When we lived in Davis, California, Cecilia attended St. James Elementary School until she graduated from the Eighth Grade. As with all parochial schools, many religious holidays were graced with student performances at the various services. In 1987, Cece landed one of the plum parts in the Christmas play. She was to be the Archangel Gabriel, the angel that appeared to Mary and told her the news that she would be the mother of God.
If my memory of Catholic school is any yardstick, I am sure that there was much practicing of the play before the Christmas Eve performance at the Childrens’ Mass. That night, the play went flawlessly, at least to the prejudiced eyes of a very proud father. Cece stood behind the manger scene with arms outstretched and overshadowed the crèche with angelic grace. There were other angels in the scene and I forget if they had speaking parts or not. I know that Cece did.
Anyhow, after Christmas and far into the following spring (if photos are any evidence) this play was re-enacted time and again at our house, and seemingly on the front lawn for the entire neighborhood’s edification. Cece and friend, Claire Fontenot (who had been one of the play’s angels) stand with arms outstretched looking over the manger scene. St. Joseph (Dan) and the Virgin Mary (Rebecca) kneel on each side of the crib with hands prayerfully clasped. The crib is Becca’s doll crib that was inherited from Cece. The baby Jesus is no doubt some nondescript doll from the combined sisters’ collection.
The combined effect is extremely holy and prayerful. I am sure the neighborhood of K Street was brought to a more religious frame of mind by the saintly actor and actresses.
JP 12-31-2011
Saturday, December 31, 2011
Friday, December 30, 2011
Slide Rock and Mesa Verde
In the summers of 1987 and 1989, we ventured to the Southwest on a “kid-n-car” trip. As with all our car treks, each was memorable. In 1987 we traveled to the Grand Canyon, then to Flagstaff , camping in Oak Creek Canyon. This natural park area had wonderful southwestern foliage, beautiful Oak Creek and best of all SLIDE ROCK.
This phenomena is just what it says, rock layers worn smooth and into channels by the water action of Oak Creek. This has a significant flow of water and a person can slide down into the troughs and be pushed by the water down a significant set of inclines. It is a blast and we spent days there which the kids thoroughly enjoyed. The adults did too and we all slid down the water chutes yelling and laughing and bumping ourselves royally.
Our next trip, in 1989, was through the Mesa Country seeing the pueblos and driving up through Santa Fe, Taos, through Chama. It sticks in my memory that a mandatory side trip to Slide Rock happened also but this old feeble brain cannot place it in the itinerary. Some of the wonderful experiences were visiting Betatakin, the Pueblo National Monument and Mesa Verde.
The forces of nature made our stay at Mesa Verde memorable. After setting up camp in one of the campgrounds, Dan and I went back in the car to see some ruins, forgotten now. On the return trip, we were caught in a surprise thunder, lightning and hail storm that was so intense you could not see the road to drive. We, and others, took shelter in a roadway tunnel, stopping our cars while the storm lasted. We were concerned about how the girls were doing, to say the least. When we got back to camp, they had amazing tales to tell. The wind had been so strong that it flattened the tent, with them in it! The hail was pounding on the tent and though dry, Kate, Becca and Cece were concerned about us!
Happily reunited, and the storm having passed by, we proceeded to make dinner. Once the food boxes were cracked open, out of nowhere several deer appeared. They were so tame that they came right up to us and were nosing around the food. Cece, in an attempt to keep them away from our greens, held a head of lettuce behind her back and out of sight of a particularly nosey deer that was harassing her. Unbeknownst to her, another deer came up behind and bit the head of lettuce. They were not used to being denied, those government freeloaders!
We ended up driving into Colorado to Crested Butte and Gunnison. I almost interviewed for a job in Gunnison (the secret agenda of this trip…which ended up in our moving to Yakima, Washington). Camping up at Gothic, an old mining area near Crested Butte (Crusted Butt to our giggling kids) in a pouring rainstorm, Dan got very sick and for 24 hours had a terribly high fever. Happily he recovered quickly. We drove back through Utah and Nevada and home to Davis, weary but happy travelers. Those trips are legendary and no doubt more stories about them will surface making it necessary to amend this narrative.
