Saturday, December 9, 2017

numbers

My stole and cord--Ready and waiting


I am supposed to be working on a final paper that I will turn in on Monday—the date of my last final exam.  Instead, I am flipping through the web—random searches for news, Christmas gifts, homes in the area that are for sale….  I am putting off the paper.  Why?  I just arrived home from Chico and I am feeling a little dreamy.  There is nothing else for me to do but to write and write and write and write….
I am scheduled to graduate on the 16th of this month, at the Golden One Center downtown where I will wear a black mortarboard and gown and a gold tassel. Monday is officially my last day of school at Sac State (CSU Sacramento) and I am feeling a little exhausted—and sad that I am leaving such an incredible place.  Tonight, I found myself writing this—a blog about random numbers that relate to graduating with a bachelor’s degree at 54. 

Number:

120:   Academic Units required to graduate with a Bachelor of Arts in English degree—
                              I have 122.
19:   Maximum Number of units I have taken in one semester—
In my final semester at American River, I powered through five classes—one of them was six units, another was four (the average class is 3 units).  Three of these classes were honors classes, which meant more writing and a greater demand for class participation.  For every unit, the student is advised to reserve two hours of independent study per week.  21 units=42 hours per week of study.  You can see why students are considered to have a full-time job.  This semester I had a pleasant 18 units—all English classes with the best professors.

3: Years of my life it has taken to do this—
At 52 I returned to college.  I completed one semester of college when I was eighteen—right out of high school (1981).  I hated college back then.  It was lonely and hard work.  No one knew who I was—or cared.  When I returned at 52, I found the same loneliness on campus.  Don’t misunderstand me—there are plenty of people and I have made plenty of friends, but it became obvious very quickly that each student is on a separate journey. Unless you belong to a club or involved in a group project, students don’t really have a sense of shared purpose.  I had to remind myself that I was part of a family, a church, a marriage that valued what I was doing.  This way, I did not lose hope in the journey, which can be very lonely at times.

3: Average hours per day spent in the library or Learning Resource Center
Best place to study at ARC?  The Learning Resource Center.  Best place at Sac State?  The library.  I grew attached to the community of nerds that hung out in both places, typing away or researching on the AMAZING databases we got access to with the price of tuition.  Sac State’s library is so amazing—I have never seen its equal—and I’ve been all over the world and visited many libraries.  I like the NYC Public Library in Manhattan, but I like Sac State’s even more…


2 and 2: Number of Analytical Math and Science Classes I had to take—
I am an ENGLISH MAJOR—a writer who knows how to BS her way through most subjects—until it comes to math and science.  I took Geology (which loved) and then I took Biology (which I thought was the study of life but turned out to be the study of life systems and microbiology)—both in the summer where I got to sweat it out in summer classrooms for at least three hours a day.  The focus helped.  I had to pass Statistics –but ARC had a wonderful class called STATway—which is the hardest class I have ever taken in my whole life! Yikes! Thank God for my gifted, talented, and very sympathetic professors.  They genuinely wanted to help me—I genuinely wanted to learn. Every single student who graduates with a bachelor’s degree has to satisfy the compulsory general education requirement to show you have at least a working knowledge of science and math.   Ask me the odds that most students will forget what they learned.


550: Dollars I spent on parking passes—
Forget books and tuition, parking is expensive for students—and a pain in the butt.  Everybody complains about parking; everyone has to do it.  In my last semester at Sac State, the campus was at sixes and sevens because they were building two additional parking garages.  Just in time for me to leave.
4: Number of rolling backpacks I bought—
Take my advice, if you return to school and plan to lug around books for as many classes as I took (I averaged 15 units per semester), INVEST in a good rolling backpack.  My first two were actually rolling computer bags, but those things are meant for business people carrying a computer from the car to the office.  I went through those wheels like a 14-year-old acne-faced skateboarder—and found that a rolling backpack was the ticket.  My latest one is on its last legs, but it was a trooper: a black JWorld New York.

