Scarlett

Scarlett, my granddaughter, was walking upstairs tonight as I washed the dinner dishes.  “Goodnight, Grandma, I’ll see you on my birthday!”   

“Okay, honey,” I said.

“Because tomorrow is my birthday!” she started laughing, as if it were a great joke. In a way it is—Scarlett Star is five tomorrow?  It was only last week that she was born.

Scarlett Star Rodriguez was born in New Mexico five years ago today, in a birthing room perched on the top floor of the hospital.  After a long labor, Scarlett arrived, was weighed, measured, and handed over to her father, Vince (my son) as Rikki recovered.  Scarlett relaxed into his arms and after a few minutes with her, he let me hold her myself.  This scene will be with me forever—it was a perfect, peaceful time after a long, tumultuous labor.

Scarlett was finally here.

The birth of a child is always a little unpredictable, but soon things became normal and Vince and Rikki brought her home to meet Bruno, the family dog, accepted her as his baby. 

Scarlett was the first child to be born after Mario and I returned from South Africa, and we rejoiced that we were so close.  Even though the family still lived miles away in New Mexico, I was grateful to be back in the USA, only two time zones away from a phone call—a simple plane ride from here to there.  Still, Scarlett’s birth magnified the desire for all of us to be closer.  It also exposed an interesting fact: California was Vince’s home, but New Mexico was Rikki’s. 

Where would Scarlett find her home?  The answer was, as it is for all children, that Scarlett’s home was with her parents.  No matter where they chose to live, Scarlett’s most important connection would be with her mother and father during these formative years.  Vince and Rikki eventually decided to move “back” to California, and so we are very close now.  After a getting-to-know-you period, Scarlett became more and more accepting of us, and each step has been a miracle. 

Today Scarlett Star turns FIVE!  This year, in addition to growing into a more delightful version of herself, she became a big sister to Violet Moon, a baby who has given her a new sense of identity.

“Grandma, watch how she is when I put my face up to hers,” Scarlett tells me as she gets close to her sister.  It’s a beautiful sight to see, especially since my own older sister used to bit and pich me the first year I was alive!

Every other week, for a Friday trip to Chico, Scarlett accompanies me to see her cousins and Auntie Alicia.  These days are especially beautiful, since the building of strong family connections is so important. 

Tonight, I type in the half-light, using my phone as a hotspot because our internet is down,  Tomorrow, I’ll probably wince at the typos and sentence structure, until I see the birthday girl and “Janet, the writer” will disappear and make way for “Janet, the Grandma.”

Happy Birthday, Scarlett Star!  You are an amazing joy in our lives!

Harvey

Joe and Harvey run across the finish line in record time!

The day before Harvey, our grandson, was born at home, his parents got married.  It was a beautiful, sunny day in Seattle and Mario and I walked with the little family through an old-town section to a chapel where the couple tied the knot.  It was magical, and the couple took full advantage of Ariel's 9-moth pregnant tummy in the frame!  She looked to beautiful!

Before Vows--May 26, 2015

The next day, we got a text from my "step-daughter" Seantel, telling us that Ariel went into labor.  We were going to be present just to see the baby on the day of his birth! I was so elated! Seantel met us in the parking lot in front of Joe and Ariel's apartment, letting us know of the progress.

"She's pretty close to delivery, but there's still time," she told us. "Once he gets here, the midwives will sit down to chart.  Is there any way you can run and get snacks?"

Happy to have an occupation, Mario and I went to Safeway. I couldn't believe we would be grandparents again! Mario and I held hand tightly and smiled secretly at each other.  I can still smell the beautiful organic strawberries on display in the aisle.  I examined them, thinking, "He'll be here soon! He'll be here soon!" 

As we drove back to the apartment, I looked up at the clear Seattle sky and thanked God for his mercy.  Almost one hour after we delivered snacks, Harvey Locke Rodriguez was born at home, entering the world with unusual contentment.   

Harvey Locke, 10 minutes old.

Joe and Ariel (now the parents of three boys) moved to Kansas City, much closer to David and Lennae and their children--and much closer to Cathy, mi comadre. Our trips to see the kids are not as frequent as we’d like, so we see Harvey grow up mostly through pictures.  

Now and then, we all get together in Kansas City and reconnect.  I'm always surprised at how much the kids have gown; always amazed at how much Harvey looks like his father, who looks like Mario.

Ariel sent me this picture three and a half years ago.  Her caption was: "No family resemblance at all, is there?"

Three Generations 2017

Harvey exudes happiness and confidence.  He has more energy than even his brother, Asher, has (a LOT...a stinkin LOT!)   Harvey is the mischievous, playful, happy grandson!  Harvey is the beloved, the mighty, the beautiful.  Now...we see him being quiet, like his father became in these younger years.  

  

Mario and Joe--exhausted from playing with Harvey!

