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
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