A Year Later

Last year at this time I was spending a lot of quality time with Ray.  At this point he was doing well in rehab, and we were discussing how he could come home for Christmas (if just for a visit).  Quickly this situation turned grave.  But it is almost incomprehensible that a year has passed me by.  I am completely mystified how I have been able to survive the last few years, and 2014 especially.  If I didn't have pictures to show the various activities our family has experienced, I would have told you it was still 2013.

In the last couple of weeks I have spent time going through photos and updating the Ladybug's blog:
The Martin Ladybugs

I took pictures, so I know I was there physically.  However, I just don't remember much.  I don't remember what we ate for Thanksgiving dinner last year, nor Christmas Eve and Christmas, nor what I did between January and summer.  It's like I was going through motions, but not exactly making connections.  I have a lot of memories of summer, and watching the girls swim and learn how to do strokes properly.  But then there was a month of pure hell that I'm not sure how I made it out the other side without killing someone.

The flood of 2014 was not a simple day or five project.  It uprooted our whole existence for a month.  I could not practice for a wedding to which I was singing/playing without squeezing into the bathroom/laundry area and working on the music.  I was unable to teach private piano and voice lessons the first week of the school year, because the basement was completely torn up.  And these are just two of the many problems we encountered.  Many items were lost in the water, and so much clean up had to be done.  It seemed as if it would never be done, and yet here I am on the other side of the mountain.  How did I manage to get here?

I also managed to help my mother clear our more than 60 years of "stuff" from Ray's house.  If you are interested: Placing Significance on Insignificant Stuff 

Then in the midst of all of this, we had lice AND hand-foot-and-mouth disease.  Fortunately it was only the ladybugs who got the lice (I may have gone off the deep end if I also had them), but unfortunately I also got the hand-foot and mouth.  You would think ONE plague would be enough, but no, we had TWO.  And between Jim and I, we have also had enough blood work, procedures, and doctor's visits to last a lifetime.  Good news is that we both are mostly healthy, and neither needs surgery.

I do not wish to sound cynical, but this has been quite the shitty year for us; figuratively and literally. For starters, we had sewage in our basement when it flooded.  Then I just wrote a check for Jim's procedures, and Maggie (our beautiful dog) was found to have two kinds of intestinal worms.  We have also seen Zoe returning to some more anxious behavior, and now have been able to attribute it to her digestive system out of whack.  She is on her vitamins again, and things are moving along nicely (physically and emotionally).  But the shit is there.  And it is after a few pretty shitty years for Jim and I and our little family.  However, I am confident that at some point the clouds will lift and we will live in the light for at least a short while. Of course that is before something else crazy happens.

Somehow, someway, I have clawed my way through this last year.  I appreciate those who have clung onto me while I was at my worst.  It is through love that I have persevered, and it is through love in which I will enter 2015.  I thank you all for reading.

Like a Square Peg in a Round Hole...

...we just don't fit.

Even though we pulled our kids from private school in March 2013, last fall began our official start to homeschooling.  I was nervous to trust my instincts, and pretty much felt completely overwhelmed at the idea of schooling my Ladybugs.  I was quickly pulled in a hurricane of teaching the girls during the day, teaching private lessons on Tuesday and Thursday evenings and Saturdays, and taking care of my grandpa Ray on Monday and Wednesday evenings (and throughout the weekend).  I had no time to even think about anything.  I was pulled in many directions, and I was constantly frustrated with the girls.

What a difference a year makes - as my brain is much more focused on what we can achieve by homeschooling.  Less structure and more substance.  Zoe wants to spend a half hour baking cinnamon bread?  Okay!  She's working on reading, following directions, and measurements.  If Evie wants to take a time out to sit in the front tree?  Okay!  She is spending time with nature and refocusing herself to the tasks at hand.  I actually scheduled recess in the beginning of last year.  I had a plan, and I was going to adhere to it.  But by Christmastime (and the passing of Ray) I could not continue the path I had started.  Did that mean an end to homeschooling?  A part of me knew something had to give, but from the moment we left the private school, I knew I had made the right decision for our family.

This August was completely crazy; flood, power outage, canceled vacation, etc.  I thankfully had the first part of our school year mapped out (i.e. I had an action plan with movement).  However, each day is a little different, and I am flexible to the needs of my children.  After all, if you are going to set up your home like a school, what is the point of teaching your child(ren) at home?

Why don't we fit the homeschool picture?

We aren't homeschooling for Christian reasons.  At one point I thought that was the case.  The truth?  I loved the small class sizes of the private Christian school.  Their focus on individualized education was truly awesome.  Of course a small, family environment also means people saying and doing things that are very hurtful and spiteful.  Regardless, I wanted to provide that individualized curriculum.  So why was I streamlining everything?

We aren't homeschooling for political reasons.  We are not very political in nature.  We vote at all elections, but know that most of the time the outcome is the same as always.

