Ninety-One Years Almost

            James Galloway survived so many things.  He was one of the younger children in a huge family during a time when baths were given by filling up a metal washbasin and placing it in the middle of the kitchen once a week.

            He always wanted to work a little harder to make something better out of his circumstances.  If he could make 25-cents a day by working 8-hours, then he would work 10 and put the extra nickel in the bank.  That is essentially how he saved up for his first motorcycle – one of his great accomplishments and joys of his youth.

            He left his family at a young age to work and send the money home to help feed and clothe everyone.  He worked so hard, and then he was drafted into World War II.  There he fought and saw things that were so terrible he didn’t speak of them for 50-years after he came back.

            He met my Mamma and had a double wedding with his brother who was marrying her best friend.  He has been so poor at times that he didn’t know where his next meal was coming from.  He told my Mamma he wasn’t a rich man, but he would work hard and someday they would have everything.

            He stayed true to his word and each little purchase along the way was a celebrated victory in their journey to a better life – a life that included indoor plumbing and eventually so much more.

            My Pappa, as he came to be known once grandchildren such as I entered the scene, pulled double shifts at the coal mine day after day, week after week, year after year.  He loved to tell the story about how the superintendent of the mine shook his hand one day and told him he had worked more hours and subsequently made more money than anyone, even the superintendent, one year.  He approached him asking, “Are you James Galloway?  Well, I just want to shake your hand.”

            He was loved.  When he was later offered a higher paying job as an instructor at a different mine, the mine where he was already working refused to match the salary to keep him.  So, his students pooled their money and offered to pay the difference to convince him to stay.  He took the higher paying job, but it was a sweet gesture that showed how much people loved to have him around.  He moved his family from Kentucky to Illinois when my mom was in high school.

            In the early 70s before I was born, he was diagnosed with black lung from spending so much time in the coal mines.  But, it would take more, so much more than that to take down a man as great as my Pappa.

            He had survived the Depression and the Great War.  He took the black lung diagnosis in stride and never let it bother him.

            My Pappa was strong and had great health.  Sometime in the 80s he retired, a status he would enjoy for three decades.

            He had a nice home, a motor home, motorcycles and multiple vehicles.  He and my Mamma travelled all over the United States together by road and he loved to remind her of that promise early in their marriage by saying, “See, I told you someday we would have everything.”  And, they did.

            They had raised four wonderful children (one of them was my mom) and they were on their way to what would eventually be fourteen grandchildren and nineteen great grandchildren.

            Tragedy struck in the early 90s when one of his grandchildren died.  That was one of the hardest things my Mamma and Pappa had to go through in their lives.  But, he was strong and he survived.

            The other hard thing was my Mamma’s failing health.  He helped her recover from open heart surgery and their love for one another grew.  In the fall of 1998, when she went in for a routine surgery and never woke up, I thought his heart had broken for good. 

            It was some of the worst grieving I ever saw and I felt so bad for my Pappa as he struggled to move beyond his loss.  But, he was strong and he kept going.  He was back to his positive self before long.  He was attending dances for older singles and dancing the entire 3-hours away.  He was full of life and spunk and energy.

            He was always surprising us by showing up on my mom’s doorstep after traveling by car from his home in Illinois to Utah – usually without even stopping to sleep.

            Loud.  He was so loud.  He had the loudest voice with a Southern accent and he loved to tell stories.  He loved to make people laugh and his eyes would light up as he approached the punch line.

            He was so adventurous and rode motorcycles and 4-wheelers long past the age that he should have been able to do those things.  Once when he was visiting us in Utah (in the 90s, shortly before my Mamma passed away), he rode one of my dad’s 4-wheelers up one side of a hill and right off an unseen cliff on the other side.  After soaring through the air several feet, he rolled down the rest of the drop with the 4-wheeler entangled with his body as he went.  He was hurt terribly in that accident, but we could hardly get him to see a doctor.  He found a way to mend himself over the months and got through it just like everything else.

            We knew my Pappa was getting older, but he seemed to be cheating time by the way he could still drive across the country and talk circles around everyone he met.  He loved to come out and prepare us wonderful Southern feasts.  He loved to treat us to meals at restaurants.  He loved taking care of people.

