The Year in Review.

Change, day to day, seems almost imperceptible most times. At others, it's cataclysmic and violent, welcome or not.

But years, taken as a whole, offer the opportunity to see that things have, indeed, changed.

The older you get, the harder it is to get through an entire year without losing someone important. Each one, while you move on, still leaves a mark on your heart forever. I think the reason so many elderly people do not fear death is partly because the cumulative effect of all these marks becomes simply too tiring. I see them building up in my own life, and realize that even though new ones are added, that doesn't make missing the people associated with old grieving any easier.

People who aren't "pet" people never understand how the life of a dog or cat can affect you. Lucy was that dog for me, over 16 years ago, when I found her wandering in the woods near my ex's home in Cohasset. While she was an enormous pain in the butt as a puppy, she brought a sense of purpose to my life that I hadn't had up to that point. She paved the way for my children in that by the time they were born, the fact that someone could ruin your stuff and you could still love them just the same was second-nature. She had been around for so much of my life that me without her has felt very strange these last few months.

A little over a week ago a dear human friend passed away after 10 years of dealing with prostate cancer. This person gave for the joy of giving, without a laundry list of things expected in return as payment. He adored pop culture and would fill my mailbox with whimsical things like Nunzilla (a nun who shoots sparks from her mouth as she waddles across your desk--Catholic humor), a Ben Roethleisberger bobble head, a card for every occasion, stickers for the kids, and more. He made getting the mail a joy, even in the midst of financial strain. I looked forward to the mail, it was an adventure! Now, the mail seems a bit sad again.

Of course, as people exit your life, others enter, same with pets. Grief Recovery Dog is no Lucy, but he's a good boy, funny-looking (a shot of terrier actually gives him a stiff mowhawk), and I love him. He has helped, I have to admit.

Another year in Astoria has seen some friendships vanish, but others solidify and deepen. We're not the family you want to know if you like order, convention and the predictable, so understandably we were too much for some--we always are! But, as always, we are left with a group of fun, whimsical, giving, often sarcastic but always good people. After nearly three years here, we have people we can count on, and who know they can count on us, and that's a good feeling. One needs that sense of give-and-take, of community, on some scale. And while we're hardly conformists, we can say we contribute to our little town, and that it gives back.

The children. Where do I start? Eldest has moved up another grade this month, and Princess has finally started to get on board with the whole schoolwork concept. Eldest, regretting her decision to cut off her long hair, has grown much of it back. All of them continue to enjoy dance. Princess has become a real thinker, but funny. We have moved past the stage of pure frustration and head-butting and on to a wonderful time where her life philosophies are amazing, hysterical and wise, all in a five-minute span. Youngest has broken his teeth, had them repaired, has begun constructing sentences, loves to help cook and wants to learn his letters so badly. All are healthy, smart, and kids to be proud of. There have been numerous arguments amongst themselves, all of which have been solved, most without bloodshed, so I think they've learned and progressed. As far as the kids have been concerned, this has been the year of playing outside with a passel of neighborhood kids during the summer. Of chalk drawings, Neopets, Webkinz, and the Wii, of scooters and bikes, lemonade stands and gardening.

Slave Hubby has continued to endure me with patience (or is that just resignation?). This year, he managed to redo the staircase in an actual Craftsman style. He also finished my master suite, which I love, is huge, yet cozy. He painted the front of the house, traded in my old van, and cooked a lot of great meals. We kept the washing machine and oven limping along for another year, though the microwave gave up the ghost. He works hard at a pretty thankless job that would pay six times as much in a big city because he likes coming home for lunch and teasing his kids. Can't ask for much more than that.

And me? Well, according to my doctor's scale, I am 8 pounds heavier, and this with going to the gym three times a week! NO, it is not all muscle. Frankly, much of it were those Girl Scout Cookies last February and hitting 40. Time to adjust! Again! So, I want to work on that. I have fought valiantly against dirt that wants to take over my house, but have taken time for other things and have let go of that a bit, but not too much. I have been a chauffeur, a nurse, a teacher and housekeeper. My new year's resolutions last year included the goal of finishing this massive stitching that I started when Princess was an infant, and I have to say, I am really close. I did tons of work on it and though it won't be finished in time for New Year's, unless there's some really good TV on the next few nights, it will be soon afterwards. I managed to get through about three books, wrote this thing, got a couple of part-time jobs in everything from child care to data entry to selling stuff in Craigslist, so I've been busy.

