Grandma Liza's Family: The Dave & Ella Thomas Line

I have only a few pictures of Grandma Liza's family, and these are the best ones. The photograph at the left had to have been taken in the late 40's or early 50's if not even earlier.

She cooked everything on a wood stove. I had breakfast at her house once. I'll never forget how good everything tasted.

The family recipe for breakfast biscuits came from Grandma Thomas and most likely relatives, who cooked them on their trip across the plains or even earlier.

My Great Grandma Thomas was over 90 when she died, and her final years were difficult times: a period where she suffered from dementia.

I saw her the last time in early 1972, just before I left to go to Germany on my mission. When I told her I was on my way to Germany, she cried. I was never sure, whether she thought I was going to war, or that it bothered her that I was about to serve a mission for a church she had issues with throughout her life. But her doing that showed me something I had never seen before: she loved me and cared for me. It's why I think she thought I was on my way to war in Germany. Her final years were confusing for her.

There are two regrets for me personally. When I was very young, I remember Great Grandma Thomas still laughing with us, and there were other times, even after the dementia my aunts referred to as a "spell," when her memories were so lucid. We would ask her about historical things.

So much remains lost, that I could have asked. It's the curse of being young. You just don't ask questions at that age, especially when a family paradigm was this at family reunions, when all of us became loud and unruly.

"Children are to be seen and not heard."

It was a simple statement. I never remember any of them shouting or slapping a child. My Great Grandmother and her daughters all had a similar comment, whenever we really were in trouble and stood at the edge of the abyss: the spot where one of us faced discipline. "Oh, the poor little thing's just not feeling well."

My second regret is simple. Grandma Liza asked me in front of my mom and dad, if I wanted to learn Welsh. I was little. I was afraid, so I didn't do it. It was something I still regret.

Great Grandma Thomas had this picture of some relatives of mine. She and Grandma Liza referred to her as Great Grandma Williams.

From what I can remember, the family came across the plains with early Mormon pioneers, but there was some bitterness over the issue of polygamy.

It's unfortunate that every religion seems affected by those, who make bad choices. When the practice became illegal in the late nineteenth century, many men simply turned their wives out to live on their own.

And even during those times, wives and children were sometimes seen as cheap labor. It was not the status quo, but it happened. I assume something like that happened in Grandma Liza's family. The bitterness lasted for a very long time.

In the top row is Uncle Melvin. I remember Grandma Liza telling me that he was a school teacher, but he had difficult times with his lungs and died at a reasonably early age. It's embarrassing to me that I don't know more about him. I never met him, so I assume he passed away before my birth.

At the right of him is Aunt Edith, a daughter blessed and obviously cursed with incredible intellectual giftedness. She graduated early from high school and college at a time, when that happened rarely. As late as the late 60's, I remember being in Boise with my family.

Dad would always call her and ask to come visit. She would decline and thank him for his call, but children made her nervous. She feared one would soil themselves or do something else that was unpleasant. It was a phobia she seemed to have, but  dad would never talk about it.
Grandma Liza would always remind my parents that it was important that I be smart in school, but it was also vital that I didn't allow that intelligence to affect me like Aunt Edith. "You can be too smart," she would say quietly to my parents. I heard nothing else about it or about Aunt Edith.

At the right is my Aunt Ada. We were never formal with the whole thing about Great Grandmother or whatever. For me, Aunt Ada was always Aunt Ada. She had an outrageous sense of humor, especially at family reunions. She and Uncle Jenk would sometimes begin with some joking and teasing. I remember how hard everyone always laughed at what they would say, but I don't remember particulars--except when Aunt Ada told a story about the first time visiting her "female doctor."

She went into details about how the doctor had her disrobe and wear a gown, how she sat on a strange table with spurs, and how she kept saying this: "What are you doing down there?"

One relative wanted to know what the doctor said to her after the appointment. "He told me I had halitosis of the blow hole." I still remember how everyone laughed, until their eyes filled with tears and some choked on food."

At the time, I was only nine or ten at most. Unfortunately, I have a good memory. My parents marveled that I still recalled that story years later. It embarrassed them a bit. But for me, I remember only how funny my Aunt Ada was.