            After a colorful period of dating following my Mamma’s passing, he married Marie and moved to Kentucky in 2005.  I knew he needed her because he could not stand living alone.  And, he felt she needed him.  It was a challenging relationship.  At least they kept each other company. 

            In 2009, we thought the end had come.  Our beloved Pappa who seemed too strong to be taken down by anything was in a motorcycle accident.  Can you imagine that he was almost 86-years-old and still riding a motorcycle?

            I had just given birth to my 4^th child right before it happened.  My mom and dad rushed along with his other children to be by his side.

            He was driving across a bridge when a boat passing by caught his attention.  He admired it and took his eyes away from the road for too long.  The car in front of his stopped abruptly and he ran smack into the back of it.

            The pain in his neck was excruciating and he figured out he could alleviate it by literally holding his head on.  He put one hand on each cheek and walked around holding his head up this way to relieve the pressure on his spine.  People begged him to lie still, but he walked around this way until he was finally transported by ambulance to a hospital.

            After the x-rays were developed, the doctors became more vigilant about keeping him still and immobilized in a neck brace.  They learned he had a severe fracture in his neck, in the same vertebrae that left Christopher Reeve paralyzed from the neck down.  But, it looked like even this couldn’t take my Pappa away from us.

            He struggled to recover from this massive injury that would be difficult for even a young person to heal from. He developed a serious blood infection and we thought his life would still end even after the crash had not killed him.

            Miraculously, he lived.  He endured months in a rehabilitation center undergoing physical therapy after the infections were gone and the break had healed and he had had a metal rod fused into his neck.

            He said the therapy was difficult and painful, but he showed up and did it every day, just like he had done everything else all of his life. 

            He loved to joke about how he had finally re-learned all that he needed to – walking, bathing, dressing – and they were ready to release him.  But, when he went to sign the forms he realized he couldn’t write his name so he turned around and went back to rehab so he could learn that too.

            He recovered and before anyone could stop him he was back to climbing ladders to clean leaves out of the gutter and taking care of his yard.  The one thing the doctor said he could never do again was drive (for one thing, he couldn’t turn his head from side to side to look over his shoulder).  But, Pappa would have rather died from that accident than to be told he couldn’t drive, so he did keep his license and learn to drive again.  And, soon he was back to dancing the night away with friends and making the long trip out west to visit us again.

            I was so excited the next time he showed up on our doorstep.  I had almost lost my beloved Pappa and now I had a second chance to enjoy him.  That was a wonderful visit the spring that my baby turned one. 

            He told his stories and this time I hung on every word.  I recorded them.  I wrote them down.  I couldn’t imagine a world without this great man and his stories and his funny isms like “Learn all you can and can all you learn (to preserve it).”

            I had always loved him and he had always been special to me, but during this trip, I finally learned a little better how to show him what he meant to me.  The kids and I took him to the Kennecott Copper Mine to visit.  It was a really memorable day.  I was so grateful for the gift of time.

            One day, we were sitting on my couch just the two of us and I got emotional and told him I would never be ready to say “goodbye.”  I knew somewhere deep inside of myself that I would never be ready for a world without my Pappa and the great energy he brought to it.

            He put his arm around me as we sat there and comforted me telling me that he had had a good life and he was ready to go at any time.  He missed my Mamma.  And, he was at the dying age he said.

            One of his favorite things to say was, “You know what is wrong with the younger generation?  I am not a part of it.”  He knew he was an old man and he knew his days were numbered.  He was just so healthy and had dodged death so many times, it didn’t seem possible that his end could actually be near.

            That summer I made one of the smartest decisions I’ve made in my life.  I put myself and my one-year-old on a plane and flew to Indiana for a family reunion.  I didn’t usually go to these unless they were in Utah or Idaho because it was too far and too expensive to travel. 

            It was one of the most special weeks of my life.  My Pappa was so happy to have all of his children, a few of his grandchildren and that one precious great-grandchild with him.

            Everywhere we went, he would get the attention of anyone who would listen and exclaim in his loud Southern accent, “Look right here, you are looking at four generations!” as he lined up himself, my mom, me and my daughter up for them to see.

            I loved being with him that week and listening to him and his children reminisce about their annual family vacations at Kentucky Lake with their ski boat.  He use to ski all over the lake with my mom and her sister on his shoulders.  From a distance, people thought they saw a giant when that tall man skiing with little girls standing on his shoulders holding an extra ski rope passed by. 

            He was always larger than life.

            It was a fantastic, full week of memories I will always hold dear in my heart.  We spent a day on a gorgeous lake in Indiana and we visited my Mamma’s grave in a picturesque cemetery in Kentucky.  We saw the tombstone that already had his name engraved on it.  He joked in the final days of his life that everything was all ready for him to go, he even had his name and date of birth engraved on his tombstone and he would have had the date of death already engraved there too if he knew it.

            In the summer of 2012, my Pappa made the trek out west to attend another family reunion.  This time we all gathered in Utah and headed up to one of my favorite spots, a cabin at Bear Lake. 

            I loved him so much and I kind of gave up thinking, “This might be the last time I see him,” every time we said goodbye because it is an emotionally exhausting way to exist.  I would never be ready for our final goodbye.  But, it turned out that one was our final goodbye after all.

            I loved him so much, but I rarely called him on the phone.  It just wasn’t the relationship we had during my adult life.  I remember vividly all the times he asked me as a child to show him my million dollar smile through the phone (in the days before facetime and skype mind you).  I always did and he always pretended he could see it.  His voice sounded like my smile made his day.  It made me feel so special.

            Sometime after that reunion in 2012, we got the news that my Pappa had an aggressive form of skin cancer.  Somewhere deep inside me, I knew this would be the thing to finally take him down. 

            It was still hard to imagine after all he had been through.  I forgot to add congenital heart disease to the list of things that ailed him but never got him down.

            For nine-months my Pappa would endure surgery after painful surgery that would eventually result in having almost his entire scalp removed from his head.  They kept cutting, but the cancer was still there.  Once they stopped cutting, they planned to perform plastic surgery to graft the skin back.  But, he never got well enough for them to get to that point. 

            Before they were able to remove all of the cancer through surgery, an aggressive tumor grew in his cheek that had to be treated with chemotherapy.  So, he underwent round after round of that, getting so ill, but only wanting to talk about the good days that he had.

            During that time, most of his skin on his head grew back on its own and the doctors were amazed saying that almost never happened.  That was how strong my Pappa’s body was, even at 90-years old while battling cancer.

            Slowly, we knew my Pappa was slipping away.  We knew the times we had enjoyed were gone.  We planned one last family reunion and hoped the man who was nearing 91 would have enough stamina left in him to join us at a cabin near a lake in Mississippi.  My flight was scheduled to take me there on Saturday, July 12, but instead I attended his funeral on Friday, July11.

            It was sad to not get to see him again.  But, when he took a turn for the worse a week before our planned get together, I just wanted him to be able to pass quickly and avoid any extra suffering.

            Darn the cancer and all it had put him through.  He was already gone before his spirit slipped away.

            I was so grateful that my mom and dad were able to be with him in his final moments and that my mom whispered in his ear just before he passed how much I loved and admired him.  It was so hard for me to pick up the phone and just tell him that at the end, but I hoped he knew.

            The following days were a blur.  He passed away in the evening of July 8^th and the funeral was early on July 11^th.  I quickly changed my flight and went out to be with my family.

            It was my first time visiting the house where he and his second wife lived in Kentucky.  My dad told me how Pappa was so proud of the place with a cute little yard, a deck in the front and the back and two huge garages to shelter some of his many vehicles.

            Emotion overcame me when I walked inside.  I could see him standing in that tiny kitchen cooking fresh vegetables from his garden talking about the bounties of the earth and all of his blessings.  I could hear that loud, high, Southern voice and see that twinkle in his eye as he thought up a story that would put a smile on someone’s face.  I could see him there wanting to welcome us all into his home and being so glad we came. 

            Except, he really wasn’t there. 

            Somehow, we laughed and joked to keep us from feeling too much sorrow.  We sat at the house and waited for the time to go by so we could go to his funeral the next morning.

            The service was lovely.  It really was.  Friends and family stood up to tell their stories and my cousin Tara who was especially close to Pappa shared a moving talk about her memories.  She said, “The man I once thought of as immortal is gone and the world is no longer whole because of it.” 

            That is how I feel.  It seemed like he would be around forever.  There can never be anyone like him.  I miss him so much and even though the times I got to be with him were few and far between, I miss that energy that he radiated – a force that was always there even when the miles separated us.

            I am happy that he is with Mamma again and I am relieved that he is not suffering.  I am thankful that he was strong right up until the end.  I hope he will be one of my angels from the other side.  I can’t imagine anyone else I would rather have looking out for me.

            Rest in peace Pappa.  Thank you for all you did in your life to shape our family for the better and for being our pillar and showing us how to be strong and keep going even when things are tough.

Red and White Pancakes

I love the 4th of July.

On this holiday in the past, I woke the kids up early to dress them in their red, white and blue clothes.  Then I headed over to the neighborhood kids parade with decorated bikes, scooters, or me just pulling them along in the wagon.

After we made one sweep around the block, there was a good old-fashioned flag raising ceremony followed by juice and donuts.

After that, we did different things on the 4th of July. But, I've almost always made some sort of red, white and blue food to go with one of our meals.

Last night, I panicked a little because I didn't have a special, patriotic meal planned. Then, I realized strawberries and whipped cream ought to do the trick.

My family eats a lot of pancakes.  We eat them for breakfast, or lunch, or dinner.  We make homemade pancakes and we have rotated through multiple favorite recipes over the years.  Since I don't eat wheat, I don't usually join them in the eating part.  I have made wheat-free pancakes for myself before - but, not for a really long time.

I decided to grab some wheat-free flour when I picked up the strawberries and whipped cream, and, boy am I glad I did!

Last night, we met friends in Bountiful for a lovely backyard BBQ and a fireworks show.  It was so much fun.  This morning, we slept in nice and late and then the kids woke up to hot pancakes and I had my wheat-free pancakes too.  I think I had forgotten how good pancakes can taste.  Mine were like strawberry shortcake melting in my mouth.

After that, we hustled out the door to Lagoon so we could get there right when they opened.  I wanted to take the kids to Laguna Beach on this hot, hot, hot 4th of July.  At the last minute, Brian decided not to work on the holiday after all and joined us.  He and Ian went on rides while I took the other kids for a swim.

Isaac, Katie and I made laps around the lazy river on tubes.  The don't make lazy rivers like they use to. Now, every pool has a "lazy river" -- a small circle to the side of the pool with jets to help you go round and round as you tiptoe or float along.  This lazy river is huge by comparison.  You lay on your tube and float through caves, past waterfalls and by a volcano spewing water out the top (Katie pretended it was lava). I wish the rapids and other cool features worked like they did when I was a kid.  But, Katie and Isaac were in heaven.

I watched their eyes light up and their huge smiles.  They were so excited.  Everything was perfect in that moment and I couldn't stop thinking about how much I love my kids.  And, what a miracle it is to love someone so much your heart could burst.  That huge love is there just because they exist.

It was so relaxing and nice.  I wish every 90+ degree day could start out with red and white pancakes and a nice dip in a lazy river.  Happy Birthday America!  Thanks for a day off to be with my favorite people, soaking them up and breathing them in completely.

Purple Heart

For as long as I can remember, Isaac has had this obsession with finding hearts for me.  "Look mom! There is a heart in the clouds/snow/ice/mud/cement/asphalt/texture on the wall.  It's from me to you."

He also loves to collect rocks, leaves, wood chips, scraps of paper or anything else he comes across that resembles a heart to give to me.

Today, Isaac went to his first Cub Scout day camp because he is eight.  I woke up early and packed his lunch.  I rubbed on his sunscreen and filled up his water bottle.  Then, I rummaged around the house for a few dollars to give him so he would have money to spend at the trading post.

You know - so he could buy a patch or a hat or a cool pocket knife.

