Wordless Wednesday

Post-It Note Tuesday!

Post-It Notes - brilliant!  Want to play along?  Do!

Wordless Wednesday

Post-It Note Tuesday!

Post-It Notes - brilliant!  Want to play along?  Do!

The Long Road Home: Part 2

After an hour of no movement in our line of cars on HWY 58, and the only cars coming back our way were either giving up or willing to chance a back road, we too turned and headed back to Oakridge.  Siennalee and I needed to visit a ladies' room, Jason was making calls to family with knowledge of Oakridge back roads, and I wanted ice cream for me.  In short, we had become those willing to chance the back roads.  We had also called our sister-in-law Anne who had checked tripchex.gov and saw HWY 58's status had gone from "Expect a 20 minute to 2 hour delay" to "CLOSED."

Anne then put us in touch with her aunt and uncle who have a cabin up around Oakridge.  They told us of a back road that would lead us back down into the valley.  We were losing daylight and decided to chance it.  After a brief visit to the DQ restrooms and a fresh Goodnight pull-up on Siennalee (no way was I putting my kiddo in a way to have to sit in a urine soaked carseat for the next several hours - and we have yet to master the "pee-on-the-side-of-the-road" skill), we drove off to locate the road.

Turns out, that back road?  It's a local secret.  After searching turned to doubting, we turned around to head back to the city when an older gentleman - okay, he was a typical 50-something Oregonian male with a long white beard, an old Subaru AWD wagon (that had most definitely seen some action) and all the assuredness of guy who's lived and driven through those mountains his whole life. 

"Ya lookin' fer the road t' head back t' Eugene?"  he hollered at us.  At our assent that yes, we were indeed looking for that road, he grinned, gave us a funny look and yelled, "Follow me!" 

And we did.  I realize that usually at this point in the movie the audience is up out of their seats screaming, "Don't follow him!  DON'T FOLLOW HIM!"

The aging neighborhood road gradually diminished into a tightly winding, uneven little lane heading up into the pine forest.  At first we were uneasy at following a stranger into unknown woods.  We are informed movie watchers, and we well know the perils that can follow along story lines such as these.  We grew chagrined at how often our leader pulled over to the side of the road to let oncoming cars (and there were plenty - either word about the secret road had gotten out, or people were desperate enough to follow anybody not sitting in a line of cars lit up with brake lights). 

"Be patient," I encouraged Jason, soothingly. 

"Jessica, I don't like heading up into the woods with some guy who for-all-we-know could be a serial killer," He replied, edging our car up closer behind our leader who was once again pulled half off the road so another line of cars could pass.

"Or," he conceded once the serial killer's car started moving again, "he could be our guardian angel."

It was like that for some time: the road grew narrower, the stops more frequent, cars with lights on kept coming.  And daylight faded into the shadows of the trees. 

But then we began to recognize that our serial killer/guardian angel was actually just biding his time - once the line of oncoming cars had passed, he'd hit the gas and take off to gain as much distance as possible before the next line of cars snaked up to us.  The road disintegrated into some of the deepest potholes I've ever seen.  Our over-packed car groaned and shook and muttered motorized-curses. 

We squeezed by a tow truck and then his quarry: a commercial van which had slid off the road and was resting with two wheels on the sloping river bank and the other two wheels in the air, pointing back at the road as if to will themselves back down.

The road narrowed to barely a lane's width.  We stuck close behind Mr. Serial-Killer-Slash-Guardian-Angel and followed him to hidden turnouts and unseen shoulders.  Potholes haunted us and struck at unguarded moments.  Siennalee rode happily through the whole thing, contentedly watching a princess video on our portable DVD player (BTW, the portable DVD player: a must-have for traveling with small children.  They should make them a mandatory purchase for anyone having kids).