We aren't homeschooling to shelter our children.  Yes, Zoe had huge issues with her anxiety.  And, yes, these issues did prevent her from wanting to take part in dance classes and the like.  But the truth is: our children have more friends than the average school-aged child.  We just had an 80s movie week, where we showed our children favorite movies from the 80s.  Yes, there were swear words.  Yes, they have heard them before.  No, we aren't worried.  I'm not going to say I don't want to protect my ladybugs from the nastiness of the world, but sheltering is not why we did this.

So , I ask myself - Why did we decide to homeschool?  The answer is simple: our education system is flawed beyond repair at this point.  Yes, there are some decent private schools, but they are all religious based.  There are also charter schools, but most will tell you a charter school is not necessarily better than a public school.  I don't have all the answers, but I do know that the quality of education today is not the same as it was 30 years ago.  Standardizing curriculum, testing all the time, and eliminating recess are just a few reasons I chose to continuing homeschooling.

I must admit the last month has been a hell on earth for us.  Our home has been in a constant disaster; almost giving people on Hoarders a run for their money.  But the flood has taught us to be smart about our purchases and the amount of things that are needed to survive.  So we push through the darkest moments and laugh when there are no tears left to fall.  For this too shall pass.

Blossoming Into Confidence

not the fort I mention...but similar

If someone had told me two years ago my daughter, Zoe, would be back to her magnetic and fun-loving self, I would have laughed.  I would NEVER have believed it.

Fall 2012
The school year had begun, and Zoe was in her fourth year at the Christian school.  Her teacher was new, but her classmates were familiar.  I was also a more active participant, due to the fact that I was teaching music twice a week.  Zoe was in another year of dance (baton this time) and she seemed reluctant, but ok with life in general.  As September became October, we began to notice a child with debilitating fears: fears of school, going to ballet, going to the store, doing pretty much anything.  On a couple occasions Zoe complained of a stomach ache and her urine feeling funny, but a trip to the doctor's office proved that it was all in her mind.  Now, believe me, I did not assume she was making up the illness.  In fact, her fears manifested in a spastic bladder.  Thus, she was immediately projecting another UTI.  A year or so earlier, Zoe had been to a specialist regarding her "frequent" UTIs.  I must point out that she only officially had two, but even at 6 this was concern for her pediatrician.

After weeks of concern, we took her to a therapist.  Our hope was to have Zoe learn skills to better survive with her fears.

Spring 2013
After experiencing bullying from classmates, Zoe was a wreck to even attend class.  The bullying wasn't a result of a physical reason (i.e. glasses, weight, etc.) nor was it because of anything she had control over.  In fact, it was because we told her she would not be attending a Lutheran school in the fall.  Other classmates (most actually) were going to the Lutheran school, and were making fun of Zoe for not being part of the group.  The fear was also brought on, in part, by her teacher.  According to her teacher, Zoe was cheating.  Not on tests, or even in daily work...but in journal entries.  In a classroom of ten children, Zoe and another child were best friends, and, therefore, played together a lot.  They also had a lot of common interests.  How was Zoe to have a different weekend than her friend, to whom she spent a lot of time with over the time period.

As March ended, I decided to pull Zoe (and subsequently Eva) and myself from the toxic environment.  However, change to Zoe's demeanor did not happen right away.  In fact, I had hoped she would relax in our home education environment, but she did not.

Summer 2013
A new family moved in down the street, so now Zoe had more friends in her neighborhood.  Instead of encouraging play between friends (i.e. playdates, etc.) I allowed my girls to play and with minimal boundaries.

We determined I would homeschool the girls again in the fall.  So when it came time to select activities for fall, Zoe still had reservations.  She panicked and cried and for lack of a better word or phrase: freaked out quite regularly.  We had removed her from therapy, considering she seemed to only fear sessions, and spent hours freaking out about going.  So we removed her from any and all activity.

Summer 2014
Zoe spent the school year gradually taking baby steps towards activities and things she wanted to participate in.  However, it was a complete shock when she asked for summer swim lessons.  I opened the boundaries of summer play even further this year, and watched as my girls created a fort from branches and dirt amongst other things.

I truly believe allowing Zoe to have more control allowed for her to want to try more activities.  I have to admit it isn't easy allowing her and the neighborhood children the ability to destroy my plants and flowers at the corner of our property.  However, the fresh air, sunshine, and creative play have been exactly what she needed.  By opening up my mind to the possibilities of a summer devoid of scheduled activities and parent-controlled play dates, Zoe has blossomed into a very healthy minded young lady.

In the coming weeks/months, I am going to provide articles and research-based information on why childhood MUST be focused around play and adult-free learning opportunities.  I hope you come back with an open heart and mind and we can both learn together.