JP 12-30-2011
This phenomena is just what it says, rock layers worn smooth and into channels by the water action of Oak Creek. This has a significant flow of water and a person can slide down into the troughs and be pushed by the water down a significant set of inclines. It is a blast and we spent days there which the kids thoroughly enjoyed. The adults did too and we all slid down the water chutes yelling and laughing and bumping ourselves royally.
Our next trip, in 1989, was through the Mesa Country seeing the pueblos and driving up through Santa Fe, Taos, through Chama. It sticks in my memory that a mandatory side trip to Slide Rock happened also but this old feeble brain cannot place it in the itinerary. Some of the wonderful experiences were visiting Betatakin, the Pueblo National Monument and Mesa Verde.
The forces of nature made our stay at Mesa Verde memorable. After setting up camp in one of the campgrounds, Dan and I went back in the car to see some ruins, forgotten now. On the return trip, we were caught in a surprise thunder, lightning and hail storm that was so intense you could not see the road to drive. We, and others, took shelter in a roadway tunnel, stopping our cars while the storm lasted. We were concerned about how the girls were doing, to say the least. When we got back to camp, they had amazing tales to tell. The wind had been so strong that it flattened the tent, with them in it! The hail was pounding on the tent and though dry, Kate, Becca and Cece were concerned about us!
Happily reunited, and the storm having passed by, we proceeded to make dinner. Once the food boxes were cracked open, out of nowhere several deer appeared. They were so tame that they came right up to us and were nosing around the food. Cece, in an attempt to keep them away from our greens, held a head of lettuce behind her back and out of sight of a particularly nosey deer that was harassing her. Unbeknownst to her, another deer came up behind and bit the head of lettuce. They were not used to being denied, those government freeloaders!
We ended up driving into Colorado to Crested Butte and Gunnison. I almost interviewed for a job in Gunnison (the secret agenda of this trip…which ended up in our moving to Yakima, Washington). Camping up at Gothic, an old mining area near Crested Butte (Crusted Butt to our giggling kids) in a pouring rainstorm, Dan got very sick and for 24 hours had a terribly high fever. Happily he recovered quickly. We drove back through Utah and Nevada and home to Davis, weary but happy travelers. Those trips are legendary and no doubt more stories about them will surface making it necessary to amend this narrative.
JP 12-30-2011
Hailstorm Rescue
The year is unremembered, although it was when Becca was a Senior in High School, I believe. That would make it 1990-1991. On a particularly blustery and wet day, Kate decided to do her daily constitutional walk around the “big block.” This was a four mile circuit of orchards and was very open and picturesque. It had rained earlier but had stopped and the air was clean and crisp and invigorating.
Somehow, I was cajoled into going and Puppy followed us dutifully as we marched off. The first two miles were rather uneventful but we noticed clouds building up to the southwest and they were getting darker and darker. The wind began to pick up and soon spitting rain was pelting the intrepid travelers. This was about the mile three mark.
Suddenly, the heavens were rent with a GIGANTIC peal of thunder and lightning forked across the sky, not all that far away. The very ground reverberated with the concussion! Needless to say we increased our pace dramatically, but to no avail. Totally without warning, as more lightning and thunder forked and crashed, the sky opened up and we were inundated with rain, heavy and hard drops pelting us mercilessly. Laughing at being wet, we foolishly joked that it could not get much wetter. WERE WE WRONG! Immediately following this utterance, the rain changed to hail, BIG HAIL, and it began to almost hurt. I would guess, it was dime sized. We could not see the road being practically blinded by the hail. Poor Puppy was following right at our heels, terrified by the anger of the elements. Kate and I were sogging along, wordlessly, dripping and moaning (me) when salvation came to us.
Emergency response, in the form of Rescuer Rebecca, drove up in her little white Honda and we piled in dripping and squelching. Puppy was so scared she would not jump in the car but had to be lifted in by me. At home, Becca had heard the storm break and had driven all the way around the block following the direction we had taken. She saved the day! Was I ever grateful!
JP 12-30-2011
Somehow, I was cajoled into going and Puppy followed us dutifully as we marched off. The first two miles were rather uneventful but we noticed clouds building up to the southwest and they were getting darker and darker. The wind began to pick up and soon spitting rain was pelting the intrepid travelers. This was about the mile three mark.
