About a month ago I was as stressed out as I've ever been. Worry, hurt, confusion and anxiety consumed my every waking thought like a wild fire consumes a forest. I've been a worrier my whole life, always pondering the 'what-ifs' of every situation. But this was beyond that. This was to the point where I was making myself physically ill. I've had shingles three times in the past year, and a major cause of that is stress. While I've been trying to watch my diet and exercise more, stress has also helped me lose a lot of weight.
People may be wondering what was so worrisome to me. I don't want to get into all of that in too much detail, as some of it is very personal. But marital discord was part of it. Worrying about money was too. Living in a house that is some days literally falling apart was another. And the big one: always worrying what other people thought, worrying about how my comments or actions would be taken by others, worrying if I am good enough, if I'm a good enough friend, daughter, wife, employee, cousin, granddaughter. And wondering what God could possibly love about me when it seems like no matter how hard I try, I end up screwing things up some how.
When Derek and I left for our Deep South vacation, I was at my breaking point. I would burst into tears for seemingly no reason at all. Some days I had to give myself a pep talk to get out of bed. I read my Bible searching for comfort, but when I found it, I was sure that couldn't apply to me. I make too many mistakes for that to apply to me. I was short-tempered with my friends and co-workers. I was tired of people pointing out my short-comings and telling me what I should do. When a compliment came my way, I didn't fully believe it. And I was really tired of not having enough of me to go around.
When I left on our trip, Derek couldn't believe how anxious and worried I was about everything. I was no longer the go with the flow girl, the happy fun excited girl, the one who worried about something only when it was about to blow up in my face. What happened to spontaneous Sarah, who one time thought it was a really good idea to drive to North Carolina for two days just so we could swim in the ocean? I was hyper-vigilant, trying to be one step ahead of the next disaster, always waiting, waiting for the bottom to fall out yet again. Even little things had the power to push me into a full-blown tizzy. Did I lock the door at home? Were my dogs going to be OK for a whole week? Where in the hell did I put my camera charger? Little things were pushing me to the brink of insanity. Was Mike crabby on the phone when I talked to him or just tired? Was my mom sad she couldn't go with us? The most debilitating feeling was guilt. Did I deserve to go on this trip? Shouldn't I be home, helping take care of the kennel, working all I could, putting every penny into savings? What if something happened to my mom or grandparents while I was away. As you can see, I left no stone unturned in the worry department.
It took a couple of days for me to settle down and actually fully enjoy the new sites and scenery around me. As Derek and I talked, and we had many heart to hearts, I could feel the tension slowly begin to drain away. Derek should really be a minister or counselor, because he helped me through my worry web and helped me see that I AM good enough. God IS there through all the bad things, even when they seem insurmountable. He is there every step of the way and as long as you try to trust in Him and have faith, everything WILL be okay. Each one of us is a sinner and is in no way perfect, but as long as we try our best and have faith and try to follow his word, then in his eyes, we are worthy. After all, Derek said, he sent his only Son down to save us from our sin. And nothing can separate you from the love of God unless you allow it to.
Those seven days away were a healing of sorts for me. I realized that any friend worth their salt will love me no matter the mistakes I make or if I can't make it to a social outing because I have to work. A true friend does not judge, but is there to offer a helping hand. And I realized that I am a good friend, wife, daughter, granddaughter, co-worker...etc. As long as I try my best to do right by others, then that's all that can be asked. The only regret I continue to have, though I'm trying my best to beat it, is the lack of time. If I only I had more time for everyone I love. But unfortunately, I have to work and I work weird hours, so I'm learning to make due with what I can do.
The things I remember most about that trip are not necessarily the tourist sites we saw along the way, although those were super cool. My treasured moments are the small things. The wind blowing across us as we stood hundreds of feet in the air on the Hot Spring Mountain Tower; feeling the hot sun beat down on me as I walked along the side of a rice field; watching my best friend be overly excited about getting to walk through a mucky swamp; staring at the mighty Mississippi and knowing it will keep on flowing no matter if I'm having a good day or a bad day; and driving through the endless miles of corn on our way home through Illinois, chatting with my best friend and knowing he will be there for me no matter what. Knowing that he sees the true Sarah, and loves me and accepts me for who I am. And knowing that God does the same. Knowing that I am never alone, though I had felt so alone and overwhelmed this summer.
While I am not completely rid of the hyper-vigilant, anxiety ridden facet of my personality, it is much better. I made a conscious decision not to worry so much about things beyond my control. Those I turn over to God in prayer. When people are snippy with me or try to give me a guilt trip, I stand firm and try not to feel bad. If I am wrong, I readily admit it and offer an apology. When my feelings are hurt, instead of mulling it over, I forgive and try to understand. Most of all, I try to remember that I am a good person and accept myself for who I am, shortcomings and all. And I try to remember that everyone is fighting some sort of battle, maybe unseen from the eyes of others, so kindness and compassion is a must. I know many people don't know the battles I've been waging in myself and my life because I tend to hide them, so I'm sure many others do the same.
So when I returned from this trip, I did not return perfect and whole. But I did return with an appreciation of the little things in life that I take for granted sometimes. Even when things seem hopeless, tomorrow is a new day. Every day is filled with blessings, small and big, and it's important to thank God for those blessings. Out of every horrible situation, God will bring something good from it, if you let him. I have seen that a few times this summer now that I've let go of the worry, and it is truly miraculous in my eyes.
This Labor Day weekend was the best one I've had in years. Not because of some great trip or event, but because it was filled with little blessings. Instead of worrying about money because Mike's work year is winding down, I thanked God for the money I was able to make at work. Instead of trying to plan some big party or outing, I spent the weekend mostly at my grandparents house with my mom and husband. I made my family tater tot hotdish, and my grandpa ate TWO helpings, which is rare these days with his finicky stomach. I drank a lot of coffee, made by my grandma. I played board games with my mom and Grandma. I watched my dogs run around the yard, always so happy and ears flopping away. I made a blueberry cheesecake dessert, which everyone said was great, but which I secretly thought sucked, but hey, they ate it. I walked my dog down the road and met Grandpa coming from my uncle's house on his little lawn tractor, just like the old days. I climbed the hill behind my grandpa's and helped Mike hang a tree stand and sat in that tree stand and looked out over the farm where I grew up. I helped my mom pick cherry tomatoes and watched while she fed my dog about a dozen of them, laughing the whole time. I walked through the dried up pond on the hill where Meghan and I used to pick wildflowers as little girls. I cried after leaving my grandparents AGAIN, so sad that they are getting older and may soon be gone from me, but so grateful that I can still spend time with them. And I thanked God for these seemingly ordinary things, because they are special in their own way.
There was a time when I was not happy unless some major social event was planned, or we were going out that night, or we were having a party at our house. While I still love my friends and spending time with them, I realize it's not always the big events that are best. It's the small things I will remember. So happy Fall to everyone! I am going to go on a walk today and maybe pick some flowers. I certainly have enough energy now because as I wrote this I drank a pot of coffee. Who knew giving up Diet Coke would help me love coffee again? Another small thing to appreciate :)
About Me
- Sarah Matara Young
- Prescott, WI, United States
- I was born and raised in Wisconsin and love every second of living here. I am a loyal Packer fan, Brewers fan, Badgers fan and love anything to do with this state, even the frigid, snowy winters. My husband Mike and I bought our first house 6 months ago and live in Prescott. We enjoy hunting, fishing, travelling and going to Brewer and Packer games together. We have been married a little over three years now and are expecting our first baby in July. We are beyond excited to add to our family! We also have a large, needy tomcat named Bootsy, a Beagle named Reba and a Lab-Beagle mix named Ramona. I am an assistant manager at Philander's Grill & Bar and Mike is a foreman for Scott Construction.
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
Monday, July 18, 2011
22 hours
I didn't think Mike was going to be coming home this weekend, so imagine my surprise yesterday when he called and said he'd be home around 4 a.m. Sunday morning! He had been working in Michigan the last 2 weeks and didn't think he'd be home any time soon, so it was a pleasant, if bittersweet, surprise. the reason I say bittersweet is because he would only be home for 22 hours before going on the road again.
For those of you who don't know, Mike is a foreman of a seal-coating crew that travels around Wisconsin and Michigan. There are many times he's not home for weeks, so when he gets to come home on a weekend, it's a special occasion. Especially this year, since his crew is doing a lot of work in lower Michigan.
Of course being an assistant manager at a bar and grill, I have to work most weekends, so many times when Mike is home, I'm at work. So he has to come to my work to see me. Needless to say, we don't get much time together in the summer. And it's very, very hard.
Mike and I went to bed tonight around 10:30, and had to get up at 1 a.m. to send him off on the road again. Luckily, he was able to sleep this morning from about 4 a.m. to 2 p.m. while I was at work. The rest of our time was spent doing his work laundry, dinner, a little berry-picking and deer-looking, then off to bed. It sure doesn't leave much time for communicating, which can be extremely frustrating.
I talk to Mike maybe 5 minutes a day by phone if I'm lucky. Most of the time, he doesn't have time to talk on the phone. He and his crew work dawn til dark, and many times he's working many hours after dark on paper work. He's lucky to get 4 hours of sleep a night. So when I'm tired and cranky, I think of that and feel a little spoiled. But he makes up for it in the winter, let me tell you ;)
Being on the road this year has been extremely hard on Mike, since it's so rare that he gets to come home. When he was made foreman of the Northwest Wisconsin crew, we were so excited because we thought that meant he'd be home more. But this year, that crew is responsible for most of the Michigan work since the company has been selling more and more work there, so he is rarely home even on the weekends.
Being married to a road worker is very hard, much more difficult than I ever imagined. I knew what I was getting into, but I never knew it would be this hard. I know it's terribly difficult for Mike to be away from home, from me, from his beloved dogs. And it makes him irritable at best. But I only know how it makes me feel since I'm not him. There are days I'm so frustrated with him and his lack of concern or lack of listening skills that I just want to reach through the phone and slap him. But I understand. He's so busy when he's gone that he has no time for anything else, and that includes what's going on at home. So I have to suck it up, tell him only the good things since he can't do anything about the things that go wrong, and hope that everything is going well for him on his end. I have become quite adept at dealing with septic, plumbing, flooding, technological, financial, natural disaster, you name it, issues. I don't do it all alone of course. I have great friends (especially Derek) and family who are there for me through thick and thin.
