Monthly Archives: March 2008

Friday was March 28th. In celebration Wyatt took the day off. We went to Oakley, to Galleons Lap. We also went to dinner and a movie that night. It was a fun and relaxing day. Happy March 28th!

Wendy was going to Virginia. She was going to school. She was getting away. She was going to be free. We always talked of the adventures we would have together — sipping hot chocolate in the street side cafes in Paris, riding the gondolas in Italy, riding horses down the green in Kentucky. We were going to do it all and be it all.

Wendy was that girl everyone wanted to be — I wanted to be. Outgoing, friendly, wild. Always ready for an adventure. And now her time had come. Graduating from high school, she chose a school back east, ready to start living her life as soon as possible.

I went to see her off on this last adventure. I borrowed my mothers car and made the five hour drive to St. George. From there we all piled into Aunt Draza’s old Ford Taurus. Between my aunt and uncle, Wendy, her boyfriend, me and Shelly, things were a little tight. We set out at eleven o’clock Utah time for Las Vegas. We were half way there before we realized Vegas was an hour behind us, not ahead. That meant we would have four hours to wait instead of two. Oops.

We pulled into Vegas at about eleven Nevada time. After driving up the strip a dizzying twice, we decided to hit the airport thinking maybe there would be some excitement there.

Not so much.

So we sat at the gage with nothing to do. Wendy and her boyfriend sat in the corner saying their goodbyes. Uncle Terry and Aunt Draza sat in the front window watching the blinking of the lights out in the darkness.

And I sat alone in a chair near the corridor. I sat watching the people come and go. Not really bored, nnot really entertained, just in a state of indifference. In an amount of time, the woman sitting behind me came into my awareness. She had dark leathery skin — a result of too many hours in the oven no doubt. This only seemed ot emphasize the hard wrinkles etched into her not-young-looking face. Her clothes were wrinkled and reeked of cigarettes. Her makeup was heavy, her hair limp and crusty with layers of aerosol hair spray. And her fingers were heavy with the metal of rings–three or four per finger.

“Wow! I like your rings!” I lied. I hated rings. I’m not a jewelry wearer. Even as the words came out of my mouth I tried to figure out why I had said them. Why would I strike up a conversation with this lady? She and I could have nothing in common, I was certain. Wat’s more, if I was talking to anyone, it should have been my own family, just a few rows away.

A smile pulled the leather of her skin — it looked painful. “Thank you.”

“Where’d you get them?” I asked, and then “Shut up!” I scolded myself inwardly.

“Oh, all sorts of places.” She started to pull at a ring on her finger. “This one I got from my son. He lives in Florida.”

“Really” I did my best to not be interested.

“Yeah, he as three kids and one on the way. Course the first two are from a different mother. She never was good news anyway. She’s in prison in Colorado, so he has the kids. The oldest is headed in the same direction as his mother though.”

“Hmm” more disinterest.

“And this one is from my grand-daughter. She’s not the dauther of the son in Florida. She’s my dauther’s daughter. She’s 23. She’s a flight attendant in Georgia. She and her boyfriend have two kids. Can you believe it? I’m a great-grandmother!”

“No way!” I tried to sound shocked.

One by one she went through the rings on her hand, telling me the story of each, and how she came into the possession of them. I was right. Her stories certainly didn’t resemble my life in any way. Yet with each story I felt a sort of kindredness growing between us. We didn’t have much on the outside in common. Yet on the inside we both were creatures who loved and had friends and family who loved us. She had treasures on her hand to remind her of each.

Two hours passed, and she sat and told me the stories of her life. At last the call at the gate came, and it was time for her to board her plane.

“Oh, I’ve got to go” she said in a rush as she reached to gather her bags. “here, let me give you this” she pulled from her finger one small silver band. “I want you to have this.”

I looked at the treasure in my hand. Before I could even look up to thank her, she was gone. I watched her board her plane, then turned to my family, still sitting at the window.

I do wear rings now. But not just any rings. Rings with stories. Rings that remind me of people and places and things that I love. And every time I get a new ring, I remember her and my treasure.

The other day Olivia told me she wanted to read me a book. She told me to sit down on the floor, while she sat on the ottoman to her chair. She picked up the book, I don’t remember what it was. She looked at the pages, then turned the book around so I could see it, pointed to something on the page, and said “What’s that?”