She worked in the Malad City Water Office with Mary Lou Jones. Any time I was in town, I dropped by to see her, and there was always a dime in her purse for me to go across the street to retrieve an ice cream cone at Allen Drug.

In her eighties, Aunt Ada moved into the home, where Great Grandma Thomas lived. I will always remember her walking every morning. Her husband Uncle Earl worked as a janitor at the Oneida County Court House. He never drove a car. You would see him on his bike every morning going off to work. He was an incredible man, kind man. He changed drastically after his stroke. His hobby was gardening. I will always remember his planting peanuts in his backyard. My cousins showed me the plants when we were young. Uncle Earl passed away while I was on my mission in Germany.

I still am so grateful I visited him and my Great Grandma Thomas before I left for my mission in early 1972.

At the left sitting near my Great Grandpa Thomas is Aunt Sara. I loved visiting Aunt Sara and Uncle Jenk, when they lived on their ranch. He served in the legislature for decades, so eventually they moved to Boise.

Aunt Sara always laughed when I told her I remembered how great her peanut butter and jelly sandwiches were, but there was really nothing like it. You have to remember that it has to do with homemade bread and homemade jam too.

My cousin Stan was their youngest son, Tom being the eldest. I never knew Tom all that well, but Stan was one I always admired as a child. He had these incredible models he put together and painted, which possibly explains why he eventually studied and graduated from the University of Idaho in Architecture.

Grandma Liza sits near her mother. I will tell stories I remember about my grandmother later. I still feel the loss of her passing, and she always spoiled me as a grandson.

Uncle Dave stands between his parents. His sense of humor was something people always laughed about, which I find interesting, because there are so many of Welsh descent, who have that same gift.

Grandpa Cles worked long hours on the farm, often getting to bed after midnight and then rising the next day at 4:00 a.m. to begin work again.

Uncle Dave and Aunt Norma came out to help during harvest one hear when my dad was young. Grandma Liza was cooking breakfast, and grandpa was already outside getting things ready before returning to eat. Patiently, grandma would call Dave to get him up out of bed. Finally she would say this: "Good night, Dave! Get up!"

The story grandma and my dad always told was that he responded in a funny way. "Good night, Liza."
I never remember hearing, whether he dressed and went out to work early or not, but the main point of the story was how funny his comment was. Uncle Dave and Aunt Norma were also fun relatives I often visited, even after I returned home from Germany.

The family portrait above shows Aunt Sara between her parents. Grandma Liza sits near her father and Aunt Edith is near Great Grandma Thomas.

Famiily meant everything to my Grandma Liza.

I remember her dinners at both Thanksgiving and Christmas. The Fourth of July was a time we were together in Powerhouse Campgrounds for a picnic as well, or at least I remember being there that time of year.

My father's passing in 1991 devastated her. I did a German exchange that summer, and for that particular trip, we flew out of Idaho Falls. The day was not a great one for travel.

There was strong winds and rains. Turbulence rocked the plane, and we landed in Salt Lake City in time for me to call my grandmother. She always had a sense of things, a certain uncertainty when things would potentially go badly.

I called her as soon as I deplaned. She had been crying, and I remember her saying how she'd been praying the flight would be alright. Grandma had not wanted me to take that trip, and it was something she had never done before. I had completed many exchanges in Germany like that during the early summer.

Even before the trip, she asked me to visit her, but I said I would do it when I returned from Germany. It had been a sad year with the loss of my father. Before I said goodbye on the phone that morning, I told grandma we would drive to Ogden for a visit in July after my return. She was upset, but she wished me well.

Weeks later, she was in a severe car accident. Her heart stopped while in the hospital, but family members insisted they do what they could to bring her back to us. They didn't want her to pass on without my being there.

Grandma's accident resulted in brain stem damage. We visited her in an Ogden care center in July.

She seemed happy. Of all her family, many had already passed away.

"Come back to mom's this evening," she said to me. Grandma seemed happy. She was with family, and she wanted us to return that evening to visit everyone.

It's how I remember my grandmother. The effects of the injury worsened over the next years. It must have been terrible for someone as intelligent as my grandmother was.

