Marilyn's Tribute

This is the eulogy I wrote for Marilyn. Figured I'd post it here as long as I'm being brave about posting my writing. Besides, she was cool; the world should know about her!

Memories of Marilyn

It wasn't until I read Marilyn's obituary that I learned she had a formal education as a teacher. As I read, a light bulb went on. No wonder I feel like most of the things I need to know, I learned from Marilyn—BEFORE kindergarten!

With the right personality, you can make friends with anyone, even a rock.
I can always find Marilyn by going deep into the recesses of my memory, to the foggy rooms of the 1970s. Gary and Jeri were 4 months apart, and Jon and I were 3 weeks apart, so we were ideal playmates and together all the time out at their farm. We helped in the barn, taking care to avoid Alice, the crabby cow who only liked Marilyn. Our special job was to feed the calves. We went for walks in the woods to find wild strawberries, and if we got itchy from the weeds Marilyn would help us put mud on our legs. Who cared what it looked like, or the mess it would make. It worked, and it was fun! We could pick gigantic wood ticks off Nelson and pop them on the sidewalk to see how much blood would squirt out, and Marilyn would admire our handiwork.

One day, Marilyn took us to the field and had us each pick out a rock, telling us that we would put the rock by our beds and in the morning when we woke we would have a surprise. And so we did. We each chose a rock and went to bed, filled with anticipation. In the morning, those rocks had hair and eyes and teeth! It wasn't until years later when we were snooping in the basement that Jeri showed me Marilyn's little workshop and told me she had made our pet rocks. I honestly didn't have a clue. That was Marilyn's magic.

Kids care a lot less about dust and laundry than they do about fun time with an adult who really enjoys them. Everyone should have a babysitter—or better yet, an aunt--like Marilyn. After a busy morning on the farm, she would have Jon and I lay down for a nap. Jon was usually asleep in about 2 minutes and I'd be nearing death from boredom. Marilyn would come in and ask me if I wanted to come out and be with her. She had my corn chips ready for me in a little bowl and we would sit and visit about all sorts of important things while Jon slept. I didn't realize until I became a parent myself how many other things she could have been doing besides talking to a 3 year old. Years later, the 4 luckiest kids in the world got to have Marilyn as a Grandma. The Russians could be invading, tarantulas could be building webs in the corner, dishes could be stacked like little skyscrapers, a cow could be peeking in the window, but nurturing the little minds of children was always more important. That was Marilyn's magic.

Everybody is special. I admit to a little jealousy. I thought I was special. As I think back to what I know of Marilyn, I realize that there are hundreds of people out there who think the same thing—that they were a special kid and that sparkle in her big brown eyes was just for them. Last time I saw her was 10 days before she died. I hadn't seen her since her diagnosis and when I walked into her room I wasn't even sure it was her, her physical being had changed so much. She looked up and saw me and flashed that big open-mouthed smile and said "Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii, Teeeeeeeeeee!". Here she was, in the final weeks of her life, making ME feel special.

You can find humor in most situations. On that same visit, Marilyn had a stack of unopened mail at her bedside. She agreed that I could open them and read them to her. Included was a card from one of her brothers and sister in law. In that card was a very dirty joke that made me blush. Here she was, so full of pain medication she could barely talk, and she laughed out loud, the breathless little laugh like a car engine turning over in the cold, her eyes twinkled, and she said, half asking/half stating "That was from Joel?" That was Marilyn's magic.

It's the little adventures that make up life. When Jon and I were young, before they moved to Idaho, we were at Grandma and Grandpa's one day and decided we wanted to walk on the back roads, probably about a mile, to Gary and Marilyn's house. We were probably only 8 at the time, and Grandma thought both of us, if not her would have strokes if we did, but Marilyn said she'd go with us. So we set out that hot summer day, Jon, Marilyn, and I, to walk down the dusty country road just because, with Marilyn sharing her little wisdoms along the way. "Did you know" she said, "a dog's mouth is cleaner than a person's mouth". To me, that's a good example of the type of thing kids are interested in learning that nobody would think to tell them—except Marilyn.

