Category: family life

Life at Gwennie Ru’s House

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Gwennie Ru, my new granddaughter lives in North Carolina with her mom Julia, and dad Kevin.

One late evening at the supper table, my daughter Julia said “Oh, by the way, there wasn’t anyone signed up for bringing a meal to youth meeting this week so I signed up.” This was the night before the meeting and my eyes went wide. I might have said something like “and how is this going to work out?” I knew that Julia and Kevin both had to work all the next day, and I also have a problem keeping my mouth shut. But, no one seemed overly concerned, and Julia got up from the table and went to Dollar General (at 8:30 pm) for spaghetti supplies for 30 hungry kids.

The next morning I came over to do granny daycare duties and saw that the table was loaded with french bread, linguini noodles and sauce in jars. Hmm…

Gwennie Ru took her bottle and an hour or so later was sleeping in her bassinet. I went out to the kitchen to say good morning to Kevin, who works at home, and found him in the kitchen. He was cooking noodles and trying to get ready for a conference call at the same time. I thought he looked a little tense.

He had opened all seven packages of linguini and put them in a pot of water, which was starting to boil. But who could really tell since the pot was so full that it couldn’t be stirred? It was hard to even put a spoon in it to try to stir.

I am not a wonderful cook and generally have very little advice to give on the subject but this was clearly a disaster in the making. “Kevin, this is not going well. Seriously, you need help.”

“Are you offering?” Hope sprang up in him. I could feel it.

“I guess I am.” I nodded.

And with that he went, rather quickly I thought, over to his desk and a couple minutes later was on his call.

Honestly, I could not move the noodles around in the pot at all and decided that the first needed thing was more space, and the second was more water. I found another large pot and filled it with hot water from the tap and set it on the stove. I began lifting clumps of linguini out of one pot and into the other.

I suppose many people my age know that as kids we used to make glue out of flour and water, right? Those are the basic ingredients of noodles as well and, unstirred, they pretty much glue themselves together in large clumps. The process was well underway.

I took out what I estimated to be about half of the noodles, and tried again to stir the pot. Now there was room for more water so I added that as well. I thought I was making good progress and the added water had cooled down whatever was taking place in the pot. The second pot was going considerably slower than the first and was not a worry.

What was a worry was thinking about where all the noodles were going to go at some soon approaching time. I don’t know about you, but I always think I’m not cooking enough spaghetti. When they’re dry, the noodles look so little and thin, so you throw in a few more and end up with spaghetti for a week. Think for a minute about seven packages of noodles… Okay, that’s long enough.

Although fairly unfamiliar with Julia’s kitchen, I found several large colanders and set them in the sink. I didn’t run, but walked fast to the basement where there were some large foil catering pans in storage. By this time I figured the first pot might be done cooking and need to be tested. I tasted them, and these were done but might have had a slight burned flavor? It wasn’t bad, so in spite of a few dark noodles coming to the surface now and then, I gave them the green light and poured them into the two colanders and started rinsing. While not always necessary, in this case rinsing was needed.

The majority of the noodles were fine, although I had to cut out clumps that had welded together and refused to separate. I had to do a little surgery getting the final layer out of the pot too, leaving the parts that were stuck to the pot. I split the burn flavored ones between the two pans and lubricated them with olive oil and a large jar of sauce. I repeated the process with the second pot of noodles which were not burned, so each pan had both flavors to kind of keep people guessing. More sauce, parmesan cheese, and voila, spaghetti dinner for 30!!

Julia came home early from work and took the spaghetti and bread down to the church to be heated and consumed. For her, it was another night away from home until 8 pm. As it turned out, there was nearly a full pan of leftovers for us to eat – see what I told you about having spaghetti for a week? It happened. Thankfully, a miracle occurred somewhere in there and it actually tasted pretty good. It’s just another story of crazy blessedness at Gwennie Ru’s house…

Becoming Grandma: Time Goes On

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Day 11

It is becoming clear that this time in North Carolina will not be a daily posting opportunity. The time is going by so quickly, and the schedule is… well, there is no schedule. Instead, I’m going to record stories the way I remember them. After this, no more numbering the days.

Last week was a whirlwind of activity. On Wednesday Julia had a day off work, so we packed up Gwennie Ru and did a shopping trip. She slept in her car seat, even as we were in and out of stores.

My other event of the day was driving an hour away to Raleigh to pick up Esther at the airport. We had planned to both be here in NC for a couple of reasons. One, we were going to attend an additional memorial service for Dennis, my husband, in Pennsylvania. We planned to have a girl’s road trip with three generations in the car – me (the aged one), Julia and Esther (the middles) and Gwennie Ru. This service was for the Pennsylvania relatives and friends who were unable to attend the service in July. It was also for Julia, since she hadn’t been able to travel then either. More about that later.

