Learn + Explore + Share

Share: Heart Lessons

Lake Superior from Gitchi Gummi Overlook

Aside from getting us out of town for a day, my family's recent daytrip also taught me a couple heart lessons.

Taking a day off from projects at home this past weekend, we hit the interstate and drove a few hours to Lake Superior’s North Shore.

Whether or not the northern air is really fresher, breathing in its cool pine-and-dirt scent certainly felt refreshing. Tramping along the trail in my sturdy hiking boots, I felt like I could go anywhere.

And yet …

Here we were, not anywhere but in a familiar place: on a trail we had hiked before that led to a familiar Lake Superior overlook. Itchy wanderlust replaced my initial fresh-and-free feelings.

Snapping a few scenic photos helped me recenter my awareness. Pushing my restlessness aside, I focused on my daughters’ perspectives: I savored 9-year-old Allison's appreciation of a colorful rock; I captured an image of 12-year-old Lauren leaning against the overlook shelter.

It wasn't until later that I internalized the day's first lesson:

Awareness (mindfulness) can offer a richer experience.

When we finished hiking and gazing at Minnesota's impressively large lake, we enjoyed a bite to eat at North Shore landmark Betty's Pies. Over burgers and the best BLT I have ever eaten (Betty's homemade rye bread made the sandwich), we talked about planning a short summer excursion that would allow us to explore some places we've never been before. This enabled me to acknowledge my own wanderlust and redirect my latent restlessness toward the future, because according to my heart: 

Sometimes growth comes from a change of scenery and stimulus.

At the end of the day, we all had a great getaway. Both the girls agreed that the quick trip to the North Shore was worth the long car ride. And on the way home, I reconciled my restlessness, jotting down the day's heart lessons. It is possible, I granted, to visit a familiar place using a fresh perspective. And, now and then, stretching and exploring and breaking out of routines is what a heart needs.

 

What is your heart telling you? Leave a comment here, send me a tweet, or join the new L+E+S community page on Facebook and comment there. Let's connect online!

Heather

 

Share: Thinking of Grandma on the Anniversary of her Birth

Today, my mom's mother would have been 101 years old. Grandma died 9 years ago, just ten days after her 92nd birthday. Until she moved into a townhouse a few years before she died, Grandma (pictured here with me at my high school graduation) lived in a quaint white house on a quiet street in a city about 30 miles from my hometown.

Many memories of visiting my grandparents' cozy white house revolve around holidays and family gatherings. During those visits when the adults were busy cooking and visiting, we kids were off entertaining ourselves, exploring the house. Of all the features I loved about Grandma and Grandpa's, my three favorites were the phone, the basement and the kitchen's treasures.

On a desk in the front dining room sat a lamp designed like an old-fashioned candlestick phone; removing the "receiver" from the hook turned the light on. I always liked the lamp, but next to the lamp perched the only phone in the house: Grandma's black rotary dial phone. Whenever the coast was clear—which wasn't often because of the phone's front room position—my cousins and my sister and I would stealthily lift the receiver from the cradle and listen. Listening in on that party line felt, back then, like hardcore spying. I can't remember any conversations we heard, but I'm sure none of it was scandalous or even interesting by our standards as children. Still, the idea of listening in on other peoples' conversations provided the thrills we sought.

It seems my cousins and my sister and I spent much of our time playing in Grandma and Grandpa's basement. The half of the small basement where we played was clean and almost completely empty. But in the other half of the basement stood the most intriguing basement fixture: Grandma's wringer washing tub. (This washer is similar to my grandma’s machine.) In pristine condition, Grandma's manual machine seemed like a museum piece, in part because I never saw Grandma use the thing. We definitely were forbidden to touch it; I think we were warned that by playing with the dangerous machine, we could lose a finger.

Best of all was the kitchen, mostly because of the treats, of course, but also because the vintage cabinetry included a pull-out flour drawer; a tall, narrow broom closet; and a small drawer where Grandma stored tiny toys. As for treats, Grandma always had three varieties: jello, individual boxes of cereal, and cookies. Among other pantry items, Grandma kept boxes of Royal brand gelatin on a narrow shelf in the basement stairway off the kitchen. She always seemed to have a bowl of jello in the fridge too. (Then, as now, my favorite was strawberry or raspberry sans fruit.) The small boxes of cereal were a treat because for breakfast we could choose a sugary cereal, something my sister and I rarely ate at home. Grandma kept an abundant supply of store-bought cookies—I especially remember cream-filled wafer cookies—in Tupperware containers that filled the racks of her oven. I always thought it was funny that her oven's primary purpose was cookie storage rather than cookie baking.