The birds and the bees. Marilyn was our personal Dear Abby, our own private "Ask Marilyn". Anything parents didn't want to answer, which in my case meant most of my questions, met with "Go ask your aunt Marilyn". Her answers were what nowadays would be called "too much information". One day we were playing around the farm and the vet came and put a plastic bag on his arm and proceeded to insert his arm into the wrong end of the cow. Naturally, I was curious and I asked Marilyn what he was doing. I remember her stopping her chores to talk to me. She had a pitcher of raw milk in her hand, that red bandana on her head over her dark hair up in a bun with a stick through it, big honkin' barn boots on her feet, a skimpy little tube top, and cut offs. That day I learned about artificial insemination. I also learned why the bull was in a separate pen, and where that baby brother had just come from. Some things you just don't forget.

Fun is good, but respect is required. On one of my visits out to Idaho when I was probably about 12, Marilyn took Jon, Jeri, and I to see an Eddie Murphy movie. I don't remember which one, but I do remember on the way back Jon and I were in the back seat and Jon was still laughing about Eddie's filthy mouth. I looked up and saw Marilyn's steely glare in the rear view mirror just as she said, "Jon, if I ever hear you talk like that, I'll take your tongue out and stick it in your ear!"

Most of all, love and acceptance are unconditional. Marilyn was fiercely protective and loyal. She was always, always, able to see beyond our imperfections. She was unbelievably tolerant. She saw the good in all of us, and bright potential in every child. Now, we've lost our gentle brown eyed lady much too soon. In her honor, our job now is to cherish and nourish the children, feed their imaginations, and teach them things they need to know but that their parents are embarrassed to explain. We need to make pet rocks! We need to be tolerant of each other, forgiving of each other, and perhaps most of us, remember to find humor and adventure in every day we have the gift of living.

...............................................................

My Writer In Training

Ana and Ben both love to write, and it's very gratifying for me to see that. And fun! They are much better writers than I was at their ages.

Tonight, Ana emailed me at work to say she had called her friend Paije and that went well so she thought she was ready to try calling me at work. So I gave her the number and told her who would answer (this was a practice call) and told her what to expect. She did just great! Ray, the RN who answers the phone because he hogs that computer, said her voice was clear and strong (I asked, because she is so shy and quiet sometimes).

That emboldened her, and she and Elijah decided to call their friend Allie (really, Elijah's bestest, but her and Ana and Ben are pals too). Elijah has never called a friend before so this was a big moment.

Then I get this email from Ana. What did she do after the big moment? Captured it with a story! Here it is, cut and pasted from Ana's email:

lijah's call

"okay lij i'll dial"
"okay"
"when it rings say ' hi can I talk to Allie'." Ana explained
The phone was ringing.
"wait.....I thought you were going to call her!"
He held the phone down, not hanging up.
................................................................
"LIJ! pick it up, pick it up!" wispered Ana
not relizing the person was already on the phone, probley saying 'Hello, Hello, HELLO?'
"umm... Allie?" Lij said nervously.
Then his face turned from worried to happy...Allie picked up.
"...Hi!" said Lij
"...okay,..."
AND THE REST IS HISTORY. THE END

This I Believe

I recently did an assignment for school, an essay supposed to be in the style of NPR's "This I Believe". It was fun to write and I think it's fun to read, so I thought I would post it here. Let me know what you think because it is the first time I've done this type of writing and I had a ball.

This I Believe

The dream was sparked in childhood, seated at the knee of my grandmother, the lastborn of 14 children. Certainly, life was hard. Their mother died young, leaving the younger ones to be raised by the older ones as the Great Depression blanketed America like a heavy black cloud.

But still. Nine older sisters to dote on her. Four older brothers to look out for her. Never lonely, although certainly never alone, either.