And so we continued for a white-knuckled, stomach-dropping, stop-and-go hour along the road which was at most times little more than a muddy, graveled, hugely potholed, one laner twisting and turning through back-wood hills and along a river ravine and then reservoir.  Mr. Serial-Killer-Slash-Guardian-Angel actually eluded us for a time, going so fast we could hardly catch him until he had pulled off once again to let another car or two pass.

The evening got darker and the road grew worse.  Then suddenly, asphalt!  Ahh, asphalt.  You could almost hear our car go, "Ahhhhh, that's the stuff."  More twisties and turnies, and then we began to see signs of civilization again.  Then we were in the town of Lowell. 

We pulled up beside Mr. Serial-Killer-Now-Guardian-Angel and rolled down our window.  "Wuddn't thata ride?" He crowed out to us.

Indeed it was, Mr. Guardian Angel, indeed it was.

Images from The Long Road Home: Klamath to Albany

Oh yeah, she's packed in there

(Time for a bigger vehicle, Mommie and Daddy?)

But seems to be okay with it all.

Everybody deserves face time with the camera.

(I love Siennalee in the background - pure joy. Behind her is a stack of migrating household goods.)

The picture is a bit dark, but you can still see how undaunted she is by the winter weather lurking just outside our car.

The Long Road Home: Part 1

Friday before last, we packed up two weeks of living in our rustic little Klamath Falls apartment and headed back up to Albany.  

The usual drive of 3 hours, 40 minutes through high mountains, a mountain pass, one mountain tunnel, several bridges spanning rivers, and intermittent seasonal weather (snow and rain) surprised us by adding another 2 hours and change. 

We left K Falls late.  We hate doing that, especially when we're due to meet weather through the pass.  Snow and ice over roads that climb and dip with sudden stomach dropping turns are not fun outside of Disney Land.  So we grumbled as we began the trek back.  And we were on empty.  Not just empty, but that lit-up-gas-tank-icon was flaring at us like it was on fire.  And we had no idea of any gas stations in the proximity that we needed one.  So we did the typical "Oh please Jesus let us find a gas station before the fumes run out" prayer and drove on with eyebrows knotted and fake laughter to keep Siennalee at ease.  Although I doubt she'd have worried.  She's pretty sure we're super heroes.  Gotta love toddlers.

Anywhoo, we finally discovered a gas station hidden away in a teeny-weeny town called Chiloquin and paid $3.30 per gallon (a feat which had us fondly reminiscing of the Summer of 3's when gas suddenly became like gold, or at least espresso) to reach a whopping $50 full tank.  And you're quite welcome, Chiloquin local economy.  It was either that or a nice little chunk of cash to your local towing company.

We hit the road again and were pleasantly surprised to find the weather not at all what we'd expected.  The roads around Crescent Lake are always a little hairy during the winter, but we made it past that, up over the Willamette Pass (hi skiers!) and down to Oakridge where we stopped for dinner at Dairy Queen.

Ah Dairy Queen.  How we love you.  However, we don't sense much reciprocated love when you hand us our meals, complete with a kid's meal, and overlook giving us any napkins.  To be clear: NO NAPKINS. 

But no worries, we were over half-way home.  We tucked into our burgers and fries (I did my very best to ignore the steady transfer of ketchup from my child's kid burger to my child's face) and happily drove on.  We came around one of Highway 58's infamous hairpin turns and saw break lights.  A line of break lights.  We slowed and stopped - something that feels so odd and so wrong after tooling along at 55 mph. 

Time went by.

Jason and I quickly ran out of guesses for what was the cause of the stop.  We knew directly ahead lay one of the worst turns on HWY 58, right under a train trestle.  It was evident by the immobile traffic that whatever was ahead was bad.  Very bad. 

So we sat in our over-packed car and waited.  Siennalee and Daddy enjoyed melty DQ ice cream sandwiches - did I mention we had no napkins?  Yes, and since Siennalee is nearly potty trained, baby wipes have fallen lower down the travel priority list.  So no baby wipes either.  No napkins tucked away in the glove box.  No box of tissues.  Nada.  We watched our child turning into a small ice cream sandwich with pigtails and Jason crunched his ice chips from his drained DQ soda.  She soon finished and then held out stickily shining hands in growing concern.  She looked at me, little ice-cream-sandwiched face wrinkling in sticky angst.

