Sunday, December 21, 2014

Cool story. Bear with me.

Photo by my best friend Lauri

My dad, which meant our family as well, was into ceramics ever since I could remember. When he retired from the Army, he opened a ceramic shop in a little oceanside town called Marina (next town over from Fort Ord, California). The shop sold finished ceramicware, greenware, bisque, paint, tools and also held classes.

If you knew us, you probably received one of these ceramic Christmas trees or we at least helped you make one.

My best friend Lauri sent this photo to me tonight, and I thought it was one we gave her. Nope, it’s her friend’s. Her friend doesn’t decorate anymore (but she loves decorating other people’s homes), so she brought it to Lauri’s to display in her new home.

Important tidbit.

Her friend was Lauri’s landlord for many years, and, coincidentally, grew up in the Monterey Bay area and moved to Vancouver, Washington, just as Lauri did. But they didn’t know one another back then, they met when Lauri moved to Vancouver.


She told Lauri, “When my mom retired she was bored and wanted something to do. So she went to this little ceramic shop in Marina and made the tree.”


That’s our shop she’s talking about!!! What a great coinkidink, eh?! Of all the people in the world for Lauri to meet when she moved to Vancouver and become friends with, it was someone from the same area, who shared her maiden name, btw, who had a mother who went to our little ceramic shop to make herself a Christmas tree.

Saturday, December 20, 2014

The Fort Ord Pool

  Photo by John Arthur

 Photo by John Arthur

My brother John stopped by the old Fort Ord (California) pool the other day and took these pictures.

I’m the youngest of 7, and we all swam in this pool for many years. It was one of our favorite places to be. The price was right, just show them our military ID card or recite my dad’s RA number and in we’d go.

My brother George, gone 2 years now, taught me to swim in this pool. Another brother took pleasure in dunking me until I cried, only to be rescued by yet another of my siblings. My sister Mary, gone 3 years, would let me piggy back her, wrapping my arms around her neck and kicking my feet behind us as if I was helping swim the length of the Olympic-sized pool. When we’d reach the deep end, I knew I could trust her not to leave me.

I remember how my sister Martha and I would walk home in the dark, wet hair and sometimes wet bathing suits underneath our clothes, still smelling of chlorine. Whenever we’d get to this certain part of the post that was extra dark and scary we’d pray out loud, “Our father, who art in Heaven…” and when we got to the part “Yeah, though I walk through the valley of death I will fear no evil” we’d start running and screaming until we reached the light.

When the pool water was on the cool side, my best friend (of over 45 years now) and I would leave the water to go play in the never-ending hot showers. When we warmed up we’d go jump back in the pool and then do it all over again.

I can still see, hear and smell the pool in my mind so clearly. Photos of the way it is now startle me. It’s like seeing an old friend get beat up and they can’t get up, can’t recover from the blows, so they just give in and give up.

But I won’t allow these recent images to steal the years of joy that was had inside that old building. And neither will the thousands of soldiers who flirted with their girlfriends and boyfriends, the husbands and wives with their children who splashed in its waters and sunned themselves in the warmth of the (sometimes) sunny patio. No amount of graffiti, paintball splats and carnage will ever erase the years of memories of my happy place, a place where our family will forever be complete.

Saturday, December 13, 2014

Friends For Life

We've been friends for over 40 years. We're teenagers again when we all get together.

Thursday, November 20, 2014

A little of this, a little of that

I was able to spend time with my sister and two of my brothers the last couple of weeks!
Do some cooking...


and some crafting.

Feeling productive.