5:  Average number of times I cried my eyes out in total frustration per semester—
This can’t be due tomorrow!  I didn’t get published in Lit Mag again!  I won’t be able to attend a friend’s wedding because I can’t dig myself out of my massive amounts of homework!  This professor hates me! I talk too much! 
You get it.  Three weeks before the end of the semester is high stress, and I –like many of my fellow students—panic with the amount of work that has to be done in those last crucial weeks.  I think this semester has been the calmest—maybe because I expected the overload. 



1 guy who got me through this—my husband.

Without a doubt, I could not have done this without Mario.  Then again, that goes for most of my endeavors.  I cannot imagine anyone doing this while working full time or with a partner that does not support them.  It is a hard business that requires intense focus.  If your partner is not on board, it is virtually impossible to succeed.  I had all the support in the world from Mario—and it shows.

Tuesday, October 31, 2017

Lilli



Liliana Grace is the grandchild whose face glows with wonder and excitement about nearly everything.  She is extremely artistic and has won awards for her paintings and drawings. Fiercely independent (like both mother and father) Lilli has a unique thirst for knowledge.  She also has a strong desire to see justice and fairness prevail. 

I miss her so much…





Because Lilli lives with her siblings (Callen and Lauren) in Kansas and Mario and I live in California, our relationship is not exactly traditional.  I wish that we could have our kids together within a one hour radius, kind of like my parents have it with their children, but it is not possible. Lilli has four sets of grandparents – and we are the furthest away. But love knows no boundaries.  Love has the power to skip over natural barriers as easily as stones skip over water.  Lilli is in my daily prayers and I carry her with me wherever I go.  Because she is so incredibly valuable to me, I will continue to learn about her and find new reasons to love her.


Today is Liliana Grace’s birthday, and we are here in California and she is there near Kansas City.  We will most likely call her on the phone, sing happy birthday and hear all about how her Halloween was.  We learn how to count our blessings, and talking on the phone is a huge blessing to a Grandparent who has lived in a foreign country for so long.    



Today, our Lilli will blow out candles on a birthday cake and the glow of her candles will light up her face like she lights up the world.

Happy Birthday, Lilli.  Today I walked through campus and thought of you—your beauty, your truth, your moral courage.  I love you and I’m proud of you.

Abuela.




Wednesday, October 4, 2017

David


4 Generation 1987 -- Mario, Chev, David and Joe
When I first met David, my step-son, I laughed out loud because he looked so much like his father—my boss, Mario.  He was wearing a striped shirt with a collar and shorts, and he marched into my office like he owned the place.   

“Leave Janet alone, she has work to do,” Mario teased.  David at him and then back to me.  “Come on David,” Mario persisted.  “Come into my office now.”

“He can stay here,” I offered, bringing out a ream of paper and a jar of colored pens. Joe, his brother, kept his distance, clinging to Mario warily.

“Joe, do you want to color with us, while your Dad returns phone calls?”   

Soon, David, Joe and I were drawing pictures as Mario talked in his office.  Now and then he would look and smile at me.  At that time, we were still employer/employee, but Mario would soon become my boyfriend, and then my husband. 

So, my first memory of David is this– us coloring pictures at my state-issued desk. 


Supposedly David is 38 today, but I’m sure that’s impossible.  It was only yesterday that I met him, dressed in a striped shirt and leading Joe into my dusty office at Carnegie.  He was beautiful, with brown eyes alive and seeking to know everything.  He was only six, but spoke with wit and humor that made me laugh.  He liked making me laugh.

Looking back, I realize that Mario and I were meant to be together (as corny as that sounds, it is true.)  David and Joe were part of Mario’s “package deal” and Vince was part of mine.  Blending our little families together meant we were in for some heart-stretching and learning to love one another.   

David at the computer - 1987
I learned to love David easily.  He never smart-mouthed me, ever.  He loved computers and math, solving puzzles that involved reasoning and figuring out recurring patterns of things.

“Do you have a math brain?” I asked when he was in Jr. High.  He shrugged like it was no big deal.
“I think so,” he answered, without boasting.  “I’m not a genius, but I just see patterns.”


He graduated from high school, went off to college and then learned UNIX, which changed his life.  A series of crazy girlfriends drove me nuts and caused my prayer life to take on new forms; then he met his wife, Lennae, a person I truly love and cherish.  His kids were the first to make us grandparents – Callen, Lilli, and Lauren – whose humor is so like their father’s.  

