Come and Get It!

Feasting! But at someone else's house!

Dinner was on the table when I returned this evening from a baby shower. My oldest daughter prepared the meal. I didn't have to lift a finger. I give you this background information because I have been trained to do so--I am married to a man who likes to understand how my brain gets where it gets. He has asked me, "WHAT made you think of THAT?" over and over again in our many moons together. Now it just comes naturally to provide the additional information before starting a story. So this is what precipitated this blog: my messy kitchen.

Bryan enjoyed cooking. He picked up trade secrets and helpful hints and yummy recipes while working in the food service industry all those years. He made up creative concoctions to eat. He would call ahead and let us know he was on the way to town for dinner with the family. He'd pick up a kid or two and head to the market to purchase the stuff he needed to make a meal for us all. Bryan would never consent to using what we had in the freezer or pantry--he needed to start from scratch. He was persnickety about his ingredients though he rarely followed a recipe.

My mom and I would flip a coin and argue about whose home we would eat at. You see, my brother was used to cooking in a restaurant kitchen with busboys and prep people who would clean up after he him. I don't think he cooked too often in his own kitchen--grilling outside is the exception. He had no idea what it meant to CLEAN UP after himself. AND Bryan used EVERY single pot, pan, utensil, dish, plate, cup and...so either my kitchen or mom's would look like a cyclone went through it when he was done cooking.

But it was worth it. Really. My mouth is watering just thinking about the meatloaf and penne pasta and grilled chicken and peppercorn pasta and fish tacos and pita creations with baba ganoush (he went through a real Mediterranean thing for a while) and his famous eggs and spaghetti with chicken. Whew! I need to stop that. Making myself hungry as I type. I can't say that I miss my messy kitchen--because I still contend with it daily to remind me of my brother. But I long for his zeal and pleasure and excitement over feeding us all well. He sure liked to have happy eaters.

Okay--I am off to knock out that kitchen. Reilly is a little like Uncle B after all.

Read the NEXT post first! These photos go AFTER.

OKAY, it couldn't be THAT bad with a view like this-huh?

And cute kids like these:
Kate, Samuel, Peter, Bob, Reilly, and Aidan cooking S'Mores

Kate and Peter enjoying S'Mores

Samuel and his slimy worms, I mean bait.

Aidan and his makeshift fishing pole.

Reilly keeping warm.

Gone Fishing

Check out that proud-of-himself grin!

Dixon Lake, Escondido in the '80's

"Gone Fishing" that's what I should have left on the last post so ya'll would know where we have been the last couple of days. My scathingly brilliant idea was to surprise my kids by whisking them away to the wilds of Lake Skinner for a week. We would bike, hike, play, sketch in our nature notebooks, fish and have fun while leaving all our cares behind us. I wanted to laugh and enjoy my kids again--you know I shared that I have been a bit grim and grumpy. I was leaving my "thinking mind" behind--no big philosophical questions to ponder just sunshine and A LOT of exercise. So they would plop into their sleeping bags exhausted after our nightly campfire and s'mores. Doesn't that all sound nice?

You know where this is going don't you? We had a camping trip that will remain in the annals FOREVER as THE WORST trip ever. But I can laugh about it. I bet Bryan would too! There is just too much to list in the snafu section so let me just list here for posterity: screeching alarm, no heat, changing propane tanks in the middle of the night, the toothless, patch-eyed Park Ranger, sleep walking/night talking baby who shared our bed, barfing, raining, and not a single fish to be caught. There is more--but you get the idea. And I thought I would sit in the sun and read/journal/write some thank-you notes while my kids explored nature. NOT! I didn't even get my pen out.

So we are home. And I am back to blogging. I should tell you, my brother didn't like fishing too much. Honestly, I think it was just a bit too much sitting for him. My daddy came to share the fine art of casting with my kids (he is left-handed, you should see Reilly throw out her line!) so I sat with him on the shore of the lake today and asked him to share some stories with me about him and Bryan fishing. So while Kate was amusing us with her theatrics, Aidan was scavenging for rusty hooks and old weights, Peter was trying to swim in a no-contact lake, and Samuel was patiently waiting for a nibble, my daddy talked.