Zero, The Killer Bee

Ann found this Killer Bee outfit on amazon.com, and since Zero approaches the day of his Puppy Kindergarten graduation, she couldn't resist getting this for him.

He liked it, or at least he liked the black foam rubber circular orbs. He liked the wings too, but he kept getting at those too easily, so we had to remove them for the picture.

He is quick for a pup, so as we laughed and marveled how cute the dog was in this outfit, our little guy took issue with that.

Maybe he was just tired, but he began doing what he does, when he's hungry or tired or victimized by gas.

But I remember this rugby shirt I tried for size in the Ralph Lauren store in Jackson, back in those years when they actually had an outlet store there.

"How does this look on me?" I knew to ask was a risk as soon as I watched Ann sport a silly grin. It spread across her face. Her brown eyes twinkled in delight. "You look like a giant bumble bee." 

Two women laughed out loud.  They performed the same thankless duty Ann did at that moment. Waiting for their husbands to come out of dressing rooms. They had two choices: either to be brutally honest or just to have fun with it.

Ann occasionally has a way of doing both at the same time. That's what happened that day. 

"You look a giant bumble bee." I still remember those words, and to be honest, they make me laugh right now too.

One woman tried to look the other way. Even with her fancy hairdo, I could see the glee that probably danced on her face. 

The other man's wife laughed out loud.

Jack's "family" pup wears that same uncomfortable grin in the photograph above, except I didn't have the Bambi eye thing going for me. But if it hadn't been a case of store customers thinking I had totally lost my mind, I probably would have bitten my sweetheart at that moment, not hard but just simple and effective enough to let her know I didn't want to be a bumble bee--especially a "giant" one.

So here I sit, understanding the heart and mind of a dog, sitting innocently while being the butt of a joke, and at the same time, tormented by three adults and an "almost" nine-year-old Third Grader, but the pictures were classic.

The outfit was the ultimate in puppy cuteness. He looks like a semi-giant bumble bee.

The Joys of Puppy Kindergarten

I learned a lot from being there the first night, and after one one time, I felt really great about the fee we paid. But like everything that happens in life every single day, there are things that just don't work. For example, the teacher mentioned that a good way to cure a pup from biting was to stick your index and middle finger in the mouth toward the back. And since the snout of our dog was so short, she thought it would be a great way to deal with the problem. There are, however, other perspectives that have an effect on the eventual outcome. For example, losing an index finger isn't a problem. I just won't be able to talk to right wing politicians at the Idaho State Fair any more, but wait, that was my wife, who poked her finger into the chest of a creepy man with strange ideas about education.

But the middle finger's loss would be a severe handicap. How could a person drive I-15 or I-84 in Utah without it?

Zero's favorite moment was the "happy hour." What could be more fun for a dog than twenty minutes of scanning the floor for discarded treats and smelling the butts of ten other pups.

It was doggy heaven.

But every cloud has a silver lining, and in Puppy Kindergarten, there is a large tarp under the figurative cloud.

One small female Rottweiler pup peed four times near my Annie. It was difficult to accept the idea, accepting the whole reality, that we would have a dog, and it was even more difficult to get in the car and that we would join a group of other pups for an hour.

After the first meeting, Annie was grumpy. I guess you could say that she was really "pissed." But weeks after the fact, we can laugh about it now, or better said, I can laugh about it on my blog, before getting up the nerve to actually talk about it at home.

I'm a lot of things, but I'm not stupid. I mean really.

Then came one funny concept. I know it's appeared in movies, and occasionally someone without creativity actually uses it as a status on facebook, but our Zero spotted a little fluffy, little Shih Tzu female puppy.

He turns his little face askew a bit. His ears are cocked forward. He half skips and half bolts toward the little female behind the chairs.

"Ooh, I hope they're not old enough to have a problem there," the lady in charge said. The owners looked beneath their legs and then behind their chairs in horror--the words written up their faces like a Vegas neon sign. "Oh shit!"


Actually it was more like the possibility of Bull-Shih-Tzu.

It was the perfect conclusion of an evening of puppy fun. On the way home, I couldn't get this song out of my head: one sung by Donny Osmond in the early 70's. "Puppy Love" was a song I really hated when I was 18, but somehow, it fit the moment.