Personally, I finally have a sense of peace with regards to my relationship with my parents. They are who they are, I am who I am. It's gratifying for me to know that I love them and they love me. I have finally let go of all the grudges of the past, and that is a very freeing thing. I have also realized that a relationship with my birth father and his family is not realistic. We tried, it's been a question mark for some time, and I am here if they want to contact me, but they are moving their own direction, I mine. When I saw a photo of the woman who abused and help murder my birth father's 2 year old sister, holding the babies of my younger siblings on Christmas Eve, I realized that I could never place my own children in her lap, the basic conflict that represents, and that it's just best to let it go.

What do I want to accomplish next year? Now that Little Man is 2 1/2, it's once again time to start focusing more attention back onto Slave Hubby. Poor guy. If he were a houseplant, he'd be half-dead in the corner by now. I also want to do much of what I wanted last year. I want to get to know my new metabolism and attempt to use it to actually shrink instead of grow, to continue to work out regardless, to do some more reading, stitching, scrapbooking and to spend more time on the beach (easier now that the new car is a 4WD!). To try to be more frugal, to earn as much money outside of home schooling hours as I can, and to try to be a more positive, peaceful person. We'll see, and more than likely I'll be back here next year, letting you know how I did.

How did you do?

Holiday Portraits.

Coming to a mailbox near you.

Happy Birthday!!!

Shakin' Down Santa.

HoHoHolidays.

From Disneyland.

Really Old!

Better Late Than Never.

Something Old, Something New.

The Perfect Ride.

The latest.

More Halloween Time Pages!

If Ben's costume, below, looks familiar, here's why (above).

D-Day.

Birthdays, Astoria Style.

Chinese at the Golden Luck.

Thieves!

Love finds you.

Boo!

Some Scrapbook Pages for Your Perusal.

New Pages!

Some Summer Scrapbook Updates

Thank you. For everything.

Lemonade.

Bummer.

She did GREAT!

Nope, no stage fright here.

Hey, Dad. Some of this stuff is older than YOU!

I've always loved that show, but was never under the illusion that we'd discover a secret room that used to be an illegal speakeasy for state senators in our 1913 Craftsman. Still, while Slave Hubby and house guest D began the demolition of an attic wall today, I was thrilled at what they found: A 1944 Oregonian, a 1919 Portland Tribune, and several old containers, including an old whiskey bottle with top. By far, my favorite is a 1918 Astoria Catholic Monthly, in which there is an article calling people late to mass "degenerates." I will retype the article and post it here when time permits, because it is simply too fabulous. Boy, the punishments for stuff I take for granted were harsh back at the turn of the last century!!!

Anyhow, we have also discovered who built our house, that the bare land cost $10, and that they lived here from 1913 until the widow passed in 1976. Their descendants own a local hardware store, so I am going to stop by there at some point and ask if they have some pictures of the house back in the day.

Ultimately, everything related to the house's history is going to live in a glass-front cabinet, and will ultimately stay with the house. So look for those three ancient coffee cans to become part of our decor soon. (If you double click on the photo above, you can see the items in greater detail.)

A request for my mother.

I'm in the kitchen today, making lunch, looking for a place to wipe my damp hands and it hits me: Why on earth did women stop wearing aprons?

When I was growing up, all the ladies in my life had aprons--and several of them. They had numerous everyday ones in various faded flower prints, and a couple really fancy ones with starched ruffles and wide ribbons in back, for holidays. They had Christmas aprons with poinsettias and easter aprons with spring tulips.

But somewhere in the late 70s to early 80s, it was the stiff-smiled image of the woman of the 50s, doing her housework gleefully in her crinolines, high heels--and the ever-present apron--that became the enemy of all liberation promoted. It was during this time, women stopped using aprons (except my Granny, who used them until she no longer cooked for herself).

Now, today, my hands air-drying because I've once again mislaid the hand towel, it occurred to me that the feminist movement brought many great things to my generation, but tossing out the trusty, hardworking apron as if it could suddenly fashion itself into a noose to hang you with oppression, was just silly.

Of course, as a liberated woman, I also don't know how to sew (or do much of anything useful around the house except clean), but my mother, who actually had to take Home Ec and has used it ever since (unlike myself, who took algebra and never once used it again), will be getting a call. My mom, of the Last Oppressed Generation who can still make all her own window coverings and will beat anyone's pie crust (even that woman on TV who cooks but is having an affair with a married man), she'll be able to make an apron from memory with fat wide ribbons in the back.

But I think I'll ask for a new twist: I'd like mine done up in fabric with pirate skulls and crossbones on it.

Important Date!