The following day, I hadn’t even dried off from my shower when Julia called. She and Gwennie Ru had been having some symptoms of a cold and she was worried about the way Gwennie kept rubbing her ears. She wanted to make sure there was no ear infection going on before we went on our PA trip. She had been able to get an appointment with the pediatrician. Could I get Gwennie there in an hour or so?

So you may be thinking, what’s the big deal about that? And that was what I told myself to quell those sneaky little twinges of panic that leapt up from who knows where. I can take someone’s precious newborn in my car and drive half an hour through an unfamiliar city and present her, with the correct information, to an unknown band of professionals. No sweat.

And that’s what happened. We got through the trip, two short feedings, a dirty diaper, and exams by an intern and a doctor. Gwennie was well behaved and had perfectly fine ears. Truly, this is why I start every day in prayer, asking for help with unexpected tasks, and end every day grateful to God who understands and hears.

Gwennie having some Auntie time with Esther

Becoming Grandma: Day 2

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The beautiful, green Haw River

Day #2

Maybe it’s just me, but it seems like Gwennie Ru needs a person pretty much dedicated to her, without too much else to do. I did just go outside and water some flowers and empty the garbage, but to do something like writing, something requiring thought as well as time, is really hard.

This morning we took another walk along the Haw River that borders the property. Some of the trails have been recently mowed, others not so much. I took one of the “not so much” trails today and found a couple wood ticks when I got back. I lost one of them somewhere in the bedroom and ended up vacuuming the whole room, hoping to get rid of it. I should probably think more about where I go with my precious bundle, but it’s been so nice to be able to walk while I’m here. It’s almost a sure way to get Gwennie to quiet down and wait for the next thing scheduled to happen.

Today I dressed her in a short sleeve onesie and some long pants to cover her legs on our walk. I put socks on her too because it always feels like her feet are cold. She has no extra fat anywhere to keep her warm and padded. She has SO MANY CLOTHES. I would be surprised if she gets to wear all her outfits before she grows out of them. A lot of them are handed down from friends and relatives. Her mama doesn’t know how to say no to anyone, especially when everything is so cute.

This morning it was 54 degrees in my RV and that was fine when I was under the covers, but pretty chilly when I wasn’t. I learned how to light the furnace – my one accomplishment before grandma duties began.

My spiritual reflection for today came while looking down at Gwennie’s little face as she slept. How easy and compelling it is to love someone who is so helpless and dependent. That condition is part of why I love her. I want to guard her, meet her needs, teach her to live safely in the world and let her know she is valued and loved. Duh, lightbulb moment… that is why God created us to be able to have parenting experiences. He wanted us to have that feeling toward helpless children in our care, because that is exactly what we are to him. And that is how he feels toward us. It is such a rich blessing to be created in the image of a loving God.

An eerie looking stump along the path

Becoming Grandma

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These posts may be less carefully edited because the baby does not sleep very long.

My last visit to North Carolina, Riverbend Farm, was for the birth of Gwendolyn Ruth Shanahan on July 24, 2023. Unfortunately, I got sick and missed the main event almost entirely. I stayed only three weeks and then went home to recover.

I arrived again on September 16. This time I am devoted to figuring out some of this “Grandma business”. It sounds like something that should be simple – you become a grandma when your grandchild is born. I have a feeling there’s more to it than that.

The timing of this visit is because Gwennie got baptized the day after I arrived. In this case, the terms baptism and dedication are interchangeable, in my mind. She will make her own decision about believing and choosing to follow Jesus someday, but this was a decision by her parents and church family, to raise her in full knowledge of that path. I loved being there and making my own promise to show her God’s love. Of course, water was involved, but she behaved well as it was poured on her little head.

Day #1 Grandma Daycare

Gwennie Ru is very small, not yet two months old, and I know that it will take some time for me to recognize her personality. Today was my first day doing her care while Mommy went to work. We hung out together all day and I’m still not sure who she is. But I now know that she gets hungry every three hours and is intelligent enough to get bored quickly when awake. I have heard her cry “bloody murder” when trapped for hours in her car seat, but in the course of a normal day she doesn’t cry loudly or often. She fusses and makes funny faces. She can be coaxed into a nap easily and I’m getting good at that.

After I figured out how to get her pack fastened on me, and then how to get her in it, we took three walks around the farm. I got over 14,000 steps. I’m teaching her to pray with me while we walk.