The one reason it's so hard for me is that I feel terribly abandoned when he's gone, even though I know he has to work, that he doesn't want to be gone, that he's doing it for us and our future. Since he's so short on time and patience in the summer and is so unbelievably stressed out and under major deadlines, I have to keep conversations simple, short and sweet. I can never vent, never tell him what's going wrong or what's going right. A lot of times my feelings are left in the dust and even though I know they matter to him deep down, in the summer, I will always be second fiddle. His temper is very short in the summer due to all this stress, so sometimes we don't communicate so well and disagreements erupt. It's hard to duke out a disagreement over the phone! But somehow we manage and always come to understand each other's points of view on things...but it is not easy. When he is home, much of that time is spent catching up on needed sleep.
Many people ask me if I ever wonder if he is cheating on me while on the road, and while I know that is an occurance in some cases, I never wonder that about Mike. Oh believe me, when we were first together, I was paranoid and worried to no end. But this many years together has taught me that he would never do that to me. He is faithful and true. He works hard so our future is bright. Plus, like he says, when in the hell would he have time? Being a road worker wife requires bushels of faith, security, self-esteem and most of all, trust. And he knows he doesn't have to worry about me. I have oodles of close guy friends and he knows that, but to me, they are all like the brothers I never had. Plus my beliefs would never allow me to do something like that. I could never live with myself, no matter how much we may disagree sometimes. Being apart is tough, but I know he'll always come home to me and me alone. And even though we're like oil and water sometimes, I will always come home to him. If we can get through what we've already gone through in this life together, we can get through anything. And my belief in God is a huge part of that.
So while I wait for summer to wind down and head toward my favorite seasons (fall and winter!!), I will keep busy doing what I do. Work, work and more work, spending time with my favorite fur babies, going on my long walks, reading, writing for the paper, helping my family, and spending time with my wonderful friends. And soon we will be through another summer road work season and Mike will be home all day long driving me insane playing his incessant video games, talking non-stop about deer, hunting and more deer and messing up my beautifully clean house :) And that is the life of a road worker's wife. Everyone has tough things to get through in this life and summer is mine.
I'm going to try to go back to bed now, now that I've seen Mike safely off to work. This week is supposed to be super hot and it feels like we're in the Amazon, so I sincerely hope the heat is not too tough on Mike and his crew. When I feel cranky about being hot, I just have to think about them, toiling away in the hot sun for 12+ hours and day and I don't feel so bad for myself. Just think, soon it will be snowing and cold and the best season of the year!!
For those of you who don't know, Mike is a foreman of a seal-coating crew that travels around Wisconsin and Michigan. There are many times he's not home for weeks, so when he gets to come home on a weekend, it's a special occasion. Especially this year, since his crew is doing a lot of work in lower Michigan.
Of course being an assistant manager at a bar and grill, I have to work most weekends, so many times when Mike is home, I'm at work. So he has to come to my work to see me. Needless to say, we don't get much time together in the summer. And it's very, very hard.
Mike and I went to bed tonight around 10:30, and had to get up at 1 a.m. to send him off on the road again. Luckily, he was able to sleep this morning from about 4 a.m. to 2 p.m. while I was at work. The rest of our time was spent doing his work laundry, dinner, a little berry-picking and deer-looking, then off to bed. It sure doesn't leave much time for communicating, which can be extremely frustrating.
I talk to Mike maybe 5 minutes a day by phone if I'm lucky. Most of the time, he doesn't have time to talk on the phone. He and his crew work dawn til dark, and many times he's working many hours after dark on paper work. He's lucky to get 4 hours of sleep a night. So when I'm tired and cranky, I think of that and feel a little spoiled. But he makes up for it in the winter, let me tell you ;)
Being on the road this year has been extremely hard on Mike, since it's so rare that he gets to come home. When he was made foreman of the Northwest Wisconsin crew, we were so excited because we thought that meant he'd be home more. But this year, that crew is responsible for most of the Michigan work since the company has been selling more and more work there, so he is rarely home even on the weekends.
Being married to a road worker is very hard, much more difficult than I ever imagined. I knew what I was getting into, but I never knew it would be this hard. I know it's terribly difficult for Mike to be away from home, from me, from his beloved dogs. And it makes him irritable at best. But I only know how it makes me feel since I'm not him. There are days I'm so frustrated with him and his lack of concern or lack of listening skills that I just want to reach through the phone and slap him. But I understand. He's so busy when he's gone that he has no time for anything else, and that includes what's going on at home. So I have to suck it up, tell him only the good things since he can't do anything about the things that go wrong, and hope that everything is going well for him on his end. I have become quite adept at dealing with septic, plumbing, flooding, technological, financial, natural disaster, you name it, issues. I don't do it all alone of course. I have great friends (especially Derek) and family who are there for me through thick and thin.
The one reason it's so hard for me is that I feel terribly abandoned when he's gone, even though I know he has to work, that he doesn't want to be gone, that he's doing it for us and our future. Since he's so short on time and patience in the summer and is so unbelievably stressed out and under major deadlines, I have to keep conversations simple, short and sweet. I can never vent, never tell him what's going wrong or what's going right. A lot of times my feelings are left in the dust and even though I know they matter to him deep down, in the summer, I will always be second fiddle. His temper is very short in the summer due to all this stress, so sometimes we don't communicate so well and disagreements erupt. It's hard to duke out a disagreement over the phone! But somehow we manage and always come to understand each other's points of view on things...but it is not easy. When he is home, much of that time is spent catching up on needed sleep.
Many people ask me if I ever wonder if he is cheating on me while on the road, and while I know that is an occurance in some cases, I never wonder that about Mike. Oh believe me, when we were first together, I was paranoid and worried to no end. But this many years together has taught me that he would never do that to me. He is faithful and true. He works hard so our future is bright. Plus, like he says, when in the hell would he have time? Being a road worker wife requires bushels of faith, security, self-esteem and most of all, trust. And he knows he doesn't have to worry about me. I have oodles of close guy friends and he knows that, but to me, they are all like the brothers I never had. Plus my beliefs would never allow me to do something like that. I could never live with myself, no matter how much we may disagree sometimes. Being apart is tough, but I know he'll always come home to me and me alone. And even though we're like oil and water sometimes, I will always come home to him. If we can get through what we've already gone through in this life together, we can get through anything. And my belief in God is a huge part of that.
So while I wait for summer to wind down and head toward my favorite seasons (fall and winter!!), I will keep busy doing what I do. Work, work and more work, spending time with my favorite fur babies, going on my long walks, reading, writing for the paper, helping my family, and spending time with my wonderful friends. And soon we will be through another summer road work season and Mike will be home all day long driving me insane playing his incessant video games, talking non-stop about deer, hunting and more deer and messing up my beautifully clean house :) And that is the life of a road worker's wife. Everyone has tough things to get through in this life and summer is mine.
I'm going to try to go back to bed now, now that I've seen Mike safely off to work. This week is supposed to be super hot and it feels like we're in the Amazon, so I sincerely hope the heat is not too tough on Mike and his crew. When I feel cranky about being hot, I just have to think about them, toiling away in the hot sun for 12+ hours and day and I don't feel so bad for myself. Just think, soon it will be snowing and cold and the best season of the year!!
Friday, July 1, 2011
I don't know if anyone really reads these blogs, and if they don't, that's ok with me. It's a way for me to get my feelings out, whether anyone reads them or not. And it always seems to be late at night, when I should be sleeping, but of course, cannot.
My mind tonight is whirling at 100 mph and I so wish I could shut if off right now. I am more physically tired than I've been in a long time, but cannot sleep, like usual. Such is the life of the perpetual night owl.
Tonight what is on my mind is the hubby. He has been in Michigan working for almost 3 weeks and will be home for the first time tomorrow. He has had a very frustrating time over there, which I will not discuss here. Let's just say that his patience has been tried dearly, something that is not over-abundant with him as it is. Things are so bad for him right now that when I offered to pray for him, he agreed! He is not nearly as religious as I am.
As he is driving down the roads headed toward the WI Dells, I can't help but think about what I signed myself up for when I married him. He's gone, completely, utterly GONE 6 months of the year (8 when you consider deer hunting). He has never once spent my birthday with me, which may seem trivial for some, but in my family, your birthday is like the shining star of the year and his whole birthday month is made to be so. That is a Lundgren/Matara tradition that he took right kindly to LOL! But like I said, I knew what I was getting into, but I never knew it would be so hard.
Right now, my job as a 'Scott Construction' wife is to listen to every hardship and offer the advice I can (which in my line of work as a bartender surprisingly coordinates at times) with what Mike is dealing with!! I wish I could help with every scenario, but of course, there are times I cannot. It's also hard to hold everything in when Mike comes home, to just let him chill for a day or two. The words of a Miranda Lambert song come to mind: "He can't hide the worry on his face...and even though I got a million things to tell him, I know right now he just needs some space..."
Because of course anyone that knows me truly knows that sometimes I just want to stand up and scream and be the first thing on his mind! But those times in the summer are rare and few and far between. And it has me doubting things sometimes. Not gonna lie. But then I have to remember that I signed up for this, so dammit, I better know what I'm in for! But, I will say it 'outloud:' it is so hard to constantly be in 2nd place.'
This post is not meant to make the hubs feel bad! It is something he cannot control, but I hate it just the same. But I think he is lucky to have gotten one tough, independent girl, because I can handle almost any situation on my own (with the help of my awesome friends of course!!) Hell, in the last year we handled a tornado, a flood, a broken sewer, and all that jazz! Just kidding dear, but anyhoo, at least you know I'm capable! Oh and as a tribute to my ladies:...............................................did you know July 8 is MY BIRTHDAY
My mind tonight is whirling at 100 mph and I so wish I could shut if off right now. I am more physically tired than I've been in a long time, but cannot sleep, like usual. Such is the life of the perpetual night owl.
Tonight what is on my mind is the hubby. He has been in Michigan working for almost 3 weeks and will be home for the first time tomorrow. He has had a very frustrating time over there, which I will not discuss here. Let's just say that his patience has been tried dearly, something that is not over-abundant with him as it is. Things are so bad for him right now that when I offered to pray for him, he agreed! He is not nearly as religious as I am.
As he is driving down the roads headed toward the WI Dells, I can't help but think about what I signed myself up for when I married him. He's gone, completely, utterly GONE 6 months of the year (8 when you consider deer hunting). He has never once spent my birthday with me, which may seem trivial for some, but in my family, your birthday is like the shining star of the year and his whole birthday month is made to be so. That is a Lundgren/Matara tradition that he took right kindly to LOL! But like I said, I knew what I was getting into, but I never knew it would be so hard.