"Don't touch anything!"  I instructed while desperately scouring the car for something.  Anything.  Well, not anything...

Crunch crunch crunch.  Pause.  "You could use a sock," Jason said finally, indicating a random small pink sock by my feet.  I looked at him, not wanting to understand.  He crunched his ice and looked back at me.  "You could use some ice chips and that sock and clean her up."  Erg.  Yes I could.  I closed my eyes and breathed deep.  Crunch crunch crunch.

"Alright!  Give it to me."  I turned in my seat and got on my knees, reached over and grabbed an ice chip from Jason's empty cup, got the pink sock, and reached back toward my incredulous toddler who kept looking from the dripping ice chip hand to the random and questionably clean pink sock hand.  "Be still," I advised her, darkly.  Yes, it worked.  In the end, she was clean.  Albeit questionably.

You never know what drama is going on in the cars around you.  Especially at those endless traffic stops.

Wordless Wednesday

Post-It Note Tuesday!

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And Then God Sends a Boat

Sometimes when the floods of life take over, God makes the rain stop.

Other times, He sends you a boat.  

This is, of course, metaphorical writing since my house was not actually flooded to the point of needing a rowboat - although the panic I felt at times could have been akin to a huge disaster like that. 

The boat God sent me was in the form of Hayden Homes (who had built our house and neighborhood) and more specifically, in the form of Heather, who quickly answered my emailed Hail Mary plea for assistance with my leaking house.  Even though Hayden Homes technically did not have to assist with my plight, Heather recognized that the shabby workmanship on my house was something that absolutely must be addressed.  She immediately sprang to action and had a crew here by the next business day.

The leaks have stopped!  And all that is left is clean-up and painting, which should take place later this week.  

I must admit, I truly did not see this provision coming.  It is marvelous and humbling to be reminded that, beyond whatever our circumstances seem to be telling us, God remembers us.

She Took Her Time... Like a Serial Make-Up Killer

Nap time had been quiet.  Apparently too quiet.

C'mom mommies.  Would your kids be this thorough?  She had to have been planning this for months.

She didn't even try to pretend innocence.  She's ready for the cuffs.

And Then Your House Springs a Leak.

Sometimes life feels overwhelming.  If I let my mind go back over the past year and a half of life’s events I can suddenly be immersed in tears: two miscarriages, father-in-law passing away, house on the market becoming house-on-the-market-for-almost-a-year, a household move imminent yet never arriving, husband and daddy away during the work weeks, and now suddenly my home being invaded by water due to faulty siding.

Yes, life can be weighty.  It can feel overwhelming to the point of little things like a random stain on the carpet sending you over the edge when in the world of sane thinking all it merits is a strong “dang it!” and a rush to get the carpet cleaner.

As I type, almost a third of my living room carpet is actually up on end, ripped up and off the damp floorboards which are (as of now) blessedly free of moving puddles seeping in from below the baseboards.  At this point, stains are the least of my worries, although I’m pretty willing to bet that, should I see one, I might break down into messy tears and unintelligible oaths.  Life can be weighty.

And I’ll admit, I have wondered if, with this seemingly unfortunate series of events, I’m not unwittingly starring in some dark comedy like Will Ferrell in Stranger than Fiction.  But since life is so far devoid of an English accented narrator dictating my fate, I’ve been able to rule that theory out.  

When I first felt the damp spots on the carpet and moved on to discover the insidious source, I stood for a moment in the living room considering my options.  The dizziness coming in waves told me I could very well break out into some sort of overload of nerves, complete with tears and snot.  The absurd straw-and-camel's-back-ness of the situation and previous life events definitely warranted some incredulous laughter, although I knew if I attempted that one at that very moment it might come out sounding a little scarier to my poor mother – who was nearby, watching me carefully and making sure her cell phone was close at hand.  Then there was what I knew should happen: I could figure out practical moves to save my home and do my very best to keep it together and try to praise God through it all.

