Let Yourself Be Enchanted

at the ball

Last night, while Max was off dancing with Preslee at the Centennial Ball, I was at work and witness to a woman, poor thing, the moment she received news of her father's sudden death. There was nothing good about it. It was so powerful, it erased the day's memories.

If anything good came of it, it made me reflective. Thoughts of my family. Here are some highlights. (To my son Max, special post for your graduation forthcoming...)

The men:

1. My dad taught me the value of algebra. Years on the ice with a sharp pair of skates, or metal harnesses + honing stones, have rendered my math for life. This was of utmost importance when I eventually ended up in nursing school.

2. My uncle always gave me beautiful gifts wrapped in ugly packaging. The meaning was not lost on me. Then he'd say (and I can still hear him), ‘You got it, Pontiac.’ A car thing?

3. After stopping at a Great Harvest bakery on Monday after walks to get cinnamon bread (always sliced), my son and I would sit on a bench in the park overlooking the big cottonwood creek,  watching little fish coming and going at Old Mill pond not far below.

The women:

3. Rosella (grandmother) and Newell Parley would often come visit us on weekends. In between conference sessions, housecleaning and Lawrence Welk on TV, repeated reminders: ‘Do you see this hand! Yeah, put it in your pocket.'

2. Fern (my great aunt) always brought us Silver Dollars. A very matter-of-fact lady, she and Grandma Jo had no time for our snivelling. ‘One day you'll appreciate your mother.’

1. I better save some for my mom. But what is it Mothers always say? Yup, ‘Life's not fair.’