The years passed by and the children grew, married and had families. Adulthood turned to middle age. Grandchildren of the older siblings played alongside the children of the later-born ones. Sunday gatherings varied in location, but always included loud, raucous laughter, card games, joke-telling, arguing. Sitting at an endlessly long rectangular table. Reveling in each other's company. Little ones, including my brothers and me, kept busy doing what children do. We played. We watched the grownups .

I marveled at their togetherness, at how much they looked and talked alike. I noticed how they aged alike, tight grey perms on the older ladies, polyester pants, and "card-playing glasses." I saw the affectionate teasing, the comments that secretly screamed the unspoken. Most of all, I heard the stories: of childhood adventures, of family tragedies shared and survived, of accomplishments and triumphs and endless hard work. Hushed stories, whispers of long ago feuds.

Attics, spare rooms, and basements held treasure troves of shared history. Group pictures, the siblings dressed in their finest and standing stiffly and formally behind their father's casket. Other pictures, lighter times; laughing and horsing around in the lake, wearing vintage swimming suits and carefree smiles. Fascinating, yellowed letters from war-torn Europe, sent by great uncle Ernie to his baby sister, letting her know he was OK and would be back.

I knew of other families with many siblings, and noticed the same cohesiveness, the shared experiences that bind only those who've lived it together. The knowledge that there was always someone to be with, to talk with, to conspire with and get in trouble with. My dad was one of five, and it was a rare day when one of his siblings didn't stop by just to visit and laugh out loud over things that nobody understood but them.

Slowly, my dream took root: a large family.

Well before I reached adulthood and childbearing years, large families were a thing of the past. Grandparents came from large families, parents did too, maybe, but the newer generation of adults – my generation – were from small families. Large families seemed to only be found in fundamentalist religious communities. The expectations of society had become clear: large families were no longer acceptable in the mainstream.

But still—I believed. I believed that children growing up in large families were given a priceless gift. I believed that they would learn to share, to communicate, to teach and care for others. I believed they grow into special individuals with integrity and confidence. I believed that rather than resenting having to share their parents with many others, children could instead revel in having so many more people to know them inside and out and love them fiercely anyway. I believed that sharing their lives with so many built-in playmates would encourage creativity and teamwork. I believed that large families did not have to be expensive, that children from large families could wear nice and stylish clothes and have good toys and plenty of fun.

And so I married a man who shared that dream. Today, I am a proud mom of five kids, with a span of seven years from the oldest to the youngest. I'm told I don't look the part--whatever that means. I'm working on my fourth college degree; I have a full-time job with the federal government that provides excellent health care for my family. My husband and I work opposite shifts to avoid daycare, and while it’s tough at times, it works for us.

Our children thrive.

They are best friends—and sometimes enemies, but I believe that teaches children how to handle conflict. The only girl, the firstborn, loves to write plays and direct performances by her brothers, her willing pawns. The boys build forts and drive little cars with wild abandon on the hardwood of the kitchen floor. Two love to write and draft stories together and hope to someday write a book. The children celebrate each other's triumphs, welcome each other home from adventures, nurture each other when they are sick.

A hard drive full of pictures attests to all this. A five-gallon pail on the floor in front of a sick-looking boy on the couch has "barf bucket, do not touch" scrawled on the side – made by a big sister doting on her baby brother. A triumphant four-year-old arriving home after a preschool open house to announce "Guys, I'm back!" and being greeted by a stampede of feet and flurry of questions. A sweet newborn baby turning his head when he first hears the voices of his siblings, voices he remembers from in-utero. A fiercely protective older brother, all of six years old, demanding that visitors wash their hands before they touch “his” baby. That same big brother, two years later, sneaking a peek into another little brother's classroom "to be sure he's not in trouble." That other little brother, now six years old himself, a grade ahead and excelling at academics, skipping to the front of a crowded auditorium to receive an award, basking in the proud cheers of his older brother and sister. That newborn baby now nearing two years old and more adored and spoiled than any only child could be. Every last one of them, except that spoiled baby, wishing there were more of them!