See, I don’t think God made my house leak.  I think it was the result of sloppy, hurried work done by someone who just didn’t know or care enough to do a good job.  I do think, however, that God expects me to believe that He will care for me through this crisis – because He’s saved me before, so many times.  Sometimes saving came in little ways, like providing a new friend or a job just in time, sometimes it came in big ways, like protecting me and caring for me through a bus wreck when I was in high school, or in a tiny foreign plane skimming the trees of the Guatemalan jungle which housed armed guerillas and still landing safely and without incident.  Big event or small occurrence, I have enough evidence from my life alone which proves that, even in the face of a series of unfortunate events, God concerns Himself with me and will work actively on my behalf – even when it doesn’t feel like it.  Even with no evidence at the moment.  And the way that I handle the moment – to praise God for His faithfulness and eventual rescue and restoration – is the way that I will enter the next chapter of life.  In defeat or in victory.  In sadness or in rejoicing.  How I choose to handle these moments in the face of no evidence of care or concern is how I will enter the next season of life. 

Seasons do change - it's the nature of life.  Some seasons will be easier and happier, some harder and maybe sadder.  But they will end eventually, and the next one will begin.  What the storybooks fail to tell us is that Happily Ever After is a moving target.  Even when you finally get that to that one point you've really wanted: a marriage, a baby, a house, a new job - life keeps going.  It's how we choose to make it through as life keeps going that really matters.  It's what we choose to do when our house springs a leak.

Neither Wind nor Rain.

I planted seeds today.  It was sort of a devil-may-care, fate-be-damned kind of act on my part, mostly because a woman in my situation shouldn’t be sowing into ground that might be someone else’s at any moment.  But today I didn’t care. 

You see, I’m tired of waiting.  And I’m tired of loss. 

So during a coldly sunny moment this afternoon, while Siennalee napped sweetly, I ran outside armed with last year’s leftover seeds, my still winter-stiff purple gardening gloves, a trowel and my trusty organic fertilizer.

I’d already scoped out my raised bed when I weeded it this last weekend and knew right where I needed to plant.  I scratched the fertilizer into the dirt, carefully added the seeds (lettuces and peas), buried them, and ignored the spills due to my shivering and the blasts of icy wind that blew down unexpectedly.  By the time I got the remaining snow peas tucked into their little semi-circle, I was feeling pretty good. 
Chilly, but good. 

I was doing it. 

I was making something happen.  

Even though the ground may not even be mine by the time the little sleeping seeds awake and grow and produce, by golly, something’s going to happen.  Standing there, quaking slightly in the cold light, I felt like I was standing up to fate.  For all this endless waiting and loss we’ve endured, something good is going to happen. 

That’s when   something  did  happen.       Standing there,  shivering and gazing contentedly down at the quiet little rows of upturned earth, I suddenly felt whispers of chill drift down on me; I scrutinized the dirt incredulously and then looked up at the sky. 

It was snowing. 

But come winds or rains or weird March snows,    my seeds are planted.

Kantola Family Pictures: A Sneak Peek

Here's the one you're always hoping for:

Don't hate us because we're beautiful.


Here's the one you get:

Man, that's just how we roll.

Air Siennalee

Adventuring to Idaho

Siennalee isn’t quite sure what to make of it all. 

"Are we goin' to Klamath Falls?"  She asks, watching me scurry around the house with armfuls of clothes, blankets, and those miscellaneous better-not-forget-me things which threaten to take your luggage over the magical airline-imposed 50-pound-limit golden rule.

"Nope, we're going to Idaho.  We're going to leave tonight and then get up real early and get on an airplane" here I say the word airplane with the same hallowed, breathy voice I save for princesses and Santa Claus "and we're going to fly over to Idaho to see family."