All these years later, I can clearly picture Grandma’s brown eyes and her apple dumpling cheeks as she smiled and shook her head at us kids. I can see her pure white pin-curled hair and hear her high-pitched voice. Every now and then I'll catch myself saying, "oh, honestly!" or "for Pete’s sake," and, in my head, I'll hear my grandma's voice in place of my own.

Grandma always walked us through the porch to the front door when we left after visiting. Every single time, she would stand there at the front door, smiling and waving as we drove away.

Sometimes I imagine that if I drive by that house I might still find her there, pulling a sweater around her shoulders, waving and smiling and sending her love with me down the street.

Happy birthday, Grandma.

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What are your favorite childhood memories from visiting your grandparents? Connect with me via twitter or leave a comment here.

 

Share: Recipes of Love (cake, pie & cookies)

In honor of Valentine's Day (which my husband and I don't celebrate ... but that's a blog post for another V-Day), I decided to share a different kind of love in the form of my favorite recipes. Those who know me won't be surprised to see that these are all desserts and baked goods: lovin' from the oven!

Great Grandma Zapf's Angel Food Cake
The way my grandma told the story for a community cookbook, her mother baked Angel Food and "sold cakes for 75 cents to friends and neighbors." Before suffering a massive stroke a few years ago, Grandma taught me the recipe off the top of her head. I took notes as she went through each step: "Continue mixing until stiff, (tip bowl). ADD SUGAR." For almost ten years now, I have successfully baked angel food cakes for my daughters' birthdays, and I hope to teach the next generation the art of Angel Food.

Grandma K's Chocolate Chip Cookies
When I was growing up, this cookie jar sat on my grandma's kitchen counter. There were always chocolate chip cookies inside. Always. By the time I was ten or twelve, I had mastered the art of removing the cookie jar's lid without making the slightest sound. To this day, I compare every chocolate chip cookie to Grandma's and not many meet my expectations.

Mom's Pie Pastry
According to my notes, Mom got this recipe from one of the Grand Diplome Cooking Course books. It's the only pie pastry recipe I have used in more than a dozen years of baking pies. My grandma's specialty was always apple pie; I use Betty Crocker's recipe for apple pie filling. Every Christmas, I bake cherry pie using this recipe for cherry pie filling. (It's called "Best Cherry Pie," and it really is The Best!)

Grandma K's Wheat Bread
To be honest, this is a recipe I have yet to bake for myself. For years, I have told myself, "This is the year I will bake Grandma's bread." I haven't ... yet. But let me tell you about this bread: It's dense and sweet and delicious when it's been lightly toasted and slathered with butter and a thick layer of homemade raspberry jam. (Note to self: Get Grandma's raspberry jam recipe!) Pure, sweet, heavy heaven.   

Joel's Aunt Olga's Sugar Cookies
Another recipe I haven't yet baked myself, these sugar cookies are my favorite. They're thick and buttery and scrumptious. (I'm sure they are packed with fat.) For Joel's side of the family, Aunt Olga is the queen of baked goods. Olga is in charge of the complete spread of cookies and sweets that satisfy my sweet tooth each Christmas.

Food has a way of preserving memories and transporting us back in time. With the feel of the smooth pastry dough, the sound of the ceramic cookie jar lid, the melt-in-my-mouth taste of a cookie or the smell of that heavenly bread, it's 1980 and I'm in Grandma's kitchen, watching her work, learning from her as she learned from her mother and back and back.

In passing on these recipes, I honor the work and the art my loved ones have, for generations, poured into their baked-from-scratch bites of love. Happy Valentines Day, everyone.

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What foods bring you back in time? Share your recipes here or via twitter.

 

 

Share: A Tribute to my Great Aunt Elaine

My grandma's sister Elaine turned 91 last month at her home near the Gulf Coast of Florida. Simply put, Elaine is a family legend. Many of us admire Elaine's sharp intelligence, her incredible memory and her inspiring travel experiences.

In the early 1940s, Elaine worked in our hometown cafe earning money to attend St. Cloud State Teachers College. In one summer, she earned a total of $96 and brought all but $4 of her earnings with her to college. Though she did become a teacher, she graduated instead from St. Catherine's University in St. Paul. 
A couple years ago, it occurred to me that Elaine would have been one of the few women from our small town to have attended college at that time, and I asked her about her path to St. Kate's. "The G.I. Bill," she explained. She went on to describe how, in 1942, she left Central Minnesota for Washington, D.C., expressly to join the Navy … but she didn't let on to her folks about her plan. Once she arrived in D.C., she wrote home requesting her birth certificate so she could enlist. (I'm still surprised her parents complied!) Following boot camp in Cedar Falls, Iowa, Elaine was stationed for a time in Detroit, ending her service with six months in Hawaii, after which she moved to the Twin Cities. (This photo shows Elaine working on meteorological data during her Navy days.) There she served in the Naval Reserves, completed her studies at the university and lived with Harvey, her first husband, until moving to Florida in 1961.

