Nana's Changing Spots

I considered saving this little story to publish on October 23, known to chemists the world over as Mole Day.  I have to admit that I'm not exactly sure what a mole is in chem-speak, but ever since she took high school chemistry my daughter has called me on my birthday(10/23) to wish me Happy Mole Day.  So this is a story about moles, but not the chemical kind or the animal kind.

I spent the summers of my youth slathered in baby oil and iodine soaking up the sun in Southern California.  Trying to achieve the perfect California golden girl tan too often resulted in the red lobster look of sunburn.  Back then we didn't worry about UV rays and holes in the ozone.  My misspent youth as a sun goddess has come back to haunt me. 

Spots have spontaneously appeared on my skin.  Months ago I sat in a waiting room and read about the danger signs of skin cancer.  I made a mental note to make an appointment to get those suspicious moles checked...and I never made the phone call.   Finally in a flurry of activity earlier this summer I made appointments to get all body systems checked.  I had blood tests and saw my doctor.  I saw both the optometrist and ophthalmologist.  My eyes have "matured" so now I have new glasses.  One afternoon two weeks ago I made the trek to Pendleton to see the dermatologist.

Dr. Skin (the names have been changed to protect the innocent) has his office in a shabby Victorian house.  The exam rooms are on the second floor, up a narrow staircase with shag carpet.   From the exam table I could see dust bunnies around the edges of the well-worn wood floor.  Dr. Skin checked all my spots and found one on my back that he didn't like.  That one was removed, placed in a jar to be sent to the lab, and I was out the door in less than a half an hour.

I didn't lose any sleep worrying about my irregularly colored mole.  I think deep down that I just don't believe that anything really bad can happen to me.  I'd almost forgotten about the whole experience until the phone rang last week and I heard the assistant from Dr. Skin's office on the line. 

"Hell...ooo Yann" she crooned in her singsong accented voice.  "I have the lab results and it is anormal..."

I was frozen to the phone, focused only on the echo of what I heard.  Did she say abnormal?  Abnormal?  Not me!

"It's abnormal?" I finally managed to sputter.

"Yes, it is a normal mole" she says.  OH!  A normal mole, not an abnormal mole.

"Thank you for calling" I say and hang up.

See, nothing bad can happen to me.

But They Look So Cute in Those Dresses

Megan and Hunter at Hat Rock Park, July 2012

I miss my grandchildren.  Last weekend I called to chat with them and to find out if they received the box I sent them.  Hunter’s first question was “When are you coming, Nana?”   This year they will both be in school full-time and that makes it harder to find a good time to visit.  My schedule is wide open, but theirs isn’t.  I’m missing the care-free, unscheduled days of summer already!

I over compensate for not visiting them by shopping for them.  I love buying their frilly dresses and sparkly shoes.  When they were visiting in July we shopped for school shoes.  When I took them home my daughter commented that there was something wrong when her five year old had more shoes than she did.  That comment is not quite the truth.  My daughter also inherited the shoe shopping gene and has her own extensive collection of footwear.

When the first granddaughter was born, I promised my daughter that I wouldn’t be the grandmother who showered the grandchild with tacky gifts.  I opened a 525 account to save for college and I make small monthly contributions.  That, I told my daughter, was how I was going to spend money on the grandchild.

Over the years my resolve has weakened.  I still contribute to the 525 accounts, but I also enjoy shopping for their school clothes, and buying books, and ….well, buying just about anything that I think they will like. 

The grandchildren are responsible for putting their clean laundry away.  The laundry room is on the first floor and their bedrooms on the second.  They each have a small laundry basket that they use to carry the clean, folded laundry upstairs.  Last weekend Hunter was coming down the stairs with her empty basket when her mother told her that there was another load of laundry that needed to go to her room.  Hunter sighed and said “Again?  Tell Nana to stop buying us clothes!”

SIGH!  Out of the mouths of babes…

 

Everything on the Internet is True





One of the unexpected rewards of starting this blog has been the people that I have met from all over the world.  I say "met" in the cyber sense of the word.  I've gotten to know so many creative, talented, and caring people through their blogs and the comments that they make on my blog.  I've only met one of my new friends in person.  Milt is a follower of my blog and writes a blog of his own.  He lives in the same small town that I do.  Last year I invited him to join a writing group that I belong to and we met face to face at a local used book store.  I think he was as apprehensive as I was...he brought his wife with him and I had my writing group to act as a human shield.  We were all relieved that he wasn't an ax murderer. 

Have you seen the State Farm commercial where the woman claims that "they can't put anything on the Internet that isn't true?"  She is dating a French model who she met on the Internet.  It's pretty funny. 