Being 3, she accepts this and goes on with her day, until the next odd thing I do that she just can't quite figure out.

“Why you putting all those vitamins in there?” she asks, quirking her daddy’s eyebrows at me, “Are we goin’ eat them all now?”

“They are for this weekend – for the trip we’re taking.”  I answer, putting the baggy resolutely out of her reach.

She accepts this and goes back to her shopping cart over by the dining room table.  She’s got her own errands, after all.

Jason and I have spent the past few days explaining to Siennalee about the first part of the trip we’re leaving for today and, most imminent-importantly, about tomorrow – when the airplane will come into play. 

“It’s going to be big,” I tell her, “like a bus."

"Where is it now?"  she asks.

"I'm not sure," I shrug, truthfully, "but it will be ready for us when it's time for our trip."

She spends a few minutes theorizing about where she's pretty sure it is right now.

"It will probably be very loud.”  I casually remark to her after she's settled on where the plane most likely is at this very moment.

She gives me the eyebrow again, “I don’t like loud noises,” she reminds me.

“I know,” I assure her, “but the plane has to make noise just like our car has to make noise.  It’s going to take us waaay up in the air, through the clouds, and maybe we’ll be able to see mountains waaay below us.”

She considers this, and I can see her weighing the plane’s transgression of being loud with its ability to fly us waaay up in the air.  “Okay,” she agrees, with a look that tells me “for now.”

Look out, Alaska Airlines.  We’re headed your way.

Households and the Mother of Invention, Part 4: Going Dark

Jason and I are big fans of the show 24.  We DVR it and watch it together on the weekends when he’s home.  One of the past shows had Renee Walker (woohoo!) under deep cover in a Russian Mob Syndicate (no worries – no real spoilers coming if you’re behind on your episodes - make that waaay behind, which coincidentally, we are) and communicating with Jack Bauer using an ear com.  One dramatic moment had Renee suddenly advise Jack Bauer she was “going dark” just before she took out her ear piece and dropped it down a sink drain.  She was no longer “plugged in.”  She could neither hear nor talk to Jack.

Aside from the whole Russian Mob thing, and the perilously fragile thread of life-and-death communication with Jack Bauer, the “going dark” feat felt strangely familiar to me.

Life in Klamath Falls - or I should say our week of life in Klamath Falls - is very simple.  And I like that.  Most of the time.  The apartment is quite Spartan (um, have I mentioned this?); toys are only the favorites brought down by the Great Week in Klamath Falls Migration, meals are all planned and ready to go, no laundry to be done except the absolutely necessary.
 
We also have no television or internet.  Our Week of Life in Klamath Falls can feel very much like we’ve just Gone Dark.

There are definite pros and cons to Going Dark (i.e., having no television or internet).  The biggest pro is a lovely peace from information over-stimulation.  I love my shows and my sites and online friends, but there’s something to be said for quiet days listening to my daughter play and reading books with her, making simple meals, and reading or writing.  It’s sort of like a spa visit for the soul.  Sometimes I can let myself get so frenzied with checking email, sending email, checking blogs, writing blogs, checking Facebook – it’s nice to have time where I just can’t.  Can’t do any of it.  Now don’t get me wrong – email, blogs, Facebook, it’s all my choice and I very much enjoy being part of it.  I CAN always say no.  But there is a certain freedom in having the choice made for me: no logging on, no tuning in.

The biggest con to Going Dark is pretty much just that; having no tv or internet.  Now, we do have a DVR at home in Albany (allow me to say: a DVR is SUCH a must, especially for a family – but that’s another blog for another time) so we don’t miss our important shows; we just watch them later.  But Siennalee does miss being able to watch her regular programs during her daily routine.  Little Bear.  Little Einsteins.  Those are the two big ones.  We get around this by bringing DVDs (we do have a tv and DVD player – we’re not totally in the Stone Age, okay?) and having some “tv” time during the day.  Siennalee’s a great independent player, but sometimes it’s nice to veg a little.  We all need that occasionally.  I try to get new DVDs at the library, but this last time I ended up buying a couple: The Muppets Take Manhattan and Little Bear’s Movie.  They have both turned out to be excellent choices.