David is what people call my step-son—Mario’s eldest child with his first wife, Cathy.  A long time ago I dropped the “step” and just said son…David is our eldest son.  He lives in the Kansas City area, so we don’t see him as much as we want to.  When we do speak, there’s instant connection and a lot of laughter. 
David "fishing" 1985


Tonight, I am sitting here remembering him…and thinking of how blessed I am to know him—let alone have him in the family.


Happy Birthday, David!!  We love you!!

David and Mario Smokin' stogies --2014

Wednesday, September 27, 2017

Harmony

Once upon a time there was a girl who loved stories and her name was Harmony. 

Harmony loved stories so much that her Grandmother began writing them, just for her.  She wrote stories about silly things, like ponies made of ice cream that never melted.  Harmony laughed when the ponies were chased by two mad scientists who could never prove their existence and went crazy trying.  In the end, the mad scientists gave up trying to prove the ponies existed—and the ponies let them move in with them.




Of all the stories I write, the ones I like best are the stories I write for Harmony, my daughter Alicia’s eldest daughter.  She is a joy and a light to anyone who knows her.  She is kind to strangers, loving to her family, an eternal optimist and an incredibly intelligent child. 

Harmony has many unique, brilliant things that make her lovable.  She cares deeply for Alannah, her little sister, and shows her the way through the passages of childhood and growing up.  She loves her mother and is quite protective of her.  She loves to grow plants, make arts and crafts, draw freehand, and read.  She reads so well!


There are many things in life that I do, trying my best doing each one.  But being with Harmony is effortless.  We can do anything—anything—and it’s easy.  We cuddle on the couch, read or watch TV and it’s beautiful. 

Every Friday, I go to pick her up from school and volunteer in her classroom (or Alannah’s) for one hour.  Harmony greets me with a big hug, so happy to see me.  Last time I went, her new teacher asked her to introduce me to her class.  Harmony stood up tall and held my hand.

“This is my Grandma.  She’s a Christian and she was a teacher.  She loves to read and she says, ‘Reading is power!’”

I stood in front of those second graders, tears in my eyes and a big smile.  It might have been one of the proudest moments I have ever had in my whole life.


Harmony and her 2nd Grade Teacher, Mr. Mike
Happy Birthday, Harmony!  I love you and I’m so proud of you!

Wednesday, September 13, 2017

tribute

My husband is Mario, a man you all know I treasure and love with all of my heart.  Last month, he had a dream about his best friend, Dave, whose sudden passing I have written about here.  He was deeply moved and touched by the dream--so much that he got up and wrote it all down.  I have asked him if I can post it here, which I do with the greatest of tenderness.  Many of you have lost loved ones--and sometimes we are fortunate enough to see them again--sometimes in dreams!  Enjoy!  Janet 
A silly pic of David (l) and Mario (r)  Before--AFTER!! 


It Was Good to See Him
August 2017

I dreamt about Dave Smith last night…he looked like my brother Anthony did when I last saw him – he was still a “big” man but the ravages of his disease had caused him to lose 40+ pounds.  In my dream, Dave looked “different” – like about 170 pounds (!), but, like Anthony, it was clearly Dave Smith.

I was visiting a sick and dying Dave Smith, like he had cancer or something…but anyone who knew Dave knows that NOTHING bothered him.  He might have been sick, but he was fully “Dave-like” in my dream…joking, not complaining, not responding to any physical pain...speaking in serious and affectionate words, then suddenly giving you a familiar tease!  He even made fun of himself.  It was so familiar.

Bottom line – It was good to see him! I started to think, “…it was good to see him…it was good to see him!  We’d come back from Africa maybe once a year (from 2006-2013), and Dave and his wife Terry would host us at their home as our USA travel “base” … they were often the first people we’d see when we got back to the USA, back to home.

It was always good to see them.  We’d catch up with “life” …it was like no time had passed.   

Last month I visited with my dear friend Russ Guiney in Los Angeles.  We both started our Ranger/Peace Officer careers on the same day in 1977!  We met at the Santa Cruz Mountains District Headquarters.  We hadn’t seen each other since 1996, over 20 years!  We both looked older, but our recent time together was rich…and fresh.  It was a wonderful time of reconnection…and he’s still the same man I used to admire and look up to.