The fact that Elaine remembers exactly how much money she earned at the cafe all those summers ago testifies to the integrity of her memory. Several years ago narrating the pages of a photo album that had been my great grandfather's, Elaine told the names of nearly every person pictured, described where each person had lived and added details about their families or occupations. Elaine remembers years and people and places like no one I know.

During my visit with Elaine last month, I listened to her travel stories, taking notes all the while. The most interesting experience I heard about for the first time was her evacuation from Cairo during the Yom Kippur War of 1973: The day the war broke out, she and her companion were unable to fly to the Valley of the Kings as planned because the planes had been commandeered for war purposes; instead they took a train the 400 miles and back. Later in Cairo, they were shuttled by bus to Alexandria where they boarded a ship and traveled across the Mediterranean to Greece. On a different trip (this one in 1978), she described the stink and dirty water in the streets of India. She got as close as a bus could drive to Mount Everest and later traveled to Hong Kong, Bali and Fiji, where palace guards, at that time, were barefooted on patrol and bowls of coconut were set out for museum guests.

These rich stories of interesting travels and family histories are what I will miss when Elaine passes on. Over the years, I have been blessed to have been one of Elaine’s pen pals and am grateful to have known this generous, intelligent and delightful woman.

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Who is a person you admire? Share your stories here or via twitter.

 

Explore: What to do when paths diverge?

Lauren (age 7), Joel and Allison (age 4) atop Lembert Dome, Yosemite National Park

My daughters have been camping and hiking their entire lives. When she was only seven years old, Lauren hiked at Yosemite to the top of Lembert Dome
(a 900 foot elevation gain) and climbed 600 steep granite steps to the top of Vernal Fall. Then age four, Allison summited these natural landmarks, comfortably situated in a pack on her dad's back. Now approaching her ninth birthday, Allison continually complains that she doesn't like hiking. What will she do while the rest of us hike? And what activity that Allison enjoys will the four of us find to do together?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  View of Vernal Fall, Yosemite National Park (The specks just below the trees at top right are people.)

 

Do you have a family member who doesn't enjoy the same activities as everyone else? What solutions have you found to keep having fun together? I'd love to hear your suggestions in a comment here or via twitter.

Share: A Florida Vacation Full of Purpose

Last week at this time, I was driving through snow with my dad and his wife en route to catch a plane to sunny Fort Myers, Florida. My refrain in telling people about my trip was that I would certainly have some fun in Florida but that I was going primarily to see my grandma's sister for the last time.

A survivor of esophageal cancer, Elaine found out last fall that cancer had developed in her lungs. At 90 years old and now less than 90 pounds, she decided to forgo rigorous treatments in favor of a daily chemo pill that (I'm guessing) slows down the cancer's growth.

The sun had just begun to set when we drove off in the rental car for an hour's drive further north. When I talked with her that evening, Elaine sounded good: "Stop in any time tomorrow," she invited.

Before the trip, I had heard from other relatives that Elaine tired easily and spent a lot of her day in bed, so I imagined that my normally bubbly and energetic great aunt would appear run-down and withered, bedridden yet stoic in experiencing her last months of life.

When we walked through the door, Elaine sat comfortably in her recliner, bright-eyed and smiling wide. During each of our several two-hour visits, Elaine entertained us, as usual, with colorful stories of her world travels, detailed memories of long-gone family members and interesting descriptions of her Florida neighborhood 50 years ago as it was being developed. I was eager and grateful to listen to Elaine’s tales, and I took many notes as we sat in her 80-degree living room.

Elaine turned 91 on the last full day of our visit. Surrounded by bright Mylar balloons, we sang "Happy Birthday" and ate frosting-smothered cake and vanilla ice cream together that evening before Elaine shooed us out the door for her own bedtime. That night's goodbye was no different than the one the night before. Except I know that was the last time I will have seen Elaine. Despite how great she sounds and how well her mind still works, the reality is that Elaine won’t likely live to hear "happy 92nd birthday."

Back in Minnesota, I've been reporting on Elaine's health and appearance to relatives here. Two days after we left Florida, we learned that Elaine had passed out in her bathroom, hitting her head as she fell. She got stitched up in the hospital and is back home again in her comfy recliner.