Suddenly, the heavens were rent with a GIGANTIC peal of thunder and lightning forked across the sky, not all that far away. The very ground reverberated with the concussion! Needless to say we increased our pace dramatically, but to no avail. Totally without warning, as more lightning and thunder forked and crashed, the sky opened up and we were inundated with rain, heavy and hard drops pelting us mercilessly. Laughing at being wet, we foolishly joked that it could not get much wetter. WERE WE WRONG! Immediately following this utterance, the rain changed to hail, BIG HAIL, and it began to almost hurt. I would guess, it was dime sized. We could not see the road being practically blinded by the hail. Poor Puppy was following right at our heels, terrified by the anger of the elements. Kate and I were sogging along, wordlessly, dripping and moaning (me) when salvation came to us.
Emergency response, in the form of Rescuer Rebecca, drove up in her little white Honda and we piled in dripping and squelching. Puppy was so scared she would not jump in the car but had to be lifted in by me. At home, Becca had heard the storm break and had driven all the way around the block following the direction we had taken. She saved the day! Was I ever grateful!
JP 12-30-2011
Budding Beauticians
Thankfully, there is only one photo that I have ever found to exist that supports this tale. It is not one for general consumption and I pray that it lives its life in the confines of this family alone. Maybe I should put a clause in my will that the picture and the negative are destroyed upon my death.
I am not sure when this travesty began and I am not sure what spawned the interest in Cece’s head. I do remember that she was much smaller than in the photo when the fun of “doing Papa’s hair” began. I also know that Daniel and Rebecca got oodles of joy from assisting. The end results of their handiwork was not something I would display by parading around outside.
Barrettes, scrunchies, hair spray, goo and various odious hair gels were the implements of torture. I would end up looking like a cross between one of the kids on the old comedy, “Our Gang,” and a hung-over punk rocker when they were done. Cece and gang would proudly show their mother the fine results of their handiwork, preening as if they had been awarded a degree in beautician creativity. I am afraid that perhaps Xochitl and Rosa also were involved from time to time and so the legend may have a life of its own.
I believe the expression on my face in the picture says it all. That I was a practice head for Cece’s future expertise in hair arrangement (for which she is justly renowned) is somewhat of a consolation for the hours of pain and laughter (directed at me) that I endured. Fathers will do anything for their daughters!
JP 12-30-2011
I am not sure when this travesty began and I am not sure what spawned the interest in Cece’s head. I do remember that she was much smaller than in the photo when the fun of “doing Papa’s hair” began. I also know that Daniel and Rebecca got oodles of joy from assisting. The end results of their handiwork was not something I would display by parading around outside.
Barrettes, scrunchies, hair spray, goo and various odious hair gels were the implements of torture. I would end up looking like a cross between one of the kids on the old comedy, “Our Gang,” and a hung-over punk rocker when they were done. Cece and gang would proudly show their mother the fine results of their handiwork, preening as if they had been awarded a degree in beautician creativity. I am afraid that perhaps Xochitl and Rosa also were involved from time to time and so the legend may have a life of its own.
I believe the expression on my face in the picture says it all. That I was a practice head for Cece’s future expertise in hair arrangement (for which she is justly renowned) is somewhat of a consolation for the hours of pain and laughter (directed at me) that I endured. Fathers will do anything for their daughters!
JP 12-30-2011
Chickamauga Canine
The year 2004, saw Rebecca’s return to the West Coast after over a year living in Greenville, South Carolina. Her move to and adventures there is the subject for another time but when I flew out to Atlanta, to accompany her driving home, we had many road trip adventures. She graciously allowed me to fulfill a long standing wish to visit Civil War sites in the South. We saw Charleston’s battery and Fort Sumter (from a distance), and then began our trip.
In Georgia we stopped at Kennesaw Mountain, a battlefield where my Great grandfather, William Henry Parrish had fought, as well as the battlefields of Chickamauga and Chattanooga (Missionary Ridge). In Tennessee we stopped at Stone’s River battlefield. At all these spots, Lily, Becca’s canine companion, and still a puppy, romped and stretched her legs. She was the ideal car companion along the whole trip but it was a Chickamauga that she made her memorable run.
