out of order.

The walls were adorned with keepsakes and photos of her family.

The couch would always have lovely pillows and crocheted throw blankets on it.

I'm sure she always made her bed.

She did have one little secret.

We would be at her house for dinner.  We'd eat.  Then it would be time to do the dishes.

That is when she would open the oven.

It would contain dirty dishes from earlier in the day.

I would always laugh.

I don't know if she ever had a dishwasher.

That is where I stash my dirty dishes.

My former mother-in-law was a wonderful grandmother.

I'm grateful my children had her in their lives.

She was a constant for them.
She loved to have them visit her.
She loved to make things special for them.
Sometimes, she would take my children to the movies.
First, they would go to her house to pop corn.
Then, they would get all of her old purses from the 'dress up' play box.
Then, they'd fill the purses with popcorn to eat at the movie.
It makes me smile to even write of those days.
She'd have them over for the day to learn a craft, bake cookies, or have a picnic.
There was a closet full of toys when the kids were younger.
There was a box of old clothes for playing dress up.
Each event that involved a grandchild or grandchild was a special event where she made little sandwiches, or had a special activity planned.
She made each child feel special.

My former mother-in-law, whom I always called "Mother,"

was the best mother-in-law anyone could ever have.

She never interfered in my life.

She was always kind and loving towards me.

She always showed me great respect and much love.

I joined the LDS (Mormon) Church just before I married into this woman's family.

I left the LDS (Mormon) Church while I was going through the divorce from her son.

She never showed or spoke judgement towards me.
Never.

She continued to show me the same love and acceptance she had always given me whenever I would go to visit her in the thirty plus years since I was a member of her family.

I will remember all those wonderful family gatherings I had at her home.
I will remember how we always went to Salt Lake City to shop when the men went deer hunting.
It was the big event of the year.
We called it Deer Shop.
She had started the tradition with her sister years ago.
It continues to this day, even though the guys no long go hunting.

I will remember many picnics,
river rafting trips,
camping trips,
and
fishing trips.
I will remember a woman who blessed my life beyond measure.

My Julie could have been her clone.
They looked so much alike.
Her prominent features are features I see in each of my own children.
This photo was taken of her with my girls just before Julie died.

Keicha, Grandma Chris, Julie, Amy

Her dry wit, her humor, her intelligence were gifts to all of us.
She could play by ear nearly instrument she picked up.
She wrote her school song many years ago.

Today, she was laid to rest.
Her funeral service was held in the exact same spot where I married her son 48 years ago.
All of my children were there.
Sadly, I could not make the trip due to other commitments.
As her dear husband remembers her,
and as others remember their dear mother, grandmother, aunt, great grandmother,
I too remember and honor her.

She was a
caring,
giving,
gracious woman.
She blessed my life, and the lives of my children and grandchildren in countless ways.
We all will miss her greatly.

The Little Country Wedding

My son and his beautiful bride were married during the middle week of June in Boulder, Utah.

It was the best wedding ever.

My son, the groom, was teary-eyed throughout it all.

The bride could not stop smiling.

The sheer joy emitted from these two will not soon be forgotten by any in attendance.

Ryan and Sheridan

A disclaimer is in order.

Photographer/participant do not go well together.

I wanted to take my own personal photos,

but mostly, I wanted to just enjoy the moment.

Also, I took so many photos, that I just might crash this blog by sharing them all.

Not only that, I just could not begin to capture the scope of this wedding.

It was in the country.

It was not "little."

No detail was missed to make this wedding perfect.

Some said it was like a Martha Stewart Wedding.

That is not correct.

A Martha Stewart Wedding would not have been as relaxed, joy filled, fun, and beautiful

as this wedding was.

Going to this wedding was like going to a great family reunion.

It wasn't just a wedding.

It was the event of the year for our family.

There was:

family,

love,

laughter,

tears,

hiking,

fishing, 

volleyball,

soccer,

football,

croquet,

bonfires,

smores,

dress up clothes for

polaroid camera photos,

flowers,

candles,

dancing,

music,

daily agendas,

food,

drink,

friends,

fancy restaurant meals

barbecues,

cowboy boots,

cowboy hats,

fancy dresses,

a gourmet wedding supper

prepared by chefs written up in the New York Times,

Sunset Magazine, Fodors,

homemade ice cream

outstanding scenery,

a full moon, 

the coming together 

of two families,

and

much

celebratory

JOY!

The bride accompanied by her two sons

My son awaits his bride.

My son and his children.
Parker, Ryan, Bridger, Regan

There is more to come.  I just wanted to give you a small snapshot into it all before I fill you in on all the details.  Stay tuned...