Remember, it's Tom's birthday today! Hop over to his blog (link at left) and show him some major love people!!!

Behold, the power of cake.

The Trouble With Sisters.

I was such a geek.

Wedding Weekend.

Maddie Takes First in State for Poetry in Her Grade.

The Wind

The wind,

The wind,

It blows through the grass.

The wind,

The wind,

It blows up to the sun.

The sun,

The sun,

It warms the wind.

The moon,

The moon,

Is friends with the stars.

The moon,

The moon,

It shines in the sky.

The stars,

The stars,

They shine with the moon.

The stars,

The stars,

The sun is a star.

Things I Realize as I Get Older.

When it comes to all the stuff we do for them, our kids don't have a clue. But then, when I was their age, neither did I.

I had to be a full-fledged adult myself before I began to appreciate things I never even noticed as a child.

One of the first things to hit me were holiday dinners. You have to understand, my family's holiday dinners were better than anything you could get in even the best restaurants. None of this stuff-suspended-in-Jello stuff, but homemade marinara sauce, ravioli, meatballs, Italian Wedding Soup, breads, fresh salads, and always a backdrop of brewing coffee with the promise of a cinnamon Bundt cake for later.

As a child, I'd enjoy the aroma of the upcoming meal, then I'd start to hover, looking weak, as I got hungrier. But I never understood that sometimes the cooking started days before, and hard work went into everything from shopping for the ingredients to the ambiance of the table, to cooking the actual day of the event, right down to cleaning up everything afterwards. We're not even talking about the fact that these Italian women (with the occasional interloping Hungarian who happened to marry in) also cleaned their homes within an inch of their lives while all this was going on.

When I was little, all I knew was that for about 1/2 an hour, I was eating food I looked forward to all year long. I knew it was good then. When the meal was done, my sister and I would go play nicely.

Now that I'm in the position of cook for many of the events, I realize it's one heck of a lot of hard work! And my female relatives did it year in and year out with smiles on their faces. In that, they are my role models.

The same goes for the everyday running of a home. I come from a long line of proud housewives, and though I have a college degree, I stay home because to do it right, you either have to hire several people or be here to do it yourself. I still don't know how they did such a good job. I haven't had time to try new recipes for ages and my house has never looked as good as theirs, but I give it the old college try.

Another aspect of being an adult is that I now notice when adults put on shindigs for kids, there is a tremendous amount of work. Take this weekend's scout camp. You've got dozens of pre-pubescent girls out in the woods without their parents. The results could be disastrous. At the very least, the logistics of feeding and keeping all these girls safe is enough to give you a headache in the preplanning department.

I had gone to numerous camps as a youth, and I loved them. I loved the woods, sleeping in sleeping bags, hanging with my friends and being away from my parents. It never occurred to me that those adults there hadn't lined up for the privilege!

Until this weekend, when I became one of those adults.

Now, it was time for my daughter and her friends to have some big fun, and up to myself and the few women that gave up their weekend to provide it.

For them, it was the joy of canoeing (which, I have to confess, was my favorite 1/2 hour of the entire weekend), learning archery, making crafts and eating too many s'mores. For we oldsters, it meant sitting out in the sun for four hours providing that same craft over and over to a succession of groups, standing on the dock giving that canoeing clinic over and over, or being one of the adults (as I was) who had to hotfoot it from activity to activity to make sure everyone got everything in. This was after a brisk hike to the ocean, where we all stood around and made sure nobody drowned and that everyone ate on time.

The mosquitoes swarmed like locusts and it was us who made sure the girls didn't get eaten alive. We were the ones who cut off Hormone Wars at the pass when two cabins decided they didn't like each other. We also made sure that the girls with special allergies or dietary considerations didn't poison themselves with too much sugar and that everyone was asleep by only 2 hours past lights out.

Walk here. Walk there. Break up this argument. Sleep on a plywood bunk. Pass on some wisdom. Dry some tears. Call a dad to take one overnighter home early because of homesickness, take photos, dispense medications and after it was all over make sure everyone packed everything else back up to take home.

When I asked my daughter if she had a good time, she responded with the same enthusiasm that I had when I was her age. Which means whatever we did, as exhausting as it was, must have been what the chaperones before us did. The ones we barely noticed in our excitement.

If I could go back and thank them for their hard work, after this weekend, I certainly would. Because I just realized that those adults from 30 years ago worked their butts off.

As I've said, I'm a little slow on the uptake.

Visitors!

Two Generations.

The Sky Above.

Where's the Beach?

Springtime Tap Stars.