My dad loves fishing (just the right amount of sitting for him) and I know he took Bryan often. The Kern River was a family favorite all my life. So we all grew up fishing. Dad and Bryan went out to Diamond Lake when it first opened. Bryan was jazzed--reeling in a large trout. Right as he was about to bring it in--his reel and rod just crumpled into pieces and the BIG ONE got away. Heard that before? Me too. I can't confirm the veracity of this story :0.

Another time, my dad, my grandpa and my brother went out to Dixon Lake for some generational bonding. The three of them got up before daylight and made a spot for themselves on shore fishing. The whining started with the first raindrops. Bryan wanted to go home. Dad wanted to stay. Fish always bite in the rain--they think the raindrops are insects on the surface. At least that is what I am told. Grandpa was a softy, Daddy was a die-hard. Grandpa took Whiner home. Dad stayed. When Grandpa returned for him, Dad said he caught 15 trout. Again, I cannot confirm or deny the truth of these fishing tales. I am just the narrator.

I think I remember deep sea fishing with Bryan one time when we were teens but the details are foggy. I will try to convince my dad to share some more of his stories. You are gonna bust a gut when you hear about his hunting adventures with Bryan. They will make my Nightmare Camping Trip sound like a 5star vacation.

SWATCH IT

Friends have shared with me that they pack up and put away stuff that makes them think of their recently departed loved ones. I suppose they need to do what works for them. But I haven't done that. In fact, Kung-Fu Panda stares at me from my armoire, the huge photo of Bryan and our kids the last time he saw them is nearby, his memorial picture is on the fridge, his yearbooks and college writing journals are beside my bed, we have his CDs downloaded on our iPod, his face pops up continually on my screen saver slide show, not to mention all the gifts he's given us over the years, he is everywhere around here. And then there is this blog--a daily remembrance of his life. I have to look at my pictures and go back in my mind to mine for the memories so I can tell his stories. I think about him daily. Sometimes hourly. In the beginning, it was by the minute. Maybe time does heal all wounds?

I can understand why people put their dead loved one's stuff away--it hurts to look into those eyes in photos. To think again on the missing that is filling up your aching heart. To remember that he isn't here anymore to make you laugh. It is painful, I concede that point. But I still like him surrounding me. I don't want to forget him. I don't want it to be weeks or months or years without thinking about him. Thinking about Bryan and remembering his life helps me want to be a better person--more like him in a hundred different ways. So even though the price is high--that emotional rawness and freshness that comes from choosing to think about him and not just putting it all away because it hurts--I am grateful for the sweetness that comes with thinking on the good stuff about my brother. Thanks for doing that with me each day.

My kids get it. Kate wept for missing Uncle B last night. I consoled her and hugged her and cried with her and prayed for her. If it wasn't all out there for her to remember and acknowledge, then we couldn't share the consolation. Peter still recognizes his uncle's happy face on the computer and runs to point him out. Someday they will have these stories, the ones I have remembered here on this blog, to keep their memory fresh. I don't want to forget.

I was looking through his old Sadie Hawkins pictures (hi Salina!) and his watch caught my attention. It was one of those SWATCH ones with a guard on the top of the face. Again, an '80's thing. I never owned one because I am not a spatial-temporal person so time is no big deal to me. Neither is fashion. Bryan was big on both. He liked having the "latest" things. My dad has his son's jewelery box, a handsome, manly one, on his bathroom counter. I looked through it the other day. There are four watches in there. Nice ones. And rings and a dozen necklaces and bracelets. My mom wears the BK charm, that Grandma Birthday used to wear as a ring, around her neck on a silver chain. My dad wears the ring that Bryan special ordered when he was with me at the mall one day. He liked fine things. He took care of them.

All of this is so surprising to me. But not entirely, I have always known we were so different. I don't even own a jewelry box and even if I did, it would be pointless--I only wear my wedding band. But I like touching the things he took pains to chose and care for and wear with pride. It makes me feel good to have them close. I hope that someday my sons will have wrists hunky enough to wear those nice watches. Until then, it makes me happy that they are near and not packed away or given away. I guess we all grieve in different ways?

