Moving my parents

My parents have moved from the house we all shared for forty-nine years. There are many happy memories for me there. When I was a little girl there weren't houses in the back. We called the area "THE FIELD" and officially it was the best place for a girl like me to grow up. I never was one for dolls, but I could spend hours building hills and driving toy trucks through the dirt. We could ride horses in the field and around on the street with my aunt Marti. It was a quiet street to learn to ride a bike. There was a tree in the front yard that technically didn't belong to us, but on Sundays we would go and sit under it with my dad and he would tell us of his adventures growing up in Northern Idaho. We girls slept in the basement. The basement was our own little world. We hung from the pipes, and bounced on the bed. We made cookies from questionable ingredients. We listened to classical music, show tunes, songs from the 50's, 60's and 70's, and cinematic sound effects booming from upstairs on the stereo. We tickled each other's backs until we went to sleep and shared our dreams. We all shared one bathroom, and the kitchen barely fit all seven or eight of us--depending if grandma was there. Its a house where I brought my friends, my dates, my husband, my babies, and eventually my grandchildren. It is a small home, but large in love.

When my parents first told us they were moving, some in my family were shocked and surprised. Could Christmas eve be the same if we weren't all crammed in like sardines, drinking hot chocolate and eating grilled tuna? How could grandpa do laundry without hanging it out (or in) to dry? Family dinners with the kids in the basement, sometimes freezing since it doesn't have much heat? The house had become as much the tradition as the tradition itself.

Not so much for me. I am so happy that I don't have to worry about my parents falling down the stairs. I'm glad that we don't have to try to figure out how to replace the fixtures that are original to the house, or upgrade flooring, plumbing, or windows.

When we went into the new house, it felt like home. I really am so thankful that we are moving them into a house, and not a "retirement facility." I'm glad that it is big enough for the whole family to get together in one place, and the out-of-towners can even spend the night.

AND, it has a bomb shelter.

PS...I have written a lot about my dad lately. I just wanted to add that he showed an incredible amount of integrity when he bought this home.
He has had his eye on this home for a long time. When it first went on the market, they were asking in the high 210's. The market started to bottom, and after a while the price went to the 190's, then fell to $160,000. I don't know how serious he was about buying a new home, but he started talking about it A LOT more when the price got that low. The Friday before Easter, he noticed that the realtor had reduced the price even further to $130,000. That got my dad. He decided right then and there that this was too good a house to go for such a price. Additionally, somehow he is related to the sellers, so he went to the realtor and offered.....$160,000. He said if the house was worth that much one week before, it still was. He also said that $130,00 wasn't a fair price, and he wouldn't pay it. I hope I can someday have the kind of integrity my dad has.
PPS Even with that level of integrity, he still had to convince the mortgagor to finance him. He is an old-fashioned kind of guy and wanted a 30 year loan. He is 75 years old. They gave him the loan. Of course, I think it will take him less than 15 to pay for it, but he was willing to fight for the 30 year contract.

I love him.

What to cook....

For your pleasure I have added a link to my friend Tiffany's recipe blog. You know how you have this friend and everything she makes is fabulous? This is Tiff. (When you make a blog with recipes, I will add you too, Angela.)
Anyway, the recipes are simple but delish and each comes with a photo of how it should look. Find Tiff's Kitchen on my sidebar and enjoy!

I am kind of excited to try the Oreo Truffles. Yum!

Hope everything is good in your neck of the woods.
Kathy

Thanks Joy, but I have to share this one!

I don't know if people read my comments, but this was a winner (Thanks to my cousin for the laugh!) :

One of my friends who is a teacher has a great ice skating/show and tell story. A little boy brought a box of Stayfree Maxi pads to class and had everyone peel off the stickers and put them on their feet. Then he told them that his mom let him use them for skates at home to help clean the floor. Stop laughing right now, 'cause I know you are. Laughing. Right. Now!

This is Kathy again, I have to say that is one ingenious mom!

Just ramblings

I have decided that I must rededicate myself to exercise. I got off the bandwagon when I was going blind. To be fair, the doctor did tell me I shouldn't go. Then there were all those cookies given to me by kind-hearted friends. Sadly, some of the weight I lost has found me again. So, I decided that I have to go and workout until I can fit into all of my clothes again. Those of you who are faithful readers of this blog will recall that in a bold move I gave all of my bigger girl clothes away. Well, I have been to Gold's twice in the last two days. I tried a class called Body Combat which I was probably doing incorrectly, but which was a fantastic release to all of my pent up frustrations. However, about ten minutes through, I was asking myself, "WHAT IN THE WORLD DID YOU EVER SEE IN THIS?" Then the endorphins kicked in and I remembered. That is why I was able to go in today.

One of my students is writing his life story. When asked why, he replied, "I don't plan on having many more experiences....and I could really use the money."

I teach five year olds in Primary. I love it. I wish I could remember every funny thing they say, but sadly...I am getting older and my brain just isn't what it used to be. Here is one I do remember, "Sister Behrend, does Heavenly Father have a girlfriend?"

