Being There

I got the news that my Uncle John died very early in the morning of March 27th. 

That date is my dad's birthday, so I was already expecting to be sad that day. We found out around the time we were preparing to take Domino to doggie daycare before work. My cousin Mary told me her dad had passed away in the night. She was understandably a wreck. It was unexpected. It was unfair.

My first thought was to get to my mom. I've done that emergency drive to Detroit many times. Her other brother, Joe, died late last year. That's been really hard. No one was prepared for John to leave us this soon too. I didn't want my mom to be alone, so I started throwing things in a bag.

One of the things I find annoying about this phase of life as an older person is that I can't pack light. When my dad was dying in 2015, I literally threw a few pieces of clothing that were lying around my room into a backpack, and drove. Now there is the CPAP machine to dismantle and organize in its case or sleep will be impossible. There are blood pressure pills that I need to remember. There is my retainer (because I am apparently 15 again in some ways, but unfortunately none of those ways are my knees). There is lotion for my eyelids because out of nowhere last year that's where I developed eczema. There is my phone and its charging cord. There is my laptop and its cord. Those are now the essentials (assuming I'm wearing a good enough bra).

And if I have the time and the room after packing basic clothes, I need my gym bag which has everything in it from a toothbrush to deodorant to the shampoo and face-wash I like, a blanket that's somewhere between warm and cool (because I no longer operate at a comfortable consistent temperature), my buckwheat husk pillow, an instrument and whatever music I'm supposed to be practicing, a book to read, a book to edit, and if I'm super lucky I try to bring something like a scroll to carve.

I regretted not bringing my viola with me when my dad died. For this trip, in addition to my essentials, I made a point of grabbing my viola and a folder of music. I grabbed performance/funeral clothes, including the right shoes. I did bring my gym bag because it happened to be by the door. I made poor selections when shoving general clothes in a bag and have already had to pick up underwear from CVS since arriving in Michigan. I forgot pajamas. I decided to live on the wild side and not take my blanket and pillow. After a really bad night of sleep, I ordered a new pillow. (It's a weird crunchy thing I decided to try several years ago and now can't live without, and my kids are also addicted to the same type of pillow and bring it when they travel as well.) It arrived promptly and I slept much better last night.

The last thing I had to make a decision about before leaving Milwaukee on short notice, was the dog. The sensible choice would be to leave the dog. I had no idea how long I'd be gone or how inconvenient she would make things. But she looked at me and I looked at her, and I decided to bring her for purely selfish reasons. I was sad. Domino makes me happy. I scooped up the dog. (Which meant also throwing together a bag with food, dishes, toys, treats...)

There was a phone discussion with my brothers about who should tell Mom her brother had died, when to let her know I was on the way, etc. 

The greatest gift to me on this dark day of haphazard planning was that my daughter, Mona, offered to come along. Aden and Quinn are at their respective colleges, and we have a plan to collect them and bring them to Ohio for the upcoming funeral, but Mona lives above the violin store. We stopped there for me to give Ian instructions on the day's appointments, and she came down with a bag packed and ready to go. (She packs light, but she still brought her pillow.)

Mona and I hit the road. The dog curled up in the backseat on her bed. Somehow Domino always knows when it's a short trip or a long haul.

Perfect weather, but there was an inexplicable number of vehicles having problems on the side of the highway. We talked. We answered texts and calls. We listened to music on whatever CDs were in the car. We stopped to empty the dog and fill the tank. I bought gloves at the Indiana Visitor Center because they were only $4 and why not. We arrived by early afternoon and took turns hugging my mom.

In some situations there is not much you can do beyond being there. But being there is important.

I had a discussion about this with my kids not long ago.

We went to my mom's for Christmas, and I said we should also go down to Ohio for New Year's to see our relatives there if John and Charlotte would have us. John and Charlotte always have us. Turns out they were also hosting a giant (20 people?) football watching party with a sit down steak dinner on New Year's Eve that they failed to mention, but they didn't hesitate to fold us into all of that. We had a wonderful visit, and when we left John looked so sad. He thought we would be there an extra full day, but we needed to drive my mom back to Michigan before we could return to Milwaukee. 

Life is busy, travel is long, John understood. But he genuinely wanted all of us to stay longer. I told him we were overdue to spend real time in Ohio and would plan a trip for this summer. We tend to visit Ohio on the way to and from places like New York, but we wanted a dedicated Ohio trip to meet up with old friends and spend unhurried days in Marysville. John loved the idea. I'm glad I got to tell him I loved him and to hug him goodbye. You never know when the last time you'll see someone might be.

In January, my brother Barrett had a trip to Detroit planned with his son. My brother Arno decided to overlap with that visit and bring his daughter. I heard this and realized all five cousins had not been in one place since 2015 when Barrett's son was four months old and we were gathered for the death of my dad. 

We'd just done that whole trip for Christmas, but I told my kids we should go back out to Detroit for a day. I didn't want to impose all of us on their plans, but we had a place to stay downtown through a friend so we'd be out of the way, and we could gather the kids all together with their grandmother for an afternoon and maybe dinner. It was a lot, but it was more than worth it. Mona doesn't like to take time away from her work, so I knew she'd be a hard sell on another trip so soon, but I told her it mattered. I don't ask much, so I was asking this. She didn't argue.

Because it can't be the case that we only see each other at funerals (and possibly weddings). There has to be time to be together that is normal. There has to be space to build connections and get to know each other and have fun in an environment that doesn't require special clothes.

