:Family Matters

May 31, 2009

This had been in the works for weeks. “What’s that?” you ask. “Why silly, didn’t you know that three of the five Gano Girls were planning on getting together for a grand and glorious visit when Darlene (nee Gano), Hervey, Raisor came to visit her daughter Helen, who lives in Provo, for a week?” This is earth shaking news. Well maybe you are right and it doesn’t mean much to anyone else but for we three, it was easily on the order of momentous.

I know, I know, momentous means a really, really big earth shaking kind of happening as in Mt St. Helens blowing her top like she did in 1980 which I know for a fact happened as opposed to just reading about it in the newspaper because MGH flew over the area not long after she blew and saw this humongous hole where there used to be a mountain TOP which he had previously seen with his own eyes. So he knew gone when he saw it. The damage to the countryside was devastating. He was so impressed with what he had seen that it was the topic of conversation in our home months after. So the meeting of three puny mortal sisters could hardly be considered in the same context could it? Well, it could, if one considers that after we married and moved from home our contact with each other virtually ended. Kaput—just like that—eighteen years if you are counting from when I arrived on the scene, of shared living, over. So okay, we have no one to blame for this except ourselves with a little help from our dad whose ‘broken’ hand, a life long affliction, was legendary to all who knew him when it came to communicating with his daughters by mail. That this is a genetic trait is proven by the inability of his daughters to write to anyone either. Okay, so maybe some of this had to do with becoming caught up in raising our families and being thousands of well, okay, hundreds of miles apart works too, as well as tight budgets that didn’t allow for visiting—well at least, that’s what we told ourselves, until Barbara and Bob became grandparents. Then everything changed as they decided that they wanted their grandchildren to know them as in they would recognize them if they were to see them on the street and want to run up and give/receive lots of smiles and hugs. Said desire has taken them to many places across the country some of them quite exotic such as Singapore as they visited their grandchildren. The good thing for the rest of us is that if there is family within a days drive they get included in the schedule as well.

I’ve thought about this coming back together as sisters who are now old women and reached the conclusion that it happened because Barbara is really, and please don’t let her know I said this as I wouldn’t want her to get that awfullest of all traits, A BIG HEAD , over it. (Growing up we knew this to be truly evil because we were constantly warned about the danger to our ego’s if we were afflicted by this malady by our mother and father. This was further reinforced for me by MGH telling me that he had a coach who told his team members that smart kids don’t get big headed. I don’t know if this helped them win games but it probably made them easier to get along with which was maybe the point to begin with.) Barbara is a ‘bringer together-er’. So when she heard Darlene was going to be in Provo she began making plans to be there and included me in the circle as well. Kathy, who had just returned from an exhausting 3 week visit with Dan and Alicia in Germany where Dan has been stationed for the past several years and had another trip scheduled to visit Paul and Amber in California in just a few days (contrary to family myth the Schoeni’s are not made of money) reluctantly opted out. Cheri`, who is the baby of the family, is a single mom in California and wasn’t able to come either although I don’t think Barbara checked with her out of consideration for her financial status, as we would love to have included her as well.

At any rate we decided the best way to ‘meet’ would be for me to drive from Cedar City to Fillmore and they would drive from Provo which is half way for us and have lunch at what once was the Paradise Inn restaurant but is now The Garden of Eat’in. I arrived a few minutes ahead of time just long enough to pick up the book I brought with me to pass time if they should be delayed. I needn’t have bothered as they came wheeling into the parking lot with Barbara driving her daughter Elizabeth’s van a few minutes late because she got lost leaving Provo, another Gano Trait. So there we were 3 white haired, plump, ‘old’ ladies with big grins on our collective faces (best add a qualifier here as the grins came after we shook the stiffness out of our aging bodies and got ourselves headed in the right direction which is no longer as easy as it once was as side wise lurches for the first second or two have become our ‘new’ normal as we send frantic signals to our brains that ’straight’ ahead would be nice with both legs in agreement in order to facilitate the process. Heaven’s forbid that any of us is ever asked to ‘walk the line’ for a sobriety test as we are all tee-totalers. We would probable flunk and then wouldn’t we be in a fine kettle of stew.) Then came the hugs which we learned post home experience were okay to give if the other person agreed as well. That our family of origin was not into hugs is putting it mildly.

