Grandpa Cliff

My name was almost Merford. That's what you get when you mix Clifford and Merrill, the names of my grandfathers, together. Whether (almost) a namesake or through other means, grandparents tend to leave their mark. That Grandpa Cliff did in spite of our very infrequent interactions has always been a bit of a mystery to me.

I wanted to know him better. The distance between Florida (where he lived) and Arizona is significant, and on average we had visits from Grandpa once every 2 years. I remember meeting him just shy of a handful times my entire life. And yet I can recall quite vividly the almost euphoric moments contemplating his arrival. They were probably even beyond what a child would experience near Christmas.

That I was a Miami Dolphins fan was entirely due to him. I liked Dan Marino and still remember watching him play live for half a quarter against the Cardinals in a pre-season game. As evidence that my appreciation of the Dolphins and of football in general is due to him, my interest greatly waned after my grandfather's death in 1999 (it didn't help that Dan the Man retired too). Every Dolphins sweatshirt and poster, and especially the jacket I wore every single day it was cold enough to get away with through Middle School were all through his influence. Yet the varieties of paraphernalia were purchased by my parents. It just seemed to matter to me that the Dolphins mattered to him.

Towards the end of his life he suffered from dementia. As things grew steadily worse we discussed sending me out to visit him during the Summer of 2000. I still don't know what we would have talked about or what he would have said to me. He was cared for during his last days by a lady friend whom I've never talked to and don't know. I'm glad they were there for each other. I sometimes think I would have liked to have been her. You can see from the pictures we have of him that he seemed to be a jovial sort of man. He often was sporting a "sheepish grin" I think he called it and there was no end to our amusement at watching him wiggle his ears.

I remember that he loved prune juice and recall seeing a jug of it on the top shelf of the fridge whenever he came to visit. Half drunk bottles were a reminder of the time he'd spent with us, but before long the container would make it to the trash, still half drunk (though maybe half drinkable would be the optimist's view).

I confess that this little impromptu ritual has been a mixed blessing for me. I am grateful to have known him. I have a strange nostalgia for him in memories of my childhood. And yet I know almost nothing about him. It's an odd kind of sadness, one that pushes me to get to know the people around me a bit better. Of all of the hopes I entertain and project onto the here-after, one of the clearest is that he and I will have that chance to get to know each other a bit better, to see as we are seen. Maybe then I'll get the chance to thank him for being my grandfather.

We decided against prune juice as a food offering. Instead we skipped the food offering and played "Rhapsody in Blue" by Gershwin, his favorite song, while we lit his candles and ate dinner. We thought this music would help him feel welcome.

To both of Jen's grandmothers, and to Grandpa Cliff, we say, You are always, always welcome in our home and hearts. You won't be forgotten.

Grandma Phyllis

Today we honor and remember my Grandmother Phyllis Truman Hunt Bracken, a complex individual I wish I had been able to spend more time with.

As a budding adolescent I felt some comfort knowing that my height and my curvy figure came from my Grandma Phyllis. She would be, frankly, more than slightly disappointed in my skills as a housekeeper. The state of my kitchen floor and my bed would appall her. Her cleaning gene just didn't make it down the chain.

Friendship meant a lot to my grandmother. She loathed the ranch she grew up on, near Gunlock, Utah. It was simply too isolated. I think she must have been lonely growing up. When she was able to live life her way she did it with a close circle of friends and neighbors. I remember riding in the backseat once while she gossiped with her neighbor and best friend, Grace. "Now don't you repeat this," she said to Grace as she shared a juicy piece of information. Even as a kid I thought this was hilarious.

Secretly I loved that my grandmother swore and said things like "shut up" when she was annoyed with someone. The fact that she never told me to shut up made it even more enjoyable. She seemed so salty and world-wise. She was very rarely sentimental. She survived two husbands. Her first husband was brutally murdered and left her a widow with three small children. I never heard her cry or talk about it. She was practical and sometimes embarrassingly honest.  True to her generation, she didn't care for fat people, was suspicious of "Injuns", and was an unabashed sexist. Somehow, with her, it was funny instead of infuriating. Mainstream spirituality wasn't what I would call her greatest strength. She was simply too contrary to fit into the perfect Mormon mold, if such a thing exists. She may have passed this gene on to me, though she never knew it.

