Monday Morning Memories

Here and there I've posted some blogs on Mondays about different memories, mostly of my parents. Over the week-end, my oldest, Brande, had written a really good blog post about her Grandpa that she never got to meet because of her dad, my ex-husband, Mr.Wonderful. Back in April of last year, I had made the decision not to write about Mr.Wonderful anymore. As "wonderful" as he still is, I know at times it was hurtful to my kids, and we all get to a point that we need to move on. I do my best to try and ignore and let go of all the things he continues to do to my kids. They are adults, and as hard as it is, I know I have to step away. This past Christmas was especially difficult. Every Christmas Eve my kids go over to their dad's for a couple hours. This past Christmas Eve, their dad pulled another, "Mr.Wonderful" on them. When Bryce, Justine and Morgan came home that night, I was sitting by the Christmas tree, having a drink and listening to Christmas music and enjoying the holiday. As you know, it doesn't make much to make me happy. I will never forget Bryce quietly sitting on the couch holding Morgan, not saying much. He finally looked up and said to me, "why does he do that"? It's difficult for a parent, even when your "kids" are grown to see them hurt by someone that has also hurt you for years. But life moves forward, and I "accept" that some things in life will never change and there will always be "Mr.Wonderful" episodes. It hurts me to see my kids hurt, but I'm a better parent to my kids by "letting it go". It's not my war, it's not my fight anymore. My kids are tight, they are strong, and I'm proud of them. Brande does a lot of different things besides the nursery, Johnnye Merle Gardens, at Country Roads. She teaches an art program after school, has a non-profit organization, Living Histories, and a few other things. She also writes very well. I admire her for pushing to know her family history on her dad's side of the family. Mr.Wonderful didn't share much. Me, on the other hand, I'm an open book, what you see is what you get. Below is a recent post from Brande's blog. I am very proud of the words she wrote below, and her determination to know her family history.

"I took some photos of my paternal grandfather home with me on Christmas Eve to scan. I’ve only ever had one or two pictures of him, and noticed my father had several I hadn’t seen when I was over at his house for the holiday. I’ve never known much about him; my father talks of him a bit more now, gradually forming a fuller picture beyond what I’ve grown up knowing. I had a basic image, things like his name, the fact that he played minor league baseball (he was a pitcher, and I have a baseball sitting in my office on which he wrote his stats from one of his games, my great grandmother had a several of them in her closet and gave them to us when my dad, grandmother, sister and I visited her, 99 years old, about a year before she died) and had a shot at the majors until being drafted in the Korean war. Frostbite took away that career – I had always assumed it was in his hands, fingers, but recently my father clarified it was actually in his feet and ankles – he couldn’t run like he once could upon returning home. He worked for a newspaper, perhaps the Orange County Register, I don’t know completely, my father is always vague about these things, a reflection, I guess, on his own feelings and relationship with him, which, even though he’s been dead over 20 years now, is probably changing. He never saw any of his grandchildren, never even met my mom – I was about 6 or 7 when he died, by that point both of my siblings were already born – and I can only assume, from what I’ve gathered from other family members, that was my father’s doing or choice, not my grandfather’s. Who knows. I’ve been angry at my father when I was younger to the point that I might have been tempted to do the same to him; it’s not in my place, I suppose, to blame him for making that decision. Time and aging and maturity is what shapes us as people, I think; in a strange way as my own relationship with my father shifts I get a better picture of both who he and my grandfather were and are. Anyway, really like the images themselves; the uniform photo I am assuming was his official ‘player’ photo for his minor league team, the second one I have been told was him signing his league contract."

This man above, Bill Jackson, who I believe I was "allowed" to talk to a couple of times on the phone but was never allowed to meet while I was married, was my kids Grandpa! He "IS" a part of my kids and my grandbabies "roots", and I'm anxious to see some more photos. Regardless of how you feel about some of your family, they are still "blood" and a part of you. Props to Brande for doing this! Makes me proud.