When Joe and Ariel had their third child, Theodore, they made Harvey a BIG BROTHER!!  I know it all sounds cliché,but once you start having Grandchildren, time goes by even faster!

Theodore, Mama, Harvey

I am typing this in the afternoon on Memorial Day, thanking God for our Harvey.  I love how he loves life and runs into it without fear.  His face is filled with mischief and he’s always cooking up a plan to do something a little naughty—but funny.  Born in a place of contentment, raised in a place of safety, and growing with joy and affection from all sides, I can wish only one more thing: God’s amazing grace all over him and his family.  I also wish for a chance to see him soon!

Happy Birthday, Harvey!  You are like sunshine to our lives!

Memorial

R.I.P. PFC JAY-D ORNSBY ADKINS
December 9, 1985 - April 28, 2007

Every year on Memorial Day, I remember one soldier—his name was Jay-D Ornsby-Adkins.  He was handsome, funny, compassionate, kind to strangers, and enlisted in the US Army.  I think of him to remember what Memorial Day is all about—to honor the soldiers and sailors who have paid the ultimate price while serving their country in the armed services.  Jay-D was  born on December 9, 1985 and was killed in Iraq on April 28, 2007, making him only twenty-one years old when he died.

The reason I know of Jay-D in the first place is because of Morgan, a girl who has been Alicia’s best friend since high school.  It was not long after I met her that I found out her brother was killed in action. 

It has made me see this holiday, Memorial Day, much differently.

Jay-D’s mother, Robyn, is a beautiful woman who now bears the dubious distinction of being a Gold-Star Mom.  “I have a hair salon,” she once told me, “and every year I ask people if they know what Memorial Day is.  Only one or two will know exactly what the holiday is for—only a few know who we are remembering.” 

She’s not exaggerating.  According to a recent Gallup poll, only 28% of Americans know that Memorial Day is specifically to honor those who died in war.  Veteran’s Day is to honor those who served—Memorial Day is to honor those who have died in battle.

These fallen soldiers leave behind families.  These families are given a folded flag and a thank you from the U.S. Government.  We, as a nation, also grieve on this day, with them.  We remember them as more than bodies on a field—we remember the people that they were. 

“My Jay-D was born a mischievous little monkey,” Robyn told me, laughing. “Honestly, he was a little character who found joy in challenging me!”  Her laughter faded and she sighed.  “I would give anything to have him here challenging me now.”

Jay-D grew up dearly loved, an active boy who loved to play.  He was fearless and mighty, never running from any fight.  “He wouldn’t tolerate anyone bullying him,” Robyn told me.  “He’d give them a good fight, for sure.”  Robyn stopped to explain how hard it was to teach Jay-D the delicate balance of sticking up for himself and having self-control.  As soon as she felt he learned this lesson, he started sticking up for others. 

“I would get a call from the principal's office, and they'd tell me that Jay-D was in there for fighting a boy who was bullying someone else,” Robyn laughed.  “When he got home, I asked him why he would fight other people’s battles, and he answered me straight: ‘Well, it just didn’t seem right!’”

Jay-D's anti-bullying campaign  was in place long before any even existed. “At a time when it was not cool for anyone to help the Down Syndrome kid in school, he did.  He would defend an underdog, stand up for the new kids, and even helped others when no one else would.”  

The boy who fought for the rights of others also learned how to express his own tender interior.  “He taught himself how to play guitar, he loved ‘Sweet Home Alabama,’ which he played very well.”

After high school, Jay-D chose to enlist in the US Army, since career opportunities seemed more promising after finishing school.  “Jay-D wanted to get his life started,” Robyn said.  “He knew that if he enlisted he would be able to earn money for college and get other opportunities.” 

At twenty years old, he was enlisted, sworn in and enrolled in boot camp.  It was there that he became a soldier.  “Once boot camp was over,” Robyn told me.  “Everything changed.  He was very focused on fighting for his country.  Shortly after, he was deployed to Bagdad, Iraq, where he served as a tanker gunner.  While the main gun is what most people think of when it comes to tanks, Jay D was part of the crew that operated the machine guns mounted outside.

Through tears, Robyn told me about the day her son was killed:  “It was actually supposed to be his day off.  He wasn’t supposed to work that day, but his team needed him.  He agreed to go, not only because he was part of a team, but also he could apply that day to his next leave.” 

Instead of their usual tank, the team took a Hummer as part of a convoy and made their way through the streets.  On the side of the road, waiting, was the enemy.  As soon as the company’s Hummer was in range, the enemy exploded an IED – an Improvised Explosive Device-- and killed three of the four soldiers in Jay-D’s Hummer.  The enemy was fired upon by the surviving convoy, but their deaths did not bring justice.  War really is hell.

Robyn was able to bury Jay-D’s remains in Sunset View Cemetary, a place in Jackson. “It is a beautiful and peaceful place.” 