The most frequent con to Going Dark appears when I’ve finished whatever book I’m reading or I’ve hit a stall in my writing.  Sometimes I just want to log on and see what everybody’s doing.  Sometimes I’d like to know if there’s snow or ice in the forecast.  The worst con to no internet is when my sis-in-law Anne needs me to design and send something ASAP for her photography business.  We can *get to* internet, but it’s sticky.  McDonald’s is one of the smart-and-super-cool businesses which paired up with our internet service and offers wireless internet access away from home at no extra charge (yay Mickey D’s!).  We’re pretty lucky to have a McDonald’s about a quarter mile from us, up the sloping hill upon which sits Oregon Institute of Technology, one of K Fall’s claims to fame.  Load up the computer (hopefully with full battery), get in the car, drive up the hill, park in the McD’s parking lot, log on… wait… still logging on… wait a little more… check the local radio stations… still logging on… consider calling your mom or sis-in-law… still logging on… pick up the phone to dial your mom or sis-in-law – and you’re online.  Just like that.  I tell you, I am pretty darn grateful these days to be able to just sit at my kitchen table in my Albany home, open the laptop, and TAH-DAH!  Internet!  Just like that.  Wow.  No driving to McDonald’s, no logging on… just internet.  Amazing.

When we get back home to Albany, it sure is nice to be able to switch to a different program, maybe switch back again, run through my DVR’d show list, or get online without visiting the golden arches.  But overall, the week of life in Klamath Falls mostly finds me reveling in the peace and simpler pastimes.  There’s definitely an upside to Going Dark.

Attention to those with Wedding Plans in 2010!

Attention anyone with wedding plans in 2010!  My awesome sister-in-law and photographer Anne (of Anne Nunn Photographers) has joined with Blush Bridal Events to offer an amazing contest featuring YOUR love story!  Check it out!

February: Sunrise, Sunset

 Monday, February 1 - Jason wakes before the sun and drives back to Klamath Falls for the work week. Start the week, marvel that February is here already.

Tuesday, February 2 (Groundhog Day - did he see his shadow?) - Prepare for the busy week and weekend ahead.

Wednesday, February 3 - Take Siennalee to dance.  Leave around 2 to drive into Eugene and shoot an evening wedding with Anne.

Thursday, February 4 - Anne and girls drive out to Albany and we all head over to a local high school for the second part of our H1N1 vaccinations.

Friday, February 5 - Begin to pack and put meals together for the following week in Klamath Falls along with usual cleaning and laundry and playing with Siennalee.

Saturday, February 6 - Engagement shoot with Anne.

Sunday, February 7 - Superbowl!  Make food.  Enjoy friends.  Pack up for the coming week in Klamath Falls.

Monday, February 8 - Get up before the sun, wake and pack up the sleepy, grumpy toddler and drive almost 4 hours to Klamath Falls.  Drop Jason off at work, drive to apartment, unpack and begin to settle in.

Tuesday, February 9 - 4:55 am, get the call that Gary, Jason's father, has passed away.

Wednesday, February 10 - Pack up, drive back home to Albany.  Pack for Jason & Jessica trip to PA.  Bed at midnight.

Thursday, February 11 - Wake around 3 am.  Drive to Portland for early flight.  Have airline advise us that all flights - up to ours - into Philadelphia have been canceled.  Do we still want to check in?  Yes, we do.  Fly to Las Vegas.  Anticipate being stuck there until weather clears in Philly.  Miraculously fly out and are the first flight to land in the only cleared landing strip in Snow-mageddon'd Philadelphia airport.  Pick up luggage, rental car, and drive to hotel in amazingly good time.  Once in hotel, discover large luggage has popped large hole sometime during flight.  Thank God that most of my unmentionables are still there, although there is a suspicious lack of undies.  Bed around 11 pm EST.