I used to take my kids out to New York for Easters with their cousin, and she would come out to our cottage in the summer. Things changed with the pandemic and as everyone got older, and staying in touch has gotten harder. Getting people together takes work.

A lot of that work used to be carried by my grandmother. She was a center of family activity. We all met in her home and ate at her table. My childhood memories are filled with visits to her house where we saw our aunts and uncles and cousins. That's been more difficult to arrange with her gone. John's house was the closest to that in terms of being a crossroads for lots of family.

I've tried very hard to make visits happen. It doesn't always work. But I want for my kids to have those family connections. I want them to know their relatives, not just hear stories about them, or be saddled with a vague sense of obligation based on family ties instead of love. It's a lot of work, a lot of driving, and a lot of scheduling, but being there makes a difference.

On the drive to my mom's, I was telling random stories about all kinds of people in my life and where I grew up. I needed to talk to keep myself from crying. We talked about what we loved about John.

And then Mona thanked me. She told me she appreciates my making family visits happen. She's grateful we got to see Uncle John one last time at New Year's. She's glad she got to spend time with all her cousins together in Detroit.

She knows it's important to be with one another other than at funerals. It's a rare moment to feel both appreciated as a mom, and also that I did good job being one.

Mona drove herself back to Milwaukee the next day. She had an appointment to make and it helps Ian to have the car available to get him and the kids to Ohio. Mona was here for the parts where she was most needed, and she will be back. She knows the value of being there for those she loves. That makes me proud. 

Moldfest!

 

That's right: Moldfest! 

I know it sounds to the uninitiated like an event that might go along with Mildew-mania or Radon-a-rama, but no, it was the second annual Mold-A-Rama/Mold-A-Matic enthusiasts gathering in Berwyn Illinois where fans of the fun waxy figures can meet and share and trade to help fill out one another's collections. 

We only happened to learn about the existence of the event a little over a week before it took place on Saturday, Aug 9th. I've been struggling to get our machine working after years of neglect, and I finally discovered a Facebook group where collectors meet, and asked for help. A couple of very nice people who own private machines themselves offered advice and answered questions. One of them asked if we were planning to come to Moldfest. Who knew?! We rearranged our vacation plans to include a stop at Moldfest on our way to Michigan, and we loved it.

To have things to possibly trade at Moldfest, we took a trip to the Milwaukee County Zoo, since they had a couple of new figures there anyway that we wanted. 

Our zoo is also in the process of closing its Small Mammals building, which is a shame because it's always been our favorite. It's the only place we've ever seen with a bat mold, so we wanted a couple of extras. Sadly the machine was not prepared to make a few in rapid succession and they devolved! (Which is simply amusing to display, so we're fine with it.)

 

 

The completely new figure from our zoo was the flamingos, and the stegosaurus, penguin, rhino and hippo are repeats in new colors.

 

In general, we've lapsed in our Mold-A-Rama hunting since the few places left we know of that we want to collect from are a bit far. Oklahoma City Zoo, for example, could be an easy weekend trip if not for the dog, and a trip there in summer sounds really hot. Maybe we'll figure it out for spring break?

In preparation for Moldfest we decided to literally dust off our collection of over 200 figures on our mantel and see what we have from where already. 

 

In doing so, we discovered that black Sharpie can fade completely away on that material. We mark the dates and places of where we obtain our Mold-a-Ramas on the bottoms of each figure in either silver or black depending on the color. Silver lasted, black did not. So Quinn went back through my blog posts to determine missing information to remark figures that needed it in silver.  

She also pointed out that I have not been good at documenting any acquisitions since Covid, so I'm going to take a moment now to catch up!

One of the challenges of collecting Mold-A-Ramas is that they come and go from certain locations. Brookfield Zoo is always reliable. But apparently the couple we picked up from The Dells we were smart to get when we did because they are gone again. Driving my oldest daughter back and forth to UW Stout includes passing The Dells, so in April of 2022 after visiting her for Easter on campus, the rest of us stopped at the Kalahari resort/water park to grab this elephant and giraffe.

 

In June of 2022 Mona and I visited our own zoo again to pick up this blue eagle, green otter, and silver seahorse. I don't know why our zoo did the seahorse, but it's my favorite so I'm glad! 

For Mona's birthday in 2022 we spent the day at MOSI in Chicago to visit an official Mold-A-Rama show! I intended to write a post about it, because it was great to see Mold-A-Rama history on display. Unfortunately I had a computer disaster and lost a ton of photos from that year. (Which included such memories as when we first met and adopted our dog, Domino, so I'm still sad about that.) A Mold-A-Rama show post with no photos didn't seem worth doing so it never happened.

At that event we picked up a white angel (which was finally explained to us as being an ornament, so I am not quite as irritated that it doesn't stand up well), green Christmas tree, green monorail (which is odd and always looks like a caterpillar to me at first glance), yellow chicks, blue ships, red Santa, and silver robot.

 

In June of this year, Quinn and I were in Detroit to spend time with my mom to help her recover from surgery, and we had the chance to finally visit Third Man Records at that location. It's ridiculous that we already had the Third Man figure (of one of Jack White's guitars) from Nashville, and didn't have the one from Detroit considering how often we're there. The Detroit Third Man machine makes a yellow truck.

 

Okay, back to Moldfest!