Bikers

Bob, the kids and I went for a long bike ride today. The sunshine is such a happy respite! While I was warning my kids to stay in a single file line while in the bike lane on our busy streets, I told them to be sure not to follow too closely. They didn't want to rub tires. It triggered my memory and so I share with you today a few dangerous scrapes Bryan and I got into as kids on our bicycles.

I can't remember what his bike looked like. But I know mine was lime green with a big tan seat and a white basket with fake Gerber daisies on it. One time, we were riding together down at Calvin Christian School's parking lot. They had some construction going on so there was gravel strewn on the pavement. Bryan was racing around being a daredevil. I think there were other kids to impress. He took a turn too sharply. His pedal scraped the concrete and he lost control. He slid on his side like Evil Knievel and came to a stop in the middle of the gravel. When I finally got to him, he was trying real hard not to cry in front of the other kids. I left him there and raced back to our home to get our parents. They came and drove him home.

When daddy assessed the damage, he discovered that Bryan's entire thigh was covered by a medium pizza sized "strawberry" complete with gravel that needed to be plucked out bit by bit. UGLY. But it gets worse. He couldn't wear anything that touched the oozing wound. If he HAD to go out in public, at least there were OP shorts--remember those surfer shorts--extra short? He wore long tube socks up to his knees and Vans shoes to complete the look.

My grandpa put this horse healing salve on his sore--it was bright purple and it stunk. It stained everything it touched. I guess this was before neosporin? I have no idea. He walked around in his undies for most of the month until it healed. It was summer vacation so at least he had that going for him. That horse ointment worked--it didn't even scar. I sorta feel bad that Bryan is getting all his stories told without being here to object, "Hey, that's not right. Don't tell THAT one!" But there has to be some fun in all this suffering :0

Another time, we were in Jr. High school together. We rode our bikes to Grant Middle School. It was quite a ride--probably 5 miles one way. Well, I said Bryan and I were good friends. But I did not specify WHEN we became close. We were not so much at 12 and 13. So we were riding our bikes to school and I was pleading with him to stop tailing me, stop riding so close. My sweet younger brother did not listen and rubbed tires with me. I will never know if it was intentional or an accident. It was my turn to experience the nasty wounds complete with gravel removal. But the little nice lady whose house I crashed in front of drove me to the school office where they phoned my mom. Let's just say that Bryan's backside hurt in a different spot after my dad found out what he had done.

When I told Kate the story today, she said, "So THAT'S why you always tell us not to rub tires and not tail." Now you know.

Random and Weird

I tripped over Kate's favorite childhood book, something or other about bellybuttons. The girl was once obsessed with that particular part of her (and others) anatomy. You can imagine all the explaining I had to do with that one. Ever just have a random thought triggered by someone or something or some song? That's how I got on bellybuttons with you today. While we are here, Aidan loved having his ears rubbed when he was a baby. Reilly hummed when she was eating. Samuel was enthralled with another part of his anatomy. Peter enjoys his toenails painted. Kids are eccentric. I like remembering the funny things my kids did/do. I wish I written down all the things that made me chuckle, things that today I cannot recall for my life. I need more memory on my hard drive.

Bryan used to "bounce". He would lay in bed (it actually began in the crib) and get in a semi-push-up position and bang his head on his pillow. Some of you are thinking that THAT sure explains a lot. He did it in the car too, only not with his face into a pillow but the back of his head into the car seat. As I type this, I am trying to pretend that I am you, and you have never seen Bryan perform this phenomenon. It just sounds weird. It was. But I was so used to it that I truly thought all boys went to sleep "bouncing".

I remember my mom in the tiny green Datsun B210--telling my brother to knock it off. The car was jerking back and forth. Couldn't be good for the alignment or gas mileage or HIS HEAD! He bounced the screws out of his bed. He messed up the formation of his nose. Oh glory, it is comical to picture it now. I never laughed about it then. It was "normal". What IS normal after all? Everyone seems normal until you get to know 'em.