Right now, my job as a 'Scott Construction' wife is to listen to every hardship and offer the advice I can (which in my line of work as a bartender surprisingly coordinates at times) with what Mike is dealing with!! I wish I could help with every scenario, but of course, there are times I cannot. It's also hard to hold everything in when Mike comes home, to just let him chill for a day or two. The words of a Miranda Lambert song come to mind: "He can't hide the worry on his face...and even though I got a million things to tell him, I know right now he just needs some space..."
Because of course anyone that knows me truly knows that sometimes I just want to stand up and scream and be the first thing on his mind! But those times in the summer are rare and few and far between. And it has me doubting things sometimes. Not gonna lie. But then I have to remember that I signed up for this, so dammit, I better know what I'm in for! But, I will say it 'outloud:' it is so hard to constantly be in 2nd place.'
This post is not meant to make the hubs feel bad! It is something he cannot control, but I hate it just the same. But I think he is lucky to have gotten one tough, independent girl, because I can handle almost any situation on my own (with the help of my awesome friends of course!!) Hell, in the last year we handled a tornado, a flood, a broken sewer, and all that jazz! Just kidding dear, but anyhoo, at least you know I'm capable! Oh and as a tribute to my ladies:...............................................did you know July 8 is MY BIRTHDAY
Sunday, June 26, 2011
Take Time to Smell the Roses & remembering George
I got home from work tonight, relatively early for me, before midnight. I have to get up early tomorrow to strip the wallpaper in my grandma's bathroom and ready it for painting, but of course I can't fall asleep yet. So I decided to weed through emails on Facebook and delete old ones and I came across the one my friend Alex sent me a year ago to tell me about our friend George's death, another one of the famous 'yoopers' that lived with me for over a year. I find it hard to believe that he's been gone a year already. It seems like yesterday I was driving to Alex's house in Gladstone, wondering how I was going to get through the funeral, since I don't do well with those at all.
For those of you who know me well, you know the story of the "yooper boarding house" that was my house. I have never met a more, well, lively bunch of people. They will forever be imprinted on my mind. I was living at the house on Cascade in RF and Derek had just moved out to move to the Cities. I was freaking because I didn't know how Chris and I were going to pay the rent by ourselves in that huge house and neither of us wanted to leave it, because like I said before, that house was magical to us. There was a group of guys from the U.P. staying at the motel next to Philander's and I had become pretty good friends with them since they were in Phil's every day. They wanted to get out of the motel to a cheaper place and I needed roommates, so the "yooper boarding house" was born. At first it was just 2 of them, but it soon grew to 5! Wow, me and a bunch of yoopers in one house. That was defintely interesting!! It honestly was one of the best times of my life.
The one I was the closest to and still am was Alex. When I first met him it was honestly like I had met my long lost brother that I had never met or knew existed. We clicked just like that. For once someone understood my loony sense of humor and my habit of wild spontaneity. He also saw me through some tough times, including love life crises and general shitty life, just like any good brother would do. I like to think I helped him through some tough times too, like missing his kids and his love life crises, like a good sister should do. I'm glad we're still friends to this day. We were at each other's throats a few times, but I guess that happens in every true 'family.'
The other 'yooper' I was the closest to was George. George was in his late 50s and was like a dad to me, a dad you could party with. But he always had good advice for me too, though God know I didn't always listen to him. Lord knows how he put up with living with a crazy party girl and 4 guys half his age. I always remember him drinking his beer and just shaking his head at all our shenanigans and telling us what idiots we were. You would have to know him to know what I mean. I know my friend Stacy and I ticked him off a few times when we would come home from the bars late at night and ring "that damn bell" that I had hanging by the front door. He would be so annoyed with us, but he still loved us anyway. George had a temper, but he was one of the kindest, sincere men I ever met. And I will never forget that god-awful "George coffee" that he would drink in the mornings on weekends. Coffee, Windsor and hazelnut creamer. He swore it cured just about anything. I think it just gave me a headache. But I would give anything to drink a cup of it right now--with him.
After the yooper boarding house came to an end, Alex and I moved into a house with Alex's then fiance and George moved into an apartment with Little George, another yooper, in RF. My beloved kitty Bootsy went with him since we couldn't have pets in our new house. Oh how George loved that cat. He spoiled him rotten and brushed him everyday and bought him the best food and treats. He always threatened to kidnap Boots and take him home to the U.P. Now I wish I would've let him, knowing how much joy that cat brought to him. He wasn't even that mad when Bootsy poked a hole in his air mattress with his incessant kneading of his claws.
Eventually George, Alex and I moved into a house together outside of Prescott. We didn't always get along, but those few months with them were some of the best. I was going through a rough period then, so I know I wasn't always the easiest to get along with. But I think George and Alex understood, because even when they moved out and I stayed there alone, we remained friends. One of the last times I saw George was when I brought them some mail that had come to my house.
Not long after, I moved to Wonewoc for a year, Mike's hometown. I saw George one more time on a visit home. I didn't get to talk to him long. If I would have known that was the last time I'd see him, I would have stayed there all weekend and soaked up his stories and words. We kept in contact regularly over the phone and he was a very good listener when I needed some advice. When I learned he had become sick with leukemia, I couldn't believe it. How had George gotten sick? He was one of the strongest, most stubborn people I had known. I talked to him a few times, and every time he said he was getting better, that the doctors at Mayo knew what they were doing, that he was tired, but was looking forward to going home to Sault Ste. Marie and spending time with his family and beloved dogs. But that wasn't to be.
He died last June and that fateful email came from Alex just when I returned home from a trip to St. Louis. Alex was wondering if I could make it up to the Soo for the funeral. I rearranged my work schedule and went the very next day. I wouldn't have missed it for anything. The 6 hour trip to Alex's house in Gladstone was one of the longest I've ever driven. Not because of the distance, but because of the feelings whirling through my head. I was so MAD at myself. WHY did I not go see George when he was going through treatment at Mayo? WHY did I believe him when he said he was going to be just fine and not to worry. WHY did I not take time out of my insane work schedule and go sit with him? I felt like the most selfish, horse's ass on the planet. All I could see in my head was a vision of him sitting in the white rocking chair on our porch laughing at all the stunts we would pull. And I knew I would never see him laugh like that again.
When I arrived in Gladstone, I had mixed feelings. It was great to see Alex again after almost a year and to be in the U.P. again, which I love and have many good memories of thanks to those guys. But the reason for my visit cast a somber tone over everything. Alex took it harder than I did, but George truly was a dad to him. Alex had lived with him away from home for years, day in day out, the good and the bad. It was hard to see my usually good-natured friend so sad.
I rode to the funeral with Alex and his friend Pat. The ride was full of reminiscing about George with many stories that I had never heard. I couldn't even talk most of the way, I was so overcome with guilt and sadness. Alex kept asking what was wrong with me, but I could barely answer. All I could think about was how I hadn't been there for George when he needed me. I know he had his family and many friends with him through his ordeal. But I should have been more present, as he always was for me.
Once we got to the funeral and sawy Little George, I could barely hold in my tears. I was reunited with one of my friends from the 'yooper boarding house' days, but it sucked that it was under these circumstances. When we walked into the visitation and I saw all the pictures of George, I had to go back out in the parking lot and collect myself. I am not good at funerals and this was no exception. It was actually almost worse. During the funeral Alex and George's daughters gave beautiful eulogies and I bawled all the way through. Then I bawled in the parking lot. After the funeral luncheon, George's family asked us to come to the house for a visit and I finally got to see George's home and his beloved dogs. And all I could do was sit there like a stone while his family told us how much we meant to him when he was living away from home in WI/MN. A big topic was George's obsession with Bootsy and how much comfort that little cat brought to George while he was away from home. The guilt was overwhelming.
On the way back to Gladstone, Alex kept asking me what was wrong. He said he was worried because he had never seen me so quiet and unresponsive. It was all I could do not to bawl my eyes out. Eventually I came out of it and we were able to have fun at a BBQ at Little George's house reminiscing abou the old days, some I was a part of, some I wasn't.
When I had to drive home the next day, that was literally the longest ride of my life. I cried buckets the entire way home. I was still so mad at myself that I finally had gotten around to seeing everyone again, but it took a funeral to do it. And it was too late to see George. He was gone, hopefully duck hunting in Heaven with his dogs, waiting for his family to join him someday. George, I miss you all the time and even though we only knew each other a short time, you made such an impact on me and I'm sad that I never told you. But I think you know. I know I had a wonderful grandfather who was a dad to me my whole life, but you also helped fill that void and I am forever grateful.
I guess the lesson I choose to take from this story is to never take anyone for granted because you never know when it will be too late. I still find myself getting obsessed with work and working too much with that always unreachable goal in the distance, that later I will do this, later I will do that. It's hard to teach an old dog new tricks, and I am working on spending time with those I love more often. I am doing better at it, but not good enough in my eyes. In my line of business it's hard to take weekends off, and that's when most of life's 'fun' events occur. So to those friends of mine that I don't get to see very often, please know that you are never far from my thoughts and that I love you so much, more than you will ever know. I am good at writing things, but not so good at saying them. I come across sometimes as prickly and sarcastic, but that is just my protective armor. I am truly a big sap inside.
Some good news (for me anyway) is that Alex is moving back here for awhile for work, so I'll get to see him more often. And my friend Chris is coming home from Japan this winter after many years, so again, I'll get to see him too. And tomorrow I will gladly strip wallpaper from my grandma's bathroom walls even though I will be tired as hell. But I will know that I did it and that it made her happy and that sometimes you have to take time to smell the roses, even when the train is moving so fast that getting off it seems impossible.
And George, even though your coffee really was horrid, save a cup for me. I think I will need it :)
For those of you who know me well, you know the story of the "yooper boarding house" that was my house. I have never met a more, well, lively bunch of people. They will forever be imprinted on my mind. I was living at the house on Cascade in RF and Derek had just moved out to move to the Cities. I was freaking because I didn't know how Chris and I were going to pay the rent by ourselves in that huge house and neither of us wanted to leave it, because like I said before, that house was magical to us. There was a group of guys from the U.P. staying at the motel next to Philander's and I had become pretty good friends with them since they were in Phil's every day. They wanted to get out of the motel to a cheaper place and I needed roommates, so the "yooper boarding house" was born. At first it was just 2 of them, but it soon grew to 5! Wow, me and a bunch of yoopers in one house. That was defintely interesting!! It honestly was one of the best times of my life.