 

What a delight to be among other people with the same goofy obsession. Many people seem confused as to why collecting Mold-A-Ramas is appealing, but we didn't have to explain it to anyone that day in Berwyn. I even got to meet a woman in person from Tennessee that we sent figures to years ago, including a messed up corythosaurus (she likes the goof-ups) from our own machine, to help fill out her collection. Julie's long since surpassed us with over 600 unique figures, and I love knowing things we sent her are in that display.

Admission included a specially marked "Moldfest 2025" figure (choice of non-waving gorilla or piggy bank) and a BBQ buffet lunch. Quinn and I picked up t-shirts, a Moldfest T-Rex, and although there were some figures we didn't have that were available for sale or trade from other collectors, the fun for us is really in getting them ourselves as part of a family travel adventure.

The few figures we brought from our zoo weren't of interest to the kind of hardcore collectors (over 100 and from ten states!) that were in attendance at Moldfest, but we decided they fit in well with the things on the mantel at the cottage where we were ultimately headed.

A couple of days before we went to Moldfest, we were able to connect with a nice guy at a local hydraulic repair business who seemed intrigued by our machine. He took parts of it away to tinker with and use as a teaching tool for an apprentice, and the goal is to have the whole thing working again by spring. If we couldn't find someone in our area, we were prepared to drive our machine for a total rehab down in Florida, but with luck we won't have to do that. On the brief occasions where we've gotten it to work well enough for people use outside our store, it's been such a delight. At this point I just want the machine to be reliable enough that we can put it out on nice weekends, and we want to proceed with getting our own mold ideas made.

 

Aden has been playing with designs for a violin figure. It would be nice if the mold could include a bow, but that may be too complicated. We were able to take a 3D printed prototype to Moldfest where we got advice about how different parts need to be angled to work correctly, and now Aden's starting over with a fresh design that ticks more of the boxes we need before we can approach a mold maker.

 

It would be exciting to actually offer up a violin mold! If it works, we may create a Domino mold next. Maybe a little figure of her perched in her dog bed the way she hangs out in the window. Lots of possibilities, many of which I'm sure would be a hit at a future Moldfest. We'll let you know when we reach that step!

Who's a good little mold model? Yes you are!

 

Now and Then

Lots of busy days recently, but oddly many moments in which to reflect on the passage of time.  Between remodeling the kitchen where we're trying to put in something new that reflects the past, and my oldest baby starting high school, I find myself thinking a lot about where we are now and how things used to be.

Last weekend I got to participate in a wonderful event organized through the VSA (Violin Society of America).  They have a large convention every year, and I will be returning to Cleveland next month for this year's gathering.  But lately they've also been doing smaller regional events.  This recent one happened to be in Detroit, so I jumped at the opportunity to go since I would also get to spend time with my mom.

The focus was the collection of instruments owned by Henry Ford.  Apparently he was a fiddler, and since he was also rich he decided to fiddle on incredibly valuable instruments, including two Strads.

We were allotted time to examine eight important violins.  There were armed guards and strict rules about not wearing any necklaces or rings while handing the instruments, and for some reason we couldn't take photographs, so I don't have any to share.  I did get a shot of where the violins are usually displayed, so there's that:

The closest we get to studying with the old masters is to look carefully at what they did and try to emulate it when we can.  It's always exciting to hold a Strad.  There was an Amati in the collection that was stunning, and a Guarneri, and a curious violin played by Maud Powell who was the first American woman to be a successful international violin soloist.  My favorite instrument at this viewing was the 1740 Carlo Bergonzi.  That's not a name people outside of luthier circles usually know, be he was kind of a violin maker's violin maker.  His work is beautiful and precise and rare.

Of Joy and Grief and Art

This holiday season has been wonderful.  I got everything finished on time (including a gift for Mona that I will share pictures of soon), our health is all relatively good, I got to perform some music with friends on Christmas Eve which is always nice, and despite the unseasonable nature of the balmy weather at least it's made all the driving easy.

Even work went unusually well.  I get people every year who want to buy a violin for someone to put under the tree as a surprise, and every year I talk people out of it saying that the player really needs to be able to choose a violin for him or herself.  (There are exceptions, but most of the time I can convince people that a smaller gift or card announcing that the player can go violin shopping is a better idea.)

A man came in last year whose young son was just starting violin and I pointed him in the direction of renting from the school to begin with to make sure his child actually liked playing and they weren't potentially stuck with a violin they didn't need (and I suspect couldn't easily afford).  This year he returned saying his son was working hard and loved playing and now they were ready to buy.  I suggested he bring the boy in on Christmas Eve where I let him try several student outfits.  It was lovely to watch him try different instruments and then light up when he came across the one that was a match.  The mom was beaming as her son didn't want to stop playing Christmas tunes on his new violin.  I assured them based on his age and situation that they wouldn't have to worry about an upgrade for several years, but explained what sort of maintenance they could expect when owning a violin, and told them to please pop in for checkups anytime.  I thanked the dad for his patience in trusting my advice, because I really do think it worked out for the best all around.  He agreed, and it was really satisfying.  It was not a big sale, but it was easily my favorite one this season.