And as usual, only our family would see the humor in it. I have a feeling that the little fluffy foo foo's owners wouldn't think it humorous at all.

 

An Unexpected Gift From An Incredible Athlete

The Tour de France was something few thought any American would ever succeed at, until Lance Armstrong made his mark on that event five times.

It's something admirable, enviable.

In a prime example of how the media and politicians function, news appeared immediately about performance enhancing drugs.

I find the euphemism interesting. As long as you don't qualify the Viagra drip that most politicians indulge themselves with both literally and figuratively, I'm sure the world will make the needed adjustments.

And as for the media, no one is immune from the joy of creating a story, a full-blown drama. It doesn't matter if it destroys the reputation of anyone.

The bottom line is the story.

An exception to that is one that made the back page lately. After years of scrutiny, all charges against Lance Armstrong are now an afterthought. They dropped them.

For those who wonder why I defend him like I do, it's important to note that he sent me this magazine, when I was going through my own fight with cancer.

Now I have a number of favorite sports and favorite athletes, but I won't hold my breath waiting for something like this from anyone else.

Lance Armstrong does this kind of thing. It is something admirable.

So how do I stand, when it comes to performance enhancing drugs?

Personally, I think politicians should find something else to do to earn the outrageous money they earn at the expense of working men and women. It's not as if there aren't enough problems in the world.

And as for my attitude about the media, they are worse than whores or whoremongers. They sell their souls for a story, regardless of credibility, of validity, of authenticity.

Exceptions are the "old school" men and women, who knew what was the term "news" really meant--like one I watched get emotional while announcing the death of JFK.

I hope we return to some paradigm, where men and women, who serve the electorate and where men and women, who report the news take a close look at the world and discover the vacuum they seem to surround themselves with daily. I hope they become, what they should be--what they could be.

That would be people, who make the world a better place.

It's why I'm a fan of Lance Armstrong. He sent me a magazine, which only cost a few dollars, and postage could not have been much either. But he did something that meant a great deal to me.

He is, without a doubt, an athlete I admire.

Tommy and Jack's First Home Visit With Santa

It was December of 2004, and I was extremely sick and worried I would not be home for Christmas at all that year.

My oncologist and his office brought in a small tree and made a visit shortly before Christmas, and the chances were still quite small it would work.

There was not only the weakness of having been in the hospital for 30 days after a series of severe infections, but one in particular was a staff infection, and to make matters worse, a local doctor took a skin sample near the wound on my chest, where the chemo lines had been.

That particular doctor was more than strange, even more than eccentric. You would seem him walking in town in his grey suit and galoshes ala 1950. No doubt about it, the man was one of those strange people, who wander about the world.

I think my oncologist assumed he was a strange genius, but this dermatologist took out a section of skin the size of my thumbnail, which was dangerous, considering that I was on blood thinner.

I bled for days. At one point, my oncologist and is wife, who was a PA in the clinic, spoke softly, but I heard them.

"I don't know what we're going to do. He is losing blood as fast as we can give transfusions."

The interesting thing was that my doctor dreamt that night about how and what to use to bandage the wound and stop the bleeding. It worked, and it was just another one of the miracles in the final days of 2004 and early 2005.

But the worst part was missing so much of Christmas, even though my doctor cleared me to go home on Christmas Eve.

I missed this dinner my family had in Malad, where Santa Claus paid grandchildren and great-grandchildren a visit.

For Tommy and Jack, this was monumental, even though they probably don't remember anything about this visit.

But thanks to Kristin, we have pictures.

It was a dark time at that point, but it was the beginning of my return to normalcy, even though it involved another brief hospital stay after I boarded the "crazy train" for a brief trip to "LaLa Land." That happened in January.

Nothing helps a person survive like realizing how badly you want to stay with a wife and sweetheart, with children, and with grandchildren.

I had this morbid fear, that my grandchildren would never remember me. Not only that, Anna would not be born until the next July.

Life is fragile. Life is an incredible blessing. I savor every day and every moment.

Granted, a person can relive certain things vicariously through pictures that remind you of events and "life moments," but it's not really the same, except when you weren't there and you have no other choice.

