The Gifts We Bring

Rex playing with Ty and Elise. The daily radiation treatment for his brain tumor caused his hair to fall out everywhere but the lower back of his head. I couldn't shave his head often enough to keep it looking normal. The steroids he took caused  weight gain that he hated because it made it hard for him to get down to play with the kids.  Poor guy.

When my brother came to live with my family, there was already so much going on that had nothing to do with him. Rob and I were in a legal battle with the school district to get special education services for our 3 kids, Rob was commuting in rush hour traffic 3 hours each way to work. Our kids health challenges kept me on the frequent flyer plan at our local ER and I was devoting myself to getting an education in possibly the world's most complicated, convoluted and controversial health care modality ever invented. Throwing Rex and his brain tumor on top of all that was an impossible challenge. Just the day-to-day grind of survival was overwhelming.

 

I wish I could say I handled it with faith and grace. I didn't. I was crabby, exhausted and on the verge of tears pretty much all the time. I did what needed to be done because I had no option, but I complained loudly enough that everyone knew major sacrifices were being made.

 

My brother tried to ease my burden. He could see very plainly that I wasn't handling things well. The main thing he did was play with my kids. Their sibling bickering was greatly reduced because he kept them occupied while I rushed around working on my endless to-do list. I have fond memories of afternoons like the one in the photo above. Since Rex was childlike himself, he knew what kids liked to do and he did it, even when the radiation treatments gave him headaches and made him nauseous. Every kid has the need to play and no adult played better than my brother.

 

Rex brought other gifts to our house that I wrote about in the book. What started out seeming like gasoline poured on an already raging inferno, ended up being exactly the opposite. Rex was the fire extinguisher that smothered the flames, stopping the heat that was consuming our family.


 Rob and I were permanently changed by having Rex in our lives and we will be forever grateful that we followed the promptings from God to bring him home. Instead of being another burden to carry, my brother gave us the wings to set us free.

 

 

 

 

 

First and Never Again Family Camping Trip

Rex, Heather and baby Ty on 1994 camping trip

It seemed like such a good idea at the time. What could be better than Rob and I packing up our three kids (one a baby less than a year old!) a dog, my brother Rex and heading off on a family camping trip in the Colorado mountains?  

I swear we stayed in the campground long enough to unpack the station wagon, pose for this picture, burn a meal over a fire pit, wait for the sun to go down, and crawl into the supposedly family-size tent before all hell broke loose with a screaming, puking baby, a howling dog, a crying toddler and whining child, a frazzled husband and my brother begging to be taken back to his apartment.

Me, being the voice of reason in all things, announced that we were not going to spend all night crammed in this miserable tent with a sick baby and no way in H-E-Double-Hockey-Sticks were we going home at midnight, either. We were going to a hotel. 

NOW.

Rob and I led the kids, the dog and Rex to the car and then we proceeded to stuff all of our camping gear in the back of the station wagon without regard to organization because did I mention it there was no moon that night and it was pitch black outside? By the light of one flashlight we decamped in record time and careened down the narrow, twisty two-lane mountain road to the nearest hotel with a neon Vacancy sign. We had a lovely weekend napping by the swimming pool and watching cartoons on cable tv. 

 My brother never again asked to go camping with us. I think that is why we all got along so well, we knew and accepted our limits of family togetherness. 

Nothing Smaller Than Your Elbow and Other Important School Lessons

My first year of school was scary. My 1972  public school kindergarten teacher was strict and when I say that, I mean she spanked us in class. In front of everyone.  Kids got spanked over her knee with her hand and once or twice with a ruler. One poor boy did something bad enough she made him pull down his pants, lie across her lap and she spanked him bare-bottomed with her hand. The loud "Smack! Smack! Smack!" of her hand against the jiggling of his bare skin sent a shiver of dread through my body. I could clearly see her red hand imprint across his butt cheeks. The spanking itself wasn't the horrible part. That was part of being a kid. I got spanked at the foster home, just like everyone else. But it was one thing being spanked at home and a whole another thing at school, in front of the class and especially naked. That crossed a line I hadn't considered possible.

 The teacher didn't finish out the school year, she disappeared after the  bare-bottom boy's parents complained to the principal. I didn't tell my foster parents or biological parents about the classroom spankings. It didn't occur to me that they would find anything wrong with it.

 My kindergarten teacher's way of handling classroom disruption worked perfectly on me. I learned very quickly to not cause trouble and never went to the teacher for help or admitted a problem. Just like at the foster home, I dealt with my business by myself.

Which is how I ended up with my first problem I couldn't fix. I had allergies to all the good things in Portland, Oregon. The green grass made me break out in hives. The roses made my face swell up. From spring to fall, I sneezed and hawked my way through life. My  inner ears itched so badly and sometimes at night, they oozed ear wax onto my pillows. I didn't take allergy medicine, I didn't know it existed. I also didn't know I had a doctor. I never saw one.

One day in  kindergarten class, my left ear was itching something fierce. I tried everything I could to ignore it, but it was relentless. So I did the only thing I could to relieve the insane itching. I stuck my sharpen pencil tip in my ear and scratched. I scratched my itchy inner ear so hard, the pencil lead broke off inside my ear canal. I  knew instantly I had done something dreadful. Looking up at my teacher at the front of the room, I considered telling her what I had done. I discarded that thought. I wasn't about to get spanked in class, especially if there was a chance I could be spanked bare-bottomed. No way.

I decided that even though my ear was muffled from the pencil lead, it didn't hurt, so I would just wait until a better reason to confess came up. I didn't tell my foster mother about the pencil lead either. Why would I volunteer to get into trouble? So the pencil lead sat in my ear canal and I forgot about it. From that year until 4th grade, I passed all the yearly school hearing tests by cheating. They way they tested students hearing was to bring four children into a room at a time and have us sit at a table with earphones on. We closed our eyes, raising our hand when we heard faint beeps through the earphones. I kept my eyelids slightly cracked and raised my hand when they raised theirs. Easy-peasy.

 Since we didn't have physicals in the foster home or after my brother and I were adopted, no doctor looked in my ears. In fourth grade, my body decided it was time my pencil lead secret came clean. My ear was itching terribly and I was hearing a loud crackling noise. I tried to feel with my fingers what was wrong, but all I got was slimy earwax oozing out. My ear problem was loud enough in my head I got scared. I decided to risk it and told my adopted mother there was something in my ear. I honestly didn't know what was wrong, I had forgotten long ago about the pencil lead. Virginia took a flashlight and looked at my ear. She could see something just inside my ear canal. She used a pair of tweezers and gently slid out an inch long piece of earwax coated, perfectly preserved pencil lead. And amazingly, I could hear out of my left ear again. As she held up the pencil lead for Harley and Grandma Quigley to see, I remembered how it got in my ear and told them the story. They all laughed and I was relieved. I wasn't in trouble, my ear was clear and an important lesson was learned. From then on, no matter how bad my allergies got, I never again put a pencil in my ear to scratch. I used the sharp point of a ballpoint pen instead.

50th Wedding Anniversary Photo Album

Right after the Justice of the Peace renewed their wedding vows.

50th anniversary supper.

Grandbaby Eleanor hiding her face from the camera,
 but enjoying the restaurant.

Grandbaby Eleanor with Coconut the Wonder Dog,
her autism assistance dog.

Coconut the Wonder Dog  was on the floor like all proper assistance dogs until after Eleanor was done eating.  

Just getting comfortable.

Let the after dinner fun begin!

Ralph and Claudia shared their anniversary cake and ice cream
with everyone at their nursing home.
They are generous people. 

Ralph, performing as The Gift.

Ralph and Claudia never let
 ribbons, bows, wrapping paper or balloons go to waste.
 Party! Party! Party!

The balloons were distributed to all their nursing home friends.
 Balloons attached to walkers and wheelchairs as far as the eye could see.
Everyone had a bit of fun.

They wanted to save this too,
 but settled for having a picture of it. 

It's All About Books - Book Review

Suey loved it! She really, really loved it.
Whew! Librarians are tough critics and I am so relieved!
You should check out what Suey from It's All About Books had to say about "Ezra and Hadassah: A Portrait of American Royalty."

http://sueysbooks.blogspot.com/2014/07/book-review-discussion-ezra-and.html

Lessons From a Sunburn

Rex enjoying lunch in the park.

My brother Rex, had more than his share of life's troubles. He could only read and write on a 3rd grade level and lived his life as an eternal 9 year-old boy. That meant he was thrilled beyond belief when I told him the greatest news ever.

I won a radio contest. On a whim, at 6am that morning, I dialed the local radio station and entered a contest. They wanted to see who could hum the theme song for the movie, "Mission Impossible" the longest. Easy-peasy for me. While the other contestants dropped off because they had to leave for work or school (this was before cell phones) I hummed the wordless song repeatedly for 40 minutes as I cooked eggs and oatmeal at the stove, then fed two complaining kids and a screaming baby in the background. As the radio announcer played songs, read the weather report and did his typical show, he randomly dropped in on my phone line to check if I was still humming. Above  the racket at my house, I was. It was a typical morning for me, humming to myself to drown out the noise from my three hearing-impaired children as they screeched their requests for juice! milk! bread! eggs! I didn't put in their hearing aids until after breakfast, so everything was always loud in the morning at our house.