We had stopped to see the visitor’s center and then decided to let her play around a bit. Opening the car door, she bolted out like a streak of lightning and romped around on the grassy field where 142 years earlier men had shot at and killed each other, in order to preserve the nation. She was having a ball just running around, in circles, in straight lines, anything, AND THEN SHE SAW THE BIRDS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I have never seen a dog run as fast as Lily did that day. She reached deep into her ancestry and Whippet heritage as well as her hunting South Carolina Dog instincts and ROARED after a huge flock of birds on the grass. She TORE into that flock like a runaway locomotive! I never saw that puppy run as fast ever again…she was a streak on the grass, hugging low to the ground, her little rear paws reaching all the way to in front of her muzzle (I am not exaggerating!), her forepaws slung out WAY in front and then rotating to almost her behind. She held her head low and just grazing the grass. Had she been a bit older and wiser I am sure she would have caught a few of those birds. They never knew what hit them but all rose in a cloud of alarm and wheeled above us making a cacophony of noise.
After a bit, and seeming very proud of herself, she trotted back to us like a victorious general having vanquished an enemy. I am sure that 142 years earlier, Confederate general Braxton Bragg was not half as proud at defeating his Union counterpart Rosecrans. I never saw her run as fast again, as I have said. It was her Olympic effort and will always stick in my memory as one of the most enjoyable parts of that car trip home.
JP 12-30-2011
In Georgia we stopped at Kennesaw Mountain, a battlefield where my Great grandfather, William Henry Parrish had fought, as well as the battlefields of Chickamauga and Chattanooga (Missionary Ridge). In Tennessee we stopped at Stone’s River battlefield. At all these spots, Lily, Becca’s canine companion, and still a puppy, romped and stretched her legs. She was the ideal car companion along the whole trip but it was a Chickamauga that she made her memorable run.
We had stopped to see the visitor’s center and then decided to let her play around a bit. Opening the car door, she bolted out like a streak of lightning and romped around on the grassy field where 142 years earlier men had shot at and killed each other, in order to preserve the nation. She was having a ball just running around, in circles, in straight lines, anything, AND THEN SHE SAW THE BIRDS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I have never seen a dog run as fast as Lily did that day. She reached deep into her ancestry and Whippet heritage as well as her hunting South Carolina Dog instincts and ROARED after a huge flock of birds on the grass. She TORE into that flock like a runaway locomotive! I never saw that puppy run as fast ever again…she was a streak on the grass, hugging low to the ground, her little rear paws reaching all the way to in front of her muzzle (I am not exaggerating!), her forepaws slung out WAY in front and then rotating to almost her behind. She held her head low and just grazing the grass. Had she been a bit older and wiser I am sure she would have caught a few of those birds. They never knew what hit them but all rose in a cloud of alarm and wheeled above us making a cacophony of noise.
After a bit, and seeming very proud of herself, she trotted back to us like a victorious general having vanquished an enemy. I am sure that 142 years earlier, Confederate general Braxton Bragg was not half as proud at defeating his Union counterpart Rosecrans. I never saw her run as fast again, as I have said. It was her Olympic effort and will always stick in my memory as one of the most enjoyable parts of that car trip home.
JP 12-30-2011
Christmas Dementia
Every parent, I am sure, has memories of Christmases with little children that border on Edgar Allen Poe stories: Late night toy assembly followed by wee hours of the morning wake up calls from small fry to come and see what Santa has brought; overly stimulated children with loud toys running amok in the house or children who did NOT get what they asked for and throw a fit. In all honesty I can say we had no such Chevy Chase Christmases.
Before you all think that the three of you wore haloes, let me tell the true facts. Christmas for us was a time of incredible nuclear energy: anticipation, sugar-fueled frenetic activities, present inspection and rattling. The drive to G and G’s house seemed to last forever! There were certain thrills involved in the trip: the car sailing over the huge paving bumps after leaving the Suisun Bridge near the refinery at Martinez. That was always looked forward to with great anticipation as it was like riding a roller coaster; the viewing of the “Ghost Fleet” in Suisun Bay (with attendant ghost story from me) was another looked forward to landmark; looking for the Parish Road sign (sometimes a potty stop) and always remarking that it was wrongly spelled). The culminating activity of the trip was sneaking up to the door on Ronnie way, with the car parked around the corner. Surprise was always happily accomplished. Dishes heaped with M&M’s, nuts, boxes of See’s candy…these were the traps that Grandma set for her grandchildren right inside the front door, and it was LOVED !
