Sunday, September 30, 2012
Deja Vu: Ellie Sophia
It has been such a rush of memory to see my littlest child, Rebecca, conceive and give birth to her first child, Ellie Sophia. I have been here before. Looking at Becca, before my grand-daughter was born, brought back memories of Katie when we lived in Placerville on Adams way. Carrying Daniel, she was such a Madonna figure. There was an aura of peace, purpose and tranquility about her that I could almost see, feel, and touch. His birth and the subsequent birth of Rebecca were the two most religious moments of my life. To see life bring forth other life was moving beyond description. Becca was just such a Madonna figure before July 16, 2012, the day of Ellie’s birth. Her expression was exalted, radiant and happy.
That first, extremely chubby, reddish figure (Dan) is now thirty-two years old. Becca is thirty and now a mother, having brought her own new life into this world. How the wheel turns full circle!!! Ellie is such a composite of both the Cooper/Parrish side and the Jauregui genes. There can be no gainsaying that with a “chewpie” in her mouth, she is another Becca. How I fly back through the years when I gaze upon her!
All of this is preface to the fact that now, in my sixty-first year, Life has once again filled to the brim with joy for me just as it did when my children were born. I guess that having a little human being to add yet another descendant link to the chain, is a primal and satisfying feeling. Flesh of the flesh of my flesh! What a miracle is Life! How that adds to the parade of human existence on this planet. Looking into those deep dark eyes, when I hold Ellie, is like diving into a fathomless new intelligence. Surveying the perfectly little sculpted fingers and toes and feeling those little fingers grip mine as I feed her, sensing her complete dependence on me is so moving! Knowing that I hold in my arms a new future, a new chapter, a new human story is humbling and places my Higher Power oh, so close to my heart. That little baby sends waves of power and emotion radiating out in all directions; I feel mortal, finite and yet immortal at the same time. How can that be? Answers come as feelings and emotions highlighting my existence and purpose in this life. JP 8-7-2012
Monday, January 2, 2012
Winnie the Pooh
Our Little Cecilia has always had a very fertile imagination. This story well illustrates that! I do not remember exactly when she first heard the story of Winnie the Pooh. I may have been read to her, as I do remember several Pooh books, mostly gifts from Grandma. It may have been that she watched a cartoon movie of Pooh at G&G’s house as I also remember that. Anyway, the antics of the roly-poly bear made a great impression as will be seen.
At our house on Sandridge Road, in Placerville, there were several spots that were designated with names from the Pooh Story. The edge of our property, bordering the tangled scrub oak margin of the Middle Fork of the Consumnes River was christened “The Hundred Acre Wood.” The huge old oak tree in the middle of the pasture was “Pooh’s house.” And I think “Rabbits House” was close by, sensibly placed near the garden area. I remember making several signs (overseen by Superintendent Cecilia so the spelling would be accurate ala Pooh’s story) and placing them around the pasture. The sign for Pooh’s house was on a stake in the ground next to a large, rotten hole in the base of the oak tree’s trunk. Cece relates that the stations felt so far apart that even though they were unlike the book’s descriptions, they seemed very real to her. Even the absence of seeing the characters did not inhibit the reality in her mind.
Anyway, when we went to live at the ranger station at Powell, Idaho, Pooh migrated to the Pacific Northwest. On one of their walks in the forest near the ranger compound, Cece found an old hollow log and began writing letters to Pooh, and other characters from the story. Placing them in the log, it became a “post office” for her.
Sometime, after we had left Idaho and sold Sandridge Road, the reality of the Pooh stories became suspect for Cecilia. Whether with growing maturity she slowly began to realize that Pooh was just a story or what, I do not know. By the time we lived in Davis, no more letters were being sent to Pooh. Growing up is a bittersweet experience and I can only speak for myself when I say that I wish we could all go back to those more innocent times, and my little buglets were small again.