We ate and then after checking with the waitress if it would be alright if we sat and visited with each other for awhile longer, which she said would be fine—especially after learning that one of us was from Oregon and the other Tennessee with Cedar City being thrown in as a mere sop crumb where distance was concerned. Four hours later we decided that maybe we better call it quits although we could have continued our visit much longer. What did we talk about all that time? Oh, the usual, our children, work—which for Barbara and I might be called “Tales from the Crypt” as we live in the twilight zone of our lives now where watching paint dry is often as good as it gets and about all the excitement we can handle. Darlene, however still works and has fantastic stories to tell. We could have listened to her for days and never plumbed the bottom of her stories as a hospice nurse.

We did, however, solve one of the pressing questions of our past which was—How Often Did We Bathe While Living On The Farm? Barbara and I had tossed this question back and forth and always drawn a blank, neither of us could remember. Darlene, as usual, had the answer. “Don’t you remember”, she asked, arching her eyebrow at us in that way she has, “that we all had baths on Saturday night?” Barb and I looked at each other and then at Darlene and then agreed with her that that was what we had done in the bathing department. It seemed so normal to us at the time that we didn’t bother to put it into our memory banks as anything out of the ordinary and therefore worth remembering. I mean, how can you forget something you never knew you were missing? We weren’t complete doofuses

Now, before you get your knickers in a knot, please know that we were no different than most farm families of the time. What did we do during the rest of the week to stay clean? We took spit bathes which, in case you are wondering, is done by filling a bowl or sink basin with soapy water, with a wash rag in it which is used to clean the areas that need it. Crude by today’s terms but like a lot of things from the past, it got the job done.

A momentous occasion indeed this gathering of three sisters. Here’s to many more of the same in fact, here’s to so many in the future that they no longer seem momentous!

Question of the day: what should we call it if all five sisters were together?

Answer: Heaven.

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May 17

Sometimes I feel like Alice in Wonderland whose slide down the rabbit hole led her into unexpected adventures of the most amazing kind. Such has been the past several days for MGH and me as we descended down our own rabbit hole, which for us was a Canada-air jet which spit us out in New Orleans which is itself a mythical place on many fronts including leading the nation in murders, which wasn’t why we were there as we were planning on returning home still in an upright position. Our slide began after receiving a call from our youngest who is fighting her ‘ex’ for physical custody of their two children. We dropped everything, which let me hasten to assure you, was not all that difficult, in order to be with her for the custody hearing set for May 19th. In addition, by staying until the 23rd, we would be able to go to the Baton Rouge Temple when Mike went through for his endowment which we were delighted to be able to do. So our trip became a two-’fer—if one is to take a slide one might as well do it up right while one is at it.

This trip we took a direct flight leaving from Salt Lake, which in my opinion is the only way to go when one is advancing in age, which we are, much as it pains me to have to admit this. As for MGH who has me by twelve years, all I can say is thank heavens for wheel chairs. The fare is more expensive but the savings in wear and tear make it worth it. (This seems to be the way I am looking at a lot of things these days with lawn mowing, washing windows, making repairs on the things that are continually needing them. . . . Here I might add that MGH’s father, yea so many years ago when MGH was still green behind the ears and completely naive as to life and its tribulations told him that the purchase price of an item was only the beginning. MGH in turn passed this bit of wisdom on to me early in our marriage when I expressed enthusiasm for buying some item or the other using as a talking point that since it would be ‘new’ all would be well in Zion, if you catch my drift.) It is hard enough on a young person to hang around an airport facing the uncertainty of delayed flights which can quickly lead to to missed flights at the next stop which leads to hours spent in uncomfortable seating/eating high priced fast food/reading discarded newspapers/listening to CNN blaring from television screens which, admittedly is no picnic for the able but quickly becomes “He double toothpicks” (credit for this discreet phrasing of a word which we Gano girls were never allowed to say belongs to MGS Barbara.) for the very young or very old with both groups finding themselves longing for their own beds which would mean they were safely at home where all sane people would be had they realized where modern air travel was capable of taking them. Trust me I know this from having been there done that. I must add here that we owe a big thank you to Marie and Dan who drove us to the airport and saw that we were picked up again as well as feeding us a delicious meal before sending us on our way home when we came back on the 24th of May. We managed to accidentally time our arrival back in Salt Lake with that of Hillary and Jaret who were on their way home after spending two weeks in Europe visiting the area where Hillary had served on her mission. What a lovely young couple whose marriage we were able to attend last July. They are expecting a little girl to arrive the first of August.