This fall I am going to spend a weekend with five female friends in a beautiful house on a lavender farm on Vashon Island. I've never actually met these women. I know them only through their blogs, but it feels like they are old friends. I know about their families and the challenges that they have faced. Several of us retired and started our blogs at the same time. We've shared laughs and loss. We seem to have a lot in common and we all write blogs. I'm excited to meet them, but also anxious. All they know about me is what I have chosen to share in my blog. Will I live up to their expectations? Oh, the anxiety!!!

So on an early fall weekend I will drive five hours  to find out if perception lives up to reality. I'm pretty sure that everything on the Internet is true. Bonjour!

Is It Still Work When You Do It In Your Pajamas?

I've been retired for several  years now.  I have adjusted to staying up late and sleeping in.  I do my grocery shopping when the rest of the world is at work.  I never go to Costco on the weekend.  When I travel I'm not limited to holidays or summer vacations.  I know how fortunate I am to live a relatively stress-free life.  I can't remember the last time I used the alarm clock.  This blissful existence changed last week when the school superintendent contacted me.

In my pre-retirement life as a school administrator I had great success in securing some big grants for the school district.  Grant writing was like a hobby for me.  Most of the grants were written in my spare time at home, usually while I was watching TV.  Grant writing was fairly stress-free because no one was paying me to do it or counting on the funding to keep a program operating.   If I won a grant it was like winning the lottery...a lucky break.  I got a reputation in the area as the go to person for writing grants. 

When I first retired I tinkered with the idea of freelancing as a grant writer.  I even took on a project with a neighboring school district.  That effort was not funded and I realized that I really didn't want to start a business and market my skills. I like to dabble and pick and choose my projects.

So, last week the superintendent asked for my help in securing grants for a project at our high school.  I went to a meeting and got excited about the concept.  I met with the superintendent and hammered out terms. All of a sudden I was employed .  This past week I actually had to be places at a specific time.  I had to go to meetings.  And last Wednesday I drove 400  miles to hand deliver a grant application to a foundation to meet their submission deadline (really, have they not heard about the Internet?) 

It's probably an ideal situation for me.  I work my own hours and most of the time I can wear pajamas, except when I have to go to meetings!  The downside if  I am not successful in securing grant funding, is public failure....I'm feeling the pressure!

This evening I attended one of the committee meetings.  The athletic director gave me a grant application for a grant that is a good match for our project.  The catch?  It's due in two days!  We are leaving tomorrow for three days camping in the RV at the Deschutes River.  Good thing I can do my new job anywhere.    I'll get the writing done lounging around camp and when I'm ready to post the application (this foundation has an online application) I will ride my bike to Biggs Junction where there is a McDonalds with Internet.    

I better go get my pajamas on and get started...I've got a job to do!

Three Weeks At Nana Camp

Two little girls and one big ocean.

My grandchildren stayed with me for three weeks this summer, the first time they've visited my house for an extended period.  I loved every minute, even hearing "Nana, Nana, Nana" every two minutes with demands for juice, or a snack, or a play dough carton opened, or one more book read.  My son threatened to record their voices and make it my ring tone.  He knows I respond instantly to their cries.

While they were here our whole world revolved around them and they basked in the attention.  We had a long list of activities we wanted to do with them, but we didn't get to half of them. 



Practice camping and fishing in the backyard.

They camped in the mountains and both caught their first fish, after first practice camping and learning to cast a fishing line in our backyard. 



Hunter's first fish.  What?  You can't see it?  Look in her hand.



Megan's first fish.

They swam in the local pool, in our hot tub, and in the Pacific Ocean. 


The last day of swimming lessons.

We spent a glorious three days in the RV at the Oregon coast. They dug in the sand, touched anemones and starfish, and made smores over a campfire.




On the road in the RV

Hunter made friends with a family of Old Believers

Searching for starfish.



Megan at Newport

Lot's of interesting things on the beach.  Nana is still finding them in the washing machine.

A contrast of cultures

Most of all they enjoyed playing in the backyard, digging in the dirt, and harvesting the garden.





Hunter digging potatoes in the garden with Grandpa Paul.

Where's Hunter?

Oh, there she is!

So many precious moments.  We're still laughing at some of the things they did and said.  Our vocabulary is forever changed.

One day Hunter was cuddling with me as we read a book.  She poked at my neck and said "Nana, you're squishy." 

After a moment she asks "Nana, why do you have lines?" 
I explained that people get lines when they get older.  Later I see her showing her arm to her sister and proudly pointing out lines at her elbow.  "See, Megan, I'm getting older.  See these lines." 

She celebrated her fifth birthday while she was with us.  She's got a lot of years ahead to accumulate lines.