It was only a small bowl of water and much of it went on Daddy’s sleeve.

Thoughts I Didn’t Plan on Thinking

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Today we are in my brother’s truck having a rare family road trip. It’s a change for me not to be driving. It leaves me free to look out the window at the gray, somewhat foggy fall day. The leaves are turning but the colors are muted and dull. There is still a lot of green out there so maybe we’ll have a better autumn brilliance in a few more days.

We are going to Eau Claire, a small city two hours away, to visit Chippewa Valley Eye Clinic. An ophthalmologist/plastic surgeon has been working on Mom’s right eyelid after removing a small basal cell carcinoma. This is our fourth visit due to complications of the surgery and repair. Mom has been struggling with ointments, painful eyes, poor vision and a sense of being really tired of this whole process. We don’t know what to anticipate today.

We have so many medical options for anything that goes wrong with our bodies these days. And things do go wrong sooner or later – that is a given. There are many decisions to be made because of this, some we make for ourselves and some others make for us. Swirling all around these calls for decision are issues like the value of life, quality of life, the comparison of one life over another, our views of death and suffering and medical accountability. It’s deep water and not fun to navigate.

This week I was sitting in my husband’s hospital room as he slept. In the common room where I could see and hear them, a family was sitting with their youngish looking son who had obviously been in an accident of some kind resulting in brain trauma. Like my husband, he was there for intense rehab and he was showing good improvement. I had a moment of guilt as I compared him to my elderly husband, with numerous comorbidities, struggling to show progress at all who was taking up a valuable bed in the facility. I felt sorry for the doctor who had to decide to move my husband out to a nursing home for rehab, and I understood what she had to consider. Because we’re having trouble finding another suitable place, he is still here at Miller Dwan in that bed.

My husband spends time thinking about what purpose God could have for him that he was allowed to survive this stroke. He is so tired, and to look at him on some days, you might think he was half dead already. I think he looks half dead, which makes me get busy waking him up, shaving the stubble, sitting him up and telling him to open his eyes before the next therapist arrives. I want him to look valuable, hopeful, worthy of the time and effort they are putting into his rehabilitation. He has indicated he wants that and I am his advocate. It’s a job.

I’ve asked him to think about what he would want if he were to have another stroke. Would he want to go through again what he’s experienced the last two months? He said he hadn’t thought about it. How can that be? He has so much time to think. So many things happen to us because we can’t imagine what we might have to decide, but now he knows and doesn’t have to imagine.

Last week there was an article in the local paper by Garrison Kieller of Prairie Home Companion fame. He also had recently been hospitalized and had experienced many feelings my husband recognized, a lot of mention of bodily functions. He had a good laugh when I read the article to him. Helplessness and dependency is not just happening to Dennis Dietz. And at some point, it could easily happen to any one of us.

I’m thinking about my future, although I know there’s no getting “control” over this realm. It seems to help me to do mental role playing around the possibilities, that way I’m not completely surprised by some of what actually happens. My choices play into my future so I try to make good ones (most of the time) but my best choice has been in believing that God is in control, and that he doesn’t plan on wasting any of my experiences. I can accept that hardship is part of life, and that circumstances can be beyond awful at times. Endurance is needed but there is help along the way in many forms. My belief is that the outcome is good, and it is sure. Just sayin’…

Being “Right” Comes Full Circle.

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(It has been suggested by the husband that I write this to his daughters.)

We were reading a thoughtful paragraph on humility this morning, referencing people who are always right about anything and everything. Dennis laughed and said something that our youngest daughter had said to him once. “I am right, because I am a Dietz!” It was said tongue in cheek and they laughed at it at the time too. Then he got quiet and continued, “I love our daughters so much. I hope they know that.”

It was a special moment and we continued talking about the meaning of that conversation and why the memory of it sparked such gratitude and love inside his “dad heart”.

During the years our daughters were growing up at home there were so many good times for us as parents and for them as children. There were also times, not so good, when they felt distanced from their parents. The role of provider was always of high concern for Dennis, and required a lot of his attention. Maybe small people (children), having limited experiences, were not as interesting as other friends and business associates. He never intentionally conveyed this to them, but it was conveyed nonetheless.

In addition it was natural to assume that children’s opinions, reasons, and thought processes were still to be directed and molded, not listened to and considered. This attitude also was never intentionally spoken, nor was it applied 100% of the time, but over the years it was felt, sometimes acutely. Although Dad provided well and loved them, he didn’t know them personally and was often clueless as to what they were feeling. Perhaps they heard more of “don’t leave toothpaste in the sink” and “your lights were left on – go turn them off” than the things daughters need to hear from their dads.

So what does it mean when a daughter can tease, laugh and point out some hurtful flaw when talking to her dad? What did it mean that she could remind him of that “always right” attitude in a gentle conversation (well, I don’t actually know how gentle it was or what it was about because I wasn’t there…)? To him, it meant forgiveness. It meant that she wasn’t afraid to remind him of that proclivity of his. It was acknowledgement and grace extended. And it was love.

The husband has mellowed so much in the last few years. Retirement has put the distraction of being a provider behind him. He fully realizes those things he has missed by not being more aware, more curious, more persistent about knowing his children. He has also been diagnosed with a heartbreaking condition. But it has turned into a blessing. It’s almost as if his heart had to be broken in order for him to know what was in it. It’s amazing to think about.

Although he is disabled, he has traveled long distances to see each of his two daughters get married, during pandemic times. He would not have missed these opportunities for the world. “Being right” has come full circle and is now much more like “Being in love.”

It provides hope for us all. We can grow, learn, change. The whole story doesn’t have to be pretty for the outcome to be good. God be praised for his transforming power, his gentleness and his wisdom, and his mysterious ways.

Telephone Tribe

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I’ve just read a post in the online support group for dementia caretakers that made me think. It was about how those with a diagnosis of LBD, who have been good friends with many in better years, don’t hear from their friends any more. Actually it was a caretaker writing the post, who was sad that the friends didn’t even contact her to ask how her husband was. She was wondering what their excuses were. Were they unable to handle the changes they saw in him? Were they afraid dementia was contagious, or that they would somehow get it? Did they think that their absence wouldn’t be noticed by anyone so why bother?

My husband who has Lewy Body Dementia is probably not your typical dementia victim, because he has refused to let people forget him. He calls them up if he knows their number. He hunts them down if he doesn’t know their number. He calls them again if they don’t answer the first, second, or third time he calls. He checks up on them even if they don’t check up on him. He remembers what they’ve talked about. These people are his past business associates, the members of the band he used to play in, and family members.

Many times I’ve listened to the conversations (he is always in the living room and doesn’t try to keep them private). Sometimes I cringe when I hear him repeating the same story to someone who has heard it all before. Sometimes I feel sorry for the person he calls because he talks so slowly and often has trouble hearing. Sometimes I wish he wouldn’t try to sound like an authority about other people’s problems, or misquote things he’s read, or be so simplistic about things I think are much more complex. But at the end of it all, I see that there are those people who do take his calls anyway. There are some who listen to his stories, even if somewhat impatiently, and respond with interest. Some tell him that he has encouraged them, given them hope. They are his telephone tribe.

I hear patience in their voices when they talk to him, laugh with him, ask him questions. When they don’t have time for his hour long versions, they tell him they need to go in a few minutes. They set limits in kind ways and show respect. They call him back when they say they will or apologize if they forget. They continue being good friends. They know they are doing something for him that friendship is supposed to do, and they are not afraid, not too busy, not “turned off” by the changes dementia has brought to him. I am so thankful for those friends, because they also help me. I am thankful to have married a man who chose his friends wisely. If you are this kind of friend, thank you.

Another Pandemic Wedding!

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She traveled farther than I did to get there. She had been decked out in some pretty fine cloth. She was due to arrive just in time for the event, for which she planned to be a prominent player. She started out the week of the wedding and all would have been well had it not been for the tire that exploded on the first day of the journey.

It was pretty bad – actually blew a huge hole in the wheel well. But four new tires later, and a quick clean up after the trip was finished, she was in place and no one was the wiser. She wasn’t the bride. She was the bride’s Airstream and this was not her first adventure, although it may have been her first wedding. We don’t know.

The venue was the Seattle Arboretum, Wisteria Hall. The day was July 24th, 2021 and it couldn’t have been nicer weather. Esther and Ryan had been planning their celebration of marriage since the summer before, when it was twice cancelled because of the pandemic. For the second time since COVID19 became a household word, I was mother of the bride.

The plan was to keep things simple and meaningful, and to share it with as many of their friends and family as were able to come. The husband and I traveled five days by car to get there. We were determined to be present and didn’t have near as much trouble as the Airstream did.

There were many things about this wedding that were non-traditional, and yet it had the important features:

The beautiful bride
The handsome groom
The vows and promises
The rapt audience
The laughter and happy tears

The whole wedding script was unique to my daughter Esther and her Ryan. Never mind that there was no bevy of women wearing matching dresses that they would never wear again. Never mind that pizza and pie took the place of wedding cake.

Yeah, it’s pizza (good pizza).

Never mind that instead of musicians and soloists there were mothers, reading poetry especially chosen for this occasion.

Mom (me) reading Mary Oliver

At the end we were all invited to pronounce them husband and wife, and we did. Bubbles floated everywhere around us as they walked, arm in arm, back to the Airstream to sign official documents.

Tables set for a feast
I didn’t say it was only pizza.

The happiness continued during the pizza party reception and the dancing. Yes, the dancing. It was pretty wild and joyous at times. We are just that kind of people.

Wild girl.

To love, to commit, to live together, to help each other grow and thrive. Marriage. Esther Armstrong and Ryan Bruels. July 24, 2021

Twice Blessed

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It just so happens that I have two men in this present stage of life that are near and dear to me. It just so happens that they are both named Dennis. It just so happens that they both have birthdays this week. Isn’t that a little odd?

The husband’s serene smile.

The one that I’ve known for the last 49 years is the husband Dennis. We are together still and figuring out life together, one day at a time. He will be 75 on Friday. His birthday has always been a little anticlimactic, being a day after the birthday celebration of the Savior of the world. He’s always seemed very accepting of being in the shadow though. It’s fortunate for him that he doesn’t put a lot of stock in birthdays in general, his or anyone else’s.

My brother even goes geocaching with me (well, once…).

The second Dennis is my brother. I’ve know him for all of his life. He came on the scene when I was ten years old, the youngest of my four brothers. His birthday is tomorrow, Monday. He might as well have been born on Christmas, since the holiday lasts nearly a week for all practical purposes. It’s easy to get overlooked in a very busy season.

We who write, read, and blog – we’re kind of a community, aren’t we? I’ve shared my two Dennis’s with you because I have an “ask” to put out there. If you have time, and just want to put a kind, happy surprise in the life of someone you may not even know, would you wish them a happy birthday? I haven’t tried this before so I don’t know if Facebook lets you say happy birthday if you aren’t on a person’s friend list, but I love experiments. Feel free to tell me if it doesn’t work. It doesn’t matter if you do it on the exact day either. Thank you so much! I love these guys.

Brother Dennis can be greeted here: https://www.facebook.com/dennis.l.smith.739

The husband Dennis can be found here: https://www.facebook.com/dennis.r.dietz

Yes, I did my 10,000 steps!

Talking about My Brothers

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The interesting thing that happened today, in addition to getting my 10,000 steps

was a phone conversation with my cousin who loves to study and talk with others about relationships. I had to think about how to express what she loves to do, and I’m not sure I’ve got it just right. She wants to learn what it takes to have good relationships with other people in order to love well. She and her husband have helped others through Marriage Encounter workshops, and she is also the person who comes to any family event armed with questions to spark discussions. She likes hearing what others have to say. And don’t we all feel good when someone wants to hear us?

Today’s question worth thinking about was “what does it mean to be a good sibling?” I have four brothers, and I would call all of them good. It was an interesting exercise to define and talk about what “good” meant.

We are not above wearing cheesy reunion T-shirts for the sake of family togetherness.

Although we Smiths grew up together, we have gone our separate ways, lived our very different lives, in different parts of the country. We all have families of our own. Because we are talking about siblings, not friends or business associates or any other connection, making family of origin a priority has to be part of the definition. I love that my brothers, from time to time, have all taken the initiative to connect with each other, with parents and with me. We visit each other and make it a priority to be at family reunions and landmark events. We don’t stalk each other. We don’t demand to know every detail of each other’s lives, but when there is something to talk about, we are pretty sure we can find a family member who will take the time to be a good listener. We want to help each other when there is a crisis.

My Dad died a few years ago, and I love the way my brothers have taken care of Mom since then, each in their own special way. My youngest brother’s wife died this year and there we all were, wanting to share the loss and grieve together. One of my daughters had a pandemic wedding this fall and once again, family showed up to help and witness the special event.

Because we have met often over the years, our children know each other and have a special regard for family as well. They try to make sure that no one gets left out of the “cousin club”. I am so proud of all my nieces and nephews for their efforts to stay connected even as they have started their own families and gotten very busy.

Proud of the way the next generation of cousins has stepped up to honor family.

My brothers and their families are all interesting people and we have a common history. Those things should be more than enough reasons to want to know each other, to initiate and pursue connection. We aren’t doing it perfectly but we are learning as we go. It’s fun.

I would wish that everyone could have the blessing of good relationships between siblings, or other family members. I know sometimes it isn’t the case because living as family is a complex, and often messy business. I am glad today that I took time to think about how I can be a good sibling to my brothers. It is a topic worth much thought, just sayin’.