While we were successful on one count—the temple we were not on the other as the court hearing was postponed until June 24th. The judge who had heretofore been silent on the matter told the lawyers the day before the scheduled hearing that he wanted the psychologist who had interviewed the family members on both sides to give him a written report stating his conclusion about which parent would be best for the children. This decision came after the lawyers literally camped on his doorstep the morning before the court hearing was held. They were forced into this unorthodox method of getting his attention because he had never responded to any of their previous requests about meeting with him in the required pre-trial hearing. Of course, he wanted this report which meant scheduling a re-interview with Joy, Jordan and her ‘ex’ and then it would be a month before he would have the report ready. This really threw a monkey wrench into the works as Joy and Mike were planning on moving around June 5th as that was when she was scheduled to begin terminal leave from the Marines and would stop receiving a pay check and they needed to get to Massachusetts where they would be staying with Mike’s family until the G.I. Bill kicked in for them in August as they are both planning on going to school— Mike in pharmacy and Joy for a masters in Music Education.

I rode with Joy and Jordan to their appointment with the psychologist which requires crossing the causeway that spans Lake Ponchatrain, all 24 miles of it, (your tax money at work. Like Alice I imagine that at some point those who decide such things found themselves with a bit of mushroom in each hand trying to decide if it would be better to build a road to nowhere which is pretty much what one finds on the other side of the lake but one gets there much faster by going straight as opposed to around, which is always nice, while on the other hand trying to decide if the money would be better used strengthening the levies that keep the lake from filling the basin where most of New Orleans is located. Those who thought the levies should take priority were greeted with shouts of “Off with their heads. . .” by the Red Queens who rule with an iron fist and have never seen a ‘crisis’ they couldn’t turn to their advantage i.e. Hurricane Katrina if you need an example. Thank heavens the day was clear and bright as Joy, who knows because she’s been there says that it can be terrifying if a storm is in the area while traversing the lake.) We did have a bit of a scare of our own whilst returning home when we needed to pay the toll as neither of us had enough money with us to allow us render unto Cesar what was Cesar’s even after Joy had me scrounging for every penny that we had with us which after much frantic searching and tipping of contents out of purses as well as rummaging through collection points in the car itself we were able to finally come up with a dollars worth of change only to discover that we were two dollars short when we pulled up the to toll booth. We were saved the ignominy of having to be sent somewhere to ‘get’ the right amount by the fact that active duty military are given a ‘free pass’ by the state of Louisiana as a way of showing thanks for the service they give to our nation.

All to soon that wicked old tyrant Time forced us back up the rabbit hole and returned us home but oh how glorious was the love we were showered with by the Yang family. I wish it could happen more often.

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May 10, 2009

What a perfectly glorious Mother’s Day. The weather which has been vacillating between unseasonably warm and unseasonably cold for the last month was just right today. The lilacs along the south side of the house are in bloom filling the air with a luscious, sensual scent that wafts its way across the yard enticing all to breathe deep as they welcome the smell of Spring into their lungs. While In the front yard the deep purple iris are out in full color with blossoms so big their stems struggle to hold them upright. Even the now quite reduced in size magnolia has managed to produce a few blossoms. (The more compact size is because I pruned it way back last fall as it was getting too tall and what I need is a bush not a tree in the spot it is planted. Said trimming was made necessary because I planted it too close to the house thereby proving MGH correct in his blanket statement that Most People forget how big a tree or shrub is going to be when it is full grown and place them too close to the house, present party included.) Oh nothing at all like it has some years but at least a token three or four to show there are no hard feelings for the frost that cleared the branches of its earlier more prolific offering.