Placing Significance on Insignificant Stuff

A lifetime of thingamajigs, doodads and gizmos.  Collections of curios and curiosities.  Some hidden from view, but all put in place by my grandparents.

In the last eight months I have been helping my mother clean out over sixty years of life from my grandparent's home.  If it is humanly possible, I have felt every imaginable emotion.  It is also rather surprising how deeply moved I feel about this home.  Each time I visited and worked, many items followed me home.  Some were out of necessity (sweeper, light bulbs, etc.) but others, many others, were because they hold dear and strong memories (record albums, chairs, etc.).

At first it felt like we would never even make a dent in the drawers, shelves and closets.  But bit by bit, step by step, we slowly made progress.  I must admit, my mother did most of everything.  I helped though, as much as I could.  But there were so many items that seemed insignificant, and yet, it is hard not to place significance on these items.  Why do we do this?

Before the casket was closed for the last time, a little beanie baby bear, a can of coke and a jar filled with a Manhattan were added with love around Ray.  It felt reminiscent to the burials of the Egyptians.  All that was missing was gold, jewels and a dead animal or two.

As I laughed with my mother over crazy things that Ray kept in his home, I realized that I too place significance on insignificant objects.  Did I want the bar light from Ray's basement?  Of course!  We do not have a bar, nor do we have an appropriate place to put it.  What about a hammer for small nails?  Sure!  In fact, when we repainted the bathroom this came in handy.  How 'bout brown paper bags, rubber bands, ten rolls of clear tape, calculators, note cards, stuffed animals, a stereo, etc.  The list goes on and on.  And the thing is, I cannot tell you that any are insignificant to us.

But no matter how many insignificant (or significant) things one surrounds themselves with, it does not take the place of a person.  The girls each took a stuffed animal from Ray, and quite often I see Evie take hers and inhale it.  It still smells like Ray (which to clarify smells very good).  Today I found myself doing the same thing.  I was at my moms and Emma and I were sitting on the couch she traded with the one at Ray's.  We were being silly, and we picked up the pillows to hide our mouths to see if we could determine expression on our mouths.  We both inhaled at the same time and went, "ah...".  It smelled like Ray. It smelled like home.  It was significant.

Reprint: Each Day Is Our Father's Day

This is a reprint of the blog post from Father's Day, June 19th, 2011.

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Today I gave the message (sermon) at church.  I also had to organize the service, choose the hymns, write and read numerous prayers, and choose the readings for the liturgist.  Some of my friends have asked for a transcript of today's message.  I will post below what I basically said/sang.  I sung the last song, in case you were wondering.  

Every Day is Our Father’s Day

On July 5th, 1908 in Fairmont, West Virginia, the first Father’s Day was celebrated.  It was organized by Mrs. Grace Golden Clayton, who wanted to celebrate the lives of the 210 fathers who had been lost in the Monongah Mining disaster.  This horrible event took place several months earlier in Monongah, West Virginia, on December 6, 1907.  However, West Virginia never officially registered the holiday, so the yearly celebration was shelved for the near future.  

A few times the holiday made an attempted resurrection, but on each occasion it was overshadowed by other more important matters.  However, in 1972 then President Richard Nixon signed the day into law making it a permanent Holiday on our United States calendar.  Once a year, on the 3rd Sunday of June, we take time our of our busy lives to honor the MAN (or men) who have made our lives different; men who we call FATHER.  

In my research on Father’s Day, I came across a variety of ways different countries celebrate their fathers.  I must say though, Germany had the most colorful traditions of them all.

In Germany Father's Day, or as they say, Vatertag, is always celebrated on Ascension Day (which is the Thursday forty days after Easter).  Ascension Day is a federal holiday, therefore, places of business close down. Regionally, it is also called men's day,Männertag, or gentlemen's day, Herrentag. It is tradition, especially in the north and east of the country, for groups of males (young and old) to do a hiking tour.  They use manpower to pull along one or more smaller wagons, called Bollerwagen. In these wagons are wine or beer (according to region) and traditional regional food.  From what I read many men use this holiday as an opportunity to get inebriated.   I suppose many would find that a great way to spend the day!

The word FATHER appears approximately 1500 times in the Bible, less or more depending on the version used.  And no, I didn’t come up with this number from our collection of Bibles.  I will let you in on a secret: you can get the information on the Internet.  And in many cases, the 1500 word usage of FATHER is written about Our Heavenly Creator: God.

Today we celebrate Father’s Day.  But isn’t EVERY day OUR HEAVENLY FATHER’S day?

What are your priorities?  Are you like most that let the “stuff” take over?  Do you fill your life with a bunch of beans like I illustrated to the children earlier?  Not having enough room to “fit” God in?  Or do you put God at the center of your life, then filling the spaces with the stuff?