I responded to whatever it was, and she would say “That’s right,” then turn the page, and repeat the process. Apparently that’s how we read books to her!

She does have one book she really does read (well, I guess she has it memorized)–”Hurry Hurry.” She will read the entire book to you. So cute.

She has this thing where she’s a little compulsive about wipes and cleaning herself. She’ll get hold of a wipe and wash and wash and wash herself with it, wiping her face and hands. She thinks wipes make great toys.

The other day she was coloring–she drew a black circle, with long tentacles reaching out from it. “Spider” she told Wyatt. I don’t know who showed her how to draw a spider. But she did. Yesterday she was coloring on her magnadoodle, and drew a little girl–a head, with eyes, a mouth, and hair. I was very impressed. She’s not even two and a half yet! I don’t want to be one of those parents who thinks their child is the next Picasso, but at the same time, she definately is both observant, and coordinated in her coloring.

She loves planes–she’s always making them with her blocks. She’ll fly around, arms outstretched like an airplane. And she repeats–”Mommy go on airplane”–a leftover thought from my recent trip to Texas.

She is such a little sponge too. Anything you say, or anything that happens, she will repeat over and over again. She still tells me once every couple days about the time she got soap in her eye (about two months ago), or whenever I’m on my bike, she’ll say “Mommy Crash” (about a month ago). Any new words we say seem to stick to, because it will be weeks later that we will revisit something, and she still remembers the vocabulary of it.

It’s actually really fun to watch her little human brain and personality develop.

That’s what I hear echoing down the hall every couple hours.

That’s right. We’re back into potty training. I thought I’d give it one last go before the weather got nice, and I couldn’t bear to be locked in the house for weeks on end. We started three weeks ago. I thought if I could get her trained in two weeks, before I left for Texas, we would be ready to go for summer.

The first two and a half days were pretty bad. Olivia didn’t seem to get exactly what she was supposed to do. Somewhere on the third day, she finally went “pee-pee in the potty.” (My potty language is pretty rudimentary these days) After that it was probably another week where she would go potty if I asked her to, but if she needed to go, and I didn’t happen to ask, she wouldn’t volunteer the information. We were about 50/50 in our success/failure.

Finally, a day or two before I left, she started going to the potty on her own. She still wouldn’t tell me, but she would disappear into the bathroom, and minutes later I would hear the chant victorious: “I DID IT MOMMY! I GET A TREAT!” — (I’ve been scrambling for treats. It seems what ever potty treat I buy for the girl, her daddy eats. He thinks he should get a treat for all the years he’s been going potty!)

Then yesterday, the biggest break through of all. In all this time, Olivia has never gone “pooh-pooh” in the potty. She only poops once a day usually, so if I didn’t catch her at just the right moment, and she had an accident, we’d have to wait until the next day. Without going into too much detail on the scheduling of my daughters bowel movements, let’s just say we have been pathetic in getting her poop and the potty together.

Then yesterday she had once again disappeared. I hear movement in the bathroom, but it’s been longer than previous visits. I go in, suspicious, and find that she’s pulled the toilet brush out from the cabinet. In the midst of my scolding, I look over to see a long brown poop sitting in beautiful contrast to her lime green toilet.

“HURRAY!” I shout, “You Did It!” I grab the phone. We call daddy. “Heaven must be smiling on us” he says, with a hint of relieved exhaustion in his voice. We look to find the best treat ever. There are none to be had. Daddy has eaten them all. We shout “Hurray!” some more and break out the fruit snacks.

I know we still have a ways to go. But it seems we’ve reached the summit.

Last Friday Calvin and I kissed Olivia and Wyatt good-bye, and boarded a plane for Dallas, Texas. I was going to visit my friend, Andi, whom I have been promising to visit for a couple years, and have never made it. I finally made it.

The trip started a little rocky. The woman at the check in counter lost my drivers liscence. It was on her desk behind something or other — I never got the clear story. But we couldn’t find it after ten minutes of searching. Finally, in fear of missing my flight, the counter lady gave me a “pass” to get through security. When they finally did find it, they mailed it to Wyatt, who in turn overnighted it to me, so I could get on the plane coming home!

Once we were actually in Dallas things went much smoother. Andi and I didn’t do a whole lot. One day we went bridesmaid dress shopping, but didn’t find anything. The other days we just went on walks and cooked, and did art projects. We tried a new art form called “Batik”– it was cool. Andi’s turned out much better than mine, her fabric didn’t have such a tight weave. I also worked on my wood carving and photography.