I have a student teacher. She is fantastic and will someday be a great teacher. Sometimes weird things happen in my class. I think that my body gets possessed by a crazy spirit and I do these really odd things. Like ice skating. It just jumped into my head when the kids were not getting a concept and I told them to take their favorite skater pose. While I am leaning over with my leg expertly pointing out behind me and one arm in the air, while the other one daintily dangled to the ground, I remember that Mrs Hill is in the room. She was in my blind side when I had this great idea. So...I glanced her way and saw her in a perfect pirouette pose. I told her later that I liked it, she informed me that I couldn't have seen it because it was on my blind side. When I described it to her, she confessed with was her triple axel. Got to love a girl who will throw her best jump on the first day in class.

Ok, that's all I have in my head right now--except that I am hungry and need some scrambled eggs.

Hope everything is good in your neck of the woods.

Snow

I like it.
It is celestial and clean in its whiteness (until the road crews get out).
All of the really good holidays of the year have snow in them.
I love to watch it snow from my warm living room, while the fire burns and I am wrapped in a quilt reading a book.
Soup is better when it snows.
If there was no snow, there would be no ski-cross at this years Olympics. Also, no downhill, no Super G, no half pipes...
If it didn't snow, we might not appreciate spring as much.
Or summer.
If it didn't snow we would have nothing to cover the dead browns of the leaves in the fall.
Without snow an entire tire industry would go bankrupt.
I am starting to have to really reach for reasons I like snow.
I think I am trying to convince myself how much I like snow.
I like the sun....

Driving with my dad

Ok...this will be two semi-serious posts in a row.

My dad has been driving me to work again. I have resigned myself to the fact that he will probably drive me every day--forever. Well...he does let me drive myself to summer school.

The last month he has been waxing sentimental. He actually cried when he was talking about my grandpa. Being pioneer stock did prevent him from actually CRYING...it was a little more like choked sobs.

Today when he picked me up, he just started talking. From school to home he addressed the following subjects: debt, politics, good music, how to take a rewarding trip, him as a child, the Art Academy of America, a fugitive we both know, the beauty of the mountains around us, and the Olympics. It is less than ten miles from my house to the school and he drives about 50 mph the whole way. He began every new topic with "BUT its just like..." I think his segways made sense to him, somehow...but not so much to me.

When he drove into my driveway he turned off the motor. From past experiences, I knew that meant we were going to talk. And so it started, "BUT its just like..."
He started with the topic of his experiencs as a child wanting to draw, and how the Art Academy of America took all the fun out of it. Then he started up another topic. "I choose your mother out of all the women in the world to be your mom. When I first saw her I was taken by her beauty." At this point he does that chokey sobby noise. "I knew that when I was around her I felt good and when I was around her family there was so much love. That's what I wanted for my babies, because I never had it in my own life."

Long pause.

"I feel so grateful that I found her. I know you are the good people you are because of her." (His chin is quivering and he is trying hard to control himself.) "I know that some of our children have had rough spots in your lives, but you have all done well. You are honest, you are hard-working, you have good families."

Another pause.

"Your grandmother told me that I would have to look hard for a better woman to marry. She could cook, sew, and clean." Smaller pause. "She did tell me that if finding someone who could darn my socks was important to me, I should look somewhere else. I learned that if I kept my toenails clipped my socks lasted longer."

I personally think that I--and my siblings--are the sum total of both of our parents.

Between generations

Last night I was holding Loucee and she went to sleep on my lap. She can be quite a little snuggler when she's asleep, and I was enjoying the quiet and peace of it. I was kissing her hair and feeling her breathe while I could hear her two brothers and one cousin playing in the back room. They were laughing and enjoying themselves and I found myself smiling at how content having the grandbabies in my home makes me feel. I needed that content feeling, because while two generations down from my own were visiting me, two generations up my grandpa was laying in an intensive care unit. We have been so worried about him, and have had sleepless nights thinking about his pain, his heart, his hip, my grandma, his kids-my mother... Two generations up are struggling. My grandma puts on her brave face, but she has been sleeping alone in her house for one of the first times in literally a half a century. She is a pillar of faith--she KNOWS everything is going to work out fine, no matter what 'fine' is.

On one end of my generations life is just starting. My grandbabies have such a vigor and drive to live, to love, to learn. They are barely aware of the drama unfolding just a few generations up the ladder. They are blessed to know their great-great grandparents, a few might even remember them.

On the other end, hard decisions are being made. There is love, living, and even learning. They have been blessed to know those in generations down from their own, and back to their own parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles, great grandparents...

So last night, it occurred to me. I am in the middle.

People everywhere I go ask how my grandparents are. They tell me to pass along their thoughts and prayers to them and their family. They tell me stories about my grandpa as their bishop, or that he sold them a car. Some relate stories of how kind my grandma is, that she was always the first on the scene with food when a family needed help. My grandparents are well loved and have lived well.

Last night I felt more on the aging side of the generations. I wondered if I have lived in a way that people would care if I was sick when I am 90. I wondered if they would have fond memories of me. I wondered how my grandchildren would remember me, as loving and fun? Would they look to me as a pillar of faith and strength?

I know this kind of thing happens in families every day.

I feel like a middle child of generations.