JP 1-2-2012
At our house on Sandridge Road, in Placerville, there were several spots that were designated with names from the Pooh Story. The edge of our property, bordering the tangled scrub oak margin of the Middle Fork of the Consumnes River was christened “The Hundred Acre Wood.” The huge old oak tree in the middle of the pasture was “Pooh’s house.” And I think “Rabbits House” was close by, sensibly placed near the garden area. I remember making several signs (overseen by Superintendent Cecilia so the spelling would be accurate ala Pooh’s story) and placing them around the pasture. The sign for Pooh’s house was on a stake in the ground next to a large, rotten hole in the base of the oak tree’s trunk. Cece relates that the stations felt so far apart that even though they were unlike the book’s descriptions, they seemed very real to her. Even the absence of seeing the characters did not inhibit the reality in her mind.
Anyway, when we went to live at the ranger station at Powell, Idaho, Pooh migrated to the Pacific Northwest. On one of their walks in the forest near the ranger compound, Cece found an old hollow log and began writing letters to Pooh, and other characters from the story. Placing them in the log, it became a “post office” for her.
Sometime, after we had left Idaho and sold Sandridge Road, the reality of the Pooh stories became suspect for Cecilia. Whether with growing maturity she slowly began to realize that Pooh was just a story or what, I do not know. By the time we lived in Davis, no more letters were being sent to Pooh. Growing up is a bittersweet experience and I can only speak for myself when I say that I wish we could all go back to those more innocent times, and my little buglets were small again.
JP 1-2-2012
Sunday, January 1, 2012
Trusty Rusty
My first image of Rusty will forever be tied to a 1957 Chevrolet pickup truck. Standing at the back door of our house on Gilbert Road, I watched him unwind his lanky frame from the driver’s side and Cece lightly sprung out of the passenger side with a smile as big as our barn on her face. Thus began our 20 year association with as fine a son-in-law as ever a mortal man could hope for. Of course, such sentiments were all in the future. There were a few years of teen-age angst and outrageous surprises that had to be waded through first.
I will concentrate on the more humorous and character defining incidents that occurred during the years of their relationship. Having met as “lab partners” in a Junior High Home Economics class, Cece was forever talking about Rusty, to her sister. We were treated to a kernel or two of information from time to time. Then came the Twirp Dance in their Sophomore year at High School.
Kate drove them to the Yakima Mall to purchase matching shirts and hats for this traditional fling. The back seat with its two occupants was as silent as a tomb. Kate tried to make conversation only to have it be deflected by Cece who was working hard to minimize Rusty’s shy embarrassment. Probably not two words passed his lips that whole way.
Once when Rosa was visiting us, she and Cece walked all the way to Ahtanum, at least three miles one way, to visit Rusty just to say, “Hi,” only to find him in a cast and sporting a black eye and bruises from a car accident. Such is the strength of love. This feeling was so strong in Cece that when we were cleaning up the house for sale, and I was repainting some rooms, I found the word RUSTY spray painted in florescent green spray paint on the ceiling of her room. Sheesh! It took three coats of paint to cover that finally!
Over the years Rusty was present at (and tortured by) multitudinous Parrish, Cooper, Lopez, McBride gatherings, vacations, and family obligations. Cece moved down to California for a year in 1998-1999, but came back to Washington because a certain young man was still there.
They moved to Seattle in 1999, their first apartment being in the Wallingford district. They have not left Sea-town since. Moving to other various places, while Cece went to Seattle University and then the University of Washington, they spent a year or two apart, on and off dating other people. Ultimately, they reconnected and one of the two proudest days of my life occurred in 2009 (my eyes are getting wet here).
On July 27th, 2009, I officiated at the marriage of my eldest daughter Cecilia to one of the finest young men I know. Who, you may ask? Well, guess! Little would I have dreamed how this story would play out on that day in 1994, when the Chevy pickup pulled into our driveway. Rusty has been a presence in our lives and a part of our family so long it seems as if it has always been that way. My eldest daughter has very good taste!
JP 1-1-2012
I will concentrate on the more humorous and character defining incidents that occurred during the years of their relationship. Having met as “lab partners” in a Junior High Home Economics class, Cece was forever talking about Rusty, to her sister. We were treated to a kernel or two of information from time to time. Then came the Twirp Dance in their Sophomore year at High School.
