I Thank My Sisters

Anne and Gail at the East/West Alumni Game (best night ever!)

[After writing the last post blaming my sisters, I stumbled on this post that I had begun back in December and somehow never finished. Oops! If I'm going to blame them for my problems, I should also give them just a small dose of the thanks they deserve.]

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Just had a wonderful couple of days with Anne and Gail. It's caused me to reflect on the relationship that only exists between sisters. I'm not sure how I could have treasured so many memories with them and still managed to take them for granted, but somehow that is the nature of family where unconditional love is a given..

My mom always said that you could let your hair down around family... you could be tired and cranky... and they would love you, warts and all. And my sister do. They know me. I mean REALLY know me. They know that I can be loud, selfish, overbearing, that I can consume more chocolate than any human being should... and they still manage to make me feel adored. They even seem surprised if occasionally someone else doesn't adore me.

We share a history: of a converted duplex with a long tiled floor hallway, of Bremerton II ward, a velvet crumb cake and the bread drawer, of a "dance" made up to the Nutcracker Suite... and a thousand other references that only they would recognize. In a single conversation we can be reverent and irreverent, choke back a tear or two and laugh until... well, they know. We've cried through weddings and laughed at death. And yes, we share a twisted, sometimes dark sense of humor.

Because they are closer in age, they share even more of a history with each other: Of Mr. Vehrs, Mrs. Simcik (which they will know that I've spelled her name wrong), of ground beef getting kicked home from the grocery store (I believe you even if your daughters don't) and Young Adult Volleyball games. I know these stories, because I heard them 30+ years ago. I treasured them then and I do now. I listened carefully to those stories, because I wanted to be with them, I wanted to be like them.

I am now the tallest, but I have never ceased to look up to my sisters. And they have always deserved it.

I have been blessed in my life to have a pretty sure foundation. And my sisters are a huge part of that. They loaned me their faith, their shoes, their strength, and even a prized opal necklace for my 6th grade school picture. More than anything maybe, they "get me". I don't have to explain my jokes, or ever say those horrible words, "just kidding". I have called them in the middle of the night to share my joy, or from a telephone booth to share my sorrow. And they always picked up the phone. And always, they lift me up as well. They are my oldest friends and I refuse to think about a world without them in it. They have brought more to my life than I can begin to realize.

I thank my sisters.

I Blame My Sisters

I am the baby of the family. I will not lie. This position has a lot perks. But there is a dark, seemy underbelly of this slot in the birth order that no one likes to talk about. This blog is all about breaking down barriers and telling the truth. So, Here it is: Because my siblings were older (and therefore ostensibly wiser?), I actually trusted them. Their word was gospel to me. So, say for instance, when they told me (again and again and again) that I had a very low pain tolerance, I believed them. They always said it in that kindly (aka condescending) tone, that only a big sister can really carry off.

So, earlier this month, when Steve and I had a little spill on a motorcycle, I assumed I was being whimpy when I was still limping two weeks later. And I still felt sheepish when, per my doctor's suggestion, I broke down and scheduled an MRI. But let me tell you: 24 hours later I had 46 years worth of validation. After all, MRI's do not lie: I have three broken bones in my foot.

Sure, I will be using crutches for the next four weeks, followed by two weeks in the boot. Absolutely, I won't be able to exercise for 6 weeks. Yes, getting ready in the morning really needs to start the night before because it takes so long, stinking long to do shower, hair makeup and dress with crutches. And certainly, I can't carry a glass of water or a hard cover book, and I truly detest crutches.

But behind all this there is a strange sick pride. Because, I hate to brag, but apparently, I do have a fairly decent pain tolerance.

And that summer back in '75 when my sister broke her toe? And, for the past 35 years I have lived in awe of her stoic determination? Well, sweetie: move aside, there is a new sheriff in town. It's your little sister... who perhaps isn't such a whimp after all.

And yes, for the fact that it took me two additional weeks to receive proper medical attention? I TOTALLY blame my sisters.