We enjoyed a quiet Christmas morning at home.  I love watching my kids open gifts.  They never ask for anything, but they always like everything.  The big present this year was a new laptop for Aden, which is really a necessity for school and we found something good on sale that should last her for the next few years.  Before I left for my Christmas Eve gig I watched Aden struggling with her old laptop in the living room.  It has random issues and overheats and the kids have developed quirky habits for using it so that it doesn't lose all their homework at an inconvenient moment.  Aden smiled at me and said something along the lines of, "I think if I just remember to put it on its side when I get to this point it should be fine!"  She was completely willing work with the wonky laptop without complaint.  Made my night knowing that a new computer was waiting for her under the tree, and that she would truly appreciate it.

We made it to Detroit in time for Christmas dinner with my mom.  My kids are excellent travelers and were perfectly happy spending most of Christmas in the car.  My mom made us a beautiful meal and I loved having us gathered happily around the dining room table of my childhood.

Death of My Dad

I'm home again.  I've been back a week now.  I was away for almost three.  It feels much, much longer.  Despite everything I can't quite grasp that my dad is really gone.  That realization comes and goes at odd times.

I need to sort out the death of my dad in writing.  I'm already forgetting so much.  I don't want to forget anything, but I also need to get some distance in order to function.  To preserve these memories I have to revisit them, but I can't live in that place right now.  I believe by writing them down I can safely set them aside for another time when I'm ready.

I don't know if this post will be of interest to anyone but myself.  All I know is it is long. 

Holiday Update

Happy New Year!  Welcome to a long catch-up post.

Even though I am a person who doesn't do new year's resolutions, I've decided that in 2015 I will:
1.) Buckle down and build the violin I have on commission.
2.) Edit my second novel, which I think about every day and didn't touch all last year.

At least the blocks are glued to the form.

The problem is finding time to do these things.  My assistant moved to Chicago so I'm swamped with all the repairs at the store myself, exercise takes time, rehearsals take time, my husband and kids need me.... But a violin maker and writer who can't make time for violin making or writing probably shouldn't get to claim to be either thing, so somehow I will find time.  Otherwise I'm not sure who I am.

In the meantime, I want to jot down something about our holiday break before I forget everything.  (I'm always sure I'll remember, but in the car the other day we were discussing what we did last New Year's Eve and no one was certain because it all starts to blur together.  We weren't sure if it was the year of Mona and Aden trying to stay up to midnight alone, or the epic dance party.  Going back on my blog and reading this reminded me that, oh yeah, lots of people, it was totally the dance party.  Having a blog is handy.)

The past few weeks have been so busy!  And it turns out my greatest gift was that we weren't hosting Christmas this time.  One of my brothers really wanted to go to Detroit, so that became the plan.  At first I was disappointed because I like having everyone here.  (That started because I kept having babies so close to the holidays that I couldn't travel, and the drawing power of babies brought everyone to us.)  But my Ohio relatives who usually visit were just here in the fall, and most of the rest of the family were here for Thanksgiving, so it's not like they didn't get time with us in Milwaukee.

Do you know what not hosting means?  No cleaning.  I looked around the clutter in the house each night after work and thought, "Eh."  It was a great relief.  And instead of that "make things presentable by pushing everything into closets and boxes" kind of cleaning that usually has to happen when we host and have no time to be thoughtful about where things go, we did a deep clean of Quinn's room, which was really satisfying.

A Good Break

What an amazing thing it is to be able to take a bit of a break from the normal routine.

I actually got a vacation of about two and half weeks!  Unusual and exciting for me, and only really possible because I could leave my store in my assistant Robyn's capable hands.  Ian took the kids and our niece up to the cottage first, and after about a week I was able to join them there for a few days before Ian headed back to Milwaukee on the bus and I took the kids on to Detroit, then Ohio.

The time in Detroit with my parents was really nice, despite the fact that their street is being completely torn up and redone--sewer pipes, sidewalks, and all.  Apparently it takes incredibly loud rumbling equipment to do this, and my little dog was in a shuddering panic about it during working hours.  I got to spend a little bit of time with my brother before he took his daughter home with him (we all miss my niece, but I don't miss the pressure of the daily photo), I got a dinner out with my friends (a rare and wonderful thing), and an afternoon at my friend Gabby's house where our kids got to play together and we got to just talk.  My dad and I got in some Scrabble (he got 50 points for using all his letters during one game, and I learned the word "sportive"), and it's always great to spend time with my mom.

In Ohio we got to stay for a few days with my Uncle John and Aunt Charlotte.  Their home has been surrounded by commercial development in recent years, so their piece of property feels like a stately oasis.  They are so generous and kind.  We felt truly welcome and at home.  And it was refreshing to have an ordinary block of time to spend together instead of a rushed and crowded holiday experience.  We had time to just be and get a small sense of what their regular lives look like.

Mold-A-Ramas at Maker Faire Detroit and the Toledo Zoo

After my week home alone while Ian took our kids and niece off to the cottage, we've switched places and now he's manning home and business while I'm on vacation.  I had a few lovely days up in the woods, and then we headed for Detroit to spend some fun time with my parents.

My brother, Arno, suggested we visit the Maker Faire event going on at the Henry Ford Museum.  It's a wacky sort of happening.  There was a cupcake zipping around that kept getting shot at by an air cannon full of stuffed animals.  There were all kinds of wheels to try.  Aden got a knitting lesson.  All my kids got to carve rubber stamps.  There were tons of 3D printers in action (one using Nutella instead of plastic).  

Following Uncle Arno anywhere....

This guy.

Quinn in a super big wheel

Motorized cupcake on the run!

