Milk cans, doorknobs and space clocks

Last weekend was an interesting convergence of changes. As my grandma started living in a new house, I was tasked with packing up and shipping what was left in her old house of my mom’s things that I acquired after her passing four years ago. At the same time, the family is also integrating into our lives belongings of my Uncle Carl who passed away last year. From each one of these life changes, I have wanted particular items to have as remembrances of people and places –my mom, Uncle Carl and my grandma’s old house. I found it interesting to think about why we want to have physical items to help us remember people and feelings of the past.

As I sorted through my mom’s things, there were several that I felt absolutely no connection to – A couple of collectible bears wearing cute outfits, some needlepoint patterns and lots of frames after I took the pictures out. I put these in the donation pile – or even the recycle pile for things not necessarily fit to donate. But, I found several things that I didn’t want to part with, including an embroidery of a lovely poem about children that I believe my mom made, a small wooden knick-knack shelf she made and gave to my grandma when she was in middle school – this was a new discovery for me - and of course the milk can. I remember when my mom brought home the milk can when I was a young kid. She set it in the hallway near the front door to keep it “for now” until she decided where she wanted to keep it permanently. There it sat the rest of the time she lived there – more than 35 years. That was my mom to a “T”. The only time it moved was when I used it to sit on when I talked on the phone as a teenager. I would move it four feet across the little hall to just inside the doorway of the kitchen, under the rotary phone that hung on the wall long after everyone else had touch-tone phones. I would sit on that milk can for hours talking to my friends and boys I knew.

Once, when Andy was in the Navy in Spain – when we were engaged and anxiously awaiting our wedding day when we would be together forever – he called me and as I was sitting on the milk can, the call got cut off. I knew he would call right back so I waited on the milk can. It took longer than I expected, probably because of the crazy phone lines on the Navy base in Rota, so I laid my head down on the kitchen counter. Being a college-kid who also worked late at night at the local Pizza Hut, I was often very tired and so as I was waiting with my head down, I fell asleep. I don’t know how long I slept – maybe 20 minutes but when I woke up, my feet were just as asleep as I was. Stupidly, I tried to walk on them to get to my bed – NEVER try to walk if your feet are asleep! Two or three steps later, my right foot buckled under and I went down in excruciating pain. It was fractured – the only bone fracture I’ve ever had. It was years before I could wear heels again for any length of time. But, I still love that milk can. How can I get rid of something that holds such memories for me? I gladly paid to ship the 35lb rusty metal monstrosity home.

Earlier, when I was talking to my grandma about the old house, she told me that my cousin Gwen said she wanted the doorknobs from the old house. These are great old antique doorknobs and when I heard the idea, I loved it and wanted one, too! So, I silently apologized to Gwen for not letting her have all of them and decided to see what I could do to get the doorknobs out of the house – maybe to share among all the grandkids. So, after I was done packing mom’s stuff, I found the little red toolbox Grandma kept in the utility room and hadn’t brought to the new house yet and worked to learn if I could remove the old knob from the living room door and replace it with a new one. After all, I didn’t want to leave the house doorknob-less. Alas, I found that removing the knob and plate was easy but because this was an antique knob with one of those big skeleton keyholes beneath it, there was a lot of hardware embedded in the wood of the door that I could not remove – at least without destroying the wood. So we are leaving it to my Uncle Larry who is much more handy with these things and visits often. He may be able to come up with a solution to our problem. But, I’m already imagining that little shelf my mom made with the doorknob on top as one of the small mementos it will house. I really hope Uncle Larry can figure it out and I’d love to be able to send a Facebook message to all my cousins announcing that we can have doorknobs if we want to remember that great old house with.

The other item I received that weekend that is of great importance to me is an item that belonged to my Uncle Carl. He passed away last year and I expressed to Grandma that I would love to have a small something from his house to remember him by. Thursday, when I arrived at her home, Grandma gave me a space clock – a desk clock that says “Nasa – Sharing Space Technology – Kennedy Space Center” below the analog face that she found in his house. Uncle Carl was a physicist and worked for Nasa on the space shuttle for most of his life. I tell more about him in another post from last year. I love Carl as I love all my uncles and to have this small piece from his life means a lot to me. I think I’ll put it on the little shelf next to the doorknob.

But, I have been asking myself, why do we crave these things in our lives? Why do we collect these items that take up space in our homes and won’t mean anything to anyone 2 generations from now? Vienna’s grandkids won’t care if I sat on this milk can and broke my foot waiting for their great-grandfather to call from the Navy. They won’t have any memories of the house that belonged to my grandma and that I loved so dearly. And the clock will just be a clock to them – if it even still works – if Vienna even keeps it herself after I die. All these things will eventually go the way of the earth, just as we do.

