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.

 

The Great Thing About Christmas

The great thing about having grandsons is this: you can play with the toys you give them. We're talking  about different things here, a whole range of things like race car sets, electric trains, dinosaurs. But this year saw something new. After years of my coaxing, begging pleading, Ann finally became affected with a grandson's letter, where he promised to feed, water, walk and basically do everything for the pup he hoped to get.  Jack didn't mention cleaning up the poop in the back yard, but that is something we'll be teaching him too. Ann found a little English Bulldog online within a week of receiving that letter late one night.

Ann was typing up reports on the computer with the door shut. Jack slyly slide it under the door.

The day we left for Meridian to see the pup was an adventure. The drive takes three and a half hours to complete. We couldn't keep the secret from him any longer.

The plan was to get the pup shortly before Christmas. It was perfect.

We left Idaho Falls the day Jack began his Christmas Holiday Break, but the trip began with a journey to Nevada to see our grandchildren.

That worked well too, giving us a chance to take Christmas gifts and buy some extra things while there too.

The ride home from the Boise area was an adventure, requiring us to stop every hour at a spot for the little guy to take a bathroom break.

It's interesting how you forget things.

When I had my last bulldog, it was December of 2002. There was no question about my being able to take the pup out every few hours during the night to get him trained.

I did that when Guido--our first little black and white bulldog--was first in our home. He would bark, which was the signal.

I assumed that would happen again.

It didn't. Snow made footing outside slick.

Ann and Kristin took up the slack. I posed for photographs and held the dog on my chest. There is nothing like having a dog. You get attached quickly.

There is something about the way a dog looks at you that melts your heart. They have a better sense about certain things. Love for them is unconditional.

It was a perfect Christmas. And like Jack, I just want to thank Santa--and especially Mrs. Santa--for our little pork chop, the little bulldog we call Zero.

Sammy: A Tough Little Cutie, Who Only Gets Emotional About Cupcakes

Sammy has passion. It sparkles in her eyes, sometimes joy and sometimes rage. It has nothing to do with the whole "Terrible Twos" thing. She just knows what she wants, and she knows what she expects from other people.

So when someone teases her, her response is varied.

A strange family trait in the Ward line is something only my dad and I shared, but on our last trip to Reno, I found that Sammy had it too.

I gently put my index finger between her big toe and the skinny next one, and hysterical laughter from her voice begins immediately. She spins. She twists. She squeals. The laughter is contagious.

And then the twisted into her mother's lap and bit Lydia on the arm.

No one found humor in that. But I did. It's about the whole passion thing.

If you can't be completely involved in something like that, why even be bothered? I mean really. Why laugh or twist? Sammy is consumed in the moment. I find my grandchildren fascinating, each one is different, and each has something I love about them.

Sammy has a classic type of single-mindedness, a type the ancients also possessed. Through time, most people don't have that kind of discipline of focus.

It's almost a Greek response, like those who became so caught up in a Bacchanal rite. Running wildly through woodlands and celebrating spring.


A week or so ago, Tommy hurt his arm. He cried because it hurt so badly, and that is not something Tommy does. It must have hurt.

Sammy came to console him. They communicated in simple terms, sometimes one or two-word sentences.

Sammy looked at him in the eye. "Shit," she said. Tommy began laughing immediately.

The hurt was gone. Sammy worked the wonder of a Shaman, working the healing wonder with her brother. In just minutes, tears of pain and sadness because ones of joy. Tears of pain are just as salty as those of sadness, but somehow, they don't sting your eyes as much.


Today, I talked to Lydia--just as she took her kids to the public library in the Reno area.

I had a call come through, while we were talking, and I had to take it. A call from an insurance company is not something you can pass on in today's situation.

I tried to call, but Lydia was most likely on the road.

Here Sammy works on a puzzle, while Tommy and Anna find books. We heard nothing until later that evening.

The next stop was at the Disney store. Sammy was just walking and tripped. It just shows how unexpected things happen, and how they occur so quickly.

I thought maybe she did the sport she loved so dearly to during mealtime, during playtime, during any time she is in a spot where she can get to the highest point possible by taking a series of steps at a time.

But she wasn't She fell after tripping on her foot, which is so strange, because she has been walking since before she was one year old. She is athletic, graceful. She doesn't often trip like that.

It's upsetting to hear about our little sweetheart feeling pain. It took eight stitches, but Sammy is a tough nut.

Her mom was as a child too. All our children were. I like to think I was as well. My Annie often has dental work done without having a shot deaden the gums in her mouth. And my granddaughters remind me of different things about Ann when she was little, at least how I remember her when we both were little and growing up on the same street and attending the same church on Sunday.

In my mind I see Sammy crying after the fall, not because she expressed a lot of pain, but because it scared her and because it probably made her mad.