During the month of May, I participated in an online social community with other Christian women.  We spent the month reading and sharing our journey through the book, “31 Days to Clean, Having a Martha Home the Mary Way,” by Sarah Mae.  Sarah Mae uses the familiar story from Luke as a basis for doing “spring cleaning.”  Each day the participants had a Martha task: which was some kind of deep cleaning around the home; and a Mary task: which was an exercise in spiritual cleaning.  

The story of Jesus’s visit to the home of Martha and Mary has always intrigued me.  Martha was so busy worrying about how her home looked and how the food was prepared, which is where I most often find myself.  However, Mary was engaged with her guest.  So much so, that when Martha found Mary she was engrossed in Jesus’s stories, sitting next to him at his feet.  Mary was concerned about the guest and not what was for dinner.  The Bible tells us that it is Mary whom we should model our lives after- allowing God into our homes and hearts no matter how “messy” they are.

I am a blogger.  For those of you who are unfamiliar with what a blogger is I will explain it as such: a blogger is someone that enjoys writing and/or journaling on the Internet for others to read. So each day during the month of May, I blogged (or wrote) my progress of each Martha and Mary task along with other women in the Christian social online community.  We read each other’s journey, and encouraged each other along.  Many left the daily challenges behind because they were too time consuming.  But I stuck it out.  And at the end of the 31 days, my home was much cleaner and (believe it or not) even more organized than before.

However, the Mary tasks were not so simple, and I don’t know if I will ever truly be able to say they are complete.  

The hardest task for me was on Day 5.  We were asked to list our priorities (from #1 to #5 or 6).  I’m sure you can guess items on my list: Jim, the girls, my job.  But what I had the hardest time deciding was what should I list as my #1?  My marriage?  My children?  What was the “correct” answer?

Of course, I knew the answer: God.  After all, putting God first is what the Bible tells us to do.   If we put God first and at the center of everything we do, all the other “stuff” should fall into place.  But is it that simple and easy?  I do not think so.

Today’s Old Testament reading was from the first chapter of Genesis.  We only heard a small portion of the creation story, but I’m sure we could all (including the children) tell you what came next.  But just because we can regurgitate scripture ad nauseum, does that mean we are fully understanding what is written at the very beginning of our sacred book?  God created everything.  EVERYTHING.  EVERYTHING out of NOTHING!

When we celebrate holidays such as Father’s Day or Mother’s Day or Grandparent’s Day, we spend most of our time focused on our Earthly families.  Those who raised us, or helped raise us.  There was a poem I ran across the other day, illustrating what a father is:

Mender of toys, leader of boys,
Changer of fuses, kisser of bruises,
Bless him, O Lord.

Mover of couches, soother of ouches,
Pounder of nails, teller of tales,
Reward him, O Lord.

Hanger of screens, counselor of teens,
Fixer of bikes, chastiser of tykes,
Help him, O Lord.

Raker of leaves, cleaner of eaves,
Dryer of dishes, fulfiller of wishes,
Bless him, O Lord.

There always seems to be a stronger emphasis placed on the importance of Mother’s Day.  Maybe it is because Father’s Day was created after Mother’s Day was officially a holiday, kind of like a afterthought.  Or maybe it is because Father’s Day cards and gifts tend to be humorous or silly (you know...the proverbial tie, or the set of golf balls, …) and Mother’s Day cards and gifts tend to be warm and sentimental (you know...flowers, or dinner at at fancy restaurant).  I also suppose that something must be said about Father’s Day falling in the summer.  Unless your child’s teacher has them make a Father’s Day gift or card before school is out, the child does not always have something for their Dad.  

There is a story that goes:
Brad was out late with friends one night. Suddenly, he realized it was Father's Day and he had neglected to buy a card for his dad. After much searching, Brad located an open store, but was disappointed to find only two cards left on the rack. Selecting one, he brought it home and presented it to his father when he woke the next morning.  Upon opening it, his dad read the message: "YOU’VE BEEN LIKE A FATHER TO ME!" He looked at Brad, puzzled. "Well, Dad," Brad tried to explain, "it was either that or the card that said, 'NOW THAT I’M A FATHER TOO!’”

I am curious how much time we Christians (who call God our Father) spend honoring our Father and Creator.   Now, I realize, that God cannot accept physical gifts (like ties and golf balls), but by taking care of the Earth and those that inhabit it, we are honoring our Father’s creation.  By putting Him center in our lives, truly making him our FIRST priority we are honoring him.  

I am reminded of a scripture passage from Psalm 24:

“The earth is the Lord's and everything in it; the world and all who live in it, for he founded it upon the seas and established it upon the waters."

God created the World.  God owns It.  God still owns it.  We are simply managers of His creation.  Of course it is human nature to think He gave the Earth to us humans.  But there is nothing in the Bible to say we “OWN” the Earth.  We are simply its stewards - put here to make sure it thrives and grows.  However, as selfish as humans can be; we must understand that God owns everything on this Earth, not us.  Yes, friends he owns the people, the animals, the person who hurt your feelings, the punk that shot up a convenience store, the dump down the street, the ghetto filled with crime and corruption.  All of us, and Everything on this Earth.  We are all HIS. 