Elder Rowley Hits the Big Apple

I know that the past couple of months have been a tough transition for Brian. He wasn't anticipating leaving Paris so abruptly and it's been a challenge. But judging by this photo, he still has some things to smile about. And speaking purely objectively? He sure is handsome.

This was taken at a baptism in the Jamaica Queens 1st Ward on Valentine's Day. Pretty good day for a new beginning.

We also found out this week that Brian will return home on or about August 18. And then, we will let the Wild Rumpus start!

Dinner with Friends

This weekend brought the rare privilege of back-to-back dinners hosted by friends. I was reminded yet again that there are few pleasures sweeter than savoring a great meal over several hours at the home of a treasured friend. I've always loved the intimacy of a shared meal. (I think this is why I typically develop a crush on my waiter! I humbly ask, Who can make you fall in love faster than someone who is feeding you?) At a communal dinner, there is a wonderful sharing of flavors and stories. I'm never able to determine which brings more delight: the beautifully prepared food or the conversation which often has taken years to perfect. I love the slow pace of the meal and the way conversations thread in and out without rhyme or reason and sometimes come right back to where they started. I love hearing the old stories at least as much as I enjoy hearing the new ones. I love when the dishes sit at the table along with the guests long after the meal because no one wants to disturb the moment. I love finally clearing the plates together and the way the clinking glasses and cups seem somehow to enhance the conversation, which has become mellow and soft, almost desultory, by this point in the evening.

Simple pleasures truly are the best... and a long-drawn out meal with the people you love is among the dearest.

Ode to KTown

We moved to Kirkland 22 years ago and into our home 19 years ago this month. I have now lived in Kirkland longer than I did in my hometown and have lived in this home longer than the one in which I was raised. There are sacrifices made to live here: small homes, small yards, condo developments (don't get me started) and traffic, but that is all forgotten when I pull into my neighborhood.

I LOVE Kirkland and in random order here are a few reasons why...

*The Greek Place on Central Way. I've lived here 20+ years, grab a souvlaki there at least once a month and can never remember the actual name of the place. But the lamb skewers???? Oh my goodness.

*Walks to Lake Washington.

*The pavillion in Moss Bay that serves no real purpose but centers the town.

*My neighbors. I've always said that our street is where Richie Cunningham lived before his folks bought a two-story house when Joanie was born. They were short-sighted to leave. Back in 1991, the Hills and the Lyons were great neighbors. They have become our dear and trusted friends. And I don't want to imagine the past twenty years without them.

*1982 Little League World Series Champs. 'Nuff said.

*Memories: i.e., my two-year old son once urinated from the bridge in a crowded playpark downtown. Proud moments such as these must be treasured. (In retrospect, perhaps I should have kept a better eye on him.)

*I cannot run to the grocery store without running into an old friend. (must get better about applying making up before running Saturday am errands).

*We are superior to Redmond.

*You do not need a club membership in a place where you can work out out of doors 365 days a year (if you don't mind the occasional drizzle). The weather is so temperate that if it drops below 50 or above 75, you begin to hear complaints from the locals. I also love the flexibility of the true Kirklandite!

*Walking into town on a summer's evening and choosing between a dozen really good places to eat. Including Thin Pan!!! They must have heard my cries and have remained open!

*The most beautiful outdoor baseball park anywhere to be found. Every year the Little League Baseball parade's finale is held here... If that's not America, then slap a beret on my head and call me Frenchie!

*Hot Dogs at the aforementioned Baseball Park. Split lengthwise, grilled and served with grilled onions. Life changing. To bite into one on a warm sunny evening while watching your kid play ball? It is one of life's rare but perfect moments.

*Park Place Books. A real-life actual independent bookstore. With staff who actually read the books.

*Home of Costco's Kirkland Signature Brand. People from all over the country understand and appreciate me the moment they hear where I'm from. You can't buy branding like this (unless, of course, you are Costco).

*Wednesday Market. Every Wednesday afternoon between May and October I can buy fresh flowers, organic cheese, tomatoes, kettle corn, scented lotions, basil, and a taco... all while meandering along the shore of the lake and mingling with the very people who grew or made these products. I LOVE Wednesdays!