Aden with 3D printed skull

Even though Mold-A-Ramas were not an official part of Maker Faire, the Henry Ford Museum has ten of them, including a new one we didn't get last year, so we were excited to pick it up.  And the really funny thing was that many people manning the high tech 3D printer booths wanted to ask us about the Mold-A-Ramas we were carrying around and thought they were incredibly cool.

Summer with Ellora

We got to have my niece, Ellora, with us for the entire month of August.  It was great.

When she was littler, my brother's in-laws used to visit New York City from India and help care for her over summer vacations, but now that she's older there are more options.  Now she gets to venture a bit farther afield, all the way to the Midwest.

Giggling in the backseat the whole way on a nine hour drive

She and her cousins spent time in Detroit, then had a week to play at the cottage, and finally some time here in Milwaukee.  They were happy together for all of it.  I worried a little that as an only child, Ellora might get overwhelmed by the constant company of other kids, but she never did.  My kids just folded her into the puppy heap of activity and all was well.

But time watching Ellora comes with great responsibility.  Someone must remember to take The Daily Photo.

My brother, Arno, has been working on the Ellora Daily Photo Project since the day she was born over nine years ago.  One photo, every day, all aligned at her eyes to flash by in an epic time lapse:



Pretty amazing.  And when my niece is in our care the Daily Photo responsibility becomes ours, and I do NOT want to be the one who breaks the link in the chain.

Mold-A-Ramas at the Henry Ford Museum

The Mold-A-Rama collection is growing.  To the point where we've officially declared ourselves "Mold-A-Rama Collectors."

When I showed my kids the online map of all the Mold-A-Ramas in existence (which all apparently happen to be in this country) Quinn lit up and said, "We could get all the Mold-A-Ramas in the world."  So maybe we will.

After successfully obtaining the dozen Mold-A-Ramas from our zoo, plus the bonus Mold-A-Rama not on the map, we decided to take advantage of the fact that while we were in Detroit there were supposed to be more there.  Specifically at Greenfield Village and the Henry Ford Museum.

Detroit On My Mind

Detroit is very much in the news lately.  So much in the news that when I was recently in Detroit I watched one of the local news affiliates spend several minutes interviewing a national news anchor about how much Detroit is in the news.  Like many things in Detroit it was hard to look away from, but dumbfounding at the same time.

There is much to love about Detroit.  I was born there, but raised in a nearby suburb.  Most of us when we refer to being from Detroit really mean a suburb.  But Pleasant Ridge or Ferndale or Oak Park don't mean anything to the rest of the world.  Detroit does.

It's frustrating to see people speculate about the city I think of as my hometown when it's obvious they've never spent any time there.  Many people think they know Detroit.  They've seen the "ruin porn" and the streets that have been allowed to decay and they hear about crime and poverty and the embarrassing level of racial segregation.  They maybe have some nostalgia for Motown and Mustangs, so they think they know Detroit.

The truth is I barely know Detroit.  It's been a long time since I called Michigan home, and when I go back I'm a visitor now.  A visitor with a great deal of affection for the whole area, and I'm delighted to discover things there both old and new.  Detroit is many things, none of them simple.  The kind of sweeping generalizations many want to make leave too much out, and often the best parts.

Home, Quiet Home

What a couple of weeks.  Lots of things to say, most of which I'm too tired to do much about tonight, so for now here's what I can tell you:

My dad fell again a few weeks back.  He broke his leg up near his hip and had to have surgery.  It's been a rough few years for my parents with my dad's health issues, but until this latest fall he was doing pretty well.  Now things have been kind of reset to where we were over a couple of years back, with my dad using a wheelchair and practicing with a walker, and my mom having to care for him in one room on the ground floor since the rest of the house is like a crazy obstacle course of stairs.

It's been hard.  It's hard on dad who's been scared and in pain, and hard on mom who feels trapped and overwhelmed, and hard on me and my brothers who struggle with how to help from a distance.

Odds, Ends, and a Hopeless Challenge (Babble)

Did you have a good Thanksgiving?  I hope so.  We had a lovely time here with friends over and lots of food and it was great.

But first thing the next morning I drove to Detroit to visit my parents.  My dad has been back in the hospital, and it was hard to decide what to do.  I felt I should go out there but didn’t know if bringing the kids would be too much, and I didn’t want to be apart from them during Thanksgiving (or a birthday).  I finally decided it made more sense to go alone right after turkey day.

I always try to take a picture of my kids right before I leave for a trip by myself, and this was Friday’s:

They are all in the glow of the computer because Mona didn’t want to stop the game she was in the middle of, so rather than have her quit I had Quinn and Aden pose on either side and told Mona she had to look at me when I counted to three.


Anyway, my dad’s health problems are posing all kinds of difficulties for my parents at the moment, mostly because his mobility is limited.  But we played Scrabble and I read to him a little, showed him photos of the kids and pictures of our new porch, and talked about our new dog.  It was a nice visit.

However, I’m still feeling out of sorts after the long drive there and back and frazzled about Mona’s upcoming party and a concert I have to play this week and about a million other things that are making it hard to focus on one coherent blog post, so here is a hodgepodge of things for your consideration.

Let’s start with a couple of Mona Creations.  The first is a Firebird that I actually convinced her to let me keep so it doesn’t get destroyed.  She offered me shared custody for about a week, but then recently told me I could just have it.

Then there is this Squid, which is just cool.  My kid can make a squid.  I am beyond proud.