The one I was the closest to and still am was Alex. When I first met him it was honestly like I had met my long lost brother that I had never met or knew existed. We clicked just like that. For once someone understood my loony sense of humor and my habit of wild spontaneity. He also saw me through some tough times, including love life crises and general shitty life, just like any good brother would do. I like to think I helped him through some tough times too, like missing his kids and his love life crises, like a good sister should do. I'm glad we're still friends to this day. We were at each other's throats a few times, but I guess that happens in every true 'family.'
The other 'yooper' I was the closest to was George. George was in his late 50s and was like a dad to me, a dad you could party with. But he always had good advice for me too, though God know I didn't always listen to him. Lord knows how he put up with living with a crazy party girl and 4 guys half his age. I always remember him drinking his beer and just shaking his head at all our shenanigans and telling us what idiots we were. You would have to know him to know what I mean. I know my friend Stacy and I ticked him off a few times when we would come home from the bars late at night and ring "that damn bell" that I had hanging by the front door. He would be so annoyed with us, but he still loved us anyway. George had a temper, but he was one of the kindest, sincere men I ever met. And I will never forget that god-awful "George coffee" that he would drink in the mornings on weekends. Coffee, Windsor and hazelnut creamer. He swore it cured just about anything. I think it just gave me a headache. But I would give anything to drink a cup of it right now--with him.
After the yooper boarding house came to an end, Alex and I moved into a house with Alex's then fiance and George moved into an apartment with Little George, another yooper, in RF. My beloved kitty Bootsy went with him since we couldn't have pets in our new house. Oh how George loved that cat. He spoiled him rotten and brushed him everyday and bought him the best food and treats. He always threatened to kidnap Boots and take him home to the U.P. Now I wish I would've let him, knowing how much joy that cat brought to him. He wasn't even that mad when Bootsy poked a hole in his air mattress with his incessant kneading of his claws.
Eventually George, Alex and I moved into a house together outside of Prescott. We didn't always get along, but those few months with them were some of the best. I was going through a rough period then, so I know I wasn't always the easiest to get along with. But I think George and Alex understood, because even when they moved out and I stayed there alone, we remained friends. One of the last times I saw George was when I brought them some mail that had come to my house.
Not long after, I moved to Wonewoc for a year, Mike's hometown. I saw George one more time on a visit home. I didn't get to talk to him long. If I would have known that was the last time I'd see him, I would have stayed there all weekend and soaked up his stories and words. We kept in contact regularly over the phone and he was a very good listener when I needed some advice. When I learned he had become sick with leukemia, I couldn't believe it. How had George gotten sick? He was one of the strongest, most stubborn people I had known. I talked to him a few times, and every time he said he was getting better, that the doctors at Mayo knew what they were doing, that he was tired, but was looking forward to going home to Sault Ste. Marie and spending time with his family and beloved dogs. But that wasn't to be.
He died last June and that fateful email came from Alex just when I returned home from a trip to St. Louis. Alex was wondering if I could make it up to the Soo for the funeral. I rearranged my work schedule and went the very next day. I wouldn't have missed it for anything. The 6 hour trip to Alex's house in Gladstone was one of the longest I've ever driven. Not because of the distance, but because of the feelings whirling through my head. I was so MAD at myself. WHY did I not go see George when he was going through treatment at Mayo? WHY did I believe him when he said he was going to be just fine and not to worry. WHY did I not take time out of my insane work schedule and go sit with him? I felt like the most selfish, horse's ass on the planet. All I could see in my head was a vision of him sitting in the white rocking chair on our porch laughing at all the stunts we would pull. And I knew I would never see him laugh like that again.
When I arrived in Gladstone, I had mixed feelings. It was great to see Alex again after almost a year and to be in the U.P. again, which I love and have many good memories of thanks to those guys. But the reason for my visit cast a somber tone over everything. Alex took it harder than I did, but George truly was a dad to him. Alex had lived with him away from home for years, day in day out, the good and the bad. It was hard to see my usually good-natured friend so sad.
I rode to the funeral with Alex and his friend Pat. The ride was full of reminiscing about George with many stories that I had never heard. I couldn't even talk most of the way, I was so overcome with guilt and sadness. Alex kept asking what was wrong with me, but I could barely answer. All I could think about was how I hadn't been there for George when he needed me. I know he had his family and many friends with him through his ordeal. But I should have been more present, as he always was for me.
Once we got to the funeral and sawy Little George, I could barely hold in my tears. I was reunited with one of my friends from the 'yooper boarding house' days, but it sucked that it was under these circumstances. When we walked into the visitation and I saw all the pictures of George, I had to go back out in the parking lot and collect myself. I am not good at funerals and this was no exception. It was actually almost worse. During the funeral Alex and George's daughters gave beautiful eulogies and I bawled all the way through. Then I bawled in the parking lot. After the funeral luncheon, George's family asked us to come to the house for a visit and I finally got to see George's home and his beloved dogs. And all I could do was sit there like a stone while his family told us how much we meant to him when he was living away from home in WI/MN. A big topic was George's obsession with Bootsy and how much comfort that little cat brought to George while he was away from home. The guilt was overwhelming.
On the way back to Gladstone, Alex kept asking me what was wrong. He said he was worried because he had never seen me so quiet and unresponsive. It was all I could do not to bawl my eyes out. Eventually I came out of it and we were able to have fun at a BBQ at Little George's house reminiscing abou the old days, some I was a part of, some I wasn't.
When I had to drive home the next day, that was literally the longest ride of my life. I cried buckets the entire way home. I was still so mad at myself that I finally had gotten around to seeing everyone again, but it took a funeral to do it. And it was too late to see George. He was gone, hopefully duck hunting in Heaven with his dogs, waiting for his family to join him someday. George, I miss you all the time and even though we only knew each other a short time, you made such an impact on me and I'm sad that I never told you. But I think you know. I know I had a wonderful grandfather who was a dad to me my whole life, but you also helped fill that void and I am forever grateful.
I guess the lesson I choose to take from this story is to never take anyone for granted because you never know when it will be too late. I still find myself getting obsessed with work and working too much with that always unreachable goal in the distance, that later I will do this, later I will do that. It's hard to teach an old dog new tricks, and I am working on spending time with those I love more often. I am doing better at it, but not good enough in my eyes. In my line of business it's hard to take weekends off, and that's when most of life's 'fun' events occur. So to those friends of mine that I don't get to see very often, please know that you are never far from my thoughts and that I love you so much, more than you will ever know. I am good at writing things, but not so good at saying them. I come across sometimes as prickly and sarcastic, but that is just my protective armor. I am truly a big sap inside.
Some good news (for me anyway) is that Alex is moving back here for awhile for work, so I'll get to see him more often. And my friend Chris is coming home from Japan this winter after many years, so again, I'll get to see him too. And tomorrow I will gladly strip wallpaper from my grandma's bathroom walls even though I will be tired as hell. But I will know that I did it and that it made her happy and that sometimes you have to take time to smell the roses, even when the train is moving so fast that getting off it seems impossible.
And George, even though your coffee really was horrid, save a cup for me. I think I will need it :)
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Tribute to Friends
It's about 130 in the morning and I can't sleep again. Sometimes I just can't shut my mind off when it's bedtime. It just seems to swirl round and round with random thoughts and the only way I can get them to calm down is to write about them. I always do my best writing at night anyway, when the house is quiet and everyone is asleep.
In a couple of hours I'll be sending Mike on the road again for another long work week and the house will be silent and empty once again. Don't get me wrong, there are times that I cherish that. I grew up an only child so I am used to being on my own quite a bit with lots of quiet time for reading and mulling over my thoughts. Marriage has been a HUGE adjustment for me in that aspect. Having someone around all the time sometimes has me at my wit's end. I need and crave alone time. But there are times during the week when it gets pretty lonely and I feel like I am the last person on earth. That's why I'm so incredibly lucky to have the friends I do. Fifteen years ago I never would have imagined that I'd have so many friends who I cherish and adore.
Growing up I was definitely a loner. I never had many friends, but that never really bothered me. I had my two best friends, Derek and Meghan and my good friend Jenny. What more did I need? I was never popular in school. Honestly, I was considered a dork. I was quiet, shy and felt awkward most of the time. I was introspective and hid most of my thoughts and feelings. I never dreamed there was an outgoing girl in there just waiting to burst out. I didn't fully come out of my shell until I started working at South Fork Cafe in River Falls and started college. Anyone who has ever worked in a restaurant knows that it's impossible to remain shy while working in one. Somehow, I let my true self out and was shocked when people responded to that.
I slowly began to make more friends while working at that cafe. One night my friend Kristin and I went to a party and that is when a huge turning point in my life came. I met a guy named Adam at that party. We danced together all night, but when my friend started getting hit on by a really creepy guy, we told Adam we were going to the bathroom and then ditched the party and ran to the car. I never thought I'd see him again. He was seven years older than me and we didn't run in the same circles. Lo and behold though, one day he called me. My first thought was 'how the hell did he get my phone number?' Turns out my friend Joey playing in the band talked to Adam at the end of the night and pretended to be my older brother and gave Adam my phone number.
It wasn't long before Kristin and I were hanging out at Adam's house all the time with him and his roommates Dave, Chris and Kelly. They lived in an awesome house overlooking the falls by the swinging bridge in River Falls. That house still has legendary status in my circle of friends. It was our paradise. It was in town, yet it didn't feel like it was since it overlooked Glen Park and the river. A few months later I moved in with all those guys and so began the years of living at the 'Cascade House.' And those remain the best years of my life.
That house remains the center of almost every friendship I've ever made, excluding the wonderful friends I've made through working at Philander's. But that house has a part in most of those friendships too. It was the place we all congregated and hung out. I have so many memories of that house. Terrible ones, but mostly good ones that I'll cherish until the day I die. We had so many parties there that I can't even count. People would drop in every day just to hang out, party or not. This time of year I always find myself missing that place terribly. Maybe because during the summer we were either on the screen porch or out by the fire pit almost every night of the week. Magic is the best word to describe that place.
I made so many lasting friendships while living in that house, friendships that continue to thrive to this day.
Adam has been one of the rocks in my life since the fateful night of that long ago party. Though we didn't end up together, he has remained one of my best friends. Who can forget the time he told me I was "growing on him like fungus"? Or the "Adster dance" that comes out when he's had too many of his "cocktails." He saw me through a couple horrible breakups and medical procedures and I saw him through the same. When he moved to CA to be with a girlfriend and was super unhappy, I lent him the money to move home. And I know he would do the same for me. His sense of humor is like no other on this earth. He was a groomsman at my wedding.
Through Adam I met the Kennedy clan of Butternut. They are one of the best families I know. I am proud they made me an honorary 'sister.' Chris, who lives in Japan now with his wife, is one of the smartest people I know and I miss him dearly. He is the only one who could challenge me at Trivial Pursuit. Kelly and Carrie, his sisters, are like my sisters. I am honored to be the godmother to Kelly's little girl, Alison. I was even there to witness her birth and was one of the first ones to hold her. After all, she was almost born in the back seat of my Tempo lol. Carrie lives in Altoona now and Kelly in Mosinee and even though we don't get to see each other nearly as much as we would like, I know they will always be my 'sisters.'
I also have many hilarious memories of my friends Stacy and Jess, who I met through a boyfriend of mine. They are my girls. No matter how stupid we act or if we say something thoughtless, we always forgive each other. That is what true friends do. My favorite memory of them is celebrating their birthdays in May at the house. A neighbor must have thought we were having too much fun because we got called in for a noise violation. When the police came to tell us to quiet down, they just kept sitting in the rocking chairs on the patio screaming "But it's MY BIRTHDAY!!" Yeah, we got a noise ticket that night. Whether we're sitting on a curb crying or racing down I-94 singing about alfalfa fields, there is never a dull moment with them. And that's what I love about them.
Philander's has also brought me many wonderful friendships that I never expected. Nicole, Megan and Erin also became regulars at the Cascade House doings along with a few others. But those three to this day remain my closest friends from there. I know that I can tell anything to Nicole and she will never judge or make me feel bad. Erin is always the one I can laugh with for hours, probably because her laugh is so infectious. Megan is always tells it like it is, and I admire that a lot. Dibbo's nights, 7 Bottles of Wine night, WOP parties...the list of memories is too long to write about here. I am thankful that Nicole hired me at Philander's or we never all would have been friends.
And how could I ever forget my time living at that house with all the crazy guys from the U.P? I met them all at Philander's too. Alex and Jeremy needed a place to live and I needed roommates so they moved in. Soon, more of their friends came from the U.P. to work at the refinery and before I knew it I had five 'yoopers' living with me. It was the yooper boarding house. Those couple of years were absolutely insane but so much fun. Some of them, especially Alex's cousin Jason, loved to torment me and tease me to death. Alex became one of my best friends and still is, even though he ended up moving back to MI. We had our moments where we didn't get along, but for the most part, he is the brother I never had. Whenever I see an astro van I think of me and Nicole hanging on for dear life sailing through the trees next to the Burger King drive thru. Let's just say he probably never should go there again. And Big George was always like the dad of our group, overseeing all our shenanigans and shaking his head. We lost him to leukemia last year and I miss him every day.
Derek has been my best friend for 26 years. He lived with me for a few years at the Cascade House too. I know he wasn't too fond of all the parties we had, but I know he misses it there too. Derek understands me like no other human being on this earth. He always seems to know what I'm thinking. He has seen me through every happy event and every catastrophe of my life and has rarely waivered. There is no more loyal friend to be found. He accepts every single thing about me: my tendency to be bossy, my stubborness, my drama, everything. Thank God we both were naughty in kindergarten and got put at the 'naughty' table. The bond we made there is still strong 26 years later.
My last couple blogs have been tributes to family. This one is to my friends. The people not mentioned here, like Kim, Pete, Sarah, Mandy, Meghan, Michelle, everyone else, you are all important to me too. If I wrote about everyone this blog would be even longer than it already is. I love you all though, with all my heart.
Like I mentioned, I never dreamed I would have such a big network of true friends. People naturally tend to talk about the bad things in their lives more than the good. Whenever I am having a really bad day, I just try to remember how blessed I am to have such a big friend family. And when Mike is on the road, I know I am never too far away from any of them and feel a bit less lonely. Thank you to all of my true friends, for accepting me just the way I am, the good and bad.
In a couple of hours I'll be sending Mike on the road again for another long work week and the house will be silent and empty once again. Don't get me wrong, there are times that I cherish that. I grew up an only child so I am used to being on my own quite a bit with lots of quiet time for reading and mulling over my thoughts. Marriage has been a HUGE adjustment for me in that aspect. Having someone around all the time sometimes has me at my wit's end. I need and crave alone time. But there are times during the week when it gets pretty lonely and I feel like I am the last person on earth. That's why I'm so incredibly lucky to have the friends I do. Fifteen years ago I never would have imagined that I'd have so many friends who I cherish and adore.
Growing up I was definitely a loner. I never had many friends, but that never really bothered me. I had my two best friends, Derek and Meghan and my good friend Jenny. What more did I need? I was never popular in school. Honestly, I was considered a dork. I was quiet, shy and felt awkward most of the time. I was introspective and hid most of my thoughts and feelings. I never dreamed there was an outgoing girl in there just waiting to burst out. I didn't fully come out of my shell until I started working at South Fork Cafe in River Falls and started college. Anyone who has ever worked in a restaurant knows that it's impossible to remain shy while working in one. Somehow, I let my true self out and was shocked when people responded to that.
I slowly began to make more friends while working at that cafe. One night my friend Kristin and I went to a party and that is when a huge turning point in my life came. I met a guy named Adam at that party. We danced together all night, but when my friend started getting hit on by a really creepy guy, we told Adam we were going to the bathroom and then ditched the party and ran to the car. I never thought I'd see him again. He was seven years older than me and we didn't run in the same circles. Lo and behold though, one day he called me. My first thought was 'how the hell did he get my phone number?' Turns out my friend Joey playing in the band talked to Adam at the end of the night and pretended to be my older brother and gave Adam my phone number.
It wasn't long before Kristin and I were hanging out at Adam's house all the time with him and his roommates Dave, Chris and Kelly. They lived in an awesome house overlooking the falls by the swinging bridge in River Falls. That house still has legendary status in my circle of friends. It was our paradise. It was in town, yet it didn't feel like it was since it overlooked Glen Park and the river. A few months later I moved in with all those guys and so began the years of living at the 'Cascade House.' And those remain the best years of my life.
That house remains the center of almost every friendship I've ever made, excluding the wonderful friends I've made through working at Philander's. But that house has a part in most of those friendships too. It was the place we all congregated and hung out. I have so many memories of that house. Terrible ones, but mostly good ones that I'll cherish until the day I die. We had so many parties there that I can't even count. People would drop in every day just to hang out, party or not. This time of year I always find myself missing that place terribly. Maybe because during the summer we were either on the screen porch or out by the fire pit almost every night of the week. Magic is the best word to describe that place.
I made so many lasting friendships while living in that house, friendships that continue to thrive to this day.
Adam has been one of the rocks in my life since the fateful night of that long ago party. Though we didn't end up together, he has remained one of my best friends. Who can forget the time he told me I was "growing on him like fungus"? Or the "Adster dance" that comes out when he's had too many of his "cocktails." He saw me through a couple horrible breakups and medical procedures and I saw him through the same. When he moved to CA to be with a girlfriend and was super unhappy, I lent him the money to move home. And I know he would do the same for me. His sense of humor is like no other on this earth. He was a groomsman at my wedding.
Through Adam I met the Kennedy clan of Butternut. They are one of the best families I know. I am proud they made me an honorary 'sister.' Chris, who lives in Japan now with his wife, is one of the smartest people I know and I miss him dearly. He is the only one who could challenge me at Trivial Pursuit. Kelly and Carrie, his sisters, are like my sisters. I am honored to be the godmother to Kelly's little girl, Alison. I was even there to witness her birth and was one of the first ones to hold her. After all, she was almost born in the back seat of my Tempo lol. Carrie lives in Altoona now and Kelly in Mosinee and even though we don't get to see each other nearly as much as we would like, I know they will always be my 'sisters.'
I also have many hilarious memories of my friends Stacy and Jess, who I met through a boyfriend of mine. They are my girls. No matter how stupid we act or if we say something thoughtless, we always forgive each other. That is what true friends do. My favorite memory of them is celebrating their birthdays in May at the house. A neighbor must have thought we were having too much fun because we got called in for a noise violation. When the police came to tell us to quiet down, they just kept sitting in the rocking chairs on the patio screaming "But it's MY BIRTHDAY!!" Yeah, we got a noise ticket that night. Whether we're sitting on a curb crying or racing down I-94 singing about alfalfa fields, there is never a dull moment with them. And that's what I love about them.
Philander's has also brought me many wonderful friendships that I never expected. Nicole, Megan and Erin also became regulars at the Cascade House doings along with a few others. But those three to this day remain my closest friends from there. I know that I can tell anything to Nicole and she will never judge or make me feel bad. Erin is always the one I can laugh with for hours, probably because her laugh is so infectious. Megan is always tells it like it is, and I admire that a lot. Dibbo's nights, 7 Bottles of Wine night, WOP parties...the list of memories is too long to write about here. I am thankful that Nicole hired me at Philander's or we never all would have been friends.
And how could I ever forget my time living at that house with all the crazy guys from the U.P? I met them all at Philander's too. Alex and Jeremy needed a place to live and I needed roommates so they moved in. Soon, more of their friends came from the U.P. to work at the refinery and before I knew it I had five 'yoopers' living with me. It was the yooper boarding house. Those couple of years were absolutely insane but so much fun. Some of them, especially Alex's cousin Jason, loved to torment me and tease me to death. Alex became one of my best friends and still is, even though he ended up moving back to MI. We had our moments where we didn't get along, but for the most part, he is the brother I never had. Whenever I see an astro van I think of me and Nicole hanging on for dear life sailing through the trees next to the Burger King drive thru. Let's just say he probably never should go there again. And Big George was always like the dad of our group, overseeing all our shenanigans and shaking his head. We lost him to leukemia last year and I miss him every day.
Derek has been my best friend for 26 years. He lived with me for a few years at the Cascade House too. I know he wasn't too fond of all the parties we had, but I know he misses it there too. Derek understands me like no other human being on this earth. He always seems to know what I'm thinking. He has seen me through every happy event and every catastrophe of my life and has rarely waivered. There is no more loyal friend to be found. He accepts every single thing about me: my tendency to be bossy, my stubborness, my drama, everything. Thank God we both were naughty in kindergarten and got put at the 'naughty' table. The bond we made there is still strong 26 years later.
My last couple blogs have been tributes to family. This one is to my friends. The people not mentioned here, like Kim, Pete, Sarah, Mandy, Meghan, Michelle, everyone else, you are all important to me too. If I wrote about everyone this blog would be even longer than it already is. I love you all though, with all my heart.
Like I mentioned, I never dreamed I would have such a big network of true friends. People naturally tend to talk about the bad things in their lives more than the good. Whenever I am having a really bad day, I just try to remember how blessed I am to have such a big friend family. And when Mike is on the road, I know I am never too far away from any of them and feel a bit less lonely. Thank you to all of my true friends, for accepting me just the way I am, the good and bad.
Monday, April 25, 2011
Nick Ero Matara, Jr.--my dad
Tomorrow is the anniversary of my dad's death. He died on April 26, 1983 of a heart attack in Biwabik, MN. I was only three years old: too young to ever remember him. Even though I don't remember him, I find it staggering that he's been gone for 28 years. That's almost a lifetime to me.
My mom and dad divorced when I was very young, so I don't remember him at all. The amount of things I don't know about him really bothers me. The things I do know about him and continue learning about him I carry around in a small box in my heart. I would give anything to be able to talk to him for five minutes. There's so much I want to ask him and will never get to. I only hope that someday I'll be reunited with him and then I'll be able to talk to him for as long as I want. I have so many things I would ask him! For starters, did he love me? Was he excited when I was born? What did he hope for me? Why did he have to leave before I could get to know him? The list goes on.
The story of my dad in context to me is an odd story, at least to me. Growing up I didn't really know a thing about him. My mom and dad's divorce was a bitter one apparently, so she didn't want to talk about him much. Neither did my mom's family. I didn't even realize I had had a father until one time in Sunday school we were asked to make father's day cards. As a small child, it's hard to grasp concepts which are abstract to you. All I knew is I had my beloved grandpa, who I wrote about before, and everyone else had a daddy. Grandpa was my daddy. But as I got older, I wanted to know more and more about him and this elusive concept that I had a whole other side to my family that I had never known. But the answers were not always forthcoming. I always felt like the oddball in my family, because all my cousins had the name Lundgren, my mom's maiden name, and I was a Matara. Where did I come from? I longed to know.
My mom and my maternal grandparents gave me a wonderful childhood and I will forever be grateful to them for all they have done for me. But I still never could figure out why they wouldn't talk about my dad. I still don't really know to this day. It's a subject that is avoided. As I grew older, it really made me angry. No matter what happened between him and my mom, I had a right to know about him and his family. Didn't I? During my teen years, not knowing anything was a tumultuous time for me. All I knew were the facts that I found while looking through some of mom's paperwork. The more I found the more I wanted to know. I found his death certificate when I was 18. I also found out I have a half-brother from my dad's first marriage that I still have never met nor really know how to find. I was so angry that all this had been kept from me. I also found out my dad had left me money from his insurance policy, which I used for college. Though I would rather have had him here, he provided that for me and I am grateful.
When I was 20 years old I took matters into my own hands and started a search for my dad's family. I was so scared! What if they wanted nothing to do with me? But I had to find out! I needed to know about the second half of me. I had felt incomplete and empty for so long.
On the Internet, I found listings for my grandpa Matara, my uncle Mike and two of my cousins. There were other Matara's in the world, ones that I was related to! When I called my grandpa Ero for the first time, I was so scared the phone shook. But I shouldn't have been. He was so happy to hear from me! When I visited him and my cousins for the first time up at his house near Eveleth, MN, it was like a reunion talk show episode. My grandpa met me at the door with tears in his eyes and hugged me like I was going to escape from his grasp. I will never forget that day. He told me he thought he would never see me again. He said they had tried to maintain contact but were unable to. All I knew was that I had found missing pieces to my puzzle. One thing I learned that I had wondered for a long time was the location of my dad's grave. At the age of 20, I was finally able to visit him at his final resting place in Hermantown, MN. He is buried next to my grandmother, who I am so sad I never got to meet. I finally was able to 'see' him, even though it could never be the same as if he were here. I am so grateful to my friend Adam, who saw me through it all and pushed me to do this even when I was terrified.
Sitting at my grandpa's kitchen table looking at my dad's school pictures, eating pasties and drinking brandy was surreal. Hearing stories about my dad, what he was like, what he liked to do, was indescribable. When I heard of him dying alone in his trailer in Biwabik, my heart quaked. No one should ever have to die alone.
I was forever changed by that visit, and the couple that followed that. I finally had found some answers. But I think it was almost too much for me at that time. I kept in contact here and there through emails to my cousins and a card here and there. But I drifted away from them again. There is no really good excuse why.
My early 20s was a very hard time in my life. Actually my mid 20s was the truly hard part. I went through so many bad experiences that I don't think most people really even know everything. It was a dark couple of years for me. I didn't get into the grad school I wanted, so I felt like a failure, to myself and my family. I went through a horrible abusive relationship that scarred me forever and still to this day makes me wonder everyone's true motives. I had squabbles with my mother and grandparents over what I was supposed to do with the rest of my life and the secrets about my dad's family they had kept from me for so long. I dealt with some scary colon and stomach issues that I didn't know how would ever turn out. I partied too long and too hard, hoping to forget everything and lost some friends due to my actions. I even had a few scrapes with the law, which I'm sure people who knew me as a goody two shoes in high school would find hard to believe. I still can't believe the twists and turns my life took. But honestly, I wouldn't change a thing except for two things. I would be more kind to those who loved me truly and I would have kept better contact with my dad's family. But everything that happened to me, the good, the bad and the ugly, made me who I am today and I can honestly say I'm proud of the things I've overcome. I actually am more kind to myself these days. Forgiveness is a beautiful thing.
Sorry about the rambling. Writing this all down is cathartic for me. Back to the point. I drifted away from my dad's family. I think maybe I was scared that I wasn't good enough for them. After all I went through, I felt like damaged goods. I was ashamed. I didn't think I deserved to be loved or to have a family like everyone else. When I finally came to my senses, I couldn't find any of them. My cousin had since remarried and had a different name and my grandfather had moved. When I couldn't find him, I thought he was dead. My mother even tried to help me find him to no avail. I couldn't even invite any of them to my wedding because I didn't know where they were. And I thought Grandpa was dead and that I had missed out on being with him again. Whenever anyone asked, I didn't want to have to explain it all, so I let everyone think what they wanted. Again, I was so ashamed. How could I have let this happen?? I had wanted them if my life for so long and then I let them slip through my fingers. I was so mad at myself. That's another thing I had to learn to forgive.
Then one day I decided to finally get on this thing called Facebook. My friends had been harassing me to do it, but I saw no point in it. I finally gave in. And I am so so happy I did. Through facebook, I found my cousins again and my dad's family! I was able to finally talk to them again and I even spent part of Christmas with them this year! What a truly wonderful gift, one that I feel I didn't fully deserve. But nonetheless, it happened. I have so many lost years to make up for and am afraid I'll never have the time to do it.
Through them, I am able to fully see my place in this world. I am both a Matara and a Lundgren and by marriage, a Young now. I look more like my dad than my mom. Apparently, I even have some of his traits. Most importantly, I have my FULL family back intact. There is one missing piece to that puzzle and that is my dad. I wonder what he is thinking, looking down, seeing me with his family. I hope he is as happy as I am.
Though my dad's family was an elusive thing for me most of my life, I really was fortunate to grow up with the people I did. I had loving grandparents on mom's side, and a great-aunt and uncle I considered grandparents. When they passed on, I lost a piece of me. There's not a day that goes by that I don't think of my "grandma" Aunt Lorraine and my "grandpa" Uncle Norman. Some people even thought they were my real grandparents and I was always too tired of it all to explain that they weren't. Lorraine was the one member of my mom's family who had any kind words about my dad.
I am not writing any of this for sympathy. I am writing it for me. I have carried too much inside for too long and it started to turn me into someone I didn't even really like. I still have a habit of burying feelings, but I'm getting better at that too. This written piece is just a way for me to let it all out. If no one even sees it, that's fine with me. Because I can go back and read it and remember how far I've come. The bitterness and anger are gone. I have learned to forgive because God forgave me.
Through some of the things I went through, I lost friends due to my own actions. To them, I am sorry. I was so messed up. There is no excuse but I am a better person for it all. To those who saw through it all and stuck by me, you are all angels in my world. Derek, Adam, Kelly, Chris, Carrie, Nicole, Stacy, Jess....too many to count but you all know who you are and I want you to know how much I love you. And I love my family too, more than words can say.
So to my dad, I miss you. I wish I could say I miss YOU as who you were, but I miss the idea of you more. But someday we will meet again and have a nice long visit. Until then, keep watching out for me, because I can feel you near me from time to time. And say hi to Aunt Lorraine, Uncle Norman and Grandma for me. And please know that I am OK. Finally
My mom and dad divorced when I was very young, so I don't remember him at all. The amount of things I don't know about him really bothers me. The things I do know about him and continue learning about him I carry around in a small box in my heart. I would give anything to be able to talk to him for five minutes. There's so much I want to ask him and will never get to. I only hope that someday I'll be reunited with him and then I'll be able to talk to him for as long as I want. I have so many things I would ask him! For starters, did he love me? Was he excited when I was born? What did he hope for me? Why did he have to leave before I could get to know him? The list goes on.
The story of my dad in context to me is an odd story, at least to me. Growing up I didn't really know a thing about him. My mom and dad's divorce was a bitter one apparently, so she didn't want to talk about him much. Neither did my mom's family. I didn't even realize I had had a father until one time in Sunday school we were asked to make father's day cards. As a small child, it's hard to grasp concepts which are abstract to you. All I knew is I had my beloved grandpa, who I wrote about before, and everyone else had a daddy. Grandpa was my daddy. But as I got older, I wanted to know more and more about him and this elusive concept that I had a whole other side to my family that I had never known. But the answers were not always forthcoming. I always felt like the oddball in my family, because all my cousins had the name Lundgren, my mom's maiden name, and I was a Matara. Where did I come from? I longed to know.
My mom and my maternal grandparents gave me a wonderful childhood and I will forever be grateful to them for all they have done for me. But I still never could figure out why they wouldn't talk about my dad. I still don't really know to this day. It's a subject that is avoided. As I grew older, it really made me angry. No matter what happened between him and my mom, I had a right to know about him and his family. Didn't I? During my teen years, not knowing anything was a tumultuous time for me. All I knew were the facts that I found while looking through some of mom's paperwork. The more I found the more I wanted to know. I found his death certificate when I was 18. I also found out I have a half-brother from my dad's first marriage that I still have never met nor really know how to find. I was so angry that all this had been kept from me. I also found out my dad had left me money from his insurance policy, which I used for college. Though I would rather have had him here, he provided that for me and I am grateful.
When I was 20 years old I took matters into my own hands and started a search for my dad's family. I was so scared! What if they wanted nothing to do with me? But I had to find out! I needed to know about the second half of me. I had felt incomplete and empty for so long.
On the Internet, I found listings for my grandpa Matara, my uncle Mike and two of my cousins. There were other Matara's in the world, ones that I was related to! When I called my grandpa Ero for the first time, I was so scared the phone shook. But I shouldn't have been. He was so happy to hear from me! When I visited him and my cousins for the first time up at his house near Eveleth, MN, it was like a reunion talk show episode. My grandpa met me at the door with tears in his eyes and hugged me like I was going to escape from his grasp. I will never forget that day. He told me he thought he would never see me again. He said they had tried to maintain contact but were unable to. All I knew was that I had found missing pieces to my puzzle. One thing I learned that I had wondered for a long time was the location of my dad's grave. At the age of 20, I was finally able to visit him at his final resting place in Hermantown, MN. He is buried next to my grandmother, who I am so sad I never got to meet. I finally was able to 'see' him, even though it could never be the same as if he were here. I am so grateful to my friend Adam, who saw me through it all and pushed me to do this even when I was terrified.
Sitting at my grandpa's kitchen table looking at my dad's school pictures, eating pasties and drinking brandy was surreal. Hearing stories about my dad, what he was like, what he liked to do, was indescribable. When I heard of him dying alone in his trailer in Biwabik, my heart quaked. No one should ever have to die alone.
I was forever changed by that visit, and the couple that followed that. I finally had found some answers. But I think it was almost too much for me at that time. I kept in contact here and there through emails to my cousins and a card here and there. But I drifted away from them again. There is no really good excuse why.
My early 20s was a very hard time in my life. Actually my mid 20s was the truly hard part. I went through so many bad experiences that I don't think most people really even know everything. It was a dark couple of years for me. I didn't get into the grad school I wanted, so I felt like a failure, to myself and my family. I went through a horrible abusive relationship that scarred me forever and still to this day makes me wonder everyone's true motives. I had squabbles with my mother and grandparents over what I was supposed to do with the rest of my life and the secrets about my dad's family they had kept from me for so long. I dealt with some scary colon and stomach issues that I didn't know how would ever turn out. I partied too long and too hard, hoping to forget everything and lost some friends due to my actions. I even had a few scrapes with the law, which I'm sure people who knew me as a goody two shoes in high school would find hard to believe. I still can't believe the twists and turns my life took. But honestly, I wouldn't change a thing except for two things. I would be more kind to those who loved me truly and I would have kept better contact with my dad's family. But everything that happened to me, the good, the bad and the ugly, made me who I am today and I can honestly say I'm proud of the things I've overcome. I actually am more kind to myself these days. Forgiveness is a beautiful thing.
Sorry about the rambling. Writing this all down is cathartic for me. Back to the point. I drifted away from my dad's family. I think maybe I was scared that I wasn't good enough for them. After all I went through, I felt like damaged goods. I was ashamed. I didn't think I deserved to be loved or to have a family like everyone else. When I finally came to my senses, I couldn't find any of them. My cousin had since remarried and had a different name and my grandfather had moved. When I couldn't find him, I thought he was dead. My mother even tried to help me find him to no avail. I couldn't even invite any of them to my wedding because I didn't know where they were. And I thought Grandpa was dead and that I had missed out on being with him again. Whenever anyone asked, I didn't want to have to explain it all, so I let everyone think what they wanted. Again, I was so ashamed. How could I have let this happen?? I had wanted them if my life for so long and then I let them slip through my fingers. I was so mad at myself. That's another thing I had to learn to forgive.
Then one day I decided to finally get on this thing called Facebook. My friends had been harassing me to do it, but I saw no point in it. I finally gave in. And I am so so happy I did. Through facebook, I found my cousins again and my dad's family! I was able to finally talk to them again and I even spent part of Christmas with them this year! What a truly wonderful gift, one that I feel I didn't fully deserve. But nonetheless, it happened. I have so many lost years to make up for and am afraid I'll never have the time to do it.
Through them, I am able to fully see my place in this world. I am both a Matara and a Lundgren and by marriage, a Young now. I look more like my dad than my mom. Apparently, I even have some of his traits. Most importantly, I have my FULL family back intact. There is one missing piece to that puzzle and that is my dad. I wonder what he is thinking, looking down, seeing me with his family. I hope he is as happy as I am.
Though my dad's family was an elusive thing for me most of my life, I really was fortunate to grow up with the people I did. I had loving grandparents on mom's side, and a great-aunt and uncle I considered grandparents. When they passed on, I lost a piece of me. There's not a day that goes by that I don't think of my "grandma" Aunt Lorraine and my "grandpa" Uncle Norman. Some people even thought they were my real grandparents and I was always too tired of it all to explain that they weren't. Lorraine was the one member of my mom's family who had any kind words about my dad.
I am not writing any of this for sympathy. I am writing it for me. I have carried too much inside for too long and it started to turn me into someone I didn't even really like. I still have a habit of burying feelings, but I'm getting better at that too. This written piece is just a way for me to let it all out. If no one even sees it, that's fine with me. Because I can go back and read it and remember how far I've come. The bitterness and anger are gone. I have learned to forgive because God forgave me.
Through some of the things I went through, I lost friends due to my own actions. To them, I am sorry. I was so messed up. There is no excuse but I am a better person for it all. To those who saw through it all and stuck by me, you are all angels in my world. Derek, Adam, Kelly, Chris, Carrie, Nicole, Stacy, Jess....too many to count but you all know who you are and I want you to know how much I love you. And I love my family too, more than words can say.
So to my dad, I miss you. I wish I could say I miss YOU as who you were, but I miss the idea of you more. But someday we will meet again and have a nice long visit. Until then, keep watching out for me, because I can feel you near me from time to time. And say hi to Aunt Lorraine, Uncle Norman and Grandma for me. And please know that I am OK. Finally
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
My Grandpa, My Hero
With all of the political debate in WI the last few weeks concerning Scott Walker's budget bill, Facebook has been alive with more debate and political commentary than I have ever seen it. Republicans and Democrats wrote their opinions with fervor, arguing with each other, sometimes civilly, sometimes not so nicely.
One topic that was brought up was the fact that Scott Walker never finished college. Therefore, according to one person, he does not deserve to be in office. Another person wrote that people who are not college-educated don't deserve to receive as high of wages as a college-educated person. And it was those two comments that made my blood boil.
Mind you, I have an honors degree in French and Spanish with a minor in Journalism. I graduated from UW-River Falls summa cum laude. And it was one of the best days of my life. I am proud of my education. It was right for me to go to college and I will cherish it always. I am most definitely not against education. But I also realize that college is not for everyone.
There are jobs out there that require specialized knowledge and a college degree is a must for those. For example, my cousin is a physicist and I doubt she could have become that very easily without going to college.
But there are also jobs out there that require working your way up, learning on the job and experience. My husband started working for Scott Construction 11 years ago and has worked his way up to the position of crew foreman. He never wanted to go to college. School was difficult for him. That didn't mean he wasn't willing to work hard to make a life for himself. So tell me why his 11 years of experience and hard work should count for nothing, according to some? I don't know. It's one of the most ridiculous things I've ever heard.
Another person who came to my mind was my grandpa. Words can never fully describe what he means to me. He is the most genuine, hard-working, honest, stubborn, kind, humorous man I have ever met. Every man I meet in my life I compare to him. And there are very, very few that come even close.
Grandpa was born in 1919 on a dairy farm near Nugget Lake just north of Plum City, WI. Life certainly wasn't easy in those days, and it never seemed to get any easier. His dad died of liver cancer a year after he married my grandmother. That left him in charge of the family farm. He had taken control of the farm long before that though, due to various family issues. He and my grandmother worked that farm and raised their kids with meager money to spare. Through hard work and determination, they made the farm a success. Eventually they sold it in the late 1970s and moved to River Falls. With both my uncles gone and starting their construction business and my mom pursuing her dreams in music, it was just too much for them to do alone anymore. They bought a 27-acre hobby farm near River Falls and Grandpa became a custodian at UW-RF and Grandma got a job at Smeads Manufacturing.
The story goes the day I was born, when Grandpa was standing at the nursery window to see me, his first granddaughter, I looked at him from my little cubicle and smiled at him. Everyone knows newborns don't really have the ability to smile yet. But I did, right at him. And from that moment on, I was his "Snooks." It began a life-long bond that I cannot fully describe.
My mom and dad divorced when I was a baby, and my mom had some very rough times after that. My dad ended up dying of a heart attack when I was three before I ever got to know him. We lived with Grandma and Grandpa for awhile, until she remarried. That marriage lasted a year or so. I was four years old and one of my first memories was fleeing the house where we lived with my stepdad. He was a very abusive, horrible man. We went back to Grandpa's house. I remember my grandma shoving me under her bed to hide when my stepdad came there looking for us. My mom was helping the neighbor lady across the street when he came, so she wasn't home. Of course I didn't stay under the bed and peeked out the window to see my stepdad pull a gun out of his car and come toward the house. My grandpa went out there and faced him and made him leave. That was when I knew I never had anything to fear again as long as my beloved grandpa was there to protect me.
And so began the years of growing up on a hobby farm with my mom and grandparents. I was my grandpa's shadow. I wanted to do everything he did. Once I even dared to swear like he did, but Grandma put an end to that pretty quickly with a bar of Dove soap shoved in my mouth. I spent over 10 years helping him cut firewood in the woods on his property. When he was 88 years old he put up over 30 cords of wood. He has never stopped working. I spent hours sitting at his feet in his woodshop, playing with sawdust and helping him "clean" his machinery.
I have memories of riding to town with him in his little S-10 with the hot sun beating down on us. When mom and grandma were at work, he shuttled me all over the place: to swimming lessons, to the doctor, to friends' houses, everywhere. He was the only dad I ever knew. While he and my grandmother were supposed to be retired, he was helping raise me. He never made me feel anything but like the most special gift on earth. In a time when there was so much uncertainty and longing for a dad like all my friends had, he stepped in and filled that role. I am the person I am today because of him. He taught me to work hard and never complain about that hard work. I diligently helped him with the garden, clean out the barn, paint fences and cut wood. I wish everyone could grow up that way. There is nothing more satisfying than coming into the house after a hard day of physical work and sitting down to one of grandma's suppers.