For as long as she's able, Elaine will continue to crochet row after colorful row making afghans to give away. One day, both her active mouth and her busy hands will lose momentum. She will, indeed, become bedridden as the cancer wears her down. One day Elaine will not want a scoop of ice cream or even a spoonful. She will fade away into the Florida sunset while our memory of this special lady will survive: on the handwritten pages of storied letters she sent across the country and in the hearts of those who love her.

________________

We all need to let go of people we love, and I feel grateful that I was able to create a memorable "last goodbye" experience with Elaine and also with my grandpa. Do you have a "last goodbye" story to share? Share it here in a comment or via twitter.

 

Share: The Center of My Heart

Gram & Gramps, October 2007, 60th Anniversary Celebration

A few years ago, just months after my grandparents' 60th wedding anniversary celebration, my extended family was gathered on Christmas Day in the great room of my aunt's cabin. From that day, I hold in my memory a striking vignette of my octogenarian grandparents. The snapshot in my mind reminds me of a movie scene in which everything slows down for the spotlighted characters while, all around them, the sounds remain at normal speed and intensity. That Christmas afternoon, I had spied my gray-haired grandparents seated on a couch in the center of the room, quietly holding hands and contently observing the noisy chaos that always accompanies our multi-generational family at the holidays.

In that sudden glimpse of Gram and Gramps, my heart simultaneously sunk and rose as I recognized the poignant transition that had occurred while no one seemed to have noticed. My grandparents, once the prominent heads of the family, actively leading the festivities, were that day at once present and distant. They were physically present, sitting literally in the center of the family. Yet they were separate: in that moment not interacting with a single one of their six children, eleven grandchildren or even one of the great-grandchildren. Though situated in the middle of the room, they were apart, almost as if they had already begun their departure from this earth. While we certainly all wanted my grandparents there with us, Gram and Gramps had no responsibilities: We had taken care of everything.

Following the sorrow of that realization came a feeling of love and assurance that this vibrant family—the one started by those two loving people clasping age-spotted hands—would continue its gatherings, with or without the physical presence of its founders.

The moment passed fleetingly that Christmas but has throbbed with intensity these few years in my heart and my mind. Early this year, when the snow began melting as winter turned to spring, my grandpa breathed his last breath. This December, our family—the family my grandpa cherished until his life’s end—will gather as we always have. We’ll work to prepare a big ham, some baked potatoes, the family fruit salad. We’ll bring cookies and pies and krumkake.

And we’ll raise our glasses to toast the memory of Gramps, who, at the center of my heart, will sit quietly among us always.

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Whose memory do you hold in the center of your heart? What traditions help you honor your loved one? Connect with me on twitter (@LearnExploreShr or @Grief_Friend) or leave a comment below.

 

Share: "Friday Five" Love List

This week has been all about connecting: with family, with a close friend and with myself. Here's my gratitude list for this week:

• I loved last weekend's visit to my hometown. Along with spending quality time with my grandma, I enjoyed the unseasonably warm sunshiny weather and had fun hanging out with my extended family (again!). I especially loved a conversation with my uncle about his own path toward his passion for video production.
• One evening this week, I loved great conversation at the dinner table with my 8½- and almost 12-year-old daughters. (Click here to learn 10 reasons why it's important to share family meals regularly.)
• I loved running into my grandpa's brother while I was on an errand earlier this week. My grandpa died this past March, and connecting with his younger brother warms my heart.

 

  

  

  

  

Fritz & Grandpa,
October 2007

  

• I loved yesterday's safe and productive flight to Portland, Oregon, during which I completed a bit of self-exploration "homework" for the Chookooloonks Path Finder Course that recently wrapped up. (Another session is coming up, and you can win a spot in class by entering a comment here!)
• I loved catching up with one of my best friends here in Portland (even more great conversation!) and look forward to the exploring we will do here together over the weekend.

What are you loving these days? Share your love list with me here or on twitter. I'd love to find out what you're grateful for. Cheers!

 

Share: "Friday Five" Love List

Here in the Minneapolis, Minnesota, area, we've been reveling in the near-80-degree temperatures this past week. The gift of warm weather tends to make everything a bit more pleasant. Here's what I've been appreciating:

• Last weekend I loved biking with my extended family and making a pitstop for scrumptious Zanzibar chocolate ice cream at our turn-around point. (Photo taken with my iPhone 3GS.)

