We're OK

We got home from our annual Memorial Day Desolation/Grey river trip yesterday. It might be our last annual trip as permits for the river are going to be award by a lottery system, so it will be the luck of the draw whether or not we get a permit.

Day 1: Windy and Warm  

Luckily Thomas knew how to tie the boats together.



As John put it "because of  a windy forecast and aging rowers including 2 with heart issues" we decided to motor the first day.  We have always looked at groups using motors with derision (and slight envy) as they cruised past us on the flat water of the first day. We need to get between 25 and 30 miles in that day to not have extra long days the rest of the trip. Normally, with swift, high water due to snow run off and calm weather this is entirely doable by rowing. But after our last trip with high winds blowing us up river and very little snow melt this year we wanted a little more horse power.



Three rafts in the back and two in the front.



 

John as captain of our flotilla 





After a few false starts with the motor we were on our way cruising at about 4-6 miles an hour even with the wind blowing up river at 20 mph. It was like a great bit party boat or "Water World" depending on your outlook. We even saw a bear on the shore trying to chase us down river! We easily made 25 miles and were in camp by 3:30 that afternoon and had an excellent spaghetti dinner prepared by Roark and Melanie





Day 2: Very Windy

We started our second day very optimistically with clear skies and fairly warm temperatures. We separated into our individual rafts because the river narrowed, sped up and formed more rapids. Unfortunately the predicted high winds arrived. By that afternoon Brett was clocking winds gust up to 30 mph which is enough to stop a raft dead in the water even with a strong current. Some time in the afternoon after fighting winds for a while three of our rafts pulled over to regroup after going through a tricky rapid. Roger, Rachel and Ann's boat soon joined us but Roark and Melanie's raft was no where to been seen. We finally spotted Melanie up river on the shore waving at us, but we couldn't figure out what she was trying to tell us. So we had no choice but to wait. Finally we saw their boat coming around the river bend and every thing was OK. They had just pulled over to wait out the wind for a while. We decided we needed a some kind of signal to let others know everyone was OK. Kerri and Anikka came up with this:

OK spelled out with body language.

Even Thomas was a little worried, he was rowing Annie's little yellow boat with Monica and said he thought they might flip if he didn't keep the bow or stern pointed down river. We stopped after 15 miles around 4:30 at a somewhat sheltered camp site and were glad we did. The wind continued to howl up to 45 miles an hour. We managed a quick dinner of pulled pork sandwiches, eaten standing up with no plates or silverware before we retreated to our tents to get out of the wind. 

Day 3: Windy and Cold

We got up to clear skies, but the temperature had dropped . (By that I mean probably highs in the 60s.)  But we were hopeful the wind wouldn't blow. It did. I finally had John pull over so I could put on some tights under my splash pants. When all else fails I rowed the boat to warm up. But it wasn't so cold that Thomas didn't get Caleb into the water! 

All the wind was almost forgotten when the day ended with a fabulous sandy beach camp, warmer sunny skies, hot water to wash our face and hair and dutch oven lasagna and cobbler for dinner. 

Day 4: Breezy and Cool

The Lingards and Bennetts



The girls: Kerri, Anikka, Jeanne, Annie, Melanie, Monica, Haley, Rachel and Ann!



John-dear, the reason I go.

Last day on the river. A successful trip. I often wonder why I do these river trips. They take a lot of time, are a lot of work, and cause a lot of anxiety. But I get to spend time with people I love. The family time is priceless. It is worth the cold, the uncomfortable conditions, even the anxiety. I get to be with my dear husband John, who works so hard to make these trips work. This trip I was able to watch Annie row rapids with confidence, in her own boat. I watched Thomas tenderly take care of Monica the way his father has always taken care of me. I saw Monica, on her second camping trip ever, be brave, cheerful and helpful when I was sure she wasn't feeling that way because she knew the trip was important to Thomas. I have gotten to know a brother in law, Roger in a way I never would have imagined him. He is funny strong and loves the river to the point he swam all last winter to be strong enough for Joe Hutch Canyon Rapid! I laugh and cry and eat with my brothers and sisters and know how lucky I am that we are a family who enjoys each other's company. 

I am a little stronger after every river trip. I have conquered fear for a time. Each time I face a rapid or row the boat is a victory. The beautiful river calms my soul. I know that I am OK.

Thanks Mom

Jayne, Brett, Jeanne, Stacey, Shelley, Roark, Ann. (Jayne and I are wearing
 our first store bought Easