The Zog Blog

On February 7, after more long illnesses than any one human should have to encounter, my grandfather Ray passed away. He was a few weeks past his 80th birthday.

As an adult, I knew Ray better than any of my other grandparents. I thought, as I started Gram Lois’ essay back in August, that whenever Grampie Ray died his would be the easiest to write. But instead, it’s been the hardest. I suppose I just haven’t been ready for the closure represented by the memories I’ve shared with you of my other relatives over the last 6 months. Gathering the thoughts to write this is such a final step, and a large part of me wants to still imagine him on the other end of this blog, sharing it with my father or sending me back thoughtful email.

*****

His eyes were poor enough that he couldn’t fight in the war. With his ready smile and his slightly wicked sense of humor, he was “quite the dancer” at the USO dances and swept my grandmother (who was really quite a hottie) off her feet. They had three children when they were still quite young: My aunt Terri (dead this past November), my father, and then my aunt Lynn. He was a born salesman, as they say, and while his family was never what anyone would call “well off”, he provided for them well enough that in 1959 they purchased a house kit. With help from friends, he built the house they stayed in for almost 50 years with his own two hands. He wired it, hung the cabinets, ran the plumbing, put on the roof, installed windows and floors and doors. He built it next door to his own father’s house, raised his 3 kids, and then cared for his parents until they, too, left. His most incongruous hobby, from my perspective, was his love of guns and shooting. He was a championship skeet shooter “back in the day”, and I don’t know if my grandmother ever really knew how many guns he had. But by the time I was old enough to know anything he was pretty much only terrifying to the squirrels in the yard. (“Heh. That bastard won’t be eating out of the bird feeder again, let me tell you.”)

He had a long career of a variety of jobs, from working in the shipyard to a brief and failed furniture business with my dad. Eventually, he discovered that his job at the yard gave him emphysema and asbestosis in addition to the paycheck. My memory is hazy now, but I’m pretty sure he finally succumbed to his doctor’s urging to use oxygen shortly after I started college. He retired around that time, too, and he and my grandmother drove each other crazy until he went back to a part-time job selling cars. (Eventually his health prevented that, too.)

I have to be honest and say that I didn’t really know Ray at all until I was edging toward adulthood. I don’t know if this was just because he worked so much, whether I just wasn’t around when he was, whether he just plain wasn’t great with children. But starting when I was a teenager, I felt more of a kinship with Grampie Ray than with any other grandparent. He was the only member of my family who shared my love of books, of knowledge, of learning. When I was in high school, I’d sneak whatever he’d finished off his shelf, read it, and talk to him about it. We’d play cribbage together, me always losing but us both always having a good time.

Ray loved people, he loved being clever, he loved a good laugh. As his body started failing him, he threw himself even more into mental hobbies. Crosswords, crypto-quips, and eventually (thank heavens for this) the computer. I don’t remember exactly when he convinced my grandmother to get one, but eventually he wore her down and they got a computer (and, in quick succession, dial-up and high-speed internet service). I was fond of joking with him that he was the hippest grandfather anywhere, and the only one to point out the latest security issue to his information-security-worker granddaughter. Sometimes his unending technogeekery about software and hardware and whatever he was doing that week got on my nerves, but I never lost sight of how damn lucky I was to be able to keep in touch with him so regularly. As distance (economic, physical, and cultural) brought me further and further away from most of my family, I was never more than a heartbeat away from Ray. I cherished that, and still do.

My fondness for him really didn’t know any bounds, these last few years. Ever interested in learning something new (and always more attracted to alternative explanations than was really good for him), he began studying Reiki about 3 years ago. I wonder sometimes if I was the only one he felt took his latest pursuit seriously, and if I look back our conversations about Reiki were the start of the strengthening of our friendship. (I can’t say that I personally get anything out of Reiki, but it was so clear to me how much Reiki helped my grandfather that I couldn’t help but respect it.)

When we moved to California and I started this blog, he quickly became a daily reader (and emailer, if I hadn’t posted yet that day). In many ways, he provided the motivation to keep this thing going. He was so supportive of it, and of me, especially the more personal writing I’ve done here. I can’t say how much I miss his IM chats and quick messages (always, always signed with “Luv ya…” and a smiley face wearing sunglasses, mind). How much further away from my family and my roots I feel, now that we’re not constantly chatting.

With some doubts about whether or not he would really be up for company, I stayed with him the weekend of my grandmother Lois’ funeral. I am so, so happy I did. We watched movies and baseball, drank beer, did the crosswords, talked about his latest conspiracy theory passion, indulged in ice cream together. We’re both such quiet people, and I think we did one another a world of good that weekend. It was one of those rare and wonderful moments of adult friendship with a relative. We were two people who had loved the same person, who enjoyed the same things, giving one another companionable silence when it was needed most.

Jacob, Jon, and I stayed with him for a few days when we visited in December. I am glad I didn’t know it would be the last time. Again, despite my reservations, he seemed to love having us around. I cooked him dinner, he played with Jacob, we gossiped about his new Mac and how much easier it was to maintain than his old PC. I helped him get all of his digital pictures migrated from one system to another. We had nice chats. He laughed at what a handful Jacob could be. He shared some of his (more precious than gold!) deer meat with me, and we ate more ice cream while we watched the cat watching the snow fall.

Ray’s health took several turns for the worse, after the new year, and he confided to me early in January that he felt like he ought to “check out” before his 80th birthday. He was off by a few weeks, but kept up with the jokes until the very end. He was a great man, and is greatly missed.

Pregnancy still sucks, but fortunately (?) I have plenty of other things keeping me way too busy to dwell on that fact. In lieu of complaining about them, though, I want to share something I wrote today.

This is about politics. I’ve wanted to write something for awhile, about my feelings on the upcoming election, but haven’t wanted to start a flame war or spark any name-calling. I still want to avoid anything but a respectful and honest exchange of ideas, so if you feel you might have something nasty to say… look! Jacob got a haircut!!

I have donated to a campaign for the first time in my life (to Barack Obama), and have been getting the predictable slew of campaign announcements since then. Today, I got a request from the campaign to share my story. They’re collecting stories from supporters to make a stronger case to the superdelegates likely to decide who receives the Democratic Party nomination. This is mine.

I might be one of the last people you’d expect to dive into a Democratic primary battle. I was born and raised in Maine, a state that values independence and unorthodoxy for their own sake. I’ve spent most of my life on the libertarian edge of conservative politics. My family’s values, which became my own, center around the core belief that the government should generally stay out of my business. I was even registered Libertarian, for a few years.

As I’ve gotten older, and spent more and more years *in* our society (rather than critiquing it from a liberal-arts campus), I’ve come to settle in pretty solidly as an independent. But even as an independent, I tend to lean more to the economic right. If I were forced to pick a party, the democratic party would probably be my third choice.

Like most Americans, my views are centrist. Like most Americans, I despair at the lack of compromise and common sense in the current political atmosphere. I’m tired of the expansion of power in the executive branch, I’m tired of the erosion of our civil liberties, I’m tired of the effect rising healthcare costs are having on our small businesses, and I’m *really* tired of these major issues being ignored in favor of yet another fear-mongering jab from one party to the other.

Which brings me, I suppose, to my support for this campaign. I thought I was incapable of truly supporting *anyone* in this fall’s presidential race. I was convinced that the whole thing would be summed up by two positions: “Whatever you think of the current administration, know that the Democrats would hand us all over to the terrorists without any hesitation!” and “We’re the only hope for salvation from the Pure Evil of the Republican Agenda!”

I’m not sure you can imagine my disbelief, and then relief, upon discovering that the Democratic Party’s young darling was actually a candidate who made considered decisions based on reason and realism. Someone who didn’t just welcome independents like me, but who reached out to those with good ideas *regardless* of political affiliation. I don’t know how I could *not* support Barack Obama. He’s everything that has been missing in American politics for an entire generation. And I, for one, am really looking forward to being welcomed back into the national debate.

I hope that, whatever your political affiliations, you’ll take the time this year to figure out who you support, and why, and then vote for them.

First of all, if your primary elections are today, get out and VOTE! Go. Go now.

Second… well, the little mister is going to be pretty surprised, come his birthday this year.

Around then, a new zog will join our family. The crib notes: I’m 12 weeks along, everything looks healthy and fine, I’m having as many annoying symptoms this pregnancy as I did with Jacob, we plan to find out the gender, if we can.

Wish us luck!

Don’t have much to say, I guess. Our lives are pretty consumed by logistics large and small, at this point. We’re planning like busy planners, waiting, trying to make decisions, etc., etc., etc.

So here’s a grainy, over-exposed view of our morning:

…and a statement that you’re all in our thoughts. Hope you’re well!

Except we’re not, really. Returning to California feels like the vacation, our time in New England like home. I don’t know exactly when or how, but I’ve got to get back there.

It’s impossible to pick highlights, because even with all of the moving around and illness and difficulty, I had such a wonderful time being back in New England during a proper winter. So here are some fun shots of our time there, in lieu of highlights or a complete recap:

(Does this even need a caption?)

Jacob’s first snowman, shared with cousin Zachary and uncle Andrew. Yes, his features are made from car parts.

I got a few precious moments alone in a December fog while we were in Providence.

Jacob got to tote around a snowman more his own size, in Sturbridge.

Of course the best part was all of the time we got to spend with friends (related to us and not). 2007 was a difficult year, but we hope for better things to come in 2008.

So far, Hanukkah and Christmas are running neck and neck. Hanukkah has singing books, which are pretty cool:

But Christmas definitely has better hats.

Time: 6:52 AM.

Temperature: 24 degrees Fahrenheit.

Dude’s scraping the ice off of his windshield in shorts.

(At least he was wearing a fleece vest.)

The holiday season is upon us. Hanukkah has started, and it’s much more enjoyable this year due to Jacob’s vastly increased ability to grasp the whole thing. “Happy Hanukkah!”, he shouts to random passers-by. “Hanukkah a HOLIDAY!”

He’s really enjoying the little safari animals we’re giving him this year, and it’s so much fun to see him play with them. “Mommy, Daddy Lion needs take a naaaaaaaap. Close eyes?” But the show-stealer so far has been the jigsaw puzzle. We upgraded to a 24-piece puzzle since the 12-piece ones no longer hold his interest for more than .02 seconds, and hooray! This one takes him a full five minutes to assemble. Blessed silence, how we cherish you.

He’s not so sure about the latkes, though.

Or the kugel. Or anything else I put in front of him. Oh, well. At least he doesn’t appear to be starving. Maybe he’s synthesizing food out of the air, somehow?

He’s excited for our trip on Monday, too. We’re trying to prepare him for snow. I’m not so sure he gets the “cold” concept, but he sure is having fun running around the house in hats and mittens.

I don’t know whether I’ll be able to blog in Maine, so in case I can’t, happy holidays to all of you from all of us!

Wednesday was a pretty good day. Jacob decided in the morning that he didn’t want to attend the Mommy & Me-type class we usually go to (“Jacob no go class today pleeease, Mommy?”), so we stayed at home and Jacob helped me work.

But my favorite part of the day was unwinding at the end of it, knitting next to Jon on the couch while he started a new video game. It’s so quiet, after 9:30, and I’m really coming to treasure that time.

Yesterday, hands-down the best moment was when the play Hanukkah set I’d splurged on for Jacob arrived. He’s been fascinated with dreidels lately, and he immediately picked it up and started spinning in the living room.

“Jacob spin just like dreidel, Mommy!”

Today was a good day pretty much all around. Jon and I had one of those Important Conversations, and it both went well (no fighting) and was productive (a plan for our future that we both believe in). I cast on for some fun new knitting projects. We figured out how to save a sizable chunk of money each month. And it was a Mommy Day.

It’s a well-known secret (to other parents, anyway) that one isn’t often the focus of one’s child’s attention. And especially with a two year old, when you are the center of their attention… well, let’s just say it can be not so pleasant. But today, I could do no wrong as far as Jacob was concerned. All day long, he snuggled his warm little hand into mine, gave me unprompted kisses, waved and said “Hi, Mom.”, and bestowed smile after happy, soul-warming smile.

Thanks, little man. I needed that.

I think it’s a good idea to try (at least for the next two weeks, before we head back east) to post a daily “good thing”. Just a moment during the day that I really enjoy, to try and balance out the bad I post here so often lately.

Today, it’s Jacob “reading” to himself. He barely even notices it when I get the camera out, he’s so entranced with the letters and pictures. He has good taste in books, to boot–this pic snapped while he looked at Silly Sally.

A wonderful blogger recently prompted me to think about what I believe in–what rules I try to live by. If she’d posted such a query two years ago, I would have shared the following:

Life is good.
Be happy now.
Let it go.

I still like this, but it just doesn’t quite ring true for me at the moment. Life is always, clearly, better than the alternative. And we have a lot of control over how we react to whatever life is throwing at us. And of course, in the scheme of existence on this planet, middle-class white American is pretty goddamn far up there.

Still, after some thinking, I decided that right now, here’s how I want to live my life.

Happiness is one of our only true choices in life.
Regret is a waste of time.
The point of my life is to leave this world a better place than it was when I found it.

I don’t typically struggle with the second and third statements, there. It’s generally easy for me to learn from my mistakes and move on. I genuinely enjoy being nice to people and doing the right thing. But sometimes, particularly out here, particularly lately, it’s really tough for me to choose happiness. To look at the past few months and see anything other than enormous loss.

And let’s be honest–there has been enormous loss. Over the past four months, I have lost a baby, two grandparents, an aunt, and the illusion that we can afford for me to raise our kids full-time. I am 3,000 miles away from my entire support structure at a time when I badly, badly need it. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t bitter about this, and my only goal yesterday was to get through the day.

But it’s also true that I have much, much more than these losses.