Her favorite word was "shit". She used this word in every imaginable way. To babies: "Well aren't you the cutest little shit".  To adults (my dad): "You look like shit".  The fact that it annoyed my mother made it even more funny and idiosyncratic.

 

She loved babies. She loved her family. She made the best potato salad anyone's ever tasted. She liked going for drives too. I never remember her getting angry with me, even that one time I picked every single flower in her yard.  I wish she could have lived long enough to hold my daughter. I know had she been able to, Phyllis would have declared her the cutest little shit yet.

I wasn't able to make it to her funeral, and I'll always be sad about that. 

 

Tonight our food offering for Phyllis consists of bacon, which my grandmother ate every single morning. She had excellent taste, yes? Also some tea, which she drank every day. No doubt she would have been disappointed with my choice, Lemon Zinger, instead of her very scandalous (in Mormon circles, at least), Black.

Grandma Norma

Today my family is honoring and remembering my grandmother, Norma Alice Ricks Durfey, who passed away last spring.

Grandma, we invite your warmth and presence to be with us today and 

always as we take this moment to recognize and honor you.

Growing up I didn't always feel that my Grandma Norma and I had a lot in common. I think that was partially an age thing, but also we were, like everyone else, unique individuals in a common family.  As I've gotten older, and especially with the sharp contrast of having her no longer here with us, I see echoes of my grandmother in myself. 

My grandma was the original minimalist in our family. Very unattached to material things and unphased by passing trends, she was a great example to me of someone who could make do with simply being comfortable. 

I spent a few weeks with my grandparents the summer I was 12 or 13.  This was when hippie vintage reigned, and more than anything else in the world I desperately desired a pair of frayed shorts with psychedelic patches glued on them.  My grandma tried to appease me. We went to the store to pick out patches. The patches I wanted were too expensive, she explained. I conceded. We made the more practical, but unstylish, purchase of patches used to actually patch up jeans. Plain squares were glued onto my shorts.  Instead of letting me fray my shorts, my grandmother simply sewed some yellowed lace onto the bottom.  We made a lot of compromises that day, and despite my disappointment that they hadn't turned out exactly like I'd wanted I still wore the shorts with pride. She even took pictures of me modeling them in a very saucy manner. She must have been laughing on the inside.

 

Our food offering for Norma tonight consists of her own Dixie Salad. In the era of Mormon 1950's infamous and horrid fruit salads comprised of canned fruit, jello and marshmallows, my grandma somehow invented or chanced upon this creation, which kept the spirit of the Mormon 1950's salad but violated the horrendousness. No canned fruit. No jello. And no marshmallows. But still thoroughly Southern Utah. It even depends on some St. George local fare (pomegranates and pecans). 

Just make some whipped cream. Add some chopped apples (we prefer sweet, not tart), chopped pecans and pomegranate seeds. 

This was my absolute favorite dish at every Thanksgiving dinner, and my grandma Norma took pride in making it for everyone to enjoy. Making it tonight I smelled the cream and apples and was enveloped by memories of family get-togethers. It would have made her very happy.

Family

Giving up, Giving in

Returning from Jordan I was wrapped in a cocoon of familial bliss. Learning all of Lissie's newest tricks and habits had me open-mouthed and happy to be home and not missing out on any more of her growing up. And Derrick - I love living with this man. I love sharing spaces with the guy, as weird or kinky as some of them might sound: fridge, couch, bed, shower, kitchen, yard, bathroom, the list goes on and has less to do with you-know-what than you might think. I really like being with Derrick, going about our daily movements and coming home to each other at the end of the day.

I got home Tuesday afternoon. But Delusional Jen had signed up for summer classes, remember? And I'd already missed a day. So I had no choice but to shuffle out the door, jet lagged and unhappy, to my Spanish classes Wednesday morning. By the end of the day though I decided that nothing, not even that oh-so-tempting Spanish Language Certification, could keep me away from my family, both mentally and physically, any longer, especially after that arduous two month separation.

I had an uncharacteristically brief internal struggle, then dropped the classes and felt ready to celebrate. So I gave up. I gave in to an overwhelming desire to enjoy the summer with my little girl and to simply be. I decided to give - to myself and my family. It feels wonderful.

The World is a Little Less Bright Today

My dear grandma, Norma Alice Ricks Durfey, passed away early this morning. She was a woman my great-aunt often described as "an angel." I think it's because she was such a meek person; someone who never felt the need to be the center of attention and someone who would never cause intentional hurt to anyone. She always tried to be so helpful and never ran when someone needed to be fed or cared for.