Monday Morning Memories

This is a picture of my mom when she was 15 and her mom, my grandmother. I've been trying for the past year or so to pull all my parents pictures together since they passed away. My dad's photos are great, he wrote on the backs of almost all of. He went as far as even writing little stories on some. But my mom, nothing! We didn't even find the old photo album of her growing up in Texas until after she passed away. Her childhood was not easy. It was tough for her growing up, her family didn't have much but neither did a lot of people where she lived. I just stumbled across the picture above and below. I figured out, because of what my mom was wearing, it was the day of her dad's funeral. I'd seen her in that outfit in a few old photos of her dads funeral I had found before. These pictures were big enough to have written just a few words, but nothing. My entire life, the only story I heard about my mom and her folks was from my dad, the world famous Mr. Moore! My mom never said much. It was a weird generation, or at least in my family. My folks never talked about personal stuff or my mom's family. The story I heard was that my grandmother had died of cancer when my mom was 15 years old, her her dad killed himself three years later. It wasn't until recently that my sister told me it was the other way around. It was right before my mom passed away, her dementia was bad, but finally after ALL this time she began to talk to my sister about what really happened a day before she died. My grandparents, Hobson Durham and Madge Dulane Durham are buried in Temple, Texas. We took a vacation once when I was little to Missouri to see my dad's family. I so wish he would have stopped in Texas on the way. It is hard for me to understand why they never talked about stuff like that and pretended like nothing ever happened. Those stories are such a part of my family and at least I'm slowly able to piece them together now. A few years ago, my oldest daughter, Brande, was traveling and stopped in Temple. She say her great-grandparents graves, and stopped by the library. She was lucky to have stumbled into a local historian while there. With the information Brande had about my mom's family, he was able to tell Brande where the restaurant was that her great-grandmother had worked at, and where her great-grandparents house use to be, things like that. It's tough when someone has passed away, like my mom, and taken so many untold stories with her. That's one of the things that attracts me to blogging, the stories. There is something left of us, even if its about old cats and flip flops. God, I had nothing to say this week-end, I confess!!

Monday Morning Memories

My folks bought their house in Long Beach, CA brand new in 1950. It cost them $8500 including appliances! I grew up in that house, and after my mom and dad died, Katie & Vinnie bought the house. It's a nice feeling to have the house still in the family. When I was little, my dad planted a magnolia tree in front of the house. As you can see above with me posing next to it. We always wanted to get a picture of Riley in front of the tree at an age close to mine in the picture. Riley, at a younger age, wouldn't stand still. I probably didn't want to stand still either, but I came from the generation that threatened you with the dreaded "belt"! So, that is why I look so calm and innocent because I was far, far from that. My own kids grew up under that tree and played as they grew just like I did!This past 4th of July, my old neighborhood, which is now Riley's neighborhood, has a parade with the kids. Above is a picture of Riley on that day under the huge magnolia tree. She is the third generation to sit under that tree. The memories of all the photos taken under that tree span a lifetime for me. My folks house was small, and Katie & Vinnie did an awesome remodel on it, but the tree, that magnolia tree I grew up under still stands tall and proud today and shades the house like it always has!

Monday Morning Memories

My mom died three years ago yesterday. Sometimes it seems so much longer, maybe because my dad died just a few months later and there was just so much we were all going through back then. It was a tough time, they had the dementia/Alzheimer's stuff going on. I remember when I got the call from assisted living that my mom and fallen and they were taking her to the hospital. It was the same day that little newborn Riley and Katie were coming home from the hospital. I remember looking at the sky, seriously, and out loud asking, "why now, why now". I feel bad admitting it, but I was angry. I just wanted a couple of days to celebrate the birth and enjoy my first grandchild! When I called the hospital, they say she would be okay, and in a few days they would send her back to assisted living. I felt better, although it only lasted a day. Above is a picture of me with my parents when I was a baby. Where did all that time go?This picture is my mom with Brande at the hospital when Katie was born. It makes me a little sad, wishing that she could still have done the same thing with Riley, after Morgan was born. A couple of days after I got the call from the hospital, its was 6:16am on August 30th, 2006. The nurse asked me to "hold" because the doctor wanted to talk to me. I was on "hold" for what seemed like forever, which actually was probably less than five minutes. The nurse got back on the phone and then said the doctor wanted me to come to the hospital right away. I "knew" my mom was gone and asked the nurse, but she wouldn't tell me. I understand much more now, how my mom had been so sick for so long and just "held on" long enough for Riley to be born. It still didn't make it any easier though. But with all things in life, with the passage of time, you accept what happens in life. And I know my mom is in a better place right now where she is no longer in pain. I just hope she knows that I'm trying my best to be the best Gramma ever to my baby girls, Riley & Morgan. I miss you Mom!