Next, the dog went to the groomer and came back looking like a different (if equally cute) dog.  It’s hard to get a good picture of the dog because he just comes out a black blur most of the time.  I got the most satisfying crazy happy greeting from the dog when I returned from Detroit.  It’s ridiculous how much I love this dog after only two weeks.

And now a challenge!  My dad asked me when I was visiting if I would please go out into the library and get his Escher book.  It was in the shelves on the wall on the right side of the room.  Which looks like this:

Yeah.

My dad said it wouldn’t be hard because it was all in alphabetical order.  I don’t know what alphabet he’s using but it’s not one with which I’m familiar.  So the book on Escher is supposedly in this section, so if you spot it let me know:

And that’s about all I have time for because I am already late for a rehearsal.  Take care and enjoy your leftovers!

On the Mend (Babble)

Thanks again to everyone who expressed kind thoughts about my dad in the hospital.  He’s still there, but he’s doing better.

When he was originally rushed to the emergency room they only gave him a 50-50 chance of surviving the weekend.  Now he’s on the mend.

My dad is an interesting man.  He’s gentle, educated, and kind-hearted.  He loves art, his books, his newspapers, and most of all his family.  It’s been painful to watch him suffer the indignities of an extended hospital stay.

However, he’s now in the rehab section, trying to put on some weight and gain enough strength to go home.  He is done with chemo.  With luck it bought us a few years of time, but my mom has decided she doesn’t want to take him back to the hospital again.  Living with stage four cancer is hard enough without the added trauma of that environment.  I for one don’t ever want to see the inside of that hospital again.


So now we wait, and hope, and figure out what life is like now with whatever new limitations dad may have based on his health.  I have my fingers crossed that maybe we can still eke out a trip to Paris if dad is up to it at some point.  Or even just a visit to finally see our new home in Milwaukee.  Either sounds grand to me.

And he just might make enough of a recovery for that.  Because my dad is tougher than one would guess.  He survived both a broken wrist and broken leg in India a dozen years ago, and had to fly home with a cast on his arm but without any treatment to the leg other than a few pain killers.  And every time I’ve seen him in the hospital since then his determination to simply get home is almost tangible.  Even in his most drug and pain induced haze I could see him fighting.  It’s not the kind of fighting people who don’t know him would easily recognize, but my mom and my brothers and I could.  There is nothing he wants more in this world than to be at home with my mom, among his books, working on a drawing in his sketch pad, and hoping one of his children may come by.  I can’t wait until he’s returned to that place.

In the meantime, my old neighborhood has power again, and the dozens of tree removal trucks have been working non-stop to remove evidence of the storm.  My mom sent me some of her pictures of the aftermath from the weekend I was there (still can’t believe I forgot my own camera), so if anyone is curious to see some wind shear destruction, here’s a little slide show:

Whirlwind (Babble)

How was your Labor Day weekend?  Mine was surreal.

I drove out to Detroit and back to visit my dad in the hospital for a couple of days.  My dad didn’t resemble himself, hospitals are strange, I think a tornado touched down in my parents’ neighborhood (even though the weather people there kept calling it a wind shear but I don’t think I buy that), the power was (and still is) out so we came back every night to a dark house, dozens of hundred year old trees upended pieces of sidewalk and smashed garages and punctured roofs making the whole area look like a tree-seeking bomb hit it.  (What a time to forget my camera.)

So.  That was a lot of stuff.  And now I’m home and trying to process it all.

I started my trip in our twelve-year-old Hyundai, minus the radio that was stolen out of it last week.  (That’s the third time.  People keep asking if we lock the doors to the car, but I’d rather lose the radio than have the window smashed and lose the radio, so no, we don’t lock the doors.  I guess with the newest one we’ll bring the radio’s faceplate indoors each time.)  I brought along an iPod and listened to various podcasts on the insanely boring drive that is the trip from Milwaukee to Detroit.

I stopped in Chicago on the way to say goodbye to my brother and his girlfriend before they moved to Germany.  It was too short a visit.  I don’t see them enough, and I don’t realize until I’m with them again how much there is to say.  I wish we’d had more time, but for some things there is never enough time.


I arrived in my hometown of Pleasant Ridge, MI to find dozens of downed trees.  My mom called to warn me ahead of time that there had been a severe storm and there was no power, so I came armed with my favorite flashlight and a headlamp.  It took me a while to find a path to the house.  The normal route was blocked by fallen power lines and trees, as were several alternate routes, but eventually I found my way.  I think our specific block and a couple on either side of it got the worst of the damage.  It’s both impressive and sad.  I dropped off my things and headed to the hospital around dinnertime.

My dad was awake when I arrived, and glad to see me, but he wasn’t awake for very long.  He’s weak and thin.  Swallowing anything causes him enormous pain.  He fades in and out.  He winces in his sleep which is hard to watch.  He’s disoriented.  He just wants to go home.

The main thing I was able to provide for my dad in the hospital was music.  It was too hard to read to him or carry on a conversation because he was seldom conscious for more than half a minute at a time.  I put a mute on my instrument to keep the volume lower and played a lot of Bach.  My dad loves Bach.  There were times I was sure he was sound asleep and I kept playing, only to hear him say without opening his eyes, “Very nice” when I got to the end of a piece.  I don’t think there is any applause this season that will mean as much as those quiet words.