I believe in the afterlife – that our spirits live on forever after we die and that we will be reunited with our loved ones who have passed on before us. I also believe that we will each have a perfect memory of all that happened to us while we were on the earth – unlike the fading and fallible memory we have now. I wonder if clinging to these things – these physical reminders – is kindof like clinging to or reaching beyond the veil that lies between this earthly life and the eternities - for the time to come when we will be with our family and friends again with a perfect beautiful memory of our lives on earth and won’t need these things anymore.

I am wondering if these things are simply for us to hold as a semblance of that joy we will have with our loved ones. Has God given us a desire for these things so that we might feel a sliver of what we will feel then and maybe have an inkling of what He has planned for us?

Well, no matter the answer to that, I love these small tokens of love, memories and life. I can’t wait to scrub, sand and paint my milkcan or hang my mom’s little shelves and on them place a doorknob, clock and other sweet mementos. I plan to cling to them until I don’t need them anymore.

My Grandma’s House

My grandma has, until recently, lived in the same house since long before I was born. It’s an old Victorian near downtown Largo, Florida that has a lot of character with a couple of unusually large bedrooms, the original hard-wood floors, antique door-knobs and built-in knick-knack shelves. It is old, creaky and drafty – not to mention hard to maintain and more difficult all the time for Grandma to maneuver because of the second story. So, despite the character, I don’t blame her for wanting something new after almost 50 years.

But, even still I am having to come to terms with the loss of this house in our family. My first memory ever was in the unusually large upstairs bedroom. I was still in a crib and just learned how to jimmy the side down and get out. I caused my young mom some frustration, I’m sure as I climbed out again and again to get into bed with her. I then remember the small toddler bed she got me with the brand new brick-colored ribbed bedspread that smelled like maple syrup. Yes, I swear it smelled like maple syrup – I have no idea why but even then I knew it was wonderful.

My great-grandmother lived just two doors down and we would often drop by to visit her. She had a great house, too with a back bedroom complete with toy box just for us little ones when we came over.

After mom and I moved into our new permanent little house in Clearwater, we still visited Grandma often – especially on the holidays. My most favorite memories of my childhood are in that old house of hers at Thanksgiving – adults at the big table, kids at the little table and lots of yummy traditional Thanksgiving foods to eat. There was turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes (lumpy and I wouldn’t have it any other way), cranberry sauce from a can, home-made dinner rolls and the pumpkin pies my mom and I would make from scratch together at home beforehand. To this day, these are my absolute favorite foods to eat and I insist on having them each year no matter what my family says. I don’t’ think I ever even asked Andy his Thanksgiving preference – there is only one meal for me at Thanksgiving. However, we have made a few changes like the homemade cranberry sauce Vienna wanted and learned how to make. This is a great addition to the wonderful traditions started in that old house.

But, it wasn’t the food that made those times so special – it was the people of my family. My uncles, Carl, Rick, Steve and Larry- my aunts, Sheila and Linda – my cousins which were few at that time – just Cliff and Teri – and of course, my mom and grandma. All these people were so special to me and I have great memories of each of them.

This is not a unique story and these are not unique people – except in the fact that they all got along. Mine was never one of those loud, obnoxious, argumentative families that make such funny and dramatic movies. The adults tended to sit around the living room sharing news of other family members with long pregnant pauses of silence, never feeling awkward but enjoying the peace of the house and the day. Only Uncle Rick would be an occasional rabble-rouser, striking up a light-hearted argument stemming from someone disagreeing with his obvious right-ness. He could irritate his siblings, for sure – especially my mom, but there would rarely be hard feelings left over.

There was also the obligatory viewing of the photo albums, an activity that I continued throughout the years. Grandma has always been faithful at keeping them current and reliving our history through them is always a treat. I remember gathering them onto the couch and flipping through the pages and enjoying the images of my mom and her brothers as children and hearing the stories that went with them.

There would of course be times of activity when grandma was cooking, setting the table and getting people to help in one way or another. Sitting around the table at dinner was much the same – family style serving and calm but interesting conversation interspersed with laughter. We kids would fool around and laugh at our little table as most kids do but never caused any real problems. But, I don’t remember even one time of drama or fighting in our family gatherings– that would be the one unique trait we have. I love my family because of that. We all loved each other and while things in our individual homes were never perfect, our times together reflected that love and caring for each other.

Through the years, things changed – branches of the family moved away, the gatherings got smaller, Grandma eventually turned the cooking over to others but the house was still there and family was always welcome anytime. As each family grew in number they would take turns staying at Grandma’s house – sometimes crowded in the back upstairs bedroom which was about the size of two living rooms so could hold all 6 of my Uncle Rick’s kids, Uncle Larry’s 3 or a combination of everyone- on the bed, in sleeping bags and on the pull-out couch-bed. Sometimes people were really crammed in there – and that’s when I loved it! When there were tons of people, it was always a blast.