The Christmas tree in the living room seemed to be buried under an avalanche of presents. Hours were spent scoping the scene and plotting which to open first, the BIG one or the more mysterious smaller one?! When the car was unloaded our share of Christmas presents was added to the heap and it truly resembled Mt. Shasta.
Christmas Eve, after a dinner of crab, salad and French bread, it was time to leave Santa a note and cookies and carrots for the reindeer. Soon several plates of offerings and missives graced the hearth. Then it was “early to bed” though not early to sleep. More than once a parent had to go and quiet the insane giggling from piles of mummified cousins crammed into the various bedrooms. Only then the serious adult business began! A virtual assembly line of stocking stuffers was laid out across the floor: offerings from us, Margie and Gma were sorted, piled and shoehorned into bulging stockings. Those overloaded excuses for footwear looked like pregnant sausages when we were done and could never have been hung by a chimney with care…they would have pulled down the chimney!
Atrocities began early! Weary adults were cruelly awakened in the wee hours of the morning with screams of “We’re up! Let’s go!“ One memorable Christmas, Rosa came into the “Nursery” where Dan and I were sleeping and woke him up at 4 AM. She had decided to decorate the walls with a long paper chain of Christmas drawings that she had created only hours earlier! They began to tape this to the walls of our room and in doing so she calmly stepped on my face (I was still in my bag trying to rest) and carefully taped a portion to the wall before moving on…totally oblivious to her uncle’s plight. Such was our Christmas madness.
When everyone had been dragged reluctantly to the front room, the frenzy began. The floor of the New York Stock Exchange on Black Friday was a tame kindergarten scene compared to what ensued. Each child, and adult, had a section of the floor (and a large shopping bag thoughtfully supplied by Grandma) to corral their booty in. Such piles of loot! [In writing this I am made aware of how fortunate and privileged we were and are still. Piles of paper and ribbon more befitting a hamster cage littered the floor.
Then it was Hi- Ho to get dressed and take the outside toys outside to test and run. New bikes were ridden up and down the driveway an on Ronnie Way. Dan’s plastic chain saw and hard hat were worn and used all day…thousands of board feet of the giant Eucalyptus tree were harvested with that raucous plastic implement. Dolls were groomed and preened, trucks run on the floor, books read, candy slurped, and yes, Pop always got an onion or a potato in his stocking. (hear hilarious laughter from kids here). Mom always got loads of tangerines.
Becca relates that her cousin Rosa was the culprit who inadvertently helped her realize that there was no Santa Claus. In making her wish list for Santa, helper Rosa kept writing the word “BIKE” down, even though Becca did not wish for a bike this Christmas. Rosa was insistent and it was finally allowed to stay. When a bike was wheeled in on Christmas morning, Becca realized that Rosa had known all along that she was getting one. Connecting the dots, Becca figured out the obvious result, sadly crushing her belief in Santa.
Of course as the years progressed and teenagers morphed from wee tots, Christmas became a later and later event in the morning. Sleep became a treasured item and presents became more refined and mature. Now my babies are adults and put on Christmases of their own. Many of the legends and traditions live on. Now, in writing this, I am made aware of how fortunate and privileged we were and are still.
JP 12-17-2011
Before you all think that the three of you wore haloes, let me tell the true facts. Christmas for us was a time of incredible nuclear energy: anticipation, sugar-fueled frenetic activities, present inspection and rattling. The drive to G and G’s house seemed to last forever! There were certain thrills involved in the trip: the car sailing over the huge paving bumps after leaving the Suisun Bridge near the refinery at Martinez. That was always looked forward to with great anticipation as it was like riding a roller coaster; the viewing of the “Ghost Fleet” in Suisun Bay (with attendant ghost story from me) was another looked forward to landmark; looking for the Parish Road sign (sometimes a potty stop) and always remarking that it was wrongly spelled). The culminating activity of the trip was sneaking up to the door on Ronnie way, with the car parked around the corner. Surprise was always happily accomplished. Dishes heaped with M&M’s, nuts, boxes of See’s candy…these were the traps that Grandma set for her grandchildren right inside the front door, and it was LOVED !