Kate drove them to the Yakima Mall to purchase matching shirts and hats for this traditional fling. The back seat with its two occupants was as silent as a tomb. Kate tried to make conversation only to have it be deflected by Cece who was working hard to minimize Rusty’s shy embarrassment. Probably not two words passed his lips that whole way.
Once when Rosa was visiting us, she and Cece walked all the way to Ahtanum, at least three miles one way, to visit Rusty just to say, “Hi,” only to find him in a cast and sporting a black eye and bruises from a car accident. Such is the strength of love. This feeling was so strong in Cece that when we were cleaning up the house for sale, and I was repainting some rooms, I found the word RUSTY spray painted in florescent green spray paint on the ceiling of her room. Sheesh! It took three coats of paint to cover that finally!
Over the years Rusty was present at (and tortured by) multitudinous Parrish, Cooper, Lopez, McBride gatherings, vacations, and family obligations. Cece moved down to California for a year in 1998-1999, but came back to Washington because a certain young man was still there.
They moved to Seattle in 1999, their first apartment being in the Wallingford district. They have not left Sea-town since. Moving to other various places, while Cece went to Seattle University and then the University of Washington, they spent a year or two apart, on and off dating other people. Ultimately, they reconnected and one of the two proudest days of my life occurred in 2009 (my eyes are getting wet here).
On July 27th, 2009, I officiated at the marriage of my eldest daughter Cecilia to one of the finest young men I know. Who, you may ask? Well, guess! Little would I have dreamed how this story would play out on that day in 1994, when the Chevy pickup pulled into our driveway. Rusty has been a presence in our lives and a part of our family so long it seems as if it has always been that way. My eldest daughter has very good taste!
JP 1-1-2012
Saturday, December 31, 2011
The "Hated" Grandfather
I am not sure when this episode happened but it would have been sometime in the years 1984-1986. It was perhaps summertime and we had spent some time at Grandma and Grandpa’s house. Leaving to go home was hard on us all. It was especially hard on the children who had enjoyed all the spoiling and the lavish love.
As was usual, we had slowly loaded up our 1979 Chevrolet van and were putting the finishing touches on the house search for lost or forgotten items. (There was always a large spread of such things.) It was almost down to the last moments for our departure and Miss Rebecca had been belted into her car seat. The first victim for removal was thus secured. It was a sunny and hot day and Grandpa was out at the van, shielding Becca from the Sun’s direct rays by standing next to the open sliding van door.
Becca was crying and sad to leave and in response to some soothing pleasantry from Grandpa, blurted out in misdirected anger, “I hate you!” That really tickled his funny bone, and for years afterwards he related the story to us of how Beckster J. Weckster hated him. Of course the polar opposite was too true and it was probably not half a mile down the road after we left Ronnie Way that she was asking for him and wanting to return.
Return we did, many, many times to the “hated” Grandpa and Grandma’s house. Love with a capital “L” was always present there and I do not think that Becca was ever so misguided as to “hate” Grandpa again.
JP 12-31-2011
As was usual, we had slowly loaded up our 1979 Chevrolet van and were putting the finishing touches on the house search for lost or forgotten items. (There was always a large spread of such things.) It was almost down to the last moments for our departure and Miss Rebecca had been belted into her car seat. The first victim for removal was thus secured. It was a sunny and hot day and Grandpa was out at the van, shielding Becca from the Sun’s direct rays by standing next to the open sliding van door.
Becca was crying and sad to leave and in response to some soothing pleasantry from Grandpa, blurted out in misdirected anger, “I hate you!” That really tickled his funny bone, and for years afterwards he related the story to us of how Beckster J. Weckster hated him. Of course the polar opposite was too true and it was probably not half a mile down the road after we left Ronnie Way that she was asking for him and wanting to return.
Return we did, many, many times to the “hated” Grandpa and Grandma’s house. Love with a capital “L” was always present there and I do not think that Becca was ever so misguided as to “hate” Grandpa again.