Friday, February 12 - Wake up around 6 am EST.  Drive to Jason's parents' house to make breakfast and be with family.  Smell like bacon for the rest of the day.  Help out with setting up for memory service that evening.  Attend memory service and take pictures of event.  Return to family home for more time with family.  Bed around midnight EST.

Saturday, February 13 - Sleep in til 7 am EST.  Get up, finish last minute projects, get ready for Gary's Celebration of Life Service.  Attend service.  Immerse myself again in camera, hoping pictures turn out clearer than present vision blurred with tears and mascara.  Spend precious time with family.  Bed around midnight EST.

Sunday, February 14 (Valentine's Day) - Wake around 3:45 am EST and drive to airport, drop off rental car, and check in.  Get informed that luggage (borrowed from mother-in-law since original luggage popped a hole) is 2 pounds over weight.  Jason offers to pay with credit card.  Airline employee doesn't want to bother with running a card payment and allows it through for free.  Make it to Vegas and have a "Meet the Parents" airline experience with an airline employee who believes we are sneaking ahead in line (Southwest cattle lines - moo), makes us stand aside out of line and gives the entire boarding crowd a lecture via intercom on the importance of numbering.  Endure smug passengers behind us commenting loudly on basic counting skills.  Board the plane and miraculously have seats together!  Give Jason the movie I'd gotten him for Valentine's Day and watch it together on our portable DVD player.  Get home to Albany around 6:30 pm PST.  Snuggle Siennalee, put her in bed, pack up for Klamath Falls again.  Hit the hay around 11 pm PST.

Monday, February 15 - Wake around 6 am PST.  Pack up sleepy, grumpy toddler and begin the 3 hr, 40 min drive back to Klamath Falls.  Spend the week catching up on sleep and decompressing, playing with Siennalee, reading and writing, and trying my best to care for Jason as he works all week.

Friday, February 19 - Pack up and drive home.  Unpack and get Jason ready for a drill weekend.  Hit the hay around 9 pm.

Saturday, February 20 - Jason wakes up before 6 am and heads to drill.  Spend the day doing laundry, unpacking and enjoying Siennalee resettling into her home and her toys.  Jason gets home around 6 pm and we get in another early bedtime.

Sunday, February 21 - Jason wakes around 6 am and heads to drill.  Siennalee and I head to church.  Head home and continue with laundry and cleaning - make a run to Costco.  Have Jason's sister Cheri and Auntie Donna over for dinner.  Jason gets home around 6 pm.  Pack him up for a week in Klamath Falls.  Another early bedtime.

Monday, February 22 - Jason wakes up around 5 am and drives back to Klamath Falls.  Siennalee wakes up right after he leaves - a full hour early - and we start our day.  I make lists for the day and for the week.  MOPS tomorrow, dance on Wednesday.  Jason will drive home on Thursday and we'll all pack up and head to Portland to spend the night for a 7 am Friday flight to Idaho.  Gary's burial service will be this weekend.  One last goodbye.  Looking forward to seeing family again and also traveling with Siennalee and Jason - all of us together.  Home on Sunday.

And thus passes February 2010.

Goodbye Gary: Beloved Father, Father-in-law and Papa

My father-in-law Gary passed away early yesterday morning.  He was an excellent, marvelous man.  My best memories of the seven-plus years I’ve known him have been passing through my mind like close friends:

Camping up at Box Lake, Idaho, when Jason took me to meet his parents for the first time.  I didn’t know then all the many wonderful backpacking and camping trips that would follow that one.

Trying to focus on his words as he officiated the ceremony that married me to his son.

Being reassured by his strength and resolve as my husband Jason, his only son, was activated and mobilized to Kuwait.

Walking with him down to My Father’s Place, a local grill joint in McCall, Idaho, and ordering burgers and shakes.