Sometimes it is hard to imagine that God is the parent of those we do not like, and those that seem so evil in nature.  Jesus told us to love one another, but He especially meant those who seem to be unlovable.  

Jesus called his Father, Abba, which is kind of like a child calling their father, Daddy.  In this simple word, Abba, we see the intimate relationship Jesus had with his father.  Jesus made this great being somehow human and personal.  I believe that we should strive to have that kind of relationship with our Creator as well. 

As a parent, there are days that I get so angry with my girls.  I scream.  I holler.  I cry.  Some days it is so hard to love them.  And yet, I do...unconditionally.  I am sure all the Mother’s and Father’s out there completely empathize with what I am going through.  But have you ever stopped to wonder if God has days like that too.  I imagine He looks down and just grieves over what many of his Earthly stewards have done to His creation.  

We are all God’s children.  He wants us to come to Him.  His door is always open.  Open for us to live in harmony with his creation.  But how many of His children actually listen to Him, obey Him, serve Him, can truly call him “Abba”?

The song, “Welcome To My World,” albeit a classic county tune, is one of my all time favorites that includes Biblical scripture.  We sang it in my Kindergarten class (which was a Dearborn PUBLIC school if you were wondering), while Miss Wetmore played it on the piano.  In case you were wondering: Miss Wetmore is one of my inspirations, and I still sing songs taught in that class now some 30 years later.  

However, it took reading the Bible a few years back, that I realized words from the song were actual scripture passages found in Matthew 7:7 and Luke 11:9.  Knowing this has given completely new meaning of the song to me.

Welcome to my world
Won't you come on in
Miracles I guess
Still happen now and then
Step into my heart
Leave your cares behind
Welcome to my world
Built with you in mind
Knock and the door will open
Seek and you will find
Ask and you'll be given
The key to this world of mine
I'll be waiting here
With my arms unfurled
Waiting just for you
Welcome to my world
AMEN

The Circus Act

When my family made the decision to homeschool our two daughters, I was hesitant at first.  Maybe hesitant is not exactly the correct word I'm looking for...AFRAID.  I was completely paralyzed at the thought I would be in charge of providing the education for my our girls.  I already felt inadequate as a mom, and now I'm going to add to the chaos?

Here we are, over a year later, and I can honestly say that I am still afraid.  But I'm not afraid of not being capable to teach our girls, instead I am afraid I have created a circus act in my home.

I laugh when I read homeschool blogs that depict a "typical day," because in our home the ONLY thing that is guaranteed is chaos at some point in the day.  At any given time I could have a child writing an essay, another doing math, papers scattered around the floor, math manipulatives used to build minecraft houses, a dog running around the living room with a stolen toy from one of the girls, whistling tunes from one daughter, and singing from another.  A fight could break out at anytime between siblings, pets, or one from each.

However, in the chaos is exquisite perfection.  I have seen both girls grow this year; physically, emotionally, and intellectually.  Through teaching them, I have learned more than I could have imagined.  Has it been a challenge?  Of course.  Have I had to make accommodations to put homeschooling a top priority?  Of course.  However, I am actually not upset that I have to rearrange my private teaching schedule, nor am I upset that I am not home all day working on house projects waiting for the girls to come home.

A product of homeschooling, at least in our case, is that at least once or twice a week I am reminded of the continued destruction of our educational system.  A know quite a few teachers who are looking for a new career, and my heart breaks for those educators that have no choice but to persevere through adversity.  I cannot imagine how difficult it must be to get little support from parents and even less from administrators.

For many reasons, we are continuing to educate our daughters at home in the fall.  I'm getting quite fond of the circus, and cannot imagine my life any other way.

Not My Kid - A Year Later

It has almost been a year since I wrote "Not My Kid" and thus began the journey toward a very VERY big choice: homeschooling my ladybugs.  At this one year anniversary I want to muse about how that moment changed my life.

Regrets
They say hindsight is 20/20, and quite often when I make a choice (regardless of the time spent mulling it over) I look back and say, "I should have done things differently."  I'm not perfect, but I do try to make important decisions after much thought and prayer.  The crazy part of 2013 was that the end of 2012 seemed to be so positive: I got a job as a music teacher with the ladybugs' school, and everyone was healthy and happy...so I thought.  When I left said job in December for the Christmas break, I was at an all time career high; the Christmas pageant went amazingly and I was feeling completely loved and reassured that I was in the right place.

However, I had my rose-colored glasses on, again.  The school was on a course to destruction and I do believe there were very ill-fitted people people running the show.  People show their true colors under stressful circumstances, and the bullying that occurred only brought to light who people actually were inside.