But one thing for sure, ice cream or frozen yogurt is the way to go to rehabilitate a wound like this. A bandaid covers the spot, where I hope the doctor used fine stitches.

Because according to what I've heard so far, I did a better job as a kid sewing grain sacks that what the guy in the emergency room did.

I hope time heals the wound and covers any scar like it did for me.

Tomorrow will be another day, and hopefully Sammy will decide climbing is not as much fun as she thought, although it might be worth the ice cream. I know she didn't fall from climbing, when she hurt herself, but I worry. It's a parent thing-- a grandparent thing too.

I worry. Therefore, I am.

I know Sammy's Pop Pop would take a good fall for a hot caramel bowl of ice cream, like the ones we once ordered at Snelgroves in Salt Lake City.

But wait, that was a double double my dad and I always ordered, with extra small jugs of hot caramel. My dad liked the hot fudge.

Ice cream was always a weakness in our family. Grandma Liza loved Maple Nut or Banana Nut or Neapolitan ice creams. Dad loved Strawberry, although the first two Grandma Liza liked were my dad's favorites too.

Even when his sugar levels in his blood became too high, my dad would send my son Cles to the basement with several empty bowls.

"Fill 'em really full," he'd whisper. All the while, he'd watch for my mom and hope we could get the deal done, before she returned from some things she did in the next room.

Ice cream works wonders, and I'm glad it did that for Sammy today. I can't stand the thought of the little one's suffering pain like that.

For Lydia, we seldom had ice cream, so when she rode her tricycle down a short flight of stairs, there was no treat to smooth thing over.

And when Lydia as a toddler about Sammy's age crawled into a laundry chute and fell ten feet, there was no treat either.

Both times, miraculously she didn't get a bump. There was a blanket at the bottom of the laundry chute to cushion the fall. And the tricycle thing is still a mystery.

Lydia was a tough little nut too.

And for the record, the only thing that changed was her going on a parachuting adventure when she was in her late teens. I could have strangled the kid, who took her on that date.

Oh, and she jumped from bridges too. So Lydia, I'll tell you what my dad told me once about your dare devil antics.

"It's all about getting a taste of something you used to dish out." My dad was talking about karma and not ice cream, and he too worried about some of my adventures.

I will never write about them, because I don't want my children to relive them or think they have to do something more fun.

Anna--All Tangled In Cute

OK. I do have a bias, but I really do think my grandchildren are all highly intelligent, cute and perfect in every way. It's a tradition in my family. That's how my Grandma Liza saw me.

"You just perfect in every way." She would say those words, eyes sparkling and arms wrapped around me.

You knew where you stood with Grandma Liza. That's a family tradition too, and she never pandered me or embellished anything she said. She never pretended anything. Sometimes truth was difficult to hear, but I never found that with my grandmother.

She really meant it, when she said I was perfect, so I'm saying it now. My grandchildren are perfect.

Everyone needs a grandmother like that. Everyone needs someone in your life, who thinks you're perfect without saying it in a sarcastic tone of voice.

That's how I feel about my grandchildren.

My grandchildren have their Pop Pop. Granny Annie spoils them too, but even if they were perfect, I don't think she would say it.

My wife is old school. It's actually the way our parents raised us.

When you see the "Welcome To Malad" sign, It's kind of like this: "Reset your watches back fifteen years. It's always been that way. Old habits die hard. Traditions last even longer.


In some ways, it still is like that, although even Malad has changed.

We sent little Sammy an outfit from the Disney movie Tangled, which also included the trademark hair.

Anna sports it here, because it terrifies Sammy. It's not a bad thing for her. Donald Trump's hair scares the hell out of me too.

So until Sammy adjusts to the whole idea, Anna will enjoy it, and it looks cute on her too.

It's fun to see her smile like she does. In every way, my little Anna is a wonderful child.

A Great Picture During Rough Times

In 1997--or at least I think it was 1997--our family had another one of those years. Ann's mom suffered horribly through ALS or Lou Gherig's Disease.

It took a very long time for doctor's to diagnose it, which added to the frustration as Erma lost the use of her legs and her speech became slurred.

There were worries about stroke.

When Ann asked one doctor investigating the situation early during the problem, he asked her who Lou Gherig was.

I did an exchange during that fall. I had German guests, an entire family. Ann would take Kristin, and the two of them would travel to Malad to help Erma on the weekend.

I had mostly field trips with the exchange group on weekends, so it worked.

Then summer arrived. Erma was not well. The worst decision of my life was taking Ann and Kristin on that exchange, although I needed another chaperone desperately. There were many problems during that experience.

Ann was in Germany a week, and Erma passed away. Then came the second decision I made, that was catastrophic. I kept Kristin in Germany rather than having her return to the funeral.