JP 12-31-2011
Lake Bonaparte Saga
In the Summer of 1994, I was able to teach summer school at Wilson, doing a special Drama class. Unfortunately, I missed out on a great week of “vacation” that Kate and Becca spent at Lake Bonaparte in northern Washington. Dan was attending a Boy Scout leadership training at BSA Camp Bonapart and the “girls” were encamped at a public campground on the shore of the lake. After driving up with everyone and depositing Dan at camp and Becca and Kate at the campground, I was able to spend one night with them and then had to drive back to Yakima to work.
The week we were apart was very hard on Becca. She says that she felt vulnerable without the “lumberjack protector.” Every day seemed so long and the nights were a bit scary. Luckily, Kate was resourceful and made up tons of activities to keep Becca occupied. They went on walks and rowed on the lake in the boat loaned providentially by the kindly campground hosts. They did crafty nature projects and out of desperation Kate frantically made up a daily calendar of events, complete with illustrations and things to do so Becca could count down the days until her Pop and brother were back.
Salvation came at week’s end with the return of the lumberjack and the weathered boy scout. I think Kate breathed a sigh of relief that her fledgling stint at solo entertainer and protector was over. Dan had picked up a Lake Bonaparte T shirt for Becca and they looked cute as twins. The extra day we spent before returning home was filled with his expounding on the woods lore that he had learned and the little (almost complete) family unit was happy once more.
JP 12-31-2011
The week we were apart was very hard on Becca. She says that she felt vulnerable without the “lumberjack protector.” Every day seemed so long and the nights were a bit scary. Luckily, Kate was resourceful and made up tons of activities to keep Becca occupied. They went on walks and rowed on the lake in the boat loaned providentially by the kindly campground hosts. They did crafty nature projects and out of desperation Kate frantically made up a daily calendar of events, complete with illustrations and things to do so Becca could count down the days until her Pop and brother were back.
Salvation came at week’s end with the return of the lumberjack and the weathered boy scout. I think Kate breathed a sigh of relief that her fledgling stint at solo entertainer and protector was over. Dan had picked up a Lake Bonaparte T shirt for Becca and they looked cute as twins. The extra day we spent before returning home was filled with his expounding on the woods lore that he had learned and the little (almost complete) family unit was happy once more.
JP 12-31-2011
Pierced Ears Panic
Shortly after moving to Yakima, in 1992, to be exact, Becca got her wish and had her ears pierced for her birthday. At that time she got a set of “beginner earrings” to use while the holes became permanent. They probably were not the most expensive set, no doubt stainless steel or some sort of “knock off” look alike. It has been my observation, and I have been told (since I have not had pierced ears of my own) that at the outset they are hard to put back in after the necessary cleansing with alcohol, soap, etc. Like any good disaster movie, the stage was set for the drama to unfold. Soon one of Becca’s ears became infected. When I saw it finally, the earlobe had swelled and even grown a bit around the earring backing. This made it impossible to remove.
Home attempts proved futile and so we went to our family doctor Jeff Kaplan. He attempted to remove it but Becca was screaming and squirming so much that he gave up on the attempt. The poor child was in such pain, she was almost in hysterics. Something had to be done but what? The situation could not go on without some resolution for Becca’s health.
Dr. Kaplan felt that more of a surgeon’s skill was needed and referred us to a wonderful Ear, Nose and Throat Specialist, Doctor Abbenhaus. He was renowned for his work with children. We went to his office and he saw Becca almost right away. He sat down and was explaining the situation to her and she was listening intently to his words when, suddenly, he showed her the backing, resting in the palm of his hand, which he had removed without her even knowing it. She was amazed as were we all. When the earring was removed and the wound drained, it was packed with antibiotics and Becca wore a bandage over her ear for many days to keep infection away. She looked like a small war-wounded casualty.
I think that Dr, Abbenhaus attained a status next to godliness in our house and in Becca’s eyes. Later, he used a very aggressive treatment of steroids to cure her of Bell’s Palsy. This only served to heighten his divine status. He retired not to long afterwards and I am always grateful that he was there for her, when she needed him.
JP 12-31-2011
Home attempts proved futile and so we went to our family doctor Jeff Kaplan. He attempted to remove it but Becca was screaming and squirming so much that he gave up on the attempt. The poor child was in such pain, she was almost in hysterics. Something had to be done but what? The situation could not go on without some resolution for Becca’s health.