Finding out who your true friends are can be difficult at times, but afterwards the grateful knowledge supersedes the pain...eventually.

Results
First of all, we continued to homeschool passed the summer months.  Mainly because it works for us.  The Lutheran school that "everyone" was going, in fact, did see quite a few new students and families this fall.  Of course, that was never an option for us anyway; maybe that was just the way it was always supposed to be.
I am only in contact with a few people from the school, and that's okay.  We have all moved onward down different pathways...maybe we will meet again.  For some though, I sincerely hope not.

Rhetoric
One of the reasons I left the diseased environment of the school was due to the environment itself.  Of course my blog entry Not My Kid did have a bit to do with it.  I was bullied to pull the blog post, and I was encouraged to simply turn my cheek and "make up" with those involved.  When Jim visited the school to get Zoebug's schoolwork, people approached him regarding having conversations between me and "those who hurt me" so that "the air could be cleared," and everything "could return to normal."  Normal.  What in God's name was normal about that environment in the first place?  No thank you.  Bullying is not something I take lightly, and my removing my children was, and will forever be, the best decision I made in 2013.

What a difference a year makes.

Boo

Carefully concealed behind sport coats and neatly pressed pants trying not to accidentally step on the perfectly polished loafers, I wait as quietly as possible.  My heart pounds in my throat and excitement has made my mouth dry with anticipation.  I worry that my shallow breaths will be heard, so I try holding my breath to no avail.  Then I hear muffled voices which reassure me my location will be detected at any moment.  Footsteps creep closer and closer.  The closet door is quickly opened and we both shout, “BOO!”  My Papa is home from work once again.

The Yellow Banana

I was an anxious child.

That is an understatement at best, but the truth is I was super anxious about most situations. One of my biggest dilemmas was going to sleep at night.  And if you think that was an issue, it was only exacerbated by sleeping away from home.  I practically never spent the night away from home, unless we were on vacation as a family.  However, my sister and I did spend the night at my Grandma and Grandpa Riske's about once a month when our parents were working in their band, the Knight Kats.

As bedtime approached, my Grandpa would pull out the bed from the davenport (their terminology) in the red room (it was called red because of the red shag carpet it bestowed for many years of my childhood).  Then my Grandma would put sheets on the bed and get blankets and pillows to make it all comfy.  That bed was so uncomfortable, especially if you laid incorrectly (which was very easy to do).  There were bars that lined the mattress, and they stabbed in my back and side no matter which way I would turn.  Then there were the areas on either side of the bed where the arms of the davenport.  Grandma would shove pillows or other things in them because she was worried that we would fall in the cracks during the night.

One night I was having a particular difficult time falling asleep.  No matter how much Grandma rubbed my back, I couldn't fall asleep.  The figure eight, the three taps, nothing seemed to bring on sleep.  Then my Grandpa brought in a large, stuffed, yellow banana.  It was nothing special, but it seemed huge to me.  Just a simple yellow banana stuffed toy with the Dole label on it.  It was like this one:

And believe it, or not, this was just the thing that worked!  It became the one thing that had to accompany me to bed each night.  I called it - The Yellow Banana.  Not especially creative, but pretty much spot on with the name.

The banana stayed with me throughout my life.  When Zoe was a baby and Evie was on the way, we put her in a big-girl bed.  I found The Yellow Banana in a box and it looked a bit more tattered than it had when I was younger.  I also had to remove the label because it was falling off.  However, it was the perfect solution to stopping Zoe from rolling off the bed.  Years later she still has to have the banana taking up the space between the wall and the mattress.

I did a bit of research today, because of course Evie wants her own banana.  The banana was an advertising promotion from Dole, most likely from the 60s or 70s.  In later years the banana became a character named Bobby and often sported tennis shoes, a cane, and a top hat.

How did my grandparents obtain this little gem?  I have no idea.  But what matters the most is the magic contained in that stuffed toy.  It brought many nights of quick sleep for myself, and now for my Zoe.  When I asked my Grandpa where it came from, he simply said, "The attic."  A mystery for certain.  But I do know that sleep in our family would be quite different without The Yellow Banana.

Pals Forever

Born to German immigrants, Raymond Henry Riske took his first breath on Wednesday, August 21, 1918. He grew up in Detroit, Michigan during the roaring 20s and the depression of the 30s.  His folks rented homes on Joseph Campau and Hendricks Street, however, unfortunately, neither home has stood the test of time.  

His father, Emil, had been a nurse in the Navy during the Spanish American War, and he was a factory man during Ray’s life.  His mother, Anna, loved animals especially dogs.  There were at least four or five dogs who ate dinner outside their home each night.  Bob, who was a German Shepard, eventually became the family dog.  Bob had an amazing temperament.  He would allow the chickens from the house next door to walk on his back, but he would chase the birds away from the garden.  