Personally, I think it took years for Kristin to work with some of those issues about Erma's passing. This picture in the posting is a good one. It shows a family in the most positive way: strong, united, and committed to support one another in spite of the horrible experience their mother endured.

I have another picture I took of Ann in Germany after the funeral. I hope I lost that one.

It shows her pain and remorse at the time. Ann never shows things like that outwardly. She never complains. She never talks badly about anyone, which is another incredible influence in my own life.

I often want to fix things, making everything better immediately. Life never happens that way, not ever.

And for the record, anyone reading this should realize why I react negatively, when someone tells me how wonderful the German exchange trips were.

Yes, it was nice to be in Germany, but chaperoning students through the same places for that many years is not a pleasure trip, and that's before you consider the fact that I watched over 8-24 teenagers, who had no idea how dangerous some of their decisions were potentially.

I'm glad I did them for students, who would never have had the chance, but I recognize the sacrifices my family made for that opportunity.

Today and On this day 40 Years Ago

Now I'm nine minutes too late to count this for January 22, 2012, but my good intentions made an effort to do that. January 22 is a special day for two reasons: first, my granddaughter celebrated her birthday earlier today, and actually in Reno, it's still January 22; and second, I began my mission on this day 40 years ago.

The number 40 in that last comment makes me feel really old. In fact, I remember my youngest daughter giving me one of those weird little troll dolls with silver hair. The caption on its small T-shirt read this: Forty isn't old if you're a tree.

Somehow the "fun" gift seems to have been much funnier in 1992, a time when I was so much younger.

If Jack and Tommy and Anna and Sammy learn anything from their Pop Pop, I hope it's how to enjoy life during that magical time of youth and how to enjoy life during that incredible time of being "an old fart," when grandchildren make you smile with their eccentricities, with their passion, with their sparkling eyes.

So I hope my little Sammy had a great birthday today, and when you return to the North Country of the Snake, the Tetons and wacky politicians, I hope you'll remember this .  .  .

 The doughnut of your choice is on Pop Pop, although a cupcake might taste nicely too. We can do that.

But this entry is not just about Sammy's birthday, because it's also about what I began 40 years ago. But those additional pictures and comments will have to return tomorrow. It's time for an old coot to get some sleep.

So Sammy, good night and I hope you enjoyed my call tonight. The wolf howl and German birthday song is my style. And by the way, I loved your growl at the end of the song. It tells me you remember Pop Pop and the fun we have when we visit you or when you come to us for a quick visit too.

An Entry on Sammy's Birthday And A Tribute to Two Special Granddaughters

I have so many memories of the ride Monster's, Inc. All of them are with the grandchildren, which is why I love this picture of Anna and Sammy in the limo at the entrance. The first visits, when the ride was still very new, found us waiting in long lines--mostly during summer months. It was then that people zig zagged back and forth in a long line that wound it's way through a short space before finally entering the building.

Any given wait was a time of getting after the boys for playing or hanging on chains that separated the lines. But without exception, our grandchildren loved going on this ride. It was what we did each visit, and usually, it was something we did at least five to ten times per park visit. As the boys grew older, it was more difficult to get them to ride. It's sad to see how quickly certain things become "little kid" rides, but one thing for sure, this "little kid" still enjoys it and is grateful for granddaughters, who will most likely continue to ride on it with me. If nothing else, I'm sure I can find something as a bargaining chip. 

Monster's, Inc remains something fun and entertaining to see, especially the different variations behind one of the doors, where a number of filmed characters give responses.

And the final touch is the large supervisor, who looks like my fourth grade teacher and sounds like a secretary, who worked in one of the counseling offices of a high school where I worked as a teacher.

For me personally, it's fun to see the connection between Anna and Sammy. On one hand, you have someone once quite feisty, who now is quiet-spoken and overly sensitive, and on the other hand, you have Sammy, someone, who will always remain feisty and mischievous.

They are both precious granddaughters, two little ones making it so much fun to visit Disneyland in the area, where grandparents spoil them with princess dresses. 

Disneyland--The Time When I Could Be There Without An Electric Cart

The first trip to Disneyland, when we took both grandsons, was one I will never forget.

Both little ones were only one year old, and neither could walk. Some say it's too young an age for children to enjoy it, but that's only partially correct. A person would have a difficult time convincing me of that after hearing the excited voices of the boys as we stood in line each morning or their eyes sparkling on each ride during the day.

It was hot during that trip, which explains the redness in my face.

Having emerged from the first trial of chemotherapy, my hair came back before I returned to work that year, but it returned with a different shade. My hair, once somewhere between light and a darker brown shade, was now black---especially in the back.

The days were sometimes long, but I loved being in California. Toward the end of each day, Ann and the girls and the little guys would start back to the hotel for their nap. I walked much slower than I did each morning, but I did it without help of a wheel chair or electric cart.