I won't complain. I love these pictures of my Jack and my Tommy basking in their first Christmas.

Another One Of Many Reasons To Visit Virginia

College basketball is an incredible experience, one I trust in terms of athletes and outcomes.

I can't say the same for professional basketball. I don't have trust in calls, in play, in commitment. I figure too many are in the deal just for the money.

The "Chris Weber Debacle" during the NCAA tournament, however, would be the only exception I call to mind. When he cost Michigan the game for calling a time out at the end of the game, when none remained, it sealed the deal for me. I never was a fan of Weber from that moment till his retirement from professional basketball.

In my mind, there was always this dubious question. How can a college athlete do something that stupid?

College basketball remains something I love to watch. There is--for the most part--more discipline, less hype. It's something I enjoy. To see the rivalries is particularly fun. We have that in the West, but nothing like on the East Coast.

And where can you see a better game than at Chapel Hill or University of Virginia?

One day, I plan to see a game with Cles and my new little grandson. That will be a great day. But it's not as if it would take a basketball game to get me there again. Besides the fun of visiting family, there is something about Virginia that no one can resist.

And besides, thanks to Cles I also know about this great donut place not far from his house.

Funny Pictures From My I-Photo Gallery

This was a monumental day for our family, and after the practice at the church for the wedding of Cles and Leslie, Tommy and Pop Pop return to the car dejected. For Tommy it was horrific--even if walking with Jack--to walk down an aisle with a small box with a ring in it.

He cried. People laughed. Tommy hated it.

People laughed, because the boys were so cute in tiny black tuxedos with black high tops.

Pop Pop was heart-broken for a different reason. There just aren't enough Krispy Kreme shops, not even in the South.

But you have to love the black Converse high tops.

One thing I remember about that day was that it was full of firsts: I learned never to call grits and shrimp a name like Canjun Cream of Wheat; I learned that fried green tomatoes was not just a movie, and besides, they taste fantastic; I learned that Augusta has great vibes and friendly people.

Cles learned never to give hockey sticks to young nephews for gifts at the rehearsal dinner.

Now the next picture is a classic. It's an example of my sweetheart's sense of humor. She couldn't wait to get off the donkey in front of me at Santorini.

It explains the uncomfortable look on my face.

Thank goodness that facebook was not even a thought in anyone's mind at this point, let alone considering a situation of placing the picture on the internet.

At this point in time, I no longer have enough pride in how I look to let it bother me. That's why I shop at Walmart. I fit in well there.

Besides, it was enough for the guy leading the donkey to keep guessing my weight on the way to the top of the hill: "150 kilo? 200 kilo?"

I didn't give him the satisfaction. I just smiled. He should have been proud of the fact that Greek cuisine agreed with me so well. I don't have a history of agreeing with many people, with the exception of my beautiful soul mate.

Next, you have to understand how badly my wife hates roller coaster rides.

She was a sport to go with me on this one, probably one of the best, or worst, depending on your perspective or Ann's perspective.

I took her on California Screamin' at Disneyland. At the start, Ann started screaming, enough to shatter glass windows in the hotels in the area.

It continued without end through the second loop. Suddenly she fell silent.

Panic took over. I softly tough her face. "Are you OK?" I asked. My voice was tender, consoling, worried.
"I hate you. I hate you. I hate you." She said the words quickly and gripped the bar in front of me. It became yet another moment I will never forget. I don't let her forget either. It's one of the things about her that makes me smile.

I wish I had the actual picture of the Mickey Mouse hats we purchased on one trip.

Mine read Pop Pop. A nice Hispanic worker didn't hesitate to start to do the hat, but the anal-retentive future old maid in charge, who was only about 22, refused to consider it.

"It has to be a name someone calls you." She gave me this official look.

Suddenly Jack appeared with Kristin, just returning from Autopia.

"Hi Pop Pop." The nice Hispanic gal began working on the hat. The other one shrugged her shoulders.

Then it was Ann's turn. "What should I put on it?" Ann looked at me for a minute.