I miss Dave Smith deeply.  I decided to go on a brutal backpacking trip over this past 4th of July holiday weekend with some young men.  Thankfully, Mike, a man my age, decided to go as well.  I barely made it…I know I slowed the team down…but I managed to survive the trip.    

Why would did I agree to make such a trip?  I went for one reason – in honor and remembrance of Dave Smith.  My first “camping trip” with Dave and his family was in the summer of 1977.  We made regular trips to the Mokelumne Wilderness until his sudden death last December. 

I awoke from my dream feeling like I’d had a wonderful time of “reconnecting” with Dave!  I felt refreshed; we got to catch up…as if to know it would be awhile before our next time together.  When we saw each other, it was like no time had passed – we “re-connected” in a moment.  It was good to see him.


Prayer – “Heavenly Father, let me have more dreams where I can visit and catch up with the people I miss the most…let me dream about being with Anthony next.  And thank you dear Lord for my time with Dave.”

Dave, Elijah, and I putting some of Anthony’s ashes in the waterfalls above “Big Hole” in August 2014.




















Wednesday, August 30, 2017

umbrella



Two guys followed Chris for sure, but he thought there might be more, so he quickened his pace.  He reached into the long pockets of his overcoat, feeling around for his knife, but he remembered that he had left it on his desk, so that his mom would not discover it in her new routine of checking his pockets.  Instead of the knife, he felt the stumpy, fold-up umbrella that his Abuela had given him for his birthday.  It was designed for a ninety-year-old, with an automatic-open feature and a slip-proof handle, but Chris knew he could use it as a weapon if he had to.
He passed the pretzel shop, the cookie kiosk, the Music-Stop (blaring Taylor Swift); he ignored the aproned girl trying to hand him a flier at the American Girl store.  The mall’s automatic doors were within sight, but he could hear the clicking of anxious footsteps behind him, as if his followers were running.  He turned to face them.
He saw them—Eddie and his crew.  They had tried to corner him in the bathroom that same day at school, after they discovered he was using the bathroom stall to urinate.  His heart thumped heavily in his chest –then and now. 
“Hey, Chris!” Eddie Young hollered.  “Wait up!”  Eddie wanted to appear friendly –maybe for the security tape—but his face was scarred with hatred and his crew had identical, hungry expressions.  Chris knew they wanted to force him into a dark corner outside and rearrange his face.  Their task had been curtailed earlier and they seemed driven to finish what they started.
Chris stopped, scanning the halls for any security or person of authority.  Only the aproned girl handing out fliers was there, but she just stared at the scene as if she were watching a movie.  He withdrew the umbrella from his pocket and held it high above his head with his right hand.   “Stay right there,” Chris said, his voice sounding high and nervous. “Just….”
“Just what…?” Devon shrieked with laughter.  His cronies burst out laughing too.  “Just let me be a girl-boy or I’ll hit you with my umbrella?”
Chris started to sway in panic, and then suddenly—without warning—the umbrella opened.