By the way, I used to "roll" while trying to go to sleep. Rocking back and forth and humming. My kids were mild compared to me! Our gene pool in question again. My mom always told me not to worry, someday I would stop that annoying habit. I did. The night I got married :0 I wonder if Bryan ever did?

THE Gift

Uncle B, Aidan (nephew), Bob (brother-in-law, my hubby), and Samuel (nephew)

I don't pretend to know how to help my kids grieve their uncle or process all the questions they have as a result of his death. I am just managing this grief of my own. It is exhausting. But I do know that the kids miss their Uncle B.

Kate's birthday is in a few days. In the past, she would be looking forward to her date with Uncle B and getting excited. Uncle B took the kids to Toys R Us for a "pick any one thing you fancy" date. Talk about a child's fantasy come true! They did not have to consider whether it was practical, whether they had two of the same already, how much it cost--Uncle B just bought it. And he didn't rush her. Kate likes to go up and down every aisle and examine every option. UGH! That would torture me--I don't have time for that. But Bryan took them alone, let them peruse the entire store and never once uttered, "Alright already. CHOOSE!" I think Kate picked the same thing three years in a row. That would drive me crazy--what's the point? But Bryan saw the point clearly--that is what she wanted. And he wanted to get her what she wanted.

Bryan was only a phone-call away. He enjoyed the pumpkin patch, the baseball practices, the ballet recitals, the birthday parties, the spontaneous field trips. In this picture, just nine months before his death, Bryan joined our family in Escondido at the Icoplex for an afternoon of ice skating. He was terrible at it. If he were here, he would confirm that. But he laughed and kept up with the kids and had a good time and sore ankles. I love that my kids knew, really knew, their Uncle. That is the priceless gift he gave them. Even better than a shopping spree at Toys R Us.

By the way, my daddy is carrying on the tradition inspired by Bryan's keen understanding of kids. He will be taking Kate for an overnighter and shopping event this Friday. The legacy continues.

Eye of the Tiger

CLASSIC!

I love this picture! Make sure you have your speakers on to read this post--

for added effect!

(***The Playlist is back to normal, the song was only on for the day the post was written. The song was Survivor's "Eye of the Tiger" Sorry you missed it :)***)

"Face to face, out in the heat

Hangin' tough, stayin' hungry

They stack the odds, still we take to the street

For the kill with the skill to survive"

Remember this song? It makes me laugh every time I hear it! It was the summer of 1982 (or 3?) and Bryan was making weight for his Pop Warner Football team. He was ten or eleven but he was a BIG kid--my grandma called him HUSKY. If he played at his weight, he would be in a league with boys who were much older and much more experienced. My dad talked my brother into fasting, running, and sweating to lose the pounds needed to get into the age/experience level that Bryan truly was. This pic is of him in foil-like undergarments covered by sweats with a wrapper towel and ski hat for good measure. It all was a part of the strategy to accomplish his goal. I did mention that this was summer? It was hysterical. Who does this kind of thing? Bryan. I loved that weird guy. He made weight and played with boys his age. Hanging tough, staying hungry. This moment was the auspicious beginning to one of his favorite stunts--he "sweat" to make weight over and over and over again for the varsity wrestling team, in the future.

This is just as embarrassing to type as it is for you to read: I was a cheerleader at the same time. Really. This song, Eye of the Tiger, was THE song for the year. I listened to it over and over and over again as we practiced our routine for competition. The crazy things girls do in short skirts. Bryan was tackling little boys and I was shaking my booty to the Rocky soundtrack. What a happy childhood we had. I mean it. I am still laughing as I remember it all. If Bryan could see this photo, he'd enjoy a good belly laugh too.

Snow Bunnies to Buddies

On the bunny slopes learning with a little girl!

Bryan in Big Bear

(sometime in the '80's by the looks of that spiky hair!)

Oh boy! Sorry I left that last post up for so many days! What a downer :0 But it was Valentine's Day, we enjoyed a three day weekend in our jammies, and "I can see clearly now the rain has gone". The sun is shining. And I am ready to post a more upbeat story today. Whew.