"Granny Annie," I said without hesitating. Another woman in line laughed out loud and looked at Ann. I guess some women resent being called a grandma. But they don't know my Annie, the best Grandma in the world.

She had it put on the hat and occasionally calls herself that.

By the way, did I mention she is my best friend in the whole world too? I can't feature a world, where I couldn't tease her, and she wasn't teasing me occasionally too.

Family On The East Coast

It was difficult for Lydia, when they lived in Florida. Rochester, Minnesota was 18-19 hours away, but Florida was a different situation all together. First, it was too far for us to drive with cars that each approach 200,000 miles, and I know they've told me that my diesel Jetta just "breaks in" at 500,000 miles, but the person telling me that talked mostly about the engine. It has been a great car, but a three or four day trip in an old car is something I just could not do.

We talked about giving it a try. There was even a discussion about making a trip to Florida and going to Disney World, but we just couldn't make it.

But Cles and Leslie did. They made the trip from Virginia on a weekend, making it fun for Lydia to see some family.

While there, they did a number of things that were incredible, like a trip to Disney World.

The last time we were all together there was in the late 90's, when our family took a Bahama Cruise for a Christmas vacation.

The trip was something that I really appreciated, and I know Lydia did. The last time we were all together was for a few days in Virginia in the fall.

It was just before school started, the last six months of Jeff's residency there. It was a time when we thought and even expressed the fact that we would make another trip to the East Coast.

It just never happened.

It's sad how time passes so quickly, but the big thing is how complicated things get as grandchildren begin school and become older.

The day at Disney World seemed to be incredible, and Cles and Leslie enjoyed time with the kids.





That fall was the last time we were in Virginia too, or at least that's the last trip I remember. Times with family, who are so far away pass so quickly.

There is always the initial excitement of getting there. You always think how fun four or five or even seven days will be to see family, and then suddenly it passes.

You wonder where the time goes.

Holidays come and go. Time passes. Visits with family are always incredible. It's just sad to see things go so quickly, yet on the positive side, I have grown to love those areas we visit to see family.

What is fun for me is to see how each of my children create their own traditions in terms of meals and what they serve, but certain things always remain the same. Their own traditions is important: a way of defining their own moment, their own identity.

My dad would have loved the tree Cles and Leslie had in their home in Virginia. Sure it wasn't a pinion like we always chose to have, but it was truly a beautiful tree. It's what Cles and Leslie will remember about the holidays and moments that will become special to them, just like my memories are for me of my youth on those fun days in December.

There is this funny thing about Christmas trees. In my own family, I eventually found that I had an allergic reaction to live trees. Even as child at home, I grew sick every Christmas, but I didn't notice it much. Christmas was fun. I loved the tree. But I became older and unable to tolerate the allergies.

Our own tradition become one about having an artificial tree.

Then Lydia and Jeff showed me another option. After a brief visit in Reno, I found that my allergy was to pines. Fir trees didn't bother me, so next year, maybe it's time for a new tradition at our house too.

Seeing Leslie with this one and watching Lydia's kids enjoy the one in Reno taught me that I need to embrace my roots and go for a "real" tree.

So yes, it's difficult having family on the East Coast, and even though Lydia is closer, Reno is still far enough away, that planning determines when we can make that trip. Maybe my age forces me to be less spontaneous.

Times change. Children move and develop their own careers. It's what happens in families, and it's not a bad thing. It actually makes it more fun. At least that's how it worked with me.

I grew to love Virginia, and I've found that I do the same, wherever children or grandchildren live.

Halloween, Not Just A Day For Kids

One of Ann's last school pictures appears at the top of the blog. She still has the chocolate chip brown eyes, that sparkle at me. That happens in the morning now, which is considerably different than when we were young.

"I'm not a morning person," she would sometimes remind me. But the years changed that, or maybe it's something else entirely.

I am careful with my sense of humor, that Ann sometimes reminds me, is something only I appreciate. And truth lies in the fact, that just because you find something funny doesn't mean the world is laughing--or even the town of Samaria, which is much smaller.

We have had a lot of fun over the years.

What makes it great is that it keeps getting better, unless of course I overstep my bounds. Sometimes it takes a while for her to forget what I said. It's a Welsh characteristic. As a people, they had short lets, but their memories were much different.