There are several good things about playing live music for someone in the hospital; it blocks out all the beeping and chatter that is a constant part of life there, you can sleep to it or actively listen and it’s all fine, and I think it help set my dad apart as a patient.  Everyone in the oncology ward said they liked hearing the music, and I would see people pause in the doorway as I played.  (One nurse was even proud to have figured out I was playing a viola, not a violin.)  I think anything that draws attention to the fact that my dad is loved and adored gives him an advantage in an environment that is dehumanizing, and now even the people who don’t deal with him directly know he’s the man whose daughter plays music for him.  He’s not just some old man hooked up to a million tubes.  He’s special.  He’s my dad.

Mom and I didn’t stay until the very end of visiting hours each night because it helped to get back to the house while there was still some natural light.  Having the power out at home was such a strange added twist to the trip.  We walked around the house in headlamps and never got over the habit of flicking the light switches when we walked into certain rooms.  We could still use the stove top if we lit the gas ourselves with a match, but cooking in the dark is weird.  My first night home it was warm enough we went for a long walk.  (The temperature dropped by about thirty degrees not long after I arrived and I hadn’t packed for that.  Mom gave me a jacket but for the most part I was really cold in Michigan.)

It’s hard to describe what the storm did to my old neighborhood.  No one was hurt, and most of the houses were spared, but the few that got whomped by trees really got whomped.  Several garages were crushed, as were a few cars.  My parents’ property was spared, which is good because I don’t know how they could handle one more thing.  With luck insurance will do what insurance is supposed to, and I’m hoping nothing too personal was lost by any of the people who experienced damage to their property.  It’s a lot of expense and inconvenience but probably not the end of the world for most of the neighbors.  The thing that has changed is the general look and character of the street.  The trees that came down were about a century old, most of them on personal property, not city trees.  (Although the ones by the street that came down ripped up the sidewalks, which was something to see.)  There is a lot of light suddenly where no one is used to seeing it.  Everyone’s view has changed.

I’m glad I was able to be there with my mom at such a strange and trying time.  It felt good to make her laugh.  I made her go with me into the chapel at the hospital and I taught her how to play Heart and Soul.  The place was empty, and my mom looked alarmed when I sat down at the piano because she thought we were being disrespectful.  But to paraphrase Kurt Vonnegut, all music is sacred.  And music makes things better so I didn’t feel for a moment we were doing anything wrong.  I bossed mom around on the keyboard until she was able to poke out enough of a bass line to play along with, and she laughed and wiped at her eyes.  It was worth the drive to Michigan just for that.

My dad was doing well enough when I left late on Tuesday that I felt it was okay for me to go home.  The medication that sent him to the ICU (Xeloda) had horrible effects on his body and he nearly died, but the ever encouraging and kind Dr. Pearlman said we’re past the hump and dad was improving.  I trust him.  All the nurses were excellent, and I am forever impressed at how caring yet firm the physical therapy people are.

On the downside, some people in hospitals need to remember that discussions about life and death are not casual events for many of us.  One well-meaning young doctor rattled my mother badly in the hall when she stopped us on the way to lunch to ask if we had orders in place about whether or not to revive my dad if he got suddenly worse.  She saw a frail man with stage four cancer and was calling things as she saw them based on her everyday experiences, but she doesn’t know how hard my dad wants to fight.  She just kept saying, “Because he’s really very sick, and if you’re not here we need to know whether you want us to let him go if his heart stops.”  My mom was flustered as she explained that at this point in time we’re quite sure my dad would want to be revived if possible and of course she’d signed papers to that effect. 

It was not appropriate to approach us in that way.  We had been feeling okay on our way to lunch, and that doctor destroyed our equanimity for the day.  There was also a palliative specialist who talked to my mom only in terms of dad never leaving the hospital and how to go about pulling the plug.  I hope we never see either of those doctors again.  I know there is a time and a place for those important discussions, but they shouldn’t have been sprung on us when what we needed was reassurance.
 
On the drive back to Milwaukee I thought about the trees of my childhood.  When I was little, Pleasant Ridge was filled with huge, majestic elms with limbs that spread out like fountains shading all the streets.  When I was nine, our neighborhood, like much of the nation, was struck by Dutch elm disease.  We lost all of those trees.  The neighborhood seemed unbearably bright for a long time.  But the truth is that there were many smaller trees in the neighborhood that could suddenly reach for the light.  I looked around my old street before I left, past the endless rows of tree removal trucks and wood chippers, the debris in the streets, and damaged maples with what was left of their splintery limbs poking at the sky while awaiting chainsaws and cranes coming to take them down.  I saw the new generation of smaller trees, some of which had grown up leaning odd directions just to find some sun.  The neighborhood will be different, and for a while it will be unbearably bright.  But now the new trees have a chance to grow into new roles. 

It won’t be the same, this new view, but for some it will be the view they grow up with.  The new view will become home.

Home Sweet Homes (Babble)

We’ve just returned from two weeks of vacation.  Typically when Ian has his two weeks of Army training sometime in the summer I close up the store and take the kids to visit friends and relatives in other states.  This year got complicated because we were planning our trip around one set of dates, then that plan got scrapped for a new and improved set of dates, and then the Army decided rather last minute that never mind, not this summer.  (The Army is fun on so many levels.)  The upside to all that confusion was that, in the end, Ian got to come with us on our vacation.  It’s been a great couple of weeks.