Even in my tumultuous teenage years, I still thought Grandpa was the coolest person I knew. In high school I helped him after school and on the weekends all throughout the fall to get all the wood cut. I spent weekends there, even though mom and I began living on our own when I was 12 or 13. He helped me get through the horror that was high school. I almost got kicked out of school because I missed too many days and wasn't meeting attendance requirements. That was a horrible time. I was so sick all the time and no one at the school believed me. I was a straight-A student, but one of the guidance counselors even hauled me in her office and accused me of being suicidal. My mom, grandma and grandpa went into that school and told them how it was. One of my best memories is my grandpa telling Mr. Carroll, the vice-principal, that he was running a "goddamn concentration camp." Not long after that, I was diagnosed with IBS and it was found that I had 10 ulcers. That school just about killed me :) But my family got me through it.
My grandpa also taught me to be tough and never back down. Fear was something to be conquered, not given in to. When I was going into the hospital for a surgery and was scared out of my wits, he looked at me as we were going through the hospital doors and told me "Don't cry. You're a tough Swede. It will be OK." I have never forgotten that moment.
I know my grandpa believes in God even though he won't go to church. The only times I've seen him in church were for my confirmation, my wedding and funerals. Both my cousins had outdoor weddings :) He once told me when we were out in the woods that he can talk to God anywhere, that it doesn't have to be in a building. Even though I go to church, I still find my best times with God are in a woods under God's beautiful sky.
I inherited my grandpa's extremely stubborn streak, but he gave me so much more than that. He taught me to never be afraid, to be honest even when it costs you, to work as hard as you can, to be proud of what you've done as long as it's your best effort, to never give up and to enjoy the small things in life, such as watching a cardinal land on the bird feeder in the snow. He was my father when I had lost my dad. He loved me no matter what. He never got to go to college, but he is the smartest person I know and worked hard for everything he has. The things I learned from him will last me a lifetime, while I will forget many of the things my college professors taught me. No one on this earth can tell me that that man is worth less because he is not formally educated. He is, and forever will be, my hero and the man I measure everyone against.
One topic that was brought up was the fact that Scott Walker never finished college. Therefore, according to one person, he does not deserve to be in office. Another person wrote that people who are not college-educated don't deserve to receive as high of wages as a college-educated person. And it was those two comments that made my blood boil.
Mind you, I have an honors degree in French and Spanish with a minor in Journalism. I graduated from UW-River Falls summa cum laude. And it was one of the best days of my life. I am proud of my education. It was right for me to go to college and I will cherish it always. I am most definitely not against education. But I also realize that college is not for everyone.
There are jobs out there that require specialized knowledge and a college degree is a must for those. For example, my cousin is a physicist and I doubt she could have become that very easily without going to college.
But there are also jobs out there that require working your way up, learning on the job and experience. My husband started working for Scott Construction 11 years ago and has worked his way up to the position of crew foreman. He never wanted to go to college. School was difficult for him. That didn't mean he wasn't willing to work hard to make a life for himself. So tell me why his 11 years of experience and hard work should count for nothing, according to some? I don't know. It's one of the most ridiculous things I've ever heard.
Another person who came to my mind was my grandpa. Words can never fully describe what he means to me. He is the most genuine, hard-working, honest, stubborn, kind, humorous man I have ever met. Every man I meet in my life I compare to him. And there are very, very few that come even close.
Grandpa was born in 1919 on a dairy farm near Nugget Lake just north of Plum City, WI. Life certainly wasn't easy in those days, and it never seemed to get any easier. His dad died of liver cancer a year after he married my grandmother. That left him in charge of the family farm. He had taken control of the farm long before that though, due to various family issues. He and my grandmother worked that farm and raised their kids with meager money to spare. Through hard work and determination, they made the farm a success. Eventually they sold it in the late 1970s and moved to River Falls. With both my uncles gone and starting their construction business and my mom pursuing her dreams in music, it was just too much for them to do alone anymore. They bought a 27-acre hobby farm near River Falls and Grandpa became a custodian at UW-RF and Grandma got a job at Smeads Manufacturing.
The story goes the day I was born, when Grandpa was standing at the nursery window to see me, his first granddaughter, I looked at him from my little cubicle and smiled at him. Everyone knows newborns don't really have the ability to smile yet. But I did, right at him. And from that moment on, I was his "Snooks." It began a life-long bond that I cannot fully describe.
My mom and dad divorced when I was a baby, and my mom had some very rough times after that. My dad ended up dying of a heart attack when I was three before I ever got to know him. We lived with Grandma and Grandpa for awhile, until she remarried. That marriage lasted a year or so. I was four years old and one of my first memories was fleeing the house where we lived with my stepdad. He was a very abusive, horrible man. We went back to Grandpa's house. I remember my grandma shoving me under her bed to hide when my stepdad came there looking for us. My mom was helping the neighbor lady across the street when he came, so she wasn't home. Of course I didn't stay under the bed and peeked out the window to see my stepdad pull a gun out of his car and come toward the house. My grandpa went out there and faced him and made him leave. That was when I knew I never had anything to fear again as long as my beloved grandpa was there to protect me.
And so began the years of growing up on a hobby farm with my mom and grandparents. I was my grandpa's shadow. I wanted to do everything he did. Once I even dared to swear like he did, but Grandma put an end to that pretty quickly with a bar of Dove soap shoved in my mouth. I spent over 10 years helping him cut firewood in the woods on his property. When he was 88 years old he put up over 30 cords of wood. He has never stopped working. I spent hours sitting at his feet in his woodshop, playing with sawdust and helping him "clean" his machinery.
I have memories of riding to town with him in his little S-10 with the hot sun beating down on us. When mom and grandma were at work, he shuttled me all over the place: to swimming lessons, to the doctor, to friends' houses, everywhere. He was the only dad I ever knew. While he and my grandmother were supposed to be retired, he was helping raise me. He never made me feel anything but like the most special gift on earth. In a time when there was so much uncertainty and longing for a dad like all my friends had, he stepped in and filled that role. I am the person I am today because of him. He taught me to work hard and never complain about that hard work. I diligently helped him with the garden, clean out the barn, paint fences and cut wood. I wish everyone could grow up that way. There is nothing more satisfying than coming into the house after a hard day of physical work and sitting down to one of grandma's suppers.
Even in my tumultuous teenage years, I still thought Grandpa was the coolest person I knew. In high school I helped him after school and on the weekends all throughout the fall to get all the wood cut. I spent weekends there, even though mom and I began living on our own when I was 12 or 13. He helped me get through the horror that was high school. I almost got kicked out of school because I missed too many days and wasn't meeting attendance requirements. That was a horrible time. I was so sick all the time and no one at the school believed me. I was a straight-A student, but one of the guidance counselors even hauled me in her office and accused me of being suicidal. My mom, grandma and grandpa went into that school and told them how it was. One of my best memories is my grandpa telling Mr. Carroll, the vice-principal, that he was running a "goddamn concentration camp." Not long after that, I was diagnosed with IBS and it was found that I had 10 ulcers. That school just about killed me :) But my family got me through it.
My grandpa also taught me to be tough and never back down. Fear was something to be conquered, not given in to. When I was going into the hospital for a surgery and was scared out of my wits, he looked at me as we were going through the hospital doors and told me "Don't cry. You're a tough Swede. It will be OK." I have never forgotten that moment.
I know my grandpa believes in God even though he won't go to church. The only times I've seen him in church were for my confirmation, my wedding and funerals. Both my cousins had outdoor weddings :) He once told me when we were out in the woods that he can talk to God anywhere, that it doesn't have to be in a building. Even though I go to church, I still find my best times with God are in a woods under God's beautiful sky.
I inherited my grandpa's extremely stubborn streak, but he gave me so much more than that. He taught me to never be afraid, to be honest even when it costs you, to work as hard as you can, to be proud of what you've done as long as it's your best effort, to never give up and to enjoy the small things in life, such as watching a cardinal land on the bird feeder in the snow. He was my father when I had lost my dad. He loved me no matter what. He never got to go to college, but he is the smartest person I know and worked hard for everything he has. The things I learned from him will last me a lifetime, while I will forget many of the things my college professors taught me. No one on this earth can tell me that that man is worth less because he is not formally educated. He is, and forever will be, my hero and the man I measure everyone against.
Saturday, February 5, 2011
beating the winter blues...
I know many people get depressed in winter and think of it as a time to simply wish for summer. The long days of gray weather, cold and snow are wearing on many people. For some reason, I am the complete opposite! I thrive on downy flakes falling from the sky and cold temperatures.
Yesterday my husband Mike and I went ice fishing at Lake George in Spring Valley, WI. I had not gone ice fishing in many years until this winter, and I am so glad I have started it again. There's nothing like the camaraderie of sitting in your heated shack, watching the Vexilar, waiting for that fish to appear. We were toasty warm thanks to Mister Heater and it was fun to see Mike jump a mile when I shrieked "Tip up!!" and we found a nice 28 inch Northern on our line. We only caught 2 panfish and 2 Northern, but it was so much fun being out on the glittering lake with the fresh cold air.
Winter in this magical state is awesome. There is so much to do if people are just willing to leave their cozy couches and venture outside. And it's really not that cold if you bundle up! this winter we got to brave Lambeau in 20 degree weather. Now if I could only go snowmobiling I would be one content girl. Gotta get a sled first though...
Yesterday my husband Mike and I went ice fishing at Lake George in Spring Valley, WI. I had not gone ice fishing in many years until this winter, and I am so glad I have started it again. There's nothing like the camaraderie of sitting in your heated shack, watching the Vexilar, waiting for that fish to appear. We were toasty warm thanks to Mister Heater and it was fun to see Mike jump a mile when I shrieked "Tip up!!" and we found a nice 28 inch Northern on our line. We only caught 2 panfish and 2 Northern, but it was so much fun being out on the glittering lake with the fresh cold air.
Winter in this magical state is awesome. There is so much to do if people are just willing to leave their cozy couches and venture outside. And it's really not that cold if you bundle up! this winter we got to brave Lambeau in 20 degree weather. Now if I could only go snowmobiling I would be one content girl. Gotta get a sled first though...
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