Dr. Kaplan felt that more of a surgeon’s skill was needed and referred us to a wonderful Ear, Nose and Throat Specialist, Doctor Abbenhaus. He was renowned for his work with children. We went to his office and he saw Becca almost right away. He sat down and was explaining the situation to her and she was listening intently to his words when, suddenly, he showed her the backing, resting in the palm of his hand, which he had removed without her even knowing it. She was amazed as were we all. When the earring was removed and the wound drained, it was packed with antibiotics and Becca wore a bandage over her ear for many days to keep infection away. She looked like a small war-wounded casualty.
I think that Dr, Abbenhaus attained a status next to godliness in our house and in Becca’s eyes. Later, he used a very aggressive treatment of steroids to cure her of Bell’s Palsy. This only served to heighten his divine status. He retired not to long afterwards and I am always grateful that he was there for her, when she needed him.
JP 12-31-2011
Iron Mountain Crevasse
One memorable winter in the late 1980’s, we almost lost Becca in the realm of the snow gods and goddesses! It is a traumatic memory for her and one that still brings goose bumps to me. It ranks up there with Dan’s almost drowning on the Consumnes River.
On a family snow outing with a friend of Cece’s accompanying us, we went up Iron Mountain Road out of Pollock Pines and then on to Highway 88. We were trying to find the perfect (cheap) family snow play area and finally thought we had. There was a sizeable mound sloping away from the roadway and it gentled out after a bit to a flat spot…the perfect sliding spot. I am sure that we had saucers but I think that Dan opted to go down on his bottom in slick ski pants. Becca’s turn was next.
Somehow, in stepping to one side of our impromptu ski run, Becca accidentally stepped into a hole by the base of an old pine stump. It was covered with a thin film of snow that easily gave way under her. Down she went into s now cave that was not terribly large but big enough to cover her slight form, out of sight. Her left boot began to slip off and she was scared that it would come off and be lost down the long dark tunnel.
She began to cry and yell for help. Daniel heard her but later said that he thought she was laughing. I finally heard her sobbing pleas for help and after locating the source of her voice, knelt in the snow and reaching down, was able to pull her out, boot and all. I remember holding her in my arms and cuddling her while I helped to put her boot back on. We moved on to another, different spot, away from treacherous snow crevasses, and with some snuggling and consolation from her Mom, the little snow queen was able to return to the day’s fun and antics.
To this day, the memory of that event is burned into her psyche and Becca still recalls the experience with a shudder. Such a seemingly innocent event could have turned out much worse. We all were blessed that it did not.
JP 12-31-2011
On a family snow outing with a friend of Cece’s accompanying us, we went up Iron Mountain Road out of Pollock Pines and then on to Highway 88. We were trying to find the perfect (cheap) family snow play area and finally thought we had. There was a sizeable mound sloping away from the roadway and it gentled out after a bit to a flat spot…the perfect sliding spot. I am sure that we had saucers but I think that Dan opted to go down on his bottom in slick ski pants. Becca’s turn was next.
Somehow, in stepping to one side of our impromptu ski run, Becca accidentally stepped into a hole by the base of an old pine stump. It was covered with a thin film of snow that easily gave way under her. Down she went into s now cave that was not terribly large but big enough to cover her slight form, out of sight. Her left boot began to slip off and she was scared that it would come off and be lost down the long dark tunnel.
She began to cry and yell for help. Daniel heard her but later said that he thought she was laughing. I finally heard her sobbing pleas for help and after locating the source of her voice, knelt in the snow and reaching down, was able to pull her out, boot and all. I remember holding her in my arms and cuddling her while I helped to put her boot back on. We moved on to another, different spot, away from treacherous snow crevasses, and with some snuggling and consolation from her Mom, the little snow queen was able to return to the day’s fun and antics.
To this day, the memory of that event is burned into her psyche and Becca still recalls the experience with a shudder. Such a seemingly innocent event could have turned out much worse. We all were blessed that it did not.
JP 12-31-2011
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