Gramma is gone now, as are 12 of her siblings. One hardy soul lives on, 93 years old, stoically going about her life that is now so different from years ago. She misses her siblings. Good and bad, they filled her life from start to finish.

And I most definitely still believe.

movies

im going to try to upload two videos. ana got her orange belt in tae kwon do today, and then she came home and taught zac how to do the kick. hysterically funny. let's see if this works...then ill add some stories.

Where to start, where to start? I thought it had only been a week, but it's been almost 10 days since I've posted. My muse abandoned me and I'm not sure it has yet returned. Most of my schoolwork this semester consists of writing so I guess I am getting my outlet that way.

This week Ariana took a big step and made a phone call to a friend herself and invited her over for the night (this was with my approval). This is a big step for her because she is very shy and has in the past refused to make phone calls. She was asking if Lexi could stay overnight and I thought about it and realized that I don't mind the friend over--I just don't want to be making those phone calls for her. So I told her she could have her friend over if she made the call herself, and she did. Friday night, then, Lexi's mom dropped her off around 8 pm (after a basketball game at which lexi had some cheerleading thing going on). While the girls took off to play (followed by a phalanx of boys), I stood and visited for awhile with Lexi's mom. Lexi has a little sister named Sarah, who is a couple weeks older than William. According to Lexi's mom, Melissa, young Sarah has recently revealed in interesting misconclusion. She figured that the thing she saw on a daycare boy that she does not see on herself is an extra toe. Can't say I've heard that one before, but now that I think about it, I can see the resemblance!

Elijah was very pissy that Ariana had a friend overnight. Not because he wanted HIS friend over, but because he thought he should be able to be in there with them, gossiping and doing sleepover stuff and ultimately sleeping with them. I ended up having to have he and Ben both in my bed because Ben rooms with Ana and Lexi was using his bed. The laugh of the day came in the morning when we located one Mr. Wils slumbering amongst the girls.

Ariana finally summoning the courage to make that phone call has opened the floodgates and I am now officially the Ernestine of my own switchboard. Ben wants to call Maggie and DJ, Elijah wants to call Allie and Noah, and here's my favorite--Wil wants to call Kooper, Tyler, and "Gabin". We figure Zac also wants to call Grace.

Yesterday on my way home from work I called home to see if there was anything I needed to pick up at Target (by the way--never ask Elijah that question). I thought it was Ariana who answered the phone--I can't tell them apart. So i said, "Is this Ana?" And I heard back "No, Mother, it is I." That was Elijah being a dork. No, Mother, it is I.

So, anyway, having revealed that it was he, I asked what they were doing. We are playing doctor, he said. My ears perked up. Everyone knows that "playing doctor" is kid talk for doing bad things. How so? I asked. Well, he said, we are being that kind where if you have a problem the doctor tells you what to do. Ben hired me, he said, but I'm doing it for free this time. Tell me more, I asked him. Well, he said again, I'm working on Wil right now, and his problem is that he gets mad too easy, so that's what I'm talking to him about....................

Wils saw some snowmobiles for sale-I dont' know how he knew what the sign said--but he asked if we could go back and get his wallet. Seems like his fiscal intelligence has now reached the level of his father's.

To close, I thought I'd share an anecdote from work. We had a patient this week who was diagnosed with a paraphilia, which is new psychobabble for being a pervert. His fetish? Carnal relations with his vacuum cleaner. I wonder if he needs viagra.

That note leads me to a bit of sad news, and I'll explain the connection in a minute. My aunt Marilyn died this Thursday at age 61 of a very aggressive form of kidney cancer. She was diagnosed in August but by then it was widely systemic and breaking her bones. Horribly painful way for her to spend her last months. Hans and I did get up to see her about 10 days before she died, so that was good. Anyway, how that last paragraph made me think of her....she would have thought that was hilarious. I'm working on a tribute for her funeral right now and when I'm done I'll post it (it will be a few days--as I said, my muse is missing).

I need to call home and tell them to give the cats and dogs water--when I left for work this morning, Blue was in the heated dish, so I believe I am safe in assuming there is no water in there :)