February 1: Cardinal in the Backyard

Years ago, my taught me that the sight of a cardinal was a visit from a loved one who had passed; a sign that all was well in the great beyond.  When I saw this cardinal on the fencepost in my yard a few weeks ago, I was glad.  

Tomorrow will be a year since my Dad’s passing.  I miss him.  I miss his voice on the phone; I miss his to-the-point e-mails; I miss his jokes and his laugh.  It’s hard to believe that we’ve been a full season of life without him in this world.   I can hear his political commentary in my mind, see him in my growing plants and garden plans, think of his outsized joy in his grandsons. I remember him by telling stories about him or using a patented dad-phrase.  It’s not enough - it never will be - but the memories are of a  man who loved and was loved; who had a good life.  That’s happy.

January 1: A Cardinal Year

It’s no secret that my Dad was a huge fan of the St. Louis Cardinals and his love of a team with a scrappy, mean bird as a mascot is rather a funny thing.  My Dad could be scrappy but he was never mean.  His affection for the team dated back to his childhood and it never wavered.  Even when his team was struggling, Dad maintained hope that the game - and the season - could be turned around.  Some of my greatest joy in life is found in memories of the conversations he and JT had as the Cardinals - by then JT’s team - won an improbable pennant and then World Series in 2011.  The sight of a cardinal has always reminded me of my dad and all his best qualities: his liberal politics, his sense of humor (and exquisite timing), his skill with profanity, his joy in his grandsons.  With his passing in 2023, the sight of a cardinal feels like my Dad is at hand, counseling patience as I wait for my new hip, condemning ignorance and stupidity, or shouting “Jocko” when there is flubbed play at sport.  In 2024, the first of each month will be devoted to cardinals in all their forms in my world.  First up is this Christmas gift from my sister.  

It will be hung over the doorway between the kitchen and the living room, keeping watch over my home and reminding me of my dad.

Bad Love

I’m a fan of Eric Clapton — I know, I know…but the music is so damn good — and this morning “Bad Love” came on my playlist.  It’s a song I’ve loved for years but this morning it made me stop.  There was once a time when the song made me think of T in a really fond way.  But this morning, rather than a reminder of a good and strong love, it was a reminder of a relationship that had gone, well…if not bad, certainly astray.  We were neither of us happy and neither were we able to be good for one another any more.  It's funny how time and events can change my perspective and add a layer on to a memory that I once had.  Hearing the song didn't make me cry, but it did make me feel a little more gentle toward myself.  That's a trait I need to demonstrate a bit more often.

My Dad

 

My father died on Wednesday, February 1.  If you knew Wayne McMillen, you knew…. 

His grandsons hung the moon.

His wife Carol was his little chickadee or his old crow….he could never remember which. 

He looked out for people who needed help - always -  and he thought you should do the same. 

His work ethic was strong and believed that a job worth doing was worth doing well. 

He was unmatched in his mastery of profanity. 

He told a great story and laughed often. 

He shot the moon - successfully - every damn time he played Hearts with you. 

His garden was beautiful, always, but his tomatoes will be better next year. 

He had an encyclopedic knowledge of baseball and thought St. Louis would win it all this year.

He advised that you "don't take any wooden nickels."

He called you Jocko if you made an error on the sporting field and he was not amused. 

That “can’t never does”. 

That he cared deeply and was much beloved.

That his daughters are loud and bossy and now you know why. 

Think of him when you admire a flower in the garden, enjoy a tomato still warm from the sun, set up a tent in the woods, and laugh at good story.  He’d want it that way. 

Real Life Texts with JT: On Brand edition

The backstory:  For a wide swath of his childhood, JT was into pirates.  So into pirates that he would spend his days dressed as one, all while commanding a veritable fleet of Playmobil pirate ships bent on world domination.  

JT: I had a dream I was a door dash driver but I drove a pirate ship. 😂

Me:  That is awesome.  And very on brand.

JT:  Argh matey.

Memory Tree

On Saturday evening, T and I got the year’s Christmas tree and set it in the  stand.  Yesterday, I got out the Christmas decorations and set to work with lights for the tree, stockings for the banister, and all the happy traditions that are the backdrop for our celebrations.

Over the years, I've come to regard the twinkly lights and festive decorations as one of the best parts of December, a welcome antidote to the fading daylight as the Winter solstice approaches.  The cheerful decoration and lights make our home welcoming and cozy.

Hanging ornaments on the tree is more than just a pleasing tradition, it’s a chance to think about some very happy memories.  When I hang one of my very first Christmas ornaments, one that hung on the trees I put up in my apartment in Nashville many years ago, I think about how much I loved living in that city.

There is a Santa ornament that reminds me of a boy who believed with all his heart, a joy and confidence that was magic to experience.

Each year, I give JT an ornament that he can one day take to his own home and tree.  This guitar was the ornament JT received the year he was three and was obsessed with a toy guitar.

For many years, JT received a moose for Christmas.  Over the years, there have been moose stuffed toys, books with a moose, a moose figurine in his stocking.  This moose Christmas ornament, part of JT’s collection, reminds me all those moose surprises over the years.

This tiny mercury glass bauble was a gift to myself many years ago, when I was first a Mama on my own.  Things were sometimes hard then and I worried that holidays would also be hard.  But that first Christmas on our own was joyful and lovely.  This ornament reminds me to believe in myself. 

I could go on; my mind swims with memories as I hang the ornaments on the tree.  It is in the stories  these ornaments tell that I find the magic of the season.  

That’s happy!

Doppelgänger

When he was 4, JT picked up a picture of me as a child and asked me why he was wearing a dress.  That memory came to mind this week when I was cleaning out closets and cubbies and came across a collection of school pictures from my childhood.  It would seem that kindergarten was no laughing matter.

I’ve always known that JT looks like me but this picture really drove the point home.  When I set it alongside a picture of JT at the same age I was amused, even if age 4 JT was simply tolerating having his picture made.

A much larger boy than this has been home from college this week and we’ve hung out, watched (and judged!) endless episodes of House Hunters, played cards, and generally relaxed.  He’s let me feed him and I’ve used his strength to get some house chores done.  On Sunday, he heads back to school for the outdoor track season and the last 8 weeks of classes.  Then his first year of college will be in the books.  And my mind will still be spinning, wondering at the rapid passage of time.

The Daffodil Season

The year that JT was born, I treated myself to a $2 bunch of daffodils after I took him to the pediatrician’s office in the town next door.  When I see daffodils in the store I am reminded of those early days of motherhood.  They seemed to pass just as quickly as the daffodil season and though nights in the company of a baby who was wide awake can seem long, these days the memories of those weeks is precious.  I remembered them as I treated myself to a bouquet of sunny flowers when I was getting my groceries for this week.  The buds were tightly closed when I brought them home. But the flowers have all opened and the bouquet greets me in the dark and cold morning, a reminder that Spring is on its way.  

Throwback Year 14

JT was in the 8th grade when he turned 14.  At turns, he was playful.

And then grown up, as he finished 8th grade and started 9th.

To celebrate how hard he worked in 8th grade, T and I took him to St. Louis to see Cardinal Stadium and watch a game.

In June, we travelled to Scandinavia with my family to celebrate my parent’s 50th wedding anniversary.

It was a year with laughter and adventure and, on this day, I am especially thankful for the memories.

Happy Thanksgiving, y’all!

A Jersey Christmas Eve

Tradition in New Jersey is that during the Christmas season Santa rides around town accompanied by the local fire trucks and the wailing of sirens.  In my town, that happens on Christmas Eve.  It’s not restful but it is exciting.  Here at Sassafras House, we’re long past the anticipatory excitement of waiting for Santa on Christmas Eve.  As we hear the fire trucks roll through town, we make jokes about not having a fire at this hour. But my neighbor’s two year old M nearly lost his mind waiting for Santa to roll down the street and I enjoyed some memories as I watched.  

I remembered the year JT and I drove home from singing Christmas carols on Christmas Eve and the local radio station reported that Santa had already been seen in New Jersey.  From the back seat, the tension oozed forward as JT feared Santa would skip our house because he wasn’t asleep.  I remembered the year one of our Christmas Eve luminaries caught fire in the front yard.  I remembered all the years I snuck around after JT was tucked into bed, constructing elaborate Playmobil villages for Santa to leave on Christmas Eve.  I remembered the joy of tracking Santa's journey with Norad, as our excitement built.  I remembered the blessings of a boy who believed in Santa long after it was reasonable to do so.

Then M from across the street, impatient and excited for Santa to roll down the street, punched the blow up snowman in his yard.  T and I laughed.  

Christmas isn’t always perfect and sirens and horns are hardly peaceful, but I am blessed to have a warm home, a soft bed, and family I love.  That’s worthy of a celebration.  

Happy Christmas Eve, y'all.  May you have laughter and good memories to enjoy!

Happy, Happy

I collected these hand-carved wooden bunnies when I lived in Nebraska.  As Easter approaches, I set them out and enjoy their company.  I first bought the carvings simply because they were cute and I love rabbits.  But as my collection grew and years passed, the bunnies came to be a reminder of the passing years.  When JT was small, the bunnies were placed on a higher shelf.  Toddler JT  liked to gently hold each bunny in his hands; sometimes I’d let him tuck one of the more durable rabbits in his pocket.  Their presence in this window sill (next to some framed family pictures) is both a reminder of Spring and a tour of some very happy memories.

Grand and Great

When I went away to college, my grandmother and I began to exchange letters.  We wrote often and I have a box full of those letters.  My favorite one of those was written in April 2000, just after my nephew S was born.  I had my own small baby by then and in the course of just 8 weeks, my grandmother had tripled her number of great-grandsons.  In her letter that April, my grandmother wrote that she had seen the new baby and that he was healthy and lovely.  At that point, with three great-grandsons, she was a very proud great-grandmother and she wrote to me, "my cup overfloweth with little boys."

She wasn't the overly sentimental type and it was such a sweet thought that I saved the letter.  In subsequent years, the letter has been doubly special to me because later that year, and quite unexpectedly, my grandmother passed away.  So she never got to meet great-grandchild number four, a girl born to my cousin and his wife nearly six years ago.  They came to visit while JT and I were in California so I got a picture of the great-grandkids together.

I think that my grandmother would have been most proud of these four.  

Scrapbooks

Several years back, my friend J introduced me to scrapbooking and I've been a convert ever since. It's an excuse to be creative (with paper and stickers! it's like I'm 8 again), with plenty of opportunity to record stories about my boy, so really, it's no surprise that I enjoy it so much.

All of my scrapbooking was about my family, and when my family got suddenly smaller, it was very difficult for me to return to the books. I'd look at pictures of the three of us and wonder, "was she getting ready to leave when this picture was made?" I'd wonder if the happiness I saw in the photos was a lie and I'd ponder when the deceptions began.

And then there was the obvious irony of the fact that I tended to scrapbook major life moments.......there just aren't any stickers to mark the day that your family falls apart. So, though my friend E suggested I take up ironic scrapbooking, instead I just stopped.

I still collected pictures, paper, and stickers. In the abstract, I thought about the things in my life with JT that was worthy of recording. I took to making cards, which didn't require me to relive painful moments. This blog was an enormously helpful creative outlet. But soon enough, JT started to ask why I wasn't making the books anymore. His missed looking at the pages as a record of his life.

So when J, who started this all, invited me to join her at a scrapbook day this weekend, it seemed like a good idea to take the plunge. JT was away for the weekend and I had last made pages in my book in February 2006; three months before everything suddenly changed. So my first task on Saturday was to record memories from 2006. I figured that it might be difficult, but the only way through it is to do it. And so I did.

Ten hours and twenty pages later (!), I've got myself to the summer of 2007. I have plans to finish up 2007 and head on into 2008. When he came home on Sunday afternoon, JT was thrilled to look at all the new pages and I was happy to see his enjoyment. Though it was sometimes a painful reminder of how much my life has changed difficult, I'm glad that I have re-claimed it.

Ingredients for a Perfect Day

One baseball game - Yankees v. Braves (Yankees win, 5-3)
Ice cream sundaes for supper
Pirate costume ----- with tattoos
Splash Mountain with your Mama - at night
Staying up really, really late ---- past midnight
Miss Amy
A ride on Peter Pan ----- the story that began this obsession so many years ago

And when it's all said and done your little boy will announce that it was "the night of a lifetime."

Indeed.