                                                            +++
The trip to the mall was Mom’s idea, after she heard about the bathroom scene.  Chris hated telling her, especially since the year had been riddled with uncertainty.  The return to school had been a risk, after the haircut, the wardrobe change, the decision live his life as a male.  Even with the most supportive family, Chris knew that real acceptance would have to come from his peers—the ones with the true power to accept or reject him.
“Did you tell a teacher?” Mom asked him.
“No.”
“Why not?  Do you just want them to get away with it?”
Chris didn’t say anything.  He was trying to keep the real horror to himself.  He was ashamed of his peculiar dilemma—and the words the boys used that afternoon:
“Why not come out here?” one of them yelled.  “Whip it out in front of the rest of us!”
“Yeah, we’re all guys, aren’t we?”
There was laughter and pounding on the door as Chris yelled for them to leave.  Eddie hoisted himself up on the metal swinging door, peering over at Chris as he sat down. 
“I see her bush!” he yelled. 
“Chris?” Mom’s voice broke him out of his trance.  “Answer me.  Do you want them to get away with it?”
“No.” 
“That’s what I thought!  I’m calling the principal right now,” Mom picked up her phone.  “I’m not going to stand back and watch my…”  Chris reached for her hand. 
“Mom, please don’t,” he sighed.  “There’s only so much she can do.”  Mom was seething, but she looked at  Chris carefully.  His close-cropped hair had been dyed blue and green.  His face, just the same as his father’s was worried, but resigned to such terrible treatment.  She put her hand on his shoulder.
“Want to go get some ice cream at the mall?”
Chris nodded.  “Okay, that sounds good.”
The trip to the mall was longer than what Chris felt like.  His music wasn’t connecting to the stereo.  By the time they arrived, it was pouring down rain.
“Would you mind if I just walked around by myself?” Chris asked, almost apologetically.  “I think I just need some air.  He waited for her reaction as she pulled her hands from the steering wheel.  She turned to him, dejected. 
“Are you serious?” she asked.  “I thought we were going to have ice cream.  It’s why we came all the way here.”
“I think I need to just be alone.  And I don’t have my license.  Maybe you can wait a few minutes and then come in…”
“Oh, just go!” Mom said, reaching behind her and pulling his overcoat into the front seat.  With ninja speed, she checked the pockets for questionable items.  She handed it to him and he put it on. 
“Sorry, Mom,” he said as he climbed out of the van.  Mom hollered something as he shut the door. He walked slowly to the mall, even though he was getting drenched in the rain.  It was refreshing and cleansing in a way.
                                                    +++ 

As soon as the umbrella opened, Chris jumped.  From the inside, transparent balls, like bubbles, fell to the ground slowly.  Time stood still as Chris watched the bubbles, which slowly took shape into figures.  The bubbles elongated into translucent bodies that stretched and grew arms and legs.  The bodies became human—bipedal—and their translucent surfaces became flesh.  Seven people now stood next to Chris.  As suddenly as it happened, time became real again and Chris dropped the umbrella.
The figures of the umbrella crew were varied in height and size.  Two tall black men, dressed in the wrappings of Maasai warriors, carried clubs and stood, stoically, next to Chris.  Two other men, dressed in tartan kilts, ran out the mall doors with great speed.  Three young girls, holding lambs, knelt at his feet.  A man who looked like their father put his hand on Chris’ shoulder and then turned for the door.  At Chris’ elbow, a small man dressed in a long robe stepped forward and picked up the umbrella, which was spinning like a top on the polished marble floor.   
“What the…?” Eddie whispered.  The rest of his crew stood still, as if frozen or in shock.
The little man lifted his hand to Eddie and spoke.  “You have no business with this one! Leave him be and move along.”
Eddie appeared to be unable to move.  His face looked boyish now, as if he were twelve or eleven, rather than sixteen.  The other boys gawked at the figures, as if a Marvel comic had exploded with superheroes and they were there to watch. 
“I said, be on your way, you lazy Cretans!” the small man yelled at them.  This seemed to wake the boys out of their trance.  Without a word, the crew turned and walked away, like wounded children that had been denied a privilege.
 Chris watched them, and then turned to the small man, who struggled with the umbrella.  Chris took it from him and folded it back up. As he snapped the band in place, the two Maasai warriors looked curiously at the folded umbrella.
“They will not bother you again, not with this magic.” 
Chris shrugged and smiled, “I doubt it.”
He felt the hand of the tall man on his shoulder, but when he looked up, a strong light blinded him.  He heard a gentle voice whisper: “Your mother is probably worried about you.”
Chris nodded, and turned to walk toward the doors again.  As they opened,  he turned back toward the ramshackle crew, but the only one in the hallway was the aproned girl who had been watching him.  Her eyes were wide; her fliers were scattered about her feet.
As he walked into the rain, he opened the umbrella again.  Rain pelted hard against it, but Chris stayed dry underneath.  For a moment, he forgot where his mom had parked the van.  When he found it, he saw her figure: reading a book by the overhead light.  She looked peaceful and rested.  Chris was suddenly overcome by emotion.
As he opened the car, he smiled at her. 
“Want to come with me to get ice cream?”
Mom looked at him carefully, as he held the umbrella high above the door.  She closed her book and nodded.
“I’ll come if you promise to share that umbrella,” she said.  “It’s really coming down hard.”
“You’re telling me.”

