Remember

I love Memorial Day weekend. Since I was a child we visited cemetaries that held the stones with names on them that were somehow linked to me.



We decorated graves, walked through the cemetaries reading the other headstone's names and poems. At the time the car rides were painfully long. We had to drive to Grace and Preston area. But, like clock, work we heard the stories.

As we wound up the lush green road that led to a lookout that contained great grandparents, we passed a hot spring. Us kids always peppered Dad or grandparents about the child drowned in that hot spring. (and of course any other gorry details we could get out of them.)

Next to that remote cemetary that is now full of stones, is the small house my Great grandmother lived in. AFter being newly married, she had to have all of her teeth removed and given denture. The long walk from the Dr.s ended at this small house.





Empty because grandpa was away for weeks at a time working.

I love that she carried on. Brought water in from the creek below, cooked, baked, scrubbed and gave birth to my Grandma Mary Lu, who now slowly enters into the grips of Parkinsons disease.


















I loved to look out from the little hill in Grace on the valley and imagine a snowstorm wrapping around a young child and a man on horse daring the ride into Preston, many miles away, to save her life.





Her little body suffering from a ruptured appendix and the gutt wrenching agony of her family, at home wondering if she would make it. She never did, but is carefully buried among the stones we decorate each year and spoken of at various times and always on Memorial weekend in the car.

Yesterday, Despite rain, I went with my mother to scrub and place gladiolas at her mom's grave.

There, next to her sister, Fern, who died young and single, is a humble head stone. It has her full name followed by succession of each last name she held in her lifetime. I identify with her because of her divorce and love to think of how she finished out her own life so honorable. Losing her second husband who loved us just the same, moving from her old house full of so many memories and then giving a good fight with her lung disease.

WE pushed the pink and purple stems deep into the grass next to her and hoped the wind wouldn't blow them to pieces. My sister's son crawled over headstones and we looked out over the land and the cemetary.

I looked down at Fern's humble stone etched with a rose and recall the times I would aggravate her by switching her lamp on and off; aching that I didn't really know how much pain she was in, or how lonely her life must have been.

The long drive to another cemetary gave me time to think about my mom's Dad. The memories I have of him, his yellow truck, the heart outside his trailer with his address numbers, and the time he spent at war. How he called my mom, Sis and how his laugh matches all his kids' and if I want, I can laugh just the same.

All this I get to pass on to my son...

PLAY BALL!

Wind, rain, hail, and more wind can only mean one thing in Idaho: Baseball season.

Believe it or not, I was sooo excited that it was raining last night because then I would have to call all my little league kids and cancel practice.

Today I woke up to SUN.

I forgot that, yes, this is Idaho. Jaden was elated.

The passed few weeks have been spent breaking in his baseball glove(s). Two actually. The first was too big. NOw that we have the right size, softness, and position glove we can go through the process all over. Two leather gloves are getting tender loving care in our home.

I played a bit in the summers when I was younger, I figured I knew a bit about baseball. I did not know that there is a different glove for infielders vs. outfielders, first base vs. second (i.e.second needs a shorter mitt to scoop up and first base along with left field or possibly short do better.)

I just wanted to go to Big 5 and get a reasonably priced glove. Or Wal-Mart. Or whatever.

Sure, I knew that catcher's mitts were different, but that was it. After studying the net, a few practices, and playing catch; I came across some great info on the Wilson Glove site.

Mr. Aso (ahso) has been making mitts for 30 years and these are his tips to breaking it in. He has a link on the site called: ASK ASO! (him below)




Things you will need: saddle soap (or glove oil for athletic store), thick elastic bands, two soft cloths and energy.

1. Gently wipe the mitt with a damp rag and the saddle soap or oil.

I used a tiny bit and worked it in especially on the ties because this is where most important stretching will take place. J wanted to paint it on. Be prepared for that. After that take a soft, dry cloth and wipe it off.

2. Put a ball in the place you'd like to catch it, wrap the glove around it and stretch the rubber bands around the glove.

3. He says to put on your favorite pj's, put your mitt by your bed and hit the hay!

He warns: Don't sleep on it, put a safe on it or try to run it over with your car; it will crease the leather in the wrong spot. J and I made this mistake initially with the first mitt. Granted, I did not use a safe or car but a bunch of books.

4. The last secret is the most important: PLAY CATCH! Mr. Ano informed my son to, 'play as often as possible.'

J was thrilled that he had already mastered this step and that it was me that needed to take this part more seriously. (we play every day at least 30 minutes, currently looking for subs!!)

Thanks to J's baseball prayer last night, that he would 'be able to snag those balls out of the sky and that mom will play A LOT', we have a higher power on our side.

Other great tips were: stick it in a warm car during the day to warm up the leather, rub the mitt and even talk to the mitt. I have had to watch my language around the mitts lately.

You can oil it two or three times in the first two weeks, but remember to go easy on the oil!!! This will ruin the mitt. Be sure to wipe off excess with a dry cloth.

After only a few days the gloves, as well as my right arm, feel like butter!

I have just one question I'd like to ask Mr. Aso; "Will you come play ball with my son so I can make dinner?"

Rain or Shine

On the mornings I take my son we see two girls that walk to school. Rain or shine.

They live in my neighborhood and I am always impressed when I see them. One is older; the other is first grade. They always look happy to walk 'uphill both ways.'

It brightened my day to see colorful umbrellas happily dancing along the sidewalk.

As we neared the school today, we also noticed three boys congregated around a puddle in the sidewalk. I thought they might jump in it and waited for the inevitable as the youngest, a kindergartner, cautiously dipped his toe. I cringed knowing the foot would be wet all day.

Suddenly in a rush they took off running the littlest one's backpack swaying, their faces a picture of mischief and smiles. I wondered if they'd seen Loch Ness or something but

not knowing what ignited the frenzy. Jaden confirmed the reason while laughing he said: "they must have squished a worm."

Corvettes at Church

Walking into church the other day J saw a hot yellow Mustang. As we climbed out of ours he asked: "Mom, are Corvettes allowed at church?"

"Why wouldn't they be?"

"Well, cool things aren't at church."

"Yes, J, you can bring Corvettes to Church." I assured him as we entered the doors.

"What about tatoos?"

Gotta Shave

One of the most prized moments of the day for Dad is his late nigth shower. After a hard's day of work, scanning the computers for viruses, and packing up his ipod with the most recent review of a radio broadcast, he flip flops his way downstairs to shower.

So the other night when I heard J knock on the bathroom door and heard the exasperated: "Yee-uus?" from the corner region of the bano, I had to laugh.

J responded: "Can I get in there? I gotta shave!" (seven year olds love how smooth it makes their skin)

Then I was really laughing.

Apparently we have a Corvette in the family now. An uncle bought one. wee. ; )