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My grandma was a very practical person. A sort of anti-materialist and I deeply admire her for that. She liked 'niceness' in her house and personal appearance, but never expressed a need for more than that. I could probably look through her closet and recognize every piece of clothing, because she held on to and used the same clothes for the last 20 years I've known her. During the last ten years of her life, her lack of attachment to material things seemed particularly pronounced as she bestowed heirloom type gifts on me and my siblings. As an example, she gave me her best set of china as a wedding present nearly 4 years ago.

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She was a fastidious record-keeper. I well remember her writing in her journal, a three-ring bound notebook filled with standard paper, many evenings, even when family was around. When I was on my mission she wrote me often, and even sent me a copy of the talk she had given at my baptism when I was 8 years old. The topic was The Holy Ghost. Her talk revealed, as so much of her everyday speech did, her simple steadfast faith. In her talk, she taught me that the Holy Ghost was a "Special Guide" that would take care of me and tell me what I needed to know. Sometimes I might actually hear a voice directing me. Other times I might simply feel happiness, peace of mind, or a new sense of knowing. I remember often receiving such spiritual direction from my grandma.

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She taught me you could make chocolate frosting from scratch. She humored my hippie fascination when I was a teenager, though she gently tried to steer me toward slightly more conservative, less drug-powered political stances. I learned from her that age is a state of mind, as she boogy-boarded into her 70's with her equally young-at-heart Californian cousins.

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Her life was not without sadness. She vividly remembered growing up during the depression, and would tell me when I was young about trying to sell macaroni door to door with her father to help make ends meet. Her father died when she was a teenager, and she, with her other siblings, worked to support her mother. Due to complications caused by RH, my grandmother had only two children. My aunt, who had health problems, died when I was only 13. I can't imagine how incredibly difficult it was for my grandma to be preceded in death by a daughter.

Still, she remained cheerful despite occasional discouragement. And now there is an emptiness where she once was. A place in my life that had been held by this special woman is now empty, never to be filled by anyone else. She was my mother's mom, and now she's gone. Someone that knew me, held me, quieted me, hours after my birth. Someone who cleaned up my messes, heard my worries and silly ideas, saw me cry and laugh. She was there at almost every important transition in my life, from my baby blessing, to my baptism, to my mission farewell and homecoming, to my wedding, and then at my baby's blessing. And now, thanks to beliefs she transmitted successfully to me, I believe wholeheartedly that her involvement in my life hasn't ended; that she will be there for me as I continue to grow and transition, up until the most important transition of all. And I believe she will be there to greet me, just like her mother, and her grandmother. The cycle continues.

Grandma, I love you.

Christmas Makeover

Remember this post from January? In it I talk about de-commercializing Christmas. Well, Derrick and I have finalized our plans. The catch is I'm going to need some help from you more clever and crafty types to hook me up with some great ideas.

First let me give you our reasons for changing the way we do Christmas. As a married couple we've found that we both dislike, and are therefore pretty bad at, shopping for other people. Derrick hates shopping altogether, and I am terrible at guessing what other people might like. We are also busy people. With me juggling school and a baby and Derrick juggling classes, work, and a commute, we would put off Christmas shopping until the last minute. When that last minute arrived, we'd bite the bullet, call a babysitter and spend a stressful evening navigating a busy mall to make guesses as to what our beloved family members might like. After this last Christmas, I decided this method had lost whatever appeal it ever had (was it ever appealing?).

Don't get me wrong. I love family. I love Christmas. I love making family members happy. But couldn't it all just be a bit more meaningful for them and for us?

Our plan, therefore, looks a little something like this:

We plan ahead.

Instead of buying "stuff", I decide on a project for each person or couple that we can work on together as a family, particularly with Lissie's help (Christmas fiasco babysitters need not apply-I want her to be involved and have fun too).

This project can be a craft, display, something useful, or just some way for our family members to remember us (and Lissie, in particular) by throughout the year. My only other rule be that it is something they can actually unwrap on Christmas day.

I would especially love for these projects to indicate that Lissie was involved in the process.

So, my crafty readers, what say you? Any thoughts or ideas to help a sister? I'll be starting a Pinterest account, perhaps you could share ideas with me on there?

