Category Archives: Family
365 Reasons to Smile – Day 11
Rodney at Water Fountain
One of the benefits of having children is that they literally look at the world through different eyes. That’s why my daughter had to point out that the water fountain at our local park is designed for dogs.
I’ve walked by the fountain hundreds of times and even used it on occasion. Yet I never noticed that particularly amenity until my daughter instructed me to let our dog use the lower fountain while we humans drank from the two higher ones.
The concept is brilliant, and watching my dog take advantage of it always makes me smile.
Day 11: Water Fountains for Dogs
Day 10: The Rainier Beer Motorcycle Commercial
Day 8: Great Teachers We Still Remember
Day 7: Finding the missing sock
Day 6: Children’s books that teach life-long lessons
Day 5: The Perfect Photo at the Perfect Moment
365 Reasons to Smile – Day 10
There was a time in elementary school when my classmates and I were constantly imitating a commercial on television.
We weren’t singing “my bologna has a first name” or “Plop. Plop. Fizz. Fizz.”
We were making the sound of a motorcycle in a beer commercial.
This was long before the advertising companies were shamed for making adult products appeal to children. In fact, I don’t remember anyone expressing concern that we were constantly making the sound of a motorcycle promoting “RAAAAIIIIIN EEEEER BEEEEEEER.” They were probably as amused as we were.
These days, we can find plenty of fault with the commercial, which can be seen on YouTube (Rainier Beer commercial), but watching it always makes me smile.
Day 10: The Rainier Beer Motorcycle Commercial
Day 8: Great Teachers We Still Remember
Day 7: Finding the missing sock
Day 6: Children’s books that teach life-long lessons
Day 5: The Perfect Photo at the Perfect Moment
Universal Questions
If popular culture is to be believed, all of our questions will ultimately be answered when we die.
I may be a bit impatient, but I’m not ready to find out if that’s true. I’m not even all that eager to have all my questions answered.
For the moment, I’m quite content to muddle along and think that wondering is the essence of living.
And wonder I do.
I know there are people who believe there is a master plan or that we just have to trust fate. But, in reality, there are more seven billion people on earth. If even one percent of those people are similar to me, they are constantly doing something random and unplanned that could change everything.
There are just no easy answers about how the universe works.
I first learned that during a summer in the late 1970’s.
My family was spending our summer vacation exploring Yellowstone National Park and the surrounding area.
Knowing my parents, the trip was well-planned. But even the best planning doesn’t take into account when little girls have to go to the bathroom.
My dad grumbled as he pulled our Oldsmobile 98 sedan into a parking spot at a visitors’ information center. As my mother and I headed to the women’s room, we paid little attention to the car with Michigan license place that nosed in next to us.
But my dad was paying attention.
Which is why he chose to watch a slide presentation about some geological event that had occurred at some point in history at our current location. I have no recollection of what the event was or when it occurred. All I know is that when my mom and I sought out my dad and brother, they were watching the presentation.
Or they were at least pretending to watch.
My dad was sitting in a metal folding chair wearing a foolish grin and pointing to the people in front of him.
Those people were my great-uncle Vilas and his new girlfriend, Betty.
Uncle Vilas, who was from the Detroit Michigan area, had visited us once in Oregon, but I really didn’t remember him. My parents didn’t even know he had a girlfriend, even though his wife had passed away years before.
All we knew was that, by some unbelievable coincidence, we had pulled into a visitors’ center in Montana at the exact same time.
After the slide show ended, my mom tapped him on the shoulder. When he recognized her, he was initially shocked then broke into a wide grin. We spent time in that visitors’ center catching up. Then we went our separate ways.
That was the last time we saw my Uncle Vilas. He died a few years later in 1986, but my family always talked about the coincidence.
Then, just a few weeks ago, I was asked to judge a Boys and Girls Club state scholarship competition, and the national coordinator was from Adrian Michigan, where my mother was born. As we talked about the coincidence, I discovered that her parents had graduated from high school where and when my Uncle Vilas was principal.