The first part of our trip took us to the cottage, which by the end of the trip was our cottage.  I’m still trying to wrap my brain around that, but one of my cousins who is a lawyer wrote up the appropriate paperwork, and while Ian and I and my mother and uncles were all gathered on a Saturday evening we signed papers and wrote checks and now the place is officially ours.  Amazing.  But I have a whole separate post I’d like to write about our cottage adventure after I’ve had a minute to sort through our photos.  Today I want to express gratitude for the embarrassment of riches I have in terms of places I get to call ‘home.’

Because the second part of our trip was to the Sunny Detroit area, which is where I grew up.  About twenty people gathered at my parents’ home on what would have been my grandmother’s 93rd birthday.  People from Baby Kate, the youngest member of the family at 13 months, to the oldest members of the family (none of whom look a day over 39 I swear) were in attendance.  My mom cooked some of my gram’s best loved recipes, including her cheesecake, something called a blitz torte, and her famed orange jello.

The whole Saturday party was a bit of a whirlwind.  Lots of people and food and a lot of work for my mom who already had too much on her plate between my dad’s health issues and the closing of their art gallery (the contents of which she has somehow fit into the house which is a ninja level feat of organization).  But it went well, and it was nice to be with people who remember and miss my grandma.

Aside from the big party, the real event for me was just spending time in my childhood home.  I love to walk around my old neighborhood and see what things have changed (lots of house additions and gardens) and what things haven’t (the old section of sidewalk down the street with paw prints in it).  I always appreciate walking among trees that seem like old acquaintances, and watching my own children play in the same park where I spent every recess from kindergarten through sixth grade.  Hearing my kids clomping down the steps to the kitchen in the morning the way I must have done, and eating at the same table off the same plates is surprisingly moving to me.  Being in my childhood home is one giant reminder of ‘the more things change the more they stay the same.’  That house is still home.

But the cottage is also home.  It always felt like home, but now that it’s legally ours, it is truly and officially our second home.  So we traveled from Detroit (which I think of as ‘back home’) to the cottage (which is our ‘vacation home’) back to Milwaukee (which is simply ‘home’).  So in a way we were gone for two weeks without ever being away from home.  That’s peculiar and comforting all at once somehow.

I don’t know what it’s like to function without a place to call home.  I am fortunate, because I need that sense of place to accomplish anything.  I need to feel grounded and safe or I become agitated and fearful.  I remember when Ian and I broke off from the rest of my family during a trip in Italy to visit Cremona.  It’s the city where Stradivari lived and worked and it is still filled with violin shops.  (It’s also the place for which Mona is named.)  When we arrived in Cremona it was sunset, we didn’t know where we would stay, and I was anxious.  Everything looked dirty and sketchy as we walked from the train station looking for a hotel.  After we found a place to sleep and drop off our bags–a temporary home–we headed back out into the streets to explore the city and find some dinner.  It was like seeing Cremona with new eyes because I noticed for the first time it was full of fine shops, like a Rolex store.  But when I didn’t know where I was going to sleep I didn’t like the look of any of it.

I think the stress of actual homelessness would be damaging in ways I can’t even imagine.  When I read about teens forced to live on the streets, or people whose homes are destroyed in a disaster, or refugees in exile, my heart breaks for them.  Everyone should have at least one place to call home.  I have three, which seems beyond decadent.  As for my husband, he says wherever I am is his home.

I think a lot about what home is to my children.  I want them to have that sense of place where they are loved and safe; where they have a foundation they can take for granted so they are free to be creative in ways they might not be if they were searching for things that are currently a given.  My kids are at a stage where they love their home so much they insist they will never leave.  When I say things about ‘one day when you grow up and move on’ they all get very upset and insist they want to live with me forever.  They want to raise their own kids here.  That’s actually fine with me, but I tell them if they change their minds it won’t hurt my feelings.  It’s okay to build a new home.  They can always come back and visit this one.  Or the cottage.  They have many homes.  (And I’m glad.)

And now, for the worst segue ever, photos!  Among the things that changed yet stayed the same was the community pool six blocks from my old house.  They remodeled it, added cool new fancy wading pool things that pour water on people different ways, and made the changing rooms and snack area much nicer than when I was a kid.  But there is still the dreaded ‘Adult Swim’ for the last ten minutes of every hour where all the kids must leave the pool just long enough for their suits to dry out and make adjusting to the water annoying all over again.  However, my brother and I got to enjoy being adults in that pool for the first time in our lives, taunting our poor children waiting on the edge while we swam back and forth with no one in our way.  That was awesome.

(Quinn at the water’s edge.)

(Dumping buckets.  How fun is that?  Even my kids who don’t like getting splashed liked all of that.)

I also came downstairs one day to find my four-year-old son playing Scrabble with my dad.  Quinn understandably needed a little help and they did not keep score, but the whole thing was adorable.  Quinn reads at about a first grade level, so he’ll be beating his grandpa at a real game soon enough.

Our time in Detroit was too short, but it always is.  I did get in a dinner at a restaurant with my friends (which was a lot of catching up and laughing), some nice walks at night with my mom, and my dad showed me a folder he recently put together of old photos from his side of the family.  I don’t think I’d ever seen pictures of my great-grandparents on that side before.  I wish being able to pop over to my parents’ house was a simpler event.  It would be nice to play a game of Scrabble, share some dinner, then go tuck the kids into their own beds on time.  But our life is in Milwaukee, and that’s the trade off.

What a problem to have–too many places where we are happy and want to be.  Life is sweet in any of our homes.