Rendezvous

Pictures from a weekend tryst:

Monkey Girl: this is what Squirty looks like when she gets what she wants-

On Solid Ground: this is what Squirty looks like when she isn't getting what she wants-
After picking up some yummy Thai food from Benja's we made a stop a before-unseen waterpark nearby-

Squirty was at first observant.

Then interested.

(This would be that yummy Thai food-green and massaman curry, respectively)



After we watched the kids frolic in the fountain for a while, Derrick remarked, "A public bidet-what coud be better". Kids kept sticking their butts in the big stream of water coming up in the middle.




Watching Lord of the Rings during a quiet moment: At the temple grounds.



Emo.

Best friends.

What a lovely, much needed weekend.

A Perfect Saturday

Life has been pretty crazy lately. Some unpleasant circumstances have arisen, along with everything else both Derrick and I are already immersed in. Hey, life happens--and everyone needs to have fun sometimes to just shake things off, laugh about crap, and move on.

So today we concocted the perfect plan to celebrate our own, nerdy version of fun. We started the day out with gluten-free crepes. We then decided to make a visit to Pioneer Books, our absolute favorite bookstore in the area (maybe of all time...?). Wrangling the baby can be a challenge, so we decided I'd take her for the first half hour while Derrick perused the shelves and then we'd switch. Much to my dismay, Squirty was much more interested in doing this:
and this...

and this...
than this:
So we spent our time playing peekaboo instead of reading. She also spent a good deal of time chasing down and demanding attention from Daddy, even when it was my shift (sorry, honey!).

But he didn't seem to mind too much:
I'm just crazy about this bookstore. The prices are fantastic and their selection often surprising (in a good way). I always end up buying more than I should.

I bought this glorious stack of books. You might notice that all the books in the pile I bought either have "woman/women" in the title, are written by women, or are about women. Is a bias emerging? I don't think so. I have plenty of books by/about men on my reading list, never fear. Unfortunately, part of our "fun plan" didn't hash out. We'd planned on going to see this movie at BYU's International Cinema, but Squirty and I were just too worn out to go. So we all took some much-needed naps, read, ate dinner and went to Megamind at the dollar theater a little later instead. Squirty performed admirably and sat on Daddy's lap most of the time (with a pudgy hand in the popcorn and package of Swedish Fish, of course).

Thank goodness for "fundays"!

Holiday Photos

Christmas Plates-stockings hanging from the mantle with care were never a part of our family tradition growing up. Instead, we set fancy china plates on the kitchen table and then in unison my brothers and sisters and I would place a thick tablecloth over everything. In the morning we'd find bumpy mounds as we lifted the tablecloth together. I'm not quite sure where this tradition came from, though I hear it's a Norwegian or Scandinavian tradition and it's been in the family for ages. My sister Becca and I are the two most likely siblings in the family to pass this tradition on (I think everyone else has converted to stockings) and we were lucky enough to have her and her family spend Christmas in St. George with us instead of in blizzard-ridden Iowa where they live. Izzy, Theo, Adeline and Squirt lifted the tablecloth to find these fun surprises from Santa:

Opening Gifts:

My Birthday-I knew I wanted to go on a hike for my birthday, but only decided on Antelope Canyon (not really a hike, but a scenic experience) the morning of. I loved it and I'm so glad Derrick and I finally went.

Other fun things- Nana and Papa Hull took Squirt to Tangled, her first movie theater experience. I was a bit nervous for them, but since they had an adequate amount of snacks she handled it perfectly, or so they told us.

Izzy and Squirty had some bonding time: And we had a yummy, if not gluten-free, birthday cake:

"Hiking" with Grandpa Bracken:

And a girls lunch at Basila's, a fun Mediterranean cafe in St. George. Their pitas are amazing and made fresh everyday, and their gyro was delicious.

If you can't tell from the photos, we had a great holiday, and we were lucky enough to spend different portions of it with both sides of our family. I hope yours was fun too!

Happy Birthday, Derrick

Friday was Derrick's 30th birthday! Alas, he never permits much fanfare over his birthday, but we had a great time with Mom and Dad who came up for the occasion. Derrick's favorite part was unwrapping his many books. I just have to draw attention to my husband's legs in this picture. Seriously, it isn't natural for a man to be this flexible!

We were so pleased Mom and Dad could join us,

especially for the time they spent doting on Squirty.