My mom and dad started renting/borrowing cabins in Big Bear when we were little. But as soon as we were teens, they had to up the ante. We learned to ski. After that, my parents were guilted into regular trips. They would rent all our ski equipment, buy us winter gear, borrow a cabin, buy us lift tickets, and drop us off at the lodge with fun money for an entire day of adventures. In the beginning, he and I were satisfied to be each other's partners. We were beginners and a bit self-conscious. Then Bryan discovered the Black Diamond runs and I was no longer a compatible ski buddy. I skied side to side in a safe and conscientious manner, avoiding fellow skiers and bumps. Bryan skied straight down, refusing to let men, women, children or moguls to deter him. He spent a large portion of his day waiting for me at the bottom of the run. The moment I made it down, he wanted to race back up for another run. He never let me pee or snack or flirt. We had come to an impasse.

Here is where my brother's future expertise made its beginning: Persuasive Bryan started in on my hapless parents. They didn't even see it coming. From this trip (the one in the photos) on, my little brother talked my parents into letting him bring friends with him on our skiing trips. Now, I would be lying if I said I wasn't a bit disappointed over the years that I did not get to bring a friend. But my brother was good, really good, at getting his way. And true confessions: I enjoyed having some those hunky boys along on our family trips. Isn't that naughty?

One time we had another family join us and they had two boys Bryan's age (which is very close to MY age, you remember!). They were a much more experienced skiing family than ours so theirs took Bryan and me skiing with them one day. We skied all day. And all night. This single day bumped our skiing up to the next level! The mom taught me how to ski faster and hit moguls and stop in a fancy way that sprayed up snow and drew attention to a teenage girl who like it. I am sure there is proper ski terminology for what that stop is called but it has been 20 years since I have been on the mountains in skiis. My brother has discovered all that on his own.

I learned many valuable lessons that day and night on the slopes: wearing two pair of wool socks would have been smart, letting your gloves get wet is a mistake, hot coco at a ski lodge is rarely hot, skiing off the lifts at the top of a Black Diamond run is only terrifying until you have done it 17 times, sitting on ski lift with a teenage boy other than your brother is exciting, my brother was a masterful manipulator whose skills benefited me MANY times :) in years to come. Bryan was soooo convincing. I learned all that on the side of a mountain in the snow. I am so glad we grew up together Bryan.

Stop the world, I want to get off.

Life is hard. Today, my friend came to my rescue and saved Valentine's Day for my family. I had forgotten about it. She invited me over, set out the card-making supplies, let me steal her creative ideas, allowed me to ice and decorate sugar cookies she had baked--all for MY hubby and kids. They will wake up to treats and valentines from their mommy. I am not myself. Things that usually matter to me, excite me--don't today.

It's not that I am not happy for Bryan that his struggle is over, his race is finished. I am. I have praised God a hundred times for that very fact. I am just sad for me--mine isn't. This week has been tough. He will always be 36--even if we did celebrate his birthday without him. I, on the other hand, will age with each passing year. Each year without a brother. Spending all this time looking at yearbooks, reading words from the past, looking at childhood photos has made me a bit nostalgic, a lot mournful. I think I need some sunshine! :)

Anyway, I am not that young, pure, innocent girl anymore. I have suffered and seen ugliness. We all have. Bryan did too. And he wasn't as tough as he let on. This world can be cruel (I acknowledge that is can be fabulous too! But I am in a grim and grumpy mood. My favorite song is still "What a Wonderful World" by Louis Armstrong. Though I am not singing it tonight. ) and I did not fully understand that when I was younger. I remember when I went bungee-jumping: I was so fired up, fearless. But when I finally looked down from the top, I screamed in panic: "I changed my mind!". Well, I changed my mind about this ride--I am ready for the hurting to stop now.

But I will go on. My weeping momma will stop crying every time she says his name. My quiet daddy will be loud again. My kids will wake up to a mommy who has remembered how to grin. It is going to be okay. Do you know how I can type that--even when I am feeling blue? Because I have been reading the Word. And it is True. And I have Hope. I am praying for a new song for my family. One we can sing even through the tears. Will you join me in that prayer? Sorry there is no humorous story tonight. But I guess this is part of the ride. And I don't get to decide when I get off. So for now, I am hanging on for the bumpy part.