Last night the spouse and I were watching the Olympics.  Matt Lauer and a female news personality were recapping the day's events.  The spouse says "Boy, she sure got squishy."  Yep, our vocabulary is permanently changed.

The Windshield Wiper Conservation Program and Other Spousal Quirks

Today is the spouse's birthday.  Yesterday we went shopping for his gift.  His custom has been to delay the gift purchasing and then for the next month he buys anything that catches his eye and justifies the purchase because it is his birthday.  He usually manages to acquire several good toys during the birthday spree.  Yesterday was no exception.  He selected a new ipad and, what the hell, I bought one for myself even though it wasn't my birthday. 

The spouse also bought a metal fire pit for the patio.   "I thought the girls would enjoy sitting around the fire and roasting marshmallows," he tells me.  Our grandchildren, ages 5 and 6, are coming to stay with us for three weeks this summer. Nothing says fun to a five year old like sticking long metal forks into a raging fire.  I've been searching yard sales for princess toys, but the spouse is going to woo them with open flames. 

It has been raining for several days.   We took the spouse's pickup to the Tri-Cities.  The picture above resembles my view out the front window.  The spouse is a charter member in the Windshield Wiper Conservation Program, or WWCP.  Even in a downpour he keeps the wipers on the lowest setting.  By the time the wiper finally starts to sweep across the windshield, the entire surface is covered with water. Apparently members of the WWCP believe that there are a limited number of wipes available to a motorist and it is important maintain a high reserve of  PWS (potential wiper swipe).  My car is eight years old.  I have replaced the wipers once.  I am overdue to replace the current wipers.  The spouse takes this as evidence of the superiority of the WWCP method.  If I had been conserving PWS I would probably still have years of usage left in my wipers.  "You let those wipers scrape across a dry windshield and it rips them to shreds," the spouse tells me as we drive blindly down the highway in the rain.  There's still a few more days of rain in our forecast.  Tomorrow I'm going to buy new wipers, but I'm not adopting the WWCP method.   

Graduation Day

Today was graduation day at HHS.  I didn't attend the ceremony, but happened to drive by the high school on my way into town and saw the students and their families taking photos and visiting on the lawn at the high school.  The students who attended HHS when I was an administrator there have long since graduated, but this graduating class has several students from my days as special education director.  It's another reminder that time is marching forward and nothing stays the same. 


When I worked at the high school, graduation was the biggest event of the year.  Thousands of people attended.  There was always lots of drama leading up to the ceremony as students struggled to complete graduation requirements.   There were usually two or three parents in the principal's office demanding that exceptions be made so their child could participate in the ceremony even though he or she had not completed all the requirements. 

The administrative team worked hard to maintain the dignity of the ceremony and give every student his or her moment in the spotlight.  Very little was left to chance.  The graduates were well rehearsed and we were on the lookout for disruptive tricks.  There was always someone who tried to sneak in beach balls to toss around during the ceremony, an air horn to blast when a friend received a diploma, or giant balloons to float above them.  The invited guests were sometimes worse than the students and we confiscated air horns and balloons at the door.  At rehearsal our students were assured that they would be escorted out of the ceremony if they participated in any of these disruptive antics.  They were allowed cans of silly string and beach balls, but they could only pull them out after the last student received a diploma and the class was presented to the audience.  Our students understood that graduation was important to the thousands of friends and family members who had gathered to watch, and every student deserved to be the sole center of attention for those few seconds when their name was announced and they marched across the stage to accept a handshake and their diploma.  But every year the students planned something just to keep us on our toes. 

My first year at the high school the principal walked me through the graduation preparations and explained why everything was so carefully choreographed.   One year the ceremony was just about to start when the principal looked at the stage from the back of the room and realized that there were no diplomas on the stage.  Three thousand friends and family watched as a student hurried up to the dais and deposited a cardboard box on the table.  Not a fatal error, but every year after that the checklist had "Diplomas on the stage" listed to remind us.

One tradition that students have carried out for years is giving the board chair, who hands out the diplomas, a token when receiving their diplomas.  The checklist got a new addition "Container for tokens" after the year that students chose to give the board chair marbles.  After the first twenty-five students had handed off their marbles, the board chair had full pockets and marbles were rolling off the table.  Each class tries to come up with something original to hand over.  The year our first graduating class of the newly remodeled school graduated, they handed over nails to represent the two years they studied while construction was in progress.  One year it was condoms...I don't know what that was supposed to represent!

It's an exciting time for students.  I enjoyed seeing their smiling faces as they left the high school with their diplomas, their bright gowns blowing around them in the wind.  Their future is wide open.  Congratulations to the class of 2012.