Later when my cousins grew up, they started bringing their own kids to Grandma’s house, and I brought Vienna. A new generation of great-grandchildren got to know Grandma and her wonderful house. More folks lived far away, including us who moved to Georgia, Ohio and then California but there was always room at Grandma’s house and the feeling was always the same – calm, happy, peaceful – just like a home should be – a haven from the world. Often, when Andy, Vienna and I would have a harrowing adventure driving or flying across the country, we would find ourselves finally at rest in the upstairs bedrooms of Grandma’s house – hearing the crickets and birds outside but otherwise, completely quiet. This was peace. This was comfort. This was home.

I know many in the family agree that we are going to pine for those days in that old house. My cousin, Gwen has the great idea of getting all the antique doorknobs out for a keepsake. (Sorry, Gwen, Grandma told me and now I want one, too! Uncle Larry’s gonna see what he can do.) I felt that pang of sadness as I walked through the old house this weekend, taking pictures and packing up my mom’s stuff to ship home. I remembered that I used to climb the tree in the yard when I was little and thought about the locusts that used to live on the side of the house – they scared and fascinated me at the same time. But, as I got to know my grandma’s new house, I felt better.

It is perfect for her – one-story, spacious, bright, clean, much newer and has an amazing tree in the front that I want to climb one day – and she has brought all her old furniture with her which all has great memories: the pull-out couch, her lazy-boy that her kids got her years ago and fits her just right, the old wooden chairs and couch with the square cushions and of course the rocking chair – my favorite piece that as a kid I would have to relinquish to my wonderful Uncle Carl who loved it, too. And, best of all, Grandma brought the spirit of that old house with her – the peace, the comfort and the joy are all there and it was a pleasure to be there with her.

Then I realized, of course she brought that spirit with her because she is that spirit of the old house. The house had that feeling because she was there. She is calm and peaceful and happy. She taught her children to be the same and they have taught their children. And now, the new house has that spirit, too. Grandma is the matriarch of our family and wherever she goes, the spirit of our family goes no matter which house she lives in. Thank you, Grandma for creating that spirit and fostering it through the generations. I’ll miss the old house but I can love your new home, too.

For more pics of both houses check out my Facebook Albums: Grandma's Old House and Grandma's New House.

My first day on the bus to Seagate

I am commuting again. For a nice 9 years, I had a 5 minute drive to work - or a 12 minute bike ride, which was my preference. When the CEO of Seagate decided to move our headquarters more than 20 miles away and over the Santa Cruz Mountains, I thought my life was going to come to an end - at least the life that I knew. It really has taken me the full year since they announced the move to accept this change - and I don't know that I fully have, yet.

But, today as I take my first 45 minute bus ride over the slow-winding but beautiful mountain road, I have at least begun to accept some of the blessings of this extra time. Though I won't get to spend it with my husband in the evening as I would prefer, I do have a lot of great things I can accomplish with an extra hour and a half each day. Most notably, I can blog!

In church yesterday, in the women's organization (Relief Society), we had an amazing lesson by Damaris Palmer who inspired me to write in my blog and do more in the social media network to share more of myself, my beliefs and my unique life. So, I'm going to act on that inspiration, starting today by telling you of the most recent struggles of my life and how I'm coping.

I got a job at Seagate precisely because it was 5 minutes from my home. I had been working full-time in Silicon Valley, while living in Scotts Valley for a year and felt very disconnected from my home and family. I would get home at 6 or so every night and then after dinner, taking care of my daughter Vienna who was still in elementary school, and the other sundry duties, it was time for bed. The next morning it was up early, get Vienna off to school and me to work. I felt like I never had time to even get to know the new condo we had just bought. Seagate was perfect because I could get home shortly after 5 and feel like I had a life.

A year ago they announced the big move over the hill (the Santa Cruz mountains) and into Cupertino to be in Silicon Valley, as opposed to outside of it. Our CEO felt this would bolster our business position, give customers more opportunity to visit and allow for the Valley inspiration to rub off on us. I just saw it as one more way this big corporation didn't care about me, my family or my fellow workers and I held a grudge.

I will say, that my work did not suffer - even though I was tempted to really slack off. I love the team I work with and would never slight them because of my disgruntled-ness. They deserve my best.

Now I'm on the bus, resigned to my fate and looking for the opportunities this situation presents me. My attitude, though not perfect, has improved and I am willing to give this a chance before putting in my resume to the company that has made an offer to buy the old Seagate buildings. Some of the productive things I can do now with this time?

• Write in my blog! - Ta Da!
• Read my Scriptures
• Practice my piano using a roll-up portable keyboard I'm hoping my best friend will get me for my birthday. ;-)
• Keep up with my friends on FB and share my insights with them
• Write to my dear friend who is in prison
• Catch up on reading all the books Vienna's always wanted me to read
• Work on writing grants - my latest endeavor to create income that will let me work from home.

So, maybe this commute thing won't be so bad. My optimistic nature tells me it will be alright and may even provide some valuable growth for me. I know that God doesn't give me anything I can't handle and every trial He's ever put in my life has eventually been for my own good - like any good father would do. It's now up to me to find that growth and benefit in this latest struggle.