Monday Morning Memories

The beach, it's always been a favorite place of mine. I remember when I was a little kid, I spent a lot of time there. After all, it was free, didn't have to pay for parking and a great place to take relatives that had come to visit. In the picture of above, from left to right is: my sister Teri, my mom, me, and my Aunt Ruby from Texas. We were at Seal Beach by the pier. This is the same beach we take Riley to now. Back then life was so carefree. When relatives came from out of state to visit you could go places that were free, like the beach. You didn't have to pay for parking, you didn't have to worry about someone stealing your stuff you left on the sand while in the water. It was just a different world back then. My Texas relatives were always so much fun. I remember them always making me laugh and being a little crazy. I loved their accents and how crazy they were, in a good way! These pictures and memories are what keep my family, that is no longer here, alive in my heart!

Monday Morning Memories

As I've said many times, I try hard to find free time to scan in old pictures of my mom and dad's families, their past, their history. My dads picturs are so much easier, he had so many and wrote on most of the backs of the. But because my mom had a more difficult childhood, it's hard to piece it all together. My mom, Johnnye Merle Durham, was born and raised in Texas, and even though she moved to California in the 1950's, she was always so proud to be a "Texan". That's my Grandpa Hobson on the horse above. And below are some other photos I've been able to find. My Grandpa drove an oil truck to make a living back in the day.Here is my Grandpa Hobson and my Grandma Madge Dulane(I have her middle name) on their wedding day, they look so young. Here's my mom in Texas, I love the cowboy hat right beside her.This is one of my favorite pictures of my mom. She is in the cart having my Grandpa Hobson pull her. Until a couple of years ago, I never knew where myself and my kids got our blonde hair. When I saw this picture, I knew immediately. My Grandpa killed himself when my mom was 15, and then she lost my Grandma only a few years later to cancer. I never had the chance to know my grandparents only stories my mom would share here and there, but not very often. I don't think she ever got over her childhood. But once I found the pictures and began looking through them, I started to see the bigger picture, and understand how proud she was of her mom and dad. I will always remember the one story she did tell me repeatedly. It was about the Depression, and even though her family didn't have much, they "always" gave food to the people, often black people, that would come to their back door hungry. And that was one of the best lessons I've ever learned, no matter what your own situation is, you "always" give and pay it forward when you can regardless of race, politics or anything else. We were put on this earth to help each other. I really wish my mom would have shared more stories, as I know there were so many inside of her just waiting to be told. So, I'm doing my best to tell them for her!!

Monday Morning Memories

My Monday's are like many peoples Saturdays. I work week-ends and am off Mondays, so I have a bit more time to get things done. I mentioned a few posts back, I've been trying to scan many of the old photos of my parents and family while trying to organize them. Above, is a picture of my dad's platoon dog from WWII. My dad, thankfully, wrote on most of his pictures, or made notes about them as you can see the detailed description of Buster! NOW, you can see why all of my family are constantly rescuing our furry little friends. This started generations ago!
This is my dad looking all serious for his "photo opt" in his uniform.This is more like my dad, the guy on the left. He was always such a smartass! Here's my dad again, on the left, with his friends over in Germany. The one thing I will always remember about my dad being such a smartass was about a month before he died. He had lost my mom only a few months prior, and was moved to the Alzheimer floor. If any of you have ever visited THAT floor, it's quite the place to visit! And one day, me being a "dumbass" on that particular day, I decided I would have lunch with my dad and all the other Alzheimer patients on "that floor". Mistake! Alzheimer is a weird disease, if effects people differently. As we sat at the table, my dad was in full form. He was being obnoxious, as usual, telling me he could "beat the hell out of anyone in the room" and then he went on to say he was getting the hell out this place. In the back of the dining room, I hear an old equally smartass ask, "can I have his room", and I thought for sure my dad would beat the hell out of this guy as my dad flipped his head around just looking for the guy that had just popped off! Mr.Moore, Pat the Irishman, Dad, Papa, Great-Papa and the Smartass has given me a lifetime of stories to tell! Thanks Dad.