Today, the Ornsby’s usually celebrate Jay-D’s memory with friends and close family. One year she decorated a wine barrel and burned a special candle, signifying how the light of love will always burn bright in her heart.  She will take delight in having her grandson close by, a little boy named after his Uncle Jay-D. 

Robyn's Jay-D (1985)      and        Morgan's Jay-D (2015)

For Memorial Day, please take a deep breath and remember a fallen hero.  Think of Jay-D, his heart of gold, and his Gold Star Mom, Robyn.  Remember his sister, Morgan, who honors her family and her brother's memory every day of her life.  

Resolve to be part of the minority of Americans that remember what this day really is all about.  “I see the advertisements for the Auto Malls, the shopping centers, and the grocery stores,” Robyn told me once.  “All of them say ‘Memorial Day Sale!’  I wonder if they will honor any fallen Veterans there? I think not.  It’s all a money-making opportunity to them.”

Our soldiers are more than men and women in uniform. They are someone's baby, someone's spouse, someone's uncle or aunt.  I will grieve the fallen. I will celebrate the freedom that I have because of them. 

I will grieve with the families who have lost loved ones on Memorial Day.

Dad

Four Generations (L to R:  Alicia, Dad Harmony, Me, Alannah and Mario Photo-bombing)

When I think of my Dad, Jack Ryan, my mind is a flurry of information and feelings, a blizzard of emotion and memory.  Boston, cameras, books, Tracy, Mom, table tennis, church, Deacon, patios, gardens, bar-b-ques, and books.  Lots and lots of books.

I grew up in a house with so many books, I considered it a library.  My parents’ house had every room decorated with books; each had its thematic index: the family room’s classics, the living room’s encyclopedias and Holy Books, our bedrooms, with Childcrafts and Scholastic book selections, and then antique bookshelves throughout the house, with several hard cover books with spines in varied states of breakage. My Dad loved the Harvard classics, even though he went to Boston College.  Every night, my Dad and Mom would be reading in bed (like Mr. and Mrs. Brady) when we came in to their room to say goodnight. Dad started reading and collecting books when he was a child, and he passed this love onto me.  I remember borrowing a copy of James Joyce’s Dubliners and reading it with a flashlight under my covers. Once Dad noticed me borrowing, he started recommending books I should read. We still exchange opinions and reviews about recent favorites. 

He grew up in Boston, in the historic section of Pill Hill, near Brookline. An only child, Dad loved reading, writing and taking pictures with his Brownie camera.  Dad’s father died when he was young, so when he graduated from BC and moved to California, he brought his mother—my Nana, with him to Tracy. Dad’s stories of moving to Tracy—he took a job working at DVI, a prison in our small town—unfold like a disappointing movie. At the center of the San Joaquin valley, Tracy was (in Dad’s quick synopsis) “a cow-town” where he faced a sentence of boredom he hadn’t expected.  A devout Catholic, he started going to church at St. Bernard’s, and met my Mom at a YCW meeting. His boredom suddenly ended—sparks flew immediately—and the rest is proverbial history.

Dad and Mom Wedding

Dad grew to love Tracy. I was the second of five children, born in seven years, and we attended the same church they met and married in.  Dad and Mom were faithful in every way to bring us up responsibly and with a routine. In my young-adult years, I developed a rebellious streak, and Dad’s patience in the process of Fatherhood was tested often.  Many times, we’d disagree so much that I questioned if he really understood me, or loved me. When I married and became (gasp) a Born-Again Christian, Dad openly wondered why my Catholic roots weren't strong enough to keep me grounded in the “faith of my fathers”.  Mario and I had children, and Dad became a Grandfather like the one I had—a gentle man with time and coins and jokes.

  

Dad with Alicia

 All of these memories are part of the flurry in my head—all of them make room for new experiences and new memories that we still build together. Each day we have together is a gift.  

Part of our family

When someone asks me when I started writing, I tell them that reading and writing have always been a big part of my life, and my Dad has always influenced that part of me. He and Mom are the first readers of articles, stories, and even my homeless novel. The spiritual books Dad recommends encourage my spirits, as we share a common Christian faith together.

Christmas 2018

Today is my Dad’s 85^th birthday.  To celebrate, he decided to go to Germany with my mother, a trip they didn’t tell us about until the last minute.  Maybe Dad thought I might object because of his health, or maybe I’d object because of his age…or object because I am his daughter who loves him and doesn’t want him to be too far away.  Especially on his birthday.

But…since he loved me enough to let me go on so many occasions, I need to love him enough to let him go to Germany.  Besides, I don’t have any choice.  He would have gone with Mom, even if I forbid them to go.

Happy Birthday, Dad!   I love you for so many reasons, a flurry of reasons that swirl in my heart like snow in a globe. If you’re reading this today, know that we love you and miss you.  If you read this when you get back…WHAT THE HECK, DAD! Germany? Are you kidding me?

Love you,

 Janet