I won tickets to the local water park, tickets to see the movie Mission Impossible, dinner for two at a local restaurant and as an added bonus, a case of wine from the local winery because, "Lady, after listening to your house for an hour, you deserve more than just one bottle of wine. God bless you, lady, I'm never complaining about my job ever again." *cue the laugh track*

When I called Rex in Cheyenne to let him know we were picking him up the next weekend to go the water park, he was so excited. He had never been to a water park and had always wanted to go, like all 9 year-old- boys- in-a-30-year-old -mans-body would want.

On Saturday, Rob and I took our three little kids and Rex to the grand opening of the local water park. It was overcast, but the water was warm and we had a great time. Rob and I took care to make sure the kids had sunscreen on all day. We didn't want to have to deal with a miserable, sun burnt child.

We totally forgot about ourselves or Rex. No sunscreen for us.

As expected, that night Rob and I suffered. Mightily we suffered as our skin went from red to deep red to blistering red. And we talked about Rex. We worried how he was doing in his apartment 40 minutes away, in Cheyenne,Wyoming.  He wasn't smart enough to know how to take care of a bad sunburn. If we were in agony, we could only imagine what was happening at his place. First thing in the morning, I called Rex, expecting to hear the worst.

He answered the phone cheerfully, "Hel-lo! How are you this morning?"
"Actually, I'm pretty miserable. Rob and I have really bad sunburns from the water park. How are you?" I asked.
"I'm fine. No problems."
"How is that possible?" I asked, incredulously.
"Oh, when I got home my skin was really hurting, so I prayed and asked my Best Friend what to do about it and He told me."
"What did Jesus tell you do?"
"He told me to fill the bathtub with cold water and to soak in it until it didn't hurt anymore."
"But wasn't that super cold?" I asked, knowing full well that Rob and I tried to take cold showers to take the heat out of our burns, but we couldn't stand the freezing water.
"Yeah, but I figured my Best Friend knew what he was talking about, so I did it anyway. And it worked. I slept fine and I don't hurt at all," Rex casually replied.
"Oh, ok. Well, I'm glad you are fine. That is really good news," I said and got off the phone as fast as I could.

My brother, who couldn't remember to brush his teeth and preferred to never take a bath with soap, managed to take care of a blistering sunburn better than two college graduates because he fully trusted Jesus, his Best Friend.

Once again, my brother left me speechless.

Summers in Colorado

My brother Rex holding my son Ty, while Cannelle, our French Bassett Hound tracks a wild beast.

 

 

In the summertime living is easy, especially if you are lucky enough to live in Colorado, where humidity doesn't exist and the mountains are a short car ride away. Rob and I took advantage of our location in northern Colorado.  This picture was taken on one of our excursions. Since our family included our three young kids, Canelle the French Bassett Hound ( her previous owners were French and I swear she only responded to commands given with the proper French accent) and my brother Rex, we made a rag-tag motley crew wherever we went.

We drove up the canyon to Estes Park, Colorado (about an hour away from home) so often, one time our children refused to go. "Nooooooooooooooo! Not the mountains! Not the mountains!" 7 year-old Jennifer begged. Elise and Ty joined her, all three of them weeping and wailing about the torture of spending time in God's country.

 

 I guess that is how you know you might be overdoing the fresh air and outdoor adventure part of life, if your kids are begging to stay in the hot, crowded suburbs rather than be subjected to another hike in the horrors of  http://www.visitestespark.com/rocky-mountain-national-park.

 

It wasn't until the first Christmas after we moved to the flat land of the mid-west, that our children  appreciated what we left behind in Colorado. That year we bought a fake Christmas tree rather than going up into the mountains and cutting our own. Ty was traumatized, not knowing that Christmas was even possible with a fake tree. He demanded we get in the car and drive to the mountains and get our Christmas tree the way Santa required. We tried to explain that it wasn't possible, we no longer lived near any mountains at all. His 6-year old mind could not comprehend that reality.

"No mountains? What about camping and hiking and all the fun stuff we do on the weekends?" he asked.

"All gone," we sadly said.

It was a rough Christmas that year. Luckily, the children made friends with kids in the neighborhood and life resorted itself into a new normal.

 

But this time of year when summer is in its full-blown glory, I feel a pang of sadness, missing the wonderful things that only exist where mountains live, and my brother who rests eternally in the ground of Cheyenne, WY. He was the best hiker of all of us.