• I also loved spending one more glorious weekend this season in a campground. (Full disclosure: The heat was on in our 5th wheel, which is a camper sort of like this.)
• Earlier this week, I loved meeting our 6th grader's teachers at conferences and hearing that she's doing awesomely well in middle school.
• I loved a mid-week date night with my husband at Hazel's Northeast, a local restaurant with great food, a nice atmosphere and, on tap, all Minnesota beers. (We enjoyed Cajun fried pickles, tasty sandwiches and Fulton's Lonely Blonde.)
• I loved hearing our 8½-year-old exclaim, "I just love to read!" Among her favorite things to read are books about animals and the Rainbow Fairies Series.

What are you loving these days? Share your love list with me here or on twitter. I'd love to find out what you're grateful for. Enjoy the weekend!

 

Share: Grieving Gramps

Six months ago today, my 86-year-old grandpa died at home on a beautiful early-Spring afternoon. None of his six kids was in the house at the time. The hospital bed loaned to our family by the local hospice center was positioned in the sunny dining room of the house where my grandparents had lived together for nearly 50 of their 63½ years of marriage. In Grandpa's last moments, Carol, my grandparents' caretaker, was changing the music CD and I was talking with my grandma about the music that was about to begin, reminding her that before her stroke she had bought the artist's sheet music and had been learning to play it on piano. That is when Grandpa took his last breath.

During Grandpa's last ten days, I came to understand that death, just like life, is a miracle. How wondrous that a human can be present, breathing laboriously, unable to swallow or open his eyes or lift his head or limbs … and in a moment, the labor of life, the hard work of dying is another task complete, an accomplishment, an almost immediate transition from "is" to "was," a reflection on a life well-lived.

On one of Grandpa's last weekends, the house bustled with relatives and friends who had come to reminisce and say goodbye. With all the activity, I had to be watchful in order to snatch a moment alone with Gramps. Each time I did, all I could think to say was, "I love you." Even when he was no longer able to return my love verbally, I felt his love communicated through his eyes. What more is there?, I wondered. In the end, I decided, it's all about relationships.

Hundreds of people attended Grandpa's Friday morning funeral in my small hometown. Afterwards, my extended family spent the weekend together at the house, almost like a holiday. Most of us went back to our homes at the end of the weekend. I tried to focus on my own daughters, and I tried to get back to my regular routines.

But I thought constantly of my grandpa. Over and over, I replayed the simple, now-sacred moments I had spent with Gramps during those last ten days. You see, a friend had loaned our family a copy of Final Gifts: Understanding the Special Awareness, Needs, and Communications of the Dying by hospice workers Maggie Callanan and Patricia Kelley. I read Final Gifts swiftly, wanting to finish it before Grandpa died so I wouldn't miss any messages or opportunities. Repeatedly, the authors described dying people who wanted to know what would happen physiologically as they died. I believed that Grandpa wanted to know this but was unable to ask. I believed he was afraid but would never have admitted it.

And so I took it upon myself to try to put Grandpa at ease. Quietly, calmly, lovingly, I whispered to him that his body was worn out, his heart and lungs were tired; I promised Gramps that we would care for Grandma. I whispered that when he was ready, his heart would stop beating and his lungs would stop working and (consistent with his personal beliefs) that he would go to heaven to get ready for Grandma’s arrival. I told Grandpa that we would try to keep him from hurting. And with each short conversation, I said with deep honesty and emotion, "I love you. I love you so much."

Maybe these secret conversations explain why grief weighed so heavily on me for weeks after Grandpa's death. Probably my grief was "normal." I grieved losing the Grandpa who called me Peach when I was little, who always gave me a hug and a smooch, who was always glad to see me and always concerned about me (and my family … and the reliability of my car). I grieved the memories of Grandpa driving my sister and me the few blocks to school when our parents were on vacation and we stayed at Grandma and Grandpa's. I grieved over the times Grandpa took me fishing and camping and even to Colorado to go downhill skiing with Grandma and him. I grieved over every ten-dollar bill Gramps slipped to me during college as he walked me to my car, saying "Don’t tell Grandma" with a wink. I grieved at the memory of seeing him out of bed for the last time, eating a mint chocolate chip ice cream cone.

Since Grandpa died I have survived the seasons changing from spring to summer and summer to fall. Earlier this month I mourned what would have been Grandpa’s 87^th birthday. Thanksgiving and Christmas will come. Fall will turn into winter and winter again to spring, bringing the first anniversary of Grandpa’s death. Though my grief has lightened, I don’t know that it will ever go away. I love my Grandpa. I love him so much.

   

Gramps & me, September 2010. Photo (c) Jennifer Tchida