I have a wonderful husband who is a partner in all aspects of my life. Who loves me, respects me, challenges me, and cares for me. I have the most fantastic kid in the universe, who makes my heart swell with pride and love every single day.

Even if they’re far away, I do have family and friends who love me and want to help. I recognize, finally, what a mistake I’ve been making by letting all of the bad overshadow that powerful good. So the question is, how quickly can I let it go? How quickly can I accept this mistake, learn from it, and move on to a happier existence?

I don’t know. I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.

How do you choose happiness when times are rough?

My grandfather’s given name was Lewis, but everyone called him Tinker. When I was young, he was a tinkerer, a trader, a man who always liked to have some plan hatching or project going. He slowed down a lot as he aged, like everyone does I suppose. For the past few years, he mostly sat in his recliner and sucked on hard candy.

He left school after 8th grade, and married my grandmother when he was 21. They had ten children together: three girls (one stillborn), and seven boys. Whether it was his idea or hers I don’t know, but they named them all with names beginning with “D”. He saw three of those children buried. He was a very outdoorsy kind of guy–a fisherman, clamdigger, and seafood shucker by profession, and an avid hunter. His favorite kind of hunting was bow hunting. I think he liked the quiet of it, the evening of the odds between you and the animal.

Although he was always incredibly poor, when I was in fourth or fifth grade he managed to buy a couple of hundred acres and build a house. The land supported him later, after fishing stopped being anywhere close to profitable. He sold granite from the land, sold bits of the land. He loved walking the land, hunting the land, owning the land he could see from his kitchen window. Some of my favorite memories of my childhood are on his boat, or at the dock where his boat was. I felt shark skin, learned how to keep my balance, smelled the disgusting chum one uses for bait. I got sunburned and loved this man, whose accent I could barely understand, who was ornery until someone cracked a joke and he grinned a gummy grin, who was one of the few adults in the world that could tolerate my brother.

At night, he played cards with us around his kitchen table, smoking cigarette after cigarette after cigarette in a never-ending cloud, until he fell asleep in his chair. He was an early riser, smoking several more cigarettes over his morning coffee while he watched the sun rise through his window.

He was very respectful of book learning, although he didn’t choose to pursue it in his own life, and always seemed to me to be a little intimidated of what Jon and I did. Things seem harder when you’re not the one doing them, I guess. I saw less and less of him after we moved from Maine, but I really enjoyed talking with him when we visited. He’d ask after our jobs, and what it was like living so far away, and was it very different from Maine, and what was the price of fish “down there”. (California was also “down there”, by the way. He was stunned to learn the price of lobster here–we ate lobster because we were so poor, when I was a child, and sometimes got a little tired of it.)

As he got older, instead of actually hunting the deer, he’d ride his 4-wheeler down to the hunting spots and sit for hours, gun in his lap, watching them. In the past few years, his short-term memory started to seriously fail him. He would go downstairs, sit on his 4-wheeler in the driveway for a few minutes, and then come back into the house talking about the beautiful deer he’d been watching.

He quit smoking on his doctor’s advice, finally, and then couldn’t remember he’d quit.

He died today in his house. He was 73.

Me [looking blearily at Jon]: I’m starting to waffle on going to this new parent social event.

Jon: (nod)

Jacob: Jacob want waaaffle!

[Jon and Amy look at Jacob]

Jacob: Jacob want waffle pleeeeeeeeease!

We had a house full of visitors this weekend, which is just the way I like it. I got to bake, which I don’t do very often, and made a cheesecake I haven’t made in years. It was yummy. Jacob had lots of playmates, there was Nintendo, there was a hike, great conversation, wonderful people. I pretty much couldn’t have been happier.

Jacob was pretty pleased to have a partner in crime. Asher, at this point, is old enough to want to play with Jacob and young enough to basically take dictation. :) So they had a good time being Team Toddler. Sunday morning, we stuffed both into backpacks and hiked around Jack’s Peak, a county park. I think the kids like the view from the backpack, if not the restricted movement.

We like this particular hike, which we’ve done a few times before, because it’s relatively easy and offers spectacular views of the Bay, Point Lobos, and Carmel Valley. It’s about .8 miles, without too many hills.

(Monterey Bay. It was a little hazy on Sunday, but still sunny and clear enough to be lovely.)

(Point Lobos, to the South. One of the most beautiful places on earth.)

(A misty Carmel Valley.)

Jon got some numbers back from his blood work that were a little concerning, and I’m all fired up to lose “those last 10 pounds” (which might actually be more like 15, we’ll see) in the two months-ish before we’re clear to try for baby again, so we’re starting the South Beach diet again tomorrow. I’ve had excellent luck with this way of eating in the past, although I do always seem to head back to the sugar eventually. The first few days are kind of awful, though, so wish us luck!