I didn’t even need a sweater to stay warm for the two minute walk over to the chapel which is a first for me this year. What a treat that was although I must admit that I am the last to shed my outerwear which I suppose can be explained by my having lived in the middle west where the temperature can change in the blink of an eye said fact having taught me that it’s best to be prepared or suffer the consequences. This caution is no doubt due to my upbringing as I heard this warning every time I was about to leave the house. Sigh. There is a clever little saying sagely given by those who have lived long enough to have time validate their sagacity and that is, If you don’t like the weather just wait three hours and it will change, which is a fairly safe thing to opine as weather changing has been a given since the beginning of time. It is only in my more latterly years that this fact has been proclaimed with such vigor that it’s adherents have made it the founding principle of a new religion and proclaimed that said change is caused by failing to appease the weather God with appropriate offerings(cash preferred). Truth to tell all my caution has been in vain for the fourteen years we have lived in Utah as the weather when I come out of church three hours later is much like the weather when I went into church so I comfort myself with the thought, “better safe than sorry” which could easily be considered the mantra of we Gano Girls as we were constantly bombarded by this advice from our Good Parents from the moment we got up until we went to bed at night. Sometimes its just easier to give in and do what ‘ya gotta’ do to please the parents. That they happened to be right most of the time isn’t really all that relevant is it? Well anyway, that was my take on the subject but never MGSB(My Good Sister Barbara) who challenged her parental units from the git-go thereby gaining the dubious honor of being “the difficult one to raise”.

In my opinion, the only thing wrong with Mother’s Day is that it comes just once a year, well that is if you are not the mother(s) being eulogized although if one is interested in a preview of what will be said about one at one’s funeral then it does provide a modicum of interest in that department. I am not alone in this thought as we mother’s whose children have left home to live far away really do like all the attention they shower on us by way of phone calls/e-mails/cards/gifts. I mean what’s not to like about a day that means the phone line is tied up until bed time!

During Sacrament Meeting today the Primary children sang four songs, two more than the usual offering of past years and they actually knew most of the words. What fun to see all those bright faces singing, “Mother I love you. Mother I doo-oo. Heavenly Father has sent my to yoo-oo.” (Just an aside—why are the loudest most enthusiastic singers the ones most likely to sing off key?)

At the end of the meeting the young men of the ward were requested, to go out to the hall and bring in the gift for each mother from the Ward. Mother’s have a reputation, well earned in some cases of “knowing everything” but even we non-gifted mothers don’t have to be rocket scientists to figure out what the gift will be as nine years out of ten it will be a plant with the favored variety being petunias or marigolds. This year it was petunias and wonder of wonders a few geraniums with bright red flowers. As soon as I saw the geraniums I started plotting how to get my hands on one as my luck growing petunias is of the ‘its not going to happen’ variety. A case in point, as if you needed any—last year Sherman and Vicky’s little girls picked out a beautiful hanging basket of petunias for me which was full of purple and white striped flowers. I loved it. Unfortunately, for me, my reputation for petunia care had spread through the ‘ether’ which made it a given that as soon as they were in my care they promptly died. Aviendha, of course–don’t children always?–noticed the empty basket sitting forlornly in the garage on her next visit. She was absolutely crushed. So was her grandma. I felt so bad about it I spent the rest of the summer hunting for purple and white striped petunias, which proved to extremely difficult, hoping to make up for my previous mishandling of her gift with a replacement. Alas, while I did finally find some, I couldn’t keep them alive either which explains my interest in not getting a petunia.

I hate to confess this but there is a fine art to getting one’s hands on the desired plant when all the boys approaching one are carrying petunias. I call this method ‘no eye contact’ which means looking at ones hands in a studious manner which if done correctly will give the impression that one has only just discovered one has hands and the investigation of them will take several lifetimes. Works every time. Using this method allowed me to avoid the petunia carrying boys and zero in on the one’s with geraniums who I managed to bring my way having suddenly lost interest, or so it seemed, in my hands and catching the eye of the young man with the desired plant, and no that was not me frantically waving my arms to get his attention. That I was successful could be attested to by my leaving the chapel happily clutching my geranium. I couldn’t help but chuckle at the wry comment of J____ F_______ as she left balancing her plant along with all the other paraphernalia that women seem to find necessary to bring with us of a Sunday, “One more plant to kill”.

Don’t get me wrong, I love having a special day just for Mother’s—potted plants included.

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