And to be completely honest, I always sat out a bit once we reached Downtown Disney. I wanted to bask a bit in the sound of street musicians and the smells of the bakery and restaurants. It was fun to see people moving about so peacefully, so happy and absorbed in fun.

But I had another reason for hanging back each day.

During the last trimester, when I returned to work, I taught a larger number of concurrent education classes for ISU. I had several thousand dollars in my pocket, and I used it on that trip squandering it on the boys.

I would enter the room each day with a bag of stuffed animals.

Jack posed with those in this picture. And their moms did the same as well. The trip was one I will never forget: something that you relish in your thoughts, something you hope to relive.

But you can't always return to something that special. It's what new adventures are all about in the continual process of living day by day.

It was a special time--a time before my cancer returned and before any trip to Disneyland required me to get a small motorized vehicle to move from one end of the park to the other.

Da Boys!

The first grandchildren sometimes tend to be the ones that seem to dominate the pictures. You document every moment, every smile, every adventure. Then you become tired somehow.

I'm not sure if that is what happened, but regardless, I'm glad we took pictures like we did at the time.

I remember calling my mom when the boys were both one. They did the babble and goo thing when speaking, and raced about on all fours. It was what memories seem to be of for most parents and grandparents. What I said to my mom is this: it isn't that they are curious and into things continually. It's the fact, that they seem to be communicating with each other that is sometimes shocking.

The scooted about from adventure to adventure.

But there was always "down-time" in the evenings, when I held them on my lap and enjoyed the moment.

It's what you do only a few months after a doctor diagnoses you with leukemia and tells you to get your things in order.

He wasn't talking about cleaning the hospital room.

The picture still shows me recovering at the time, and it was a short period, before I made the attempt to return to work in my teaching career.

Lydia and Jeff were in Idaho Falls at the time. Jeff did work after medical school in two different offices, so it was a pleasure to have everyone home at the time.

I returned to work, and I'll never forget the day, when Lydia and Kristin surprised me at school by showing up with my two boys. I held both in my arms and strutted through the office area to show off my grandsons to the teachers.

It was a time when everything was so upbeat and positive. It appeared that I had beaten the odds and emerged victorious from the fight with the disease. Life is an illusion.

But there was still fun times to be had.

I had used all my sick leave days, so having applied to the "sick leave bank," I was positive that I had about a week or so to use, in case I needed them.

I often went to school sick and in pain.

When I mentioned that I didn't want to stay home, intending on using those days I "purchased" for the next year, if  I needed them, my principal told me I had better check with the district's policy.

A quick call at the district office was maddening. They told me that I automatically lost those days, without compensation. It was not good news. I was angry.

We had planned a trip to Disneyland just after school. I was to lose the days, so I used them. My classes had a number of senior classes in English, so I didn't have to worry about them, and as for German, we finished ahead of the final two weeks, so it wasn't a problem either.

I used those days I purchased.





Before Tommy and Lydia and Jeff arrived, we spent some time at Hogle Zoo in Salt Lake City, where we bought the stuffed animal. The boys loved it. We took pictures and had fun the night before Ann and I left for Disneyland.

Lydia and Kristin would leave a day later on a plane. The boys sensed something was happening. They sat on my feet in front of my chair the night before we left.

Ann and I drove as far as Vegas the first night. The next morning found us at Disneyland early.

Ann booked a suite at California Resort in Disney Park. It was new at the time, and we "scored" an incredible deal.

It was one of the best trips.

 And I will never forget the view from our room, which overlooked the pools and a bit of California Adventure Park.

The day the boys and Lydia and Kristin arrived in the van was fun to watch. Ann and I waited at the area for the shuttles. We spotted the boys immediately, and when they saw us, smiles swept across their faces.

Disneyland was new to them. Nothing had every happened to either of them like this before. And they shared the moments of the day together.

The girls had this "double" stroller by a company called Jeep. I'll always remember the boys and how excited they were to be there that day.

Each ride was an event.

Every new spot was an adventure.


It was a time when it didn't take a series of wrestling moves to get them on some of the children's rides in Fantasy land, although I have to admit that both have been good when it came to riding those rides.

They had favorites beside the horses. Peter Pan, Alice in Wonderland, Mr. Toad's Ride, and the little train ride near Dumbo were all hits.

The day began somewhere that would set the day. We took them on It's a Small, Small World. 


If I have already blogged this into a short description, a second entry is proof of this: the trip was an incredible time, a once-in-a-lifetime thing.

Both boys clamped their hands on the golden bars on these horses. They wouldn't let go--even after the ride finished and others begin filing off the small area.

Each picture brings back so many memories for me, all of which are positive.

I was a trip to remember.

 It was a simple moment in time, one where the favorite ride for the boys was playing in the curtains at the hotel.