They greeted the wide-eyed, aproned American Girl employee as they walked past her, wondering if it was too late to catch a movie.      

Tuesday, August 8, 2017

Alannah

Alannah in Kansas City --December 2017


The story of Alannah is unfolding rapidly, since she is at that rare, beautiful age where each day brings new challenges and promises.  She radiates excitement and as I type this, a thousand images of laughter and tears race through my head.


When she was born, Mario and I lived in South Africa.  We regularly SKYPED with Alicia, so we got to see Alicia’s tummy grow all from a webcam connection that spanned two continents.  Leading up to the date, Alicia could tell that this baby was larger than Harmony.  Soon, she was sure that she would not make it to her due date of August 1.  I changed my air travel to arrive near her birthday that year—July 28, 2011.  By the time I arrived in Chico, a very pregnant Alicia greeted me--ready to have the baby any minute. 
July 29, 2011 -- Nine days before Alannah was born

 Alannah did not come until August 8, and (just like her mother) came into the world after a long, hard labor.  Mario was with us via SKYPE hookup, and Alannah came out kicking and screaming.  Thank God!! Alicia was incredibly exhausted afterward, and had lost so much blood that the nurses told me she was in line for a transfusion.  The good news was that the baby was delightfully healthy—Alannah Litney Vosburg was 8 lbs, 5 ounces and 21 inches long.  She was pink and beautiful—lots of noises came from her. We all rejoiced in her beauty –and I got to hold her.

The morning after Alannah was born

 That Christmas, when we came home Alannah was four months old and I spent most of the days with her holding her.  It was all over too quickly… I remember the feel of her in my arms, the pain of handing her over to her mother and leaving to fly “home” to Johannesburg. 

December 2011 --Alicia, me and Alannah (4 months old)

Today, Alannah is six years old.  We have been “home” in the United States since 2013 (as I type this I can’t believe it’s been four years.)  Our lives are rewarding and happy, but the grandparenting portion makes me smile ear to ear.  I take advantage of the (relatively) close proximity by visiting with Alannah and Harmony once a week, usually travelling to Chico on Fridays.

Alannah with shaved ice--2 weeks ago


“Grandma! Grandma!” Alannah calls to me as I arrive.  My heart still skips a beat when I hear her voice—her sincere gratitude for me.  Alannah is filled with love and joy –and she brightens the world just by being in it.  She feels things in living color, with her whole heart.  She is either genuinely happy or extremely sad – very rarely in between.  Because she is so filled with emotion,  I wish that I could protect her from any kind of hurt and harm.  I remember thinking the same thing about her mother—and I couldn’t do it then, either.

Mixing Shopkins with Legos

Instead, I content myself with “fun Fridays” when Harmony, Alannah and I have outings.  Alannah loves to play with the exhibits at the Gateway Science Museum and plays with Calico Critters at Bird in Hand.  We visit Jon and Bons for frozen yogurt and splash through the fountains at the downtown plaza.  When we go to the library, Alannah puts on puppet shows with the other kids, making me laugh and marvel at her imagination. 

Alannah and Harmony show off a completed puzzle

Even at six years old, Alannah loves to get dressed up.  She is kind of a fashion plate, loving fashionable dresses as much as her sister loves jeans and shorts.  Her hair is usually beautifully made up, and she has to have earrings matching the clothes she has on.

“Grandma, do I look nice?” she asks me, shyly.  What can I do other that sigh?


Alannah, you are so beautiful!” I answer.

Alannah, Scarlett, and Harmony
July 2017

Last week, I brought Scarlett with me to Chico (I was in a happiness coma.)  At one point, Scarlett turned to Alannah and smiled.

“My favorite color is green.   What is your favorite color?”

“Hmmm…” Alannah tilted her head and scratched her chin with her forefinger.  “Mine is sparkly gold, but I also like sparkly silver!”

Happy Birthday, Alannah—you are as sparkly as any gold or silver.  You are even sparklier!  I love you, my beautiful girl--and I'm never ever mad at you!!

Grandma
  
Me with baby and her babies --May 2017