The color I like on Ann is green, almost any shade.

While on a bus trip to Nauvoo years ago, we began the whole thing with the driver saying one person in the party was to introduce themselves to the rest of the busload of travelers.

"You do it." Ann had no desire to get up. It was hot. Traffic was horrific, even when riding on a bus with someone else driving. One woman kept playing the harmonica. It was like this horrible dream you have, where you suddenly scream out in the night for something to stop.

"OKKKK." My voice inflection told her something was up. I heard her say something as I walked toward the front of the bus.

It was probably her asking the last minute for me not to embarrass her. If I learned one truism from teaching in schools, it's basically this: "It's better to say I'm sorry than ask permission."

"See that beautiful woman in the light slacks and forest green blouse in the back? That's my wife."

Ann looked at the ground. It would have been difficult for her to roll her eyes, because the entire load of women were commenting on what a wonderful man I was.

But I really did mean it. And I still think she's beautiful.

What I love about my Annie is that no day is one that allows vanity or a temptation toward narcissism to prevent her from doing something fun for children, especially our grandchildren.

Kristin was to give a presentation at Jack's school for Halloween, so Ann and Kristin dressed the part.

Jack has reached that certain level in school, where something like this is a shock to his system. He has reached a point, where he isn't excited to see a family member there.

"What are you doing here?" His brows bridge a gap, although a slight wrinkle separates them. Sometimes he doesn't look at anyone in class or especially family visitors.

I don't take it personally. Every kid goes through that phase.

The kids in class loved it. I never asked Jack about it, because any given year, I hope Ann uses that wash-away dye on her hair and Kristin dresses like another witch too, but those years are fading away, as Jack slowly advances toward the intellectual no-man's land of junior high or middle school.

Kristin is a fun mom. She enjoys seeing Jack doing as well as he does. She loves to see him in class and mixing with students. Even better is the fact that he loves school. Jack gets out of patience with us, if we suggest taking a trip to Disneyland a day before a holiday or a bit early on the last day of school.

What I love best about the hair dye is the fact that it did like it promised on the label. It actually washed away the first time. Some of my students in Germany weren't that lucky. They had to wait weeks until the hair grew out enough to trim the shade away.

But what I love best is the job the teacher selected Jack to do. He acts as the "Peacemaker." It has always been my hope that he is a gentle giant, someone who will never pick on anyone, but most importantly, someone who will never allow himself to be victimized either, yet I want him to deal with things with his mind.

He'll figure the last alternative later.

I began the other way around. That's why I want Jack to be different. That's why I'm so excited to have seen this picture.

Fighting is the easy part. It's being able to talk to someone that is difficult.

It's a last resort.

But like my dad told me once, "Sometimes son, the only thing left to do is tell someone to kiss your ass." My dad taught me at the age of five how to deal with people like that.

I hope Jack does it rarely if at all. I only had to do it a handful of times, but most people knew I meant business. I'm grateful my dad taught me those concepts, but today's world is different.

In the world today, a fight ends after someone uses a weapon. It's about escalation. It's about making excuses, even when a person is wrong in the first place, so my hope is that my grandchildren will be peacemakers.

It's not an easy path, but it is a wiser one, a safer one.

So I remember these pictures fondly. It was a time, when Jack was young. It was a time, when we still had fewer problems.

Life is never without those. You learn to cope with setbacks. My way of coping with life is to act as a sponge and absorb the vibes my sweetheart, the girl with those sparkling chocolate chip eyes, continues to send my way. Her service, her fun all are for the benefit of others.

To see her with grandchildren leaves no doubt in your mind about her commitment to them, to family.

I felt that too, especially when I needed her so desperately, when I went through some dark times
When you sit in a chair and feel chemo transferring into your body, you notice things.

As long as I live, I'll never forget seeing her come through the door of the clinic and walk down the hall toward me. She spent every break, every lunch hour with me. I never felt alone, not ever.

It's a blessing to have someone like that in your life.

My Annie is an incredible mom, wife, mother, grandmother.

And when she dresses on Halloween to frighten small children, it never works out that way. People understand her intent, her desire to have fun.