When I travel, I walk miles every day and take way too many photographs. And since I know I won’t remember everything, I write and draw and collage into my travel journal. Here is the page that shows our train ride journey from Charles de Gaul Airport to Lyon.
I try to write with accuracy about where we go and what we see, and how I feel about it. But my art …. Is somewhat less accurate.
And that’s okay! Sometimes I work from my photos, trying to make things look just right…
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And sometimes it’s more of an impressionist collage sort of thing, like this page filled with coffee bags.
And MAPS!! I love maps, and they help me make sense of what I saw and where I was. Our long hike up the Croix-Rousse neighborhood ended up looking like a board game.
And then I feel the need to sketch some more. It’s my book, after all, isn’t it?
The problem (is it a problem? Or an opportunity?) is that my Journal is filling up fast. I will need another in a week or so. Do I get the same size? This one is 8.5 by 11 inches, and I like having the big pages to play with. Since I don’t carry it with me, it’s not really cumbersome.
I’m sure Bridgett will help me find an art store that will help me solve my dilemma.
Every time I get together with the ZOOM Art group with Ruthie Inman, I get so full of ideas I could pop.
This past week she showed up these: tiny, accordion folded books that fit in a little tiny box. The samples she showed were people’s’ interpretations of their high school years, with black and white photos and bits and pieces from the fifties for illustrations.
I had a good time in high school. I met Grandpa Nelson there, and Ruthie. I learned a lot about who I am and what I believe in, on the way to becoming who I am. But it was just four years out of 69, and I didn’t want to make a whole art project about it.
First, we cut some heavy paper so it fit into the little Altoid tin. Then we made little hinges from paper and joined the cards together like an accordion.
I decided to start my “Time Capsule” in the 1950s, when I was born. Some old ads and papers worked nicely. Then came the 1960s with the Beatles. I had to rework my High School years because the colors weren’t cohesive with the others. In the re-do, the horse stands for our Mustang mascot .
Since I got married right out of school, the kids came next. Sticking with the vintage ads, I showed our girl and boy….
And started in on the adventures! Traveling to France, learning French, and getting out in the world. I like how it folds up!
I am trying to choose colors that are cohesive so it looks like they belong together. Bridgett tells me this is color theory, which I have always rebelled against. Oh well.
This Thanksgiving, I spent a lot of time feeling grateful for the special people in my life. Not just the family that was here, but those who are far away or who have passed on.
This giant Turkey platter was your Great Grandma Billie’s, and was on every holiday table when I was growing up. I have recently found out that a dear friend and former student, Sammy Rios, has the same platter. It was her mom’s, too.
This delightful ceramic bread pan was a gift from Bridgett’s mom Donna years ago. It makes delicious bread and good memories, even when Donna is in Fallbrook and we are here.
I was thinking of you and your family a lot, Liza. This silly set of snack plates from your Momma Olga years ago made me smile and think of all our holidays together.
And while I was remembering, I found this photo from Great Grandma Billie’s kitchen in Lompoc, with Grandpa Nelson introducing your Daddy David to the joys of Turkey.
Also from that kitchen in Lompoc, the whole gang! Great Grandma Billie, Uncle Jim, Uncle Tim, corners of Lynn’s and Wade’s heads, me, and Grandpa Phil Conway, with your Daddy David on the table.
It is nice to remember good old times, but I don’t want to get lost in them. There is so many reasons right now to be joyful.
After two years of wearing masks everywhere and washing my hands anytime I touch anything outside the house, I must have gotten careless this past week. I have caught a cold. Was it at Eb and Bean Sunday afternoon? We were wearing masks inside. On the bus, too, and the Orange line train.
It’s not Covid. I used the home test, and just don’t feel sick enough, honestly, to have the murderous bug. I am vaxxed and boosted. Nope, this is a cold.
A brain stupefying, drippy nose inducing, energy sucking cold. So I am sending pictures from the past that make me smile.
I hope that I am done with the cold by the time the cool rain turns to sunshine.
Yep, Grandpa Nelson and I are celebrating another anniversary! They just keep coming around, as they have since 1975.
We have celebrated in a variety of ways, as our circumstances (and the world) have changed. Our first anniversary saw us re-visit Francisco and run out of cash. In a world before ATMs and with no credit card, we two barely-adult-people ended up wiring my folks for gas money to get home.
Much later, after our kids (your Auntie Katie and Daddy David) grew up, we flew to Hawaii to celebrate. We had a wonderful time and I got third degree sunburn, just on my back, from snorkeling for three hours. Fortunately, there are no pictures!
This year, of course, there was no travel. The continuing pandemic and Omicron variant, and the cold winter weather, have put a snag in anything like that. We did manage to get a few blocks over to The HobNob, our local pub, for their Customer Appreciation night.
We saw neighbors there, and Jason, the owner. I respect Jason immensely. Like your Auntie Katie, he has managed to keep his small business alive during a really tough time. Through a combination of reduced hours and extra work, he has stayed afloat, and the whole neighborhood came to show their love.
Even the dogs!
After egg nog, dinner, and cookies, we headed home to warm pajamas, a cat for our laps, and a fireplace. Happy forty seven, sweet man.
This past Sunday was Father’s Day. You are out of the country visiting your other grandparents, so you didn’t get to spend the day with your Daddy. But there have been, and will be, lots of other days you will be together.
Your Daddy David and his Daddy Nelson
My Dad, your great grandpa Lowell, was a fun Dad, like yours. He taught us all about camping and backpacking.
He knew about how to build furniture and often smelled of lumber, linseed oil and campfire smoke.
My Daddy Lowell and your Daddy David
He taught us all how to build things like bookcases.
And he was a big old goofball who was always making up games and silly songs.
New Years Eve 1948 with Great grandpa Lowell and Great Uncle Tim
Your Dad is a lot like my Dad. He is funny and smart and loves figuring things out. He also loves showing you how the world works. Maybe Dads learn how to be Dads by all the Dads in their life. And we sure got a good bunch of them!
Your great-grandma Billie and Great-Grandpa Lowell loved to go camping. They took us kids out to the mountains or desert, or even the seaside, every weekend of our lives until brother Tim went off to the Marines, Jim got work, and I went to college. We slept on the ground in a tent, hauled water from the tap, and used whatever toilet facilities happened to be available.
The freedom to explore or fish or just do nothing, the excitement of making a fire and watching the stars come out, was one of the joys of my childhood.
The joys of camping
As we kids grew up and the folks got older, Momma decided that sleeping on the ground was “for the birds”. They combined their skills and built a trailer from the ground up, so they could keep camping and not sleep on the ground. And when they went away for their first long haul trip, I gave Momma this Journal to write in. “Oh, I won’t have anything to say,” she said, but I nudged her a little, and she did.
An invitation to write
The other day, I got it out. I’ve had it for years, holding on until I “had time” to read it. Well, I figured, I have time now.
Day by day by day
It is the daily record of their trip from July 1st to the end of September, 1985. They drove up the coasts of California and Oregon, even walking out on the beach by Astoria, Oregon, to the wreck of the Peter Iredale.
The wreck of the Peter Iredale
This place is special to me because it is where, just a few years ago, our family got together to place both Momma and Dad’s ashes into a sand castle, to be carried out to sea. That was the end of their journey.
The folks’ last visit
In 1985, however, they continued north to the Olympic Peninsula, across to Glacier National Park, then south through the Rockies and into Colorado, then turning back west to head home. They visited with Dad’s family in Washington and Momma’s in Colorado. They visited every tiny museum and national Monument in their path. They had a really good time.
What strikes me most about their adventure was how ordinary most of it was. They cooked breakfast, went for long walks, did laundry and shopping, wrote letters to grownups and post cards to grandkids. They ate out and played Scrabble and fed the ducks at parks. They rarely stayed up past ten and were usually up and about by six. They were living their normal life…. except when they took a cogwheel train to the top of Pike’s Peak or walked through the millions year old petrified forest.
Adventure!
In reading the Journal, I can hear Momma’s voice telling about her day. She is calm and accurate, and doesn’t get irritated (she doesn’t write about it, anyway) or frightened or worried. Her most emotional writing is saved for seeing her dear sister Hazel and describing a stunning hailstorm that caught them out on a walk.
It has been a nostalgic few days, traveling with Momma on her first long road trip. I will read some of her later Journals, and let you know if I find anything interesting.
Your Daddy David was born forty years ago this week. I was just twenty four and had been married to your Grandpa Nelson for six years. We were out of college and ready to start our adult lives.
Posing at adults….
Well, we thought we were. We had moved from Southern California where we knew hundreds of folks to Eugene, Oregon, where we knew no one. Parenthood, we said, was the most natural thing in the world.
How hard could it be?
Things got real…
When your great grandma Billie offered to come up and help, I thought she was being a little silly. “You’ll be busy taking care of the baby,” she said. “I’ll take care of you.” Take care of me? What was she taking about?
But, as she so often was, Momma was right. I nursed Baby David, Momma cooked three meals a day. Plus giant snacks to feed my nursing body. I changed Baby David, Momma did the laundry. She made sure there was enough in ME to care for HIM.
And in the two weeks she was with us, I went from helpless noodle to almost-capable new mother. We were so busy, there aren’t many pictures from that visit. But I learned a lot.
I learned how much I didn’t know about mothering, life, and my own strengths. But mostly I learned that motherhood (and life) isn’t a skill you learn…. it is a thing you grown into, step by step. Sometimes those steps are backwards, but that’s okay, too. I learned that all you can do will somehow be enough.
David marries Olga, with two generations of mothers in attendance
And, with that baby being 40 and me being 64, I am still learning. And I get to watch my son learn those same lessons. Taking steps forward, realizing there is more to learn, learning that you will be enough.
There is an expression,”It’s a sign of the times.” This usually means something is a clear, visual example of what is happening. Today I decided to share some of my signs of different times with you.
When I first started traveling to Europe, I was struck by signs and posters that would not have existed in the U.S.
In Cambridge……
This 300 year old sign for Jesus Lane is on the campus of Jesus College at Cambridge University in England. In our country, religion has become so politicized and I doubt this sign would survive vandalism.
In London…..
On the other side of the coin, this poster for theater tickets would probably be considered too weird for the American market. It’s ironic that in a country that touts Free Speech there is such a “you can’t say/show/ wear that” reaction.
Man wrestling with an umbrella
This street construction warning sign makes me laugh, because of its original nickname in England, “Man wrestling with umbrella.” Also, if you look closely at the smaller sign, horrible things are happening.
In Paris…..
Other signs make me smile because of where they are. Seeing this wonderful sign showing an entrance to the Paris metro would mean I am in that magical city.
Sigh…..
And not far from that sign is this one, for the narrowest street still existing in the ancient part of Paris. The name means “The Street of the Cat Who Fishes.”
Back in California, this sign touches my heart and feeds all my senses. Crows and cypress trees grow in my happy place at Asilomar, and looking at this parking sign, I can smell the fog and feel the sand between my toes. Oh, and taste the good food at The Fishwife, just up the hill a bit.
Missing Asilomar…
And in my new home, there are signs, too. This one, at The Enchanted Forest south of Portland, is greatly improved by Jasper showing his high score on the “Return to Mordor” ride.
Being with kidlets….
And these signs at a protest for the Trump administration’s policy of separating and imprisoning immigrant families touched my heart and let me know I was in good company.
Finding kindred spirits…
What are your signs of the times? What visuals make you smile, or travel to another time or place?
When Momma and Dad bought the house in Lompoc, the first thing to do was make it ready to live in. The back yard was all weeds and the house had been badly used. Everything needed fixing. But for them, this was part of the fun.
Dad, getting the backyard in shape
While they worked, they got to know their neighbors and the town. Momma joined the Alpha Club and Dad joined Elks. This was a lucky thing for the Elks, because they were just beginning to build a new lodge, and Dad helped with electrical work and general hauling. He designed and helped build the floats for parades. He even barbecued dinner for everyone!
One of the many Elks’ floats he designed and built
My folks were natural joiners. They loved playing cards or going dancing with friends, and if those new folks liked camping, so much the better.
After they had lived in Lompoc for about ten years, they bought a fine fifth wheel trailer. Dad got an idea. “How about we go in the road long term?” Momma was against it. She couldn’t imagine leaving her garden or her friends. “Let’s try it for six months,”. Dad promised. “If you hate it, I won’t mention it again.”
Yet another adventure!
So they rented the house to a friend, packed up, and headed off. By the end of the six months, momma was sold on the idea, and they traveled to every state they could drive to over the next eight years. Dad loved history and would visit every tiny museum and library. They went to church every Sunday at whatever church was closest. They made new friends all over the country.
Every now and then, they would swing by our house in Salinas, say hello, and help the kids with their b’nai mitzvah projects, then head off again. They had so much fun!
Stopping by for a visit
In September of 1988 they came by Salinas on their way home, and I took the day off to go with them to Point Lobos. It was the last day we got to spend together.
My last picture of Momma and Dad together
They were heading home when dad had a stroke and died in his sleep. We were all shocked, as he had seemed in very good health. The family got the trailer moved back to Lompoc, and Momma lived in it for a year, right in the back yard. Even after taking care of the many details required of new widows, she wasn’t quite ready to take up regular life yet, having lost “the most fun part” of her life after 51 years.
Dad’s funeral at the Elks’ lodge
But one day when we were visiting, she wiped her eyes after yet another cry, and said, “If Lowell saw me sitting here, crying like a baby, he’d come down and kick my butt.” Sometimes, when I am sad, I say the same thing. Thanks, Dad.
Dear Liza 