Ray loved to help his mom with her daily chores, and they would always go to the local theater to see the latest movie.  Ray loved movies and he also built his own radio when he was a boy.  He listened to shows like The Green Hornet and Amos and Andy, and loved the crooning of Bing Crosby.  Years later, Ray would whistle around the house and do a fabulous Bing interpretation as well.  In fact, when I was a little girl I decided I would marry Bing (that is after I found out Popeye and Casper were cartoons and therefore not real) but to my chagrin my grandma informed me that Bing was not a nice husband and that in fact he was also dead.  

Ray attended Cass Technical School, where he makes certain to add was the only high school in Detroit to have an airplane in the top floor.  He also quite often stated, “when I attended all the teachers wrote the textbooks.”  In fact, his Chemistry teacher was Mrs. Lindbergh, the mother of famous aviator Charles A. Lindbergh.  Even though Ray was never very fond of school, he loved to read books about ships and detective adventures.

Ray could tell one story over and over again: his courtship and love of Ardis Sherman.  Even almost twelve years after her passing, Ray would still gets misty-eyed when he heard a favorite song “Every Day of My Life,” by the McGuire Sisters.  Theirs was a marriage of true love and happiness right up until the end.  Only having one child, Cheryl, Ray never felt he needed more.

In fact, Ray was the most positive and optimistic person when it came to his life and his overall health.  He was quick to share with others, “I can’t complain,” when asked about how he was doing. He also was very handy with making contractions and knew how to fix almost anything.  I think the most impressive thing he made was a holder for the Atari remote controllers.  You could sit and use the controller without stress to your hands.  In many cases I believe Ray could have patented his inventions, and helped make the world a more enjoyable place to live.

No matter what Ray was to others, he was my Pal.  I will never forget the first day I called him Pal.  It was his birthday and my grandma and I were getting the cake ready.  She wanted to know what to put on as his name (Ray, dad, grandpa), and I said, “Pal.”  I felt that Pal encompassed all the titles he held.  And Ray was truly my Pal in every sense of the word.  He listened to all my woes, and was always there to share a Coke and eat whatever candy was in the red-room cabinet.  

I remember spending mornings after sleepovers asking him to explain how a light-bulb worked, or how pillows were made, or how the energy got from the plug to the TV.  I also remember asking him about the olden golden day decorations at our favorite restaurant: The Forge.  As we ate crunchy bread sticks waiting for our salads with blue-cheese dressing and our dinners of frog’s legs, Ray shared with me the names and uses of anything I asked about. And honestly, I don’t have a clue whether he knew the real answer or not, but his answers were the truth to me.  I remember washing his car, mowing the lawn, shining shoes, sorting nails in his immaculate garage, tinkering at his workbench and finding things in their basement fruit cellar (which was always overstocked with can goods).  I loved singing with his dog, Misty, while she begged for a cherry from his Manhattan and dressing her up with Ray’s neck ties.  I also remember hiding in the coat closet when he came home from work.  I would yell, “boo,” and he would always pretend to get scared.  

We always had a close relationship from little on.  He even named one of his backyard roses “Michelle” after its name tag got lost. I also remember him patching up boo-boos; especially the one he patched after he let go of the bike when I was just learning to ride.  There was a big bump in the sidewalk that I hit on a bad angle.  I remember him apologizing time and time again, to which I had already forgiven him for letting go.  There was also another time we were all playing with sparklers and my mom had insisted I didn't touch the hot end of the stick.  Of course when my Pal came to retrieve the stick I took the hot end in my hand to give him the cool end, because I didn't want to burn him.  Boy was that a bad choice.

We spent every summer up at Houghton Lake with my grandparents.  Ray used to take a morning walk to get the newspaper, and I would accompany him around the small village.  Once my sister, Kelly, was old enough she came along too.  The best part of the walk was the spooky old house we all decided we would live in one day.  Each summer vacation was not complete without seeing the spooky old house.  It couldn't have been all that spooky, because we decided that we would buy the house and each live in a separate area. On one walk we actually went right up to the house and peered in the windows.  All we saw were boxes and the like, but we sure got each other scared.  The following summer the house was gone; apparently torn down due to the sign that said “CONDEMNED.”   

Ray loved music and taught me some really silly songs when I was a kid.  My favorites were: The Peanut Song (choo choo peanut butter), Show Me the Way to Go Home (think I had a drink about an hour ago), and Bring Them In (which I had to learn how to roll my tongue to sing the song properly). Ray also had the most amazing record collection and oftentimes let me borrow one to listen to at home. My favorite was Evita because I had a huge crush on Mandy Patinkin and there were pictures in the fold-out album cover. Ray also loved Abba, and gave me the Voulez-Vous album when I was four, “To my No.1 Granddaughter,” it said.  He also gave me a 45 of Boy George’s “Mistake Number 3”.  We loved to watch The Lawrence Welk Show together, and we would try to tap dance like Arthur Duncan, which usually ended in a ton of laughter.  Ray also had an affinity for the Puccini opera “Madama Butterfly.”  We watched a video of the Placido Domingo production, which in fact was my first experience with opera.   I know he was so proud of my when I was part of the Michigan Opera Theater’s production of Verdi’s Aida.  