*The scene when you drop off of 405 and head into Kirkland. You come down the hill, there are maple trees on your right, the baseball field and the lake in the foreground. When the sun is setting, it is breath-taking... and most of all, when I see that scene, day or night, rain or shine, I know I am home.

When I die, I don't need a headstone, but I would love one of those plaques that are on park benches placed around town. I just want one that says I lived here and I loved this place...

Poetry, Second Stanza

This next poem is dedicated to my huge following of other middle-aged woman (aka Anne and Gail). I loved the message and power of this poem!!!! It makes me happy to be female and even happier to be aging (and that takes some doing!) Thanks to Ms. Sarton, for her great wisdom... and for other great women who have paved the way through life for me, especially Mom, who aged (and even died) with grace and humor.

Now I Become Myself

Now I become myself. It's taken
Time, many years and places;
I have been dissolved and shaken,
Worn other people's faces,
Run madly, as if Time were there,
Terribly old, crying a warning,
"Hurry, you will be dead before--"
(What? Before you reach the morning?
Or the end of the poem is clear?
Or love safe in the walled city?)
Now to stand still, to be here,
Feel my own weight and density!
The black shadow on the paper
Is my hand; the shadow of a word
As thought shapes the shaper
Falls heavy on the page, is heard.
All fuses now, falls into place
From wish to action, word to silence,
My work, my love, my time, my face
Gathered into one intense
Gesture of growing like a plant.
As slowly as the ripening fruit
Fertile, detached, and always spent,
Falls but does not exhaust the root,
So all the poem is, can give,
Grows in me to become the song,
Made so and rooted by love.
Now there is time and Time is young.
O, in this single hour I live
All of myself and do not move.
I, the pursued, who madly ran,
Stand still, stand still, and stop the sun!

May Sarton

Poetry In Motion

I've never considered myself one who enjoyed poetry. I'm too impatient to slow down enough to appreciate all its layers. But the past couple of weeks, I've stumbled upon two poems that brought tears to my eyes: Because of their truth, their beauty and the clean way they used the English language to evoke so much emotion.

The first one I found was in a bookstore in South Carolina. It's from Langston Hughes and here it is:

Mother to Son

Well, son, I'll tell you:
Life for me ain't been no crystal stair.
It's had tacks in it,
And splinters,
And boards torn up,
And places with no carpet on the floor --
Bare.
But all the time
I'se been a-climbin' on,
And reachin' landin's,
And turnin' corners,
And sometimes goin' in the dark
Where there ain't been no light.
So boy, don't you turn back.
Don't you set down on the steps
'Cause you finds it's kinder hard.
Don't you fall now --
For I'se still goin', honey,
I'se still climbin',
And life for me ain't been no crystal stair.

I can't think of any greater wisdom to share with my own son than to keep climbing... Thank you Mr. Hughes.

I'll post the next one in a day or two.

Happily in their Debt

I’ve thought a lot this week about the kindnesses of others. The generosity of friends.

Last week a dear family friend took our son, Brian, to Subway for dinner. This was a fairly simple, straightforward gesture and yet it took my breath away. I was so moved that it brought tears to my eyes. And then I realized why.

Because there is nothing more humbling or tender than when someone does something for you that you can’t do for yourself. While in the past six weeks or so, I’ve wanted nothing more than to hug my son and to pamper him in someway, I can’t. The support I can provide him is so limited right now. But Leah could. And she did. She didn’t wait until she ran into him, but she tracked him down, reached out to him and gave him a meal and a listening ear and encouragement. Just like a mom might do. Now, Leah certainly isn't old enough to be Brian's mother, but she nurtured him (and us) just the same.

She also shared a message from me with him… and then carefully took pictures and videos and delivered them to us. She has a very busy life, with so much to do and yet she found time to do this for our family.

Leah and her husband Yancy served as a proxy for us last week and I am forever in their debt. I'm grateful for another glimpse into the joys of giving and receiving vicariously.