The Christmas tree in the living room seemed to be buried under an avalanche of presents. Hours were spent scoping the scene and plotting which to open first, the BIG one or the more mysterious smaller one?! When the car was unloaded our share of Christmas presents was added to the heap and it truly resembled Mt. Shasta.
Christmas Eve, after a dinner of crab, salad and French bread, it was time to leave Santa a note and cookies and carrots for the reindeer. Soon several plates of offerings and missives graced the hearth. Then it was “early to bed” though not early to sleep. More than once a parent had to go and quiet the insane giggling from piles of mummified cousins crammed into the various bedrooms. Only then the serious adult business began! A virtual assembly line of stocking stuffers was laid out across the floor: offerings from us, Margie and Gma were sorted, piled and shoehorned into bulging stockings. Those overloaded excuses for footwear looked like pregnant sausages when we were done and could never have been hung by a chimney with care…they would have pulled down the chimney!
Atrocities began early! Weary adults were cruelly awakened in the wee hours of the morning with screams of “We’re up! Let’s go!“ One memorable Christmas, Rosa came into the “Nursery” where Dan and I were sleeping and woke him up at 4 AM. She had decided to decorate the walls with a long paper chain of Christmas drawings that she had created only hours earlier! They began to tape this to the walls of our room and in doing so she calmly stepped on my face (I was still in my bag trying to rest) and carefully taped a portion to the wall before moving on…totally oblivious to her uncle’s plight. Such was our Christmas madness.
When everyone had been dragged reluctantly to the front room, the frenzy began. The floor of the New York Stock Exchange on Black Friday was a tame kindergarten scene compared to what ensued. Each child, and adult, had a section of the floor (and a large shopping bag thoughtfully supplied by Grandma) to corral their booty in. Such piles of loot! [In writing this I am made aware of how fortunate and privileged we were and are still. Piles of paper and ribbon more befitting a hamster cage littered the floor.
Then it was Hi- Ho to get dressed and take the outside toys outside to test and run. New bikes were ridden up and down the driveway an on Ronnie Way. Dan’s plastic chain saw and hard hat were worn and used all day…thousands of board feet of the giant Eucalyptus tree were harvested with that raucous plastic implement. Dolls were groomed and preened, trucks run on the floor, books read, candy slurped, and yes, Pop always got an onion or a potato in his stocking. (hear hilarious laughter from kids here). Mom always got loads of tangerines.
Becca relates that her cousin Rosa was the culprit who inadvertently helped her realize that there was no Santa Claus. In making her wish list for Santa, helper Rosa kept writing the word “BIKE” down, even though Becca did not wish for a bike this Christmas. Rosa was insistent and it was finally allowed to stay. When a bike was wheeled in on Christmas morning, Becca realized that Rosa had known all along that she was getting one. Connecting the dots, Becca figured out the obvious result, sadly crushing her belief in Santa.
Of course as the years progressed and teenagers morphed from wee tots, Christmas became a later and later event in the morning. Sleep became a treasured item and presents became more refined and mature. Now my babies are adults and put on Christmases of their own. Many of the legends and traditions live on. Now, in writing this, I am made aware of how fortunate and privileged we were and are still.
JP 12-17-2011
Thursday, December 29, 2011
The Empty Chair
The table is laden with Christmas cheer.
Smiles and laughter and warmth is here.
Yet an emptiness pervades, unbidden, rank.
Not everyone is present to enjoy the day.
There is an empty chair.
Of our three children , one is gone.
A discordant note in the Christmas song.
The passing years have taken a toll.
So many celebrations missed, passed by.
There is an empty chair.
I pray and hope one day to see.
My smiling children, yes, all three.
Gathered again in love, joy and smiles.
And that never again will I say
There is an empty chair.
JP 12-26-2011
Smiles and laughter and warmth is here.
Yet an emptiness pervades, unbidden, rank.
Not everyone is present to enjoy the day.
There is an empty chair.
Of our three children , one is gone.
A discordant note in the Christmas song.
The passing years have taken a toll.
So many celebrations missed, passed by.
There is an empty chair.
I pray and hope one day to see.
My smiling children, yes, all three.
Gathered again in love, joy and smiles.
And that never again will I say
There is an empty chair.
JP 12-26-2011
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