My immediate reaction was “it’s a small world.” But sometimes, that’s just hard to believe,
I began to a do a little more family research and discovered that Uncle Vilas, like my son, played a brass instrument in a band. I also discovered that he, like I have, spent his career in service to others rather than in the business world.
I’m still not sure if that means anything more than he seems to pop into my life at the most unexpected moments.
But I’m willing to wait for the answer.
365 Reasons to Smile – Day 7
I am completely neurotic about misplacing things. When I can’t find my keys, the television remote or a hair brush, I immediately want anyone who is nearby to stop everything and help me search.
Needless to say, my husband and children don’t generally feel the same sense of urgency. Instead, they usually just feel annoyed.
That’s probably because I’m not the most organized person, so they get annoyed quite a bit.
But over the years, I’ve finally learned to accept that my efforts to find a missing sock are usually pointless.
Which is why I’m also incredibly excited when I actually find one.
Whether it has been clinging to a clean towel or hiding under the bed with the dust bunnies, matching that sock with its mate always makes me smile.
Day 7: Finding the missing sock
Day 6: Children’s books that teach life-long lessons
Day 5: The Perfect Photo at the Perfect Moment
365 Reasons to Smile – Day 6
One of the benefits of being a parent is the excuse to read children’s books.
I adore children’s books.
I don’t just love the illustrations or the stories. I love everything about them: the way they feel in my hands, the rhythm of the words and most of all, the optimism they express.
I was picking out books before I was picking out clothes for my unborn son. And I treasured every moment helping both him and his sister discover the joy of books and reminding myself that’s how I discovered some of life’s most important lessons.
Leo the Late Bloomer was one my teachers.
I may not have shared Leo’s issues, but I certainly had my own timetable for learning to be comfortable in my own skin and accepting who I am.
But when I did, I blossomed.
Leo the Late Bloomer, like so many other children’s books, confirms that is absolutely nothing wrong with just being yourself.
And that always makes me smile.
Day 6: Children’s books that teach life-long lessons
Day 5: The Perfect Photo at the Perfect Moment
365 Reasons to Smile – Day 2
I’ve always been interested in history, and my own family history is no exception. Because of that, I’m grateful to have been trusted with old family photos.
From the tintypes to stiff cardboard photos to fragile albums that are falling apart, I treasure those photos and the secrets they hold.
If nothing else, they remind me how lucky I am to be a woman who can choose to wear shorts, or pants or a skirt. They remind me of modern conveniences. And they remind me that I owe my life to all the people who have come before me.
I’m carrying their DNA and carrying on their legacy.
And that’s why old photographs always give me a reason to smile.
Day 2: Old Photographs
Day 1: The Martians on Sesame Street
Where Fear Comes From
As I sat in my driveway Thursday night watching fireworks, I was transported back to a July evening more than 40 years ago.
My family and I were sitting in lawn chairs in front of our small rental house on the Warm Springs Indian Reservation in Oregon watching an amateur fireworks show. As a very young girl, I didn’t know the pyrotechnics were less than impressive. All I knew was that my parents were complaining about the long delays between explosions and that Charlie Brown was scared. And I was worried about Charlie.
Trina and Charlie Brown 1971
From the day my parents adopted Charlie Brown, they should have known I would fall deeply in love. I was born to be a dog lover the way some people are born to be athletes or musicians. According to my baby book, one of my first words was “doggie,” and, as a toddler, I would search out dog books at the local library.
But until Charlie Brown arrived, my family never had a dog.
Since then, my family has never been complete without a dog.
Charlie Brown
And even though we loved Charlie, his early years weren’t easy. He came into our lives at a time when dogs were allowed to roam, and roam he did. When he strayed onto a cattle ranch and started chasing the cows, the rancher shot him. He barely survived, and my parents always blamed his fear of thunder and fireworks on that incident.
Their explanation was reasonable, and I always believed them until I discovered that other dogs, those who have never been shot, also fear thunder and fireworks.
That’s when I began to wonder where the fear comes from. I just couldn’t understand why so many dogs would be afraid of the same thing when their experiences were so varied.
The concept of fear has always fascinated me, especially since I’ve spent my own life overcoming unjustified ones. When I was young, I was afraid to swim in water that was over my head even though I could swim perfectly well when I could touch the bottom. I was afraid to slide down a fireman’s pole, even when all the other kids were expressing sheer joy during the descent. And I’ve always been afraid of rejection and failure to the extent that I avoided potential relationships and challenges.
Then, at one point in my life, I thought I had finally figured out the fear factor.
In college, a Psychology professor discussed the theory of collective memory, and the concept clicked. I might not have experienced an event that would provoke fear, but one of more of my ancestors had. They would have then passed those fears down to me.
That made sense for the dogs as well. They may not have experienced the danger associated with loud noises, but their ancestors had.
For years, as I’ve slowly overcome my fears one by one, I’ve held on to that theory.
Then Rodney entered my life.
Rodney watching the fireworks.
Rodney is the current canine member of my family. He’s a giant German Shepherd with a lot of energy and very little fear. That is, very little fear unless you count his inability to be left alone.
When we first adopted Rodney from a rescue group, he wouldn’t even go into our backyard without someone accompanying him. Over the past three years, he’s improved, but he still hates to be separated from the family, and, yes, particularly from me.
On Thursday night, as the human members of the family sat in the driveway watching fireworks, Rodney sat in the house watching us. He whined, he whimpered and he cried until I brought him out to join us.
And then he was content. While the city fireworks boomed overhead and the neighbors shot off their firecrackers, he simply watched. And my theory about the roots of fear was forgotten.
Because, at that moment, I realized that no matter where fear comes from, there will always be an even greater force.
It’s called love.
A Piece of Your Dad
Summer 1998
A message to my 15 year-old son:
The moment you were born, your dad grinned wider than I’ve ever seen. Then he said,”This is the best day of my life.”
And he meant it.
While my mind was spinning with worry, and I wasn’t even sure if I was even cut out to be a mother, your dad knew he had arrived at the place he was always meant to be – fatherhood.
Since then, he’s never left that place. Not even once. And that hasn’t always been an easy thing to do.
Not all men have the fortitude to be a father, and, and as you should well know, it is often a thankless job. It’s even harder when you grow up without much of a role model.
But your father has something a lot of men don’t – the ability to put his ego aside and focus on what he believes is most important – always being available for you and your sister.
From the moment you were born, you have been his priority. He’s never stopped believing in you or being your number one champion. Ever.
At those times when I’ve cried over your behavior or questioned what I did wrong, your dad always spoke up for you. And he was always the voice of reason.
On those days when I worried that you weren’t like other boys – that you weren’t particularly interested in playing sports or being overly social – he always praised you for being comfortable in your own skin and being true to yourself. And he was always right.
Summer 2013
And all those times when you were being the total and complete goof you are, he was proud of you and never hid his face in embarrassment.
Well, almost never.
I know we often joke about your blood line and about your genealogy, but, in all honesty, you should be proud of being your father’s son.
You may not have his brown eyes or his poker straight hair, but you have something much more important.
You have pieces of his heart and pieces of his soul.
Treasure them and make good use of them. Your dad sacrificed a great deal so you could have them.
The Cost of My Opinion
The bloodiest single-day battle in American history occurred approximately 15 miles from my house. Nearly 23,000 soldiers died, were wounded or went missing after twelve hours of combat on September 17, 1862 at the Battle of Antietam during the Civil War. The lingering echoes and impact of that battle are still felt more than 150 years later.
Both the Union and the Confederacy experienced devastating losses, and historians have never declared a true winner. But for me, my family won. My great, great-grandfather James F. Bartlett (his biography and obituary are on this website right below Edward Bartlett’s) fought with the Massachusetts Infantry and survived. although he did sustain injuries on May 6, 1864, at the Battle of the Wilderness.
John Snyder gravestone Elmwood Cemetery
Ironically, my husband’s great, great-grandfather, John Snyder, died in June 1864 of wounds he sustained at the Battle of the Wilderness while fighting with the Stonewall Brigade.
Years ago, a local historian gave my husband and me a tour of John Snyder’s town and legacy. The tour ended at Elmwood Cemetery in Shepherdstown, where he is buried.
Newly married, I was actually interested in John Snyder until our volunteer tour guide pulled out a Confederate flag for my husband to place on his great, great-grandfather’s grave.
I loudly proclaimed that the Confederate flag had a very specific meaning, and my husband was not allowed to touch it. He tried to explain the flag was meant to honor his great, great grandfather, but I declared that the Confederate flag had nothing to do with honoring anyone. My husband placed the flag on the grave anyway.
Years later, I recognize my words were nothing but rude, and I had absolutely no right to be indignant.
I’ve never put my life on the line for my beliefs, and I have no right to judge those who did. All I can be is thankful.
The passage of time can change perspective and opinion about what is best and sometimes even what is moral, but it will never change what is honorable.
My children carry the blood of two honorable men who fought for what they believed during a time when our nation was completely divided. They also carry the last name of a man who lost his life fighting for what he thought would be a better life for them.
On Memorial Day, I have no right to argue about putting a Confederate flag on a soldier’s grave. Instead, I should simply be grateful that I have the freedom to make those arguments.
That freedom didn’t come without a price, and today we honor those who paid it.
Swimming in a Dress
Victoria swim wear – http://www.fashion-era.com/images/SocialHistory/swimpad500.jpg
This week, I had two conversations that morphed into one question about how we live our lives.
The first conversation was with a friend who told me about home-schooled children who were on a field trip at the Shepherd University pool. They were affiliated with a religious group that prohibits females from wearing pants, and, apparently prohibits swimming suits as well. My friend’s son watched astounded as the girls jumped into the pool still in their dresses.
The second conversation occurred on the phone with my mother, who wanted to know if my son had received his birthday check. After telling her yes, I added, “I know, he hasn’t sent a thank you note to acknowledge it. I’m a bad mom.”
My mother disagreed. “No, you aren’t. You are a much better mom than I was.”
Her comment shocked me, because I’m not even close to the type of mother she was.
My mom always made sure we sent thank you notes immediately. She planned menus that met every dietary guideline. And she ensured we did our Saturday chores, our beds were always made and that our laundry was always put away.
Not only do I fail to do all of those things on a regular basis. but my life is a chaotic mess compared to the structure in which I grew up. I told this to my mother in fewer words, but she responded, “You have fun with your kids. You know how to relax and just enjoy them. I never did.”
Not to belabor the point, but she WAS always wound quite tightly, and I’m generally not wound nearly that tight.
But getting unwound wasn’t easy. As I recently told a friend, “I spent the first 15 years of my life being a nerd trying to follow all the rules, and I spent the next 15 years trying to prove I was a rebel. Then I became a mom and had to find a happy medium.”
swimsuits in 1919 – http://old-photos.blogspot.com/2008_01_01_archive.html
In short, I had to break free of restrictive expectations and learn balance so I could enjoy life.
Which brings me back to the girls who jumped into the swimming pool in their dresses and to my question.
“Can anyone really enjoy life fully when they are restricted by a rigid belief system?”
Being in a pool with a dress is probably more fun than not being the pool at all, but I can’t imagine it was all that enjoyable. The water-logged clothing had to make movement difficult and exhausting.
I have absolutely no right to question or judge the beliefs and choices of the girls or their families. If they choose to swim in a dress, they have every right to do so.
But I have every right to question my own choices and the self-imposed restraints I’ve often put on myself – those that prohibit me from enjoying life. Sometimes these have been thinking a work deadline is more important than a few hours with my children. Sometimes they have been my obsession with gaining weight. And sometimes they’ve been my concerns that I will fail when I try something new.
I’ve definitely done my share of swimming in a dress.
But both times and people evolve, and as I’ve aged, I’ve become better and better at shedding my dress. That doesn’t mean I’m going out in public in a string bikini, but it does mean I can enjoy a good swim in a modest tankini.
Just So You Know 