He came home this afternoon seeming so grown up after a day away.  I wanted to hear about his adventures. I wanted to know what treasure he bought.  He reached in his pocket and pulled out a purple polished rock in the shape of a heart.  He spent his money buying it for me!

Well, that and an ice-cream sandwich that he consumed.

I am so touched.  I love moments like this with my children.  I wanted to write it down so I don't ever forget.

A Change of Heart

Happy Valentine's Day!  One of my favorite holidays.  I relish celebrating this holiday of love.

In years past, the kids and I have made pink-frosted heart-shaped sugar cookies.  It seems like I'm too busy at Christmas to make sugar cookies, so this is the perfect time of year.  I love making special meals with heart themes to show the "sweethearts" in my life how much I love them.

This year, Valentine's Day came at the end of two of the busiest weeks I have had in a very long time.  In addition to the flood of writing, there were parent-teacher conferences and book fairs to volunteer at and organize at two different schools.  And, I needed to plan the Valentine's Day party for my son's second grade class because I am the room mom.  And, the night before Valentine's Day was the first night of juggling class.  It has been a very busy two weeks and I was feeling tired both physically and creatively.  So, as I sat with another mom/friend Thursday night at juggling class, I lamented that I had nothing special planned for this special holiday.

Friday came and went.  I wrapped up my writing, and we had a fun class party for Isaac.  I somehow got all the kids out the door with bags full of Valentines to pass out to their classmates.  Brian took me out for a lightning fast meal after the babysitting kids went home and before he had to leave for his evening photo assignments.  I picked up fast food for the kids for dinner and we watched the Olympics.  Because, watching the Olympics is fun.  It was a nice day, but our traditions were missing.

Saturday morning, I woke up renewed.  It felt good to put that long two weeks of work behind me and look forward to a long weekend of fun.  I decided it wasn't too late to celebrate the ones I love.  I started with these heart shaped waffles:

Next, I got to use the tickets I bought several months ago to take my mom to see "Les Miserables" at the Hale Centre Theatre.  It was breathtaking.  It exceeded my expectations from start to finish.  I loved it so much!  Every cast member nailed their part.  The music was so, so beautiful.  I can't find enough words to say how much I loved the production and how much I loved getting to spend the day with my mom.

That was a matinee, so when we got back to Ogden, my mom sweetly took Katie to her house for a sleepover so Brian and I could take the three older kids out for an evening with friends and their kids.

First, we had a delicious dinner at a restaurant our friends just discovered (and introduced us to) -- Smokin' Bones.  I'm not even a huge fan of BBQ, but the food was so good.  And, Isaac got to eat a hot dog deep fried in a scone.  Seriously, what is not to love about that?

Then, we headed to Salt Lake to watch the hilarious melodrama "Bandito Rides Again."  It was one of those melodrama parodies where they make fun of melodramas and pop-culture and other things.  Everyone laughed their heads off.  Even Isaac liked it (and, he is not a child who is easily pleased).

So, I had a change of heart between Thursday night and Saturday morning and we celebrated.  One day late, but we celebrated.  I love this family of mine.

Marathon of Words

I was going to write about how crazy this past week has been.

Last Monday night, I got a call from the newspaper asking if I could do three (what turned out to be five) extra stories for the Home and Garden insert coming out later this month.  Of course, I said "yes," and then spent the next eight days asking, "Why do I do this to myself?"

I scrambled to get my three regular stories for the week written and turned in.  On Thursday, the marathon began.  For two days I felt mental exhaustion set in as I worked simultaneously on what felt like five different research papers at once. And, it was the week of the book fair and parent-teacher conferences at the junior high (of course, I said "yes" to helping organize the book fair).

I just added it up.  I have interviewed twenty-five different people since last Tuesday.  No wonder I feel a little loopy.  I have ten more interviews to go and four more stories to write by the end of Friday.

But, right now, I am taking a pause to write about how crazy this all is instead.

I was going to write about how crazy this past week has been and try to answer the question, "Why do I do this to myself?"  But, now that the five extra stories are complete, I feel the way I always do at the end.  I feel like I have learned so many cool things about taking care of cement and kitchen remodeling and what the hottest trends for landscaping are right now.