Watching him fly fish at countless lakes in Idaho and Oregon.

Enjoying his handiwork around my house; he’d always have to have a project when he and my mother-in-law Tricia came out for a visit.  Once he bought and installed a spice rack Tricia had described to me and I’d wished for.  Once he painstakingly hung a piece of art which they’d carefully hand-carried on the plane from Pennsylvania to Oregon – it still hangs in my living room and is one of my very favorite things.  Once he was out behind our back fence, valiantly fighting the wild blackberry bushes threatening to overtake our backyard when along the train tracks behind our house came a huge piece of tractor equipment the rail line had been using to groom the sides of the track.  The man driving the enormous machine stopped, asked Gary if he’d like any help, and then proceeded to dig out the bushes in about 5 minutes, saving Gary at least two days of work.

Watching my husband and Gary ski together.  Jason would snowboard and Gary would ski.  They so enjoyed these times together.

Listening to Gary talk about the many passions of his heart and the latest topics he had been reading.

Talking with him about countless different ideas, issues, and thoughts.

Being encouraged by him to continue my writing.

Having him drive us through New York City, expertly navigating the extreme streets, and then him getting a ticket for talking on his cell phone.  That was funny.

Enjoying the banter between him and my mother-in-law.   Watching them hold hands.  Seeing him come home with Hallmark cards for his beloved wife, for no real reason other than she was so special to him.

Watching him enjoy his first grandchild.

Listening to him talk about his dad Alvin, who passed away when Gary was 14 years old.

Visualizing my husband’s first baby steps as Gary re-lived the memory; we all sat parked in front of a little house with a little yard in Idaho; Gary and Tricia debating the details of the yard and the overalls baby Jason wore; me holding the hand of Jason’s first baby as Jason himself was half a world away from us in Kuwait.

Hearing Gary bless God for no particular reason other than he was thankful for life.

Trying my hardest to find peppermint ice cream to have on hand before Gary’s visits because he loved it so much.

Listening to him talk with his relatives, two of my very favorites gone on before him: Uncle Johnny, Uncle Mel.

Giggling with Jason as Gary and my mother-in-law Tricia would bicker; then quietly make up (as always) and go on as if nothing had ever happened.

Feeling so safe in his company, whether it was in the deep woods or navigating the crazy streets of New York.

Being so thrilled and thankful that I was marrying his son, the heir to such a beautiful line of strong and God-loving people.

You will be very much missed, Gary.  So missed, I can hardly say.  I wish we’d had years more together.  I wish you would be here for the grandchildren yet to come.  I know it wasn’t always easy having a headstrong daughter-in-law, but I hope you enjoyed that quality in me, as you yourself were always surrounded with strong women in your own family.  The good memories are always more resilient than the tough ones, and I choose to hold onto those when I think of you.  Thank you for raising up a son who is such a fine husband to me and an excellent father to his children.  You were a good, strong man of God and I pray that your legacy will inspire even more of those men to come.  Be blessed now in your peace and seeing the face of our wonderful God.  Enjoy seeing your mother again and your father, from whom your time away was much too long.  Have nice long discussions with Uncle Mel and tell him I miss our talks together.  Enjoy Uncle Johnny and his banter.  Please give my own two babies lots of hugs and love; you’ll be seeing their faces before I.  Tell all your stories to my twin nephews and enjoy them.  You are certainly one of the best of our treasures in heaven.  We loved you when you were on this earth, and we’ll love you til we see you again.

So come everyone let’s gather together 
and sing the Song of the Lamb
Come every angel from the highest of heaven
Sing to the great I Am
So come every nation
Come every tongue
Lift up your voices in praise
So come all creation
All in one voice
Sing out your praises to Him

For He is a good God
He is a Great God
His love will endure throughout every generation

We will be planted by the River
All of the days of our lives
And it will be well with our souls
And it will be well with our souls

                                        Come, Everyone
                                 Brian and Jen Johnson