On the flight home the airline lost my bag. It finally came in, and Delta delivered it to my home — at 3:00 am! They pounded on the door waking everyone including baby Cal. Ugh. But at least the bag came!

It was a fun little jaunt to Texas. It was fun to hang out with Andi and not HAVE TO do anything at all. Those are the most relaxing days to me.

Calvin in his “Johnny Jump Up” that Andi gave him

Lemonade and art projects on the back patio

Andi doing “Batik”

. . . is gone forever, I’m afraid.

I first noticed it on Wednesday evening. Olivia, who hadn’t had a nap all day, was saying one thing, and then repeating it over and over and over and over AND OVER again, until Wyatt or I acknowledged what she said . . . not just that she said something, but WHAT she said–a problem since I still only understand about 25% of what she says. “She must be tired,” I told Wyatt. I knew that wasn’t the reason. But insanity gave me hope.

Now, several days later, reality has conquered hope. It wasn’t a lack of sleep, or an overdose of sugar, or any other plethora of excuses I tried making to myself in the ensuing days. It’s a developmental stage. I’ve seen other kids go through it, wondering how other parents handle the constant chatter, the constant nagging for a response to any and every thought that pops into a two year old mind. And now, here I am. I still don’t know! Olivia eschews every thought and happenstance with great insistence and force.

I am afraid gone are the days of quiet moments and thoughtful introspect. Now it is – “no, Olivia, we can’t ride the horsies,” and “yes Olivia, the chicken is white,” and “I’m glad you think marshmallows make good treats for turkeys.” Even when she’s in bed, and I sit alone at the computer to write, her heartfelt babble echoes in my head. It makes for good company.

Overgrown, Cambodia, 2004

I got my camera in January, 2004. At the time, Wyatt had just finished his first semester in graduate school. We were trying to get through school sans student loans. I was making $9.50/hour, and Wyatt made $7.00/hour at a 10 hour/week gig on campus. We were living in, what we now call with a delirious affection, “the Meth Lab apartment,” because there was a meth lab directly across our 35 foot wide street from us (we woke up one morning to the whole street shut down and men in HASMAT bubble suits walking around like a scene from E.T.)–the apartment was small, old, dirty, and, as you can tell, in a “great” part of town. Our favorite day of the week was Tuesday because it was “fifty cent night” at the dollar movie theater. Financially life was -ahem- simple.

One night I came home and announced to Wyatt that I wanted to get a new camera, and that it would be released in January, and that it would cost $1000.00, almost a full months wages, and two months rent. Wyatt never batted an eye.

I had done significant research about “digital cameras” – a still relatively new era of technology. The camera I settled on, after almost a full year of research, would be top of the line. It had been announced at a photography trade show in October, to be released the following January. We had three months to save up.

The day the camera was released on the market, Wyatt and I climbed in the car and headed down to the local Best Buy. To my hearts distress, another woman came in wanting the same camera, at the same time as us. The store only had one in stock. The salesperson said which ever of us went without, could come back the next day. He would order one in from another store, and give it to us with a $70 discount. Wyatt talked me into waiting another 24 hours. I did not want to wait.

Now, four years later, my camera is almost antiquated in terms of technology. Luckily it still takes good pictures. I estimate (based on my camera’s counter system) that I have taken 36,889 pictures over the past four years of ownership. If I had taken those same pictures with a film camera, they would have cost $3,576.18* just in film alone. Then there is the additional cost of development–which I won’t calculate, because while printing film costs money, so does having a computer and photoshop to edit the digital files. I truley feel that my camera has been one of our greatest family investments, second only to the real estate we’ve purchased. Not only has it saved us money in the long run, but it also has enabled me to continue pursuing my talents and interests in photography AND, most importantly, capture the moments that have made up our lives for the past years.

Now, it has been four years since Wyatt and I climbed into the Jeep and made a purchase that made us both catch our breath. My camera is getting old. I have a couple dead pixels, and the flash doesn’t reload quite as quickly as it used to. It’s time retire it to “backup” position.

Yesterday I bought a Canon 5D, and a new 24-70mm f/2.8L IS USM lens. It was another purchase that made me catch my breath. But Wyatt never batted an eye.

*Based on FujiFilm Superia 100 ISO 35mm film, listed on Amazon.com at $3.49/36 exposure roll.