Ray also loved tape recording stuff.  He enjoyed having my sister and I sing or talk into a microphone. Once he decided to tape record himself reading books to my sister and I, because he saw it on a morning show.  I can still hear, “Now, turn the page.”  He always tape recorded Christmas with my family, from the moment we entered the door until all presents were unwrapped.  The laughter, the anticipation, the excitement, and the inevitable bratty selfish behavior from my sister and I that would ensue at some point.   

I had a very difficult time with friends and dealing with daily bullying, but no matter what happened at school I always had a friend in Ray.  He was always there for a Coke and a candybar.  Quite possibly not the healthiest way to deal with sadness, but then again who doesn’t love chocolate?  Inspired by a song sung in school, “Love Sidney,” I wrote a song for Ray called, “Pal’s Forever.”  And Ray was my biggest fan when it came to singing and performing.  

Ray had his own words for things: han-ga-burgers were hamburgers, pis-sketti was spaghetti, and The Corner was the restaurant by his house.  He also never could keep names straight and thus was known to call people “Charlie” or “Guy” so not to embarrass himself.  He also could not spell and would spell things phonetically.  However, since I’m a terrible speller, I hardly seemed to notice.  

I spent many evenings watching TV with my grandparents.  I just sat there and spent time enjoying laughs and tears.  Once I was older and married and once my grandma Ardis passed away, Ray and I continued our life-long friendship. We spent hours shopping at Target and Kmart (two of his favorite stores). However, we would always start with BLT combo lunches at Leons (which included fries and soup) and we would always end the time together with drinks at Starbucks.  In fact, I got him hooked on mocha frappuccinos, while I drank my triple venti soy lattes.  We talked about everything; from “soup to nuts” he would always say.    

In the summer of 2003, Ray took my husband, Jim, and I to Traverse City for a vacation.  We spent the time playing cards, talking, and having fun drinking Manhattans and eating out.  Ray  always woke before us and had the table set for breakfast and had coffee percolating in the background.  I never could believe how young he was for someone in his 80s.  He walked a mile to see the Sleeping Bear Dunes and he made us laugh by joining Jim and I to watch silly reality TV in the recreational room at the campsite.  I will also never forget the wine tasting that left all three of us inebriated, and Ray encouraging me to go in on a case of wine with him.  Not quite certain if I’ll ever be able to enjoy raspberry wine again. 

Once Zoe came, Ray worried our Friday lunches would be over. But we just brought Zoe along for the ride. He relished in spending time with a baby, and I’ll never forget how he ran up and down the aisle-way with Zoe at Foot Locker while I found a good pair of walking shoes. He even babysat Zoe while I went through my clothes closet, and kept her busy for an hour. Thus, naturally once Eva came we both rolled a cart while shopping.  My girls were so lucky to have a relationship with their Papa Ray, who joined us for breakfast and grocery shopping every Friday and enjoyed chocolates and Cokes with us on Wednesday afternoons.  When Ray was in rehab, I brought Eva alone on two separate occasions.  She showed Papa Ray how she could spell (getting ready for her weekly spelling test) and then played a few songs on the piano by ear.  He loved my girls and was so proud of them.  

Everyone who came in contact with my grandpa Ray was an instant friend of his - he was just that charismatic.  He had friends all over the place (restaurants, Kroger, church, etc.), and his heart was willing to accept more. It is not surprising that this only child (his siblings died at birth) bloomed the moment he was in the center of a group of people.  He was fantastic at telling stories about his life - some true and others not so much.  But it never really mattered, because his smile and personality sold people every time. 

Ray also continued my grandma’s charitable donations to a wide variety of organizations.  I had never seen as many gifts as he would receive as thank yous for his donations.  Greeting cards, calendars, notepads, stickers, blankets, address labels and calculators only name a few of the many presents he received.  

Even up to the end of his Earthly life, Ray never lost his positive spirit.  He made certain to let us know he was doing fine and that it was “neat” that we were there to spend time with him.  He shared with me a long journey through a beautiful landscape with beautiful blue flowers and lush foliage only a couple of days before his spirit left the earth.  Being able to hold his hand throughout this journey meant so much to me; however my special friendship with Ray has been one of the greatest joys in my life.  Ray lived each day with gusto, with no regrets, and with the admiration of everyone he met.  I hope to be able to emulate that as much as possible as I enter a new year of my life.  

Ray was a jack-of-all-trades and touched many lives in his 95 years.  However, he is and always will be my Pal Forever.