I guess that is the weird part about my job that keeps me going.  I love getting to talk to interesting people and learn new things.

After giving it my all on Thursday and Friday, I woke up Saturday with a stomach bug.  How is it possible that right when a person has so much to do, that person gets sick?  I tried really hard to give myself permission to take a sick day.

Breathe in, breathe out.

On Sunday, I woke up at 6 a.m. in a panic because, while taking my sick day, I completely spaced out the fact that we were hosting Brian's family for dinner that night.  It was ward conference and I had meetings that morning, followed by church, followed by the dinner.  The house was not looking too great after I took a sick day.  I devised a plan.  I would be in charge of making the food if Brian would be in charge of cleaning up.  He agreed.

Then, I had to practice not being the expert at cleaning the house.  Have you ever noticed that when you are the expert at something, you get to do that thing all the time?  You have to let go of being the one in charge to get other people to participate.  On Sunday, I realized that I have been a bit of a control freak when it comes to cleaning the house.  So, congratulations to me, because I kept my mouth shut about how I thought things should be done.  Mostly.  It was hard. (Not as hard as doing everything myself).

Breathe in, breathe out.

But, in the end, dozens of cousins and aunts and uncles showed up with their wonderful meal contributions and we were all happy and none of it mattered anymore.  All that mattered was being together for Sunday dinner.  And, that was nice.

Yesterday and today, I had to wake up to the reality of how much work was still left to be done -- on the stories I mean.  If I woke up really early and started working until the babysitting kids showed up at 11 a.m. and worked again after they went home all evening until long after I would have liked to go to bed, it would be O.K.  It reminded me of finals week in college, when you are trying to cram so much in before a deadline.  Except, now there were all these other people depending on me for food and attention while I was working in the evenings.

It reminded me of having a new baby and not being able to find time to shower.

Breathe in, breathe out. 

This morning, my e-mail crashed while I was trying to receive photos from ten different sources for the stories.  They all started calling to say their e-mails were bouncing back to them.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Brian fixed it.  We survived all of it so far.  Every now and then, I get a startled feeling that Valentine's Day is just a few days away.  The kids need to go Valentine shopping, and I am in charge of Isaac's room party.  This week is parent-teacher conference and the book fair at the elementary school (of course I said "yes" to volunteering for a shift tomorrow night).

I am really looking forward to the weekend.  Right now, it is back to my marathon of words, because I refuse to let this spill beyond Friday (even though my technical deadline for the next four stories is 8 a.m. next Tuesday).  I can't wait to just cuddle those kids of mine and have all day Monday (President's Day) to do whatever we want! 

Thankful For Soup

Katie is good at saying prayers all by herself. Lately, they mostly consist of long lists of things she is thankful for. They are very sweet and uplifting. With the cold weather in full force, I have been preparing a variety of different soups for dinner. I guess Katie hasn't been a big fan of any of them. In a recent prayer given in front of the whole primary, she said, "We thank Thee that we can all like soup when we grow up." At least she is optimistic about her future feelings toward soup. Today, Brian is tearing out walls in a basement room that we are re-finishing as a bedroom for our boys. It is very exciting! I am thankful that he is such a handyman. I love it when he works on our house.

Vacation Plans 2014

It looks like 2014 will be a year of theme park visits for us!

We were surprised on Christmas morning with season passes to Lagoon from my parents.  Usually, we visit once per year.  Sometimes, I use the bounce back option to take the kids twice.  And, there was that one year when the power went out at our bounce back visit, so we got to return a third time for free.

The kids wish we could go a lot more.  Especially the boys -- Sophie is not into roller coasters and big rides yet like they are.  But, she likes the water park and the smaller rides.  Now we can go as many times as we want.  I hope I will be able to meet my kids' expectations of visiting as many times as they think we will now that we have passes.

Today, I booked our Disneyland trip -- Hooray!  I am so relieved to have completed the process of wading through the labyrinth of hotels, their rates and hidden fees and trying to validate or invalidate the negative reviews.  I am so excited that we will be within walking distance from the gate!  Major bonus.

Now, I am dreaming of our wonderful, fun-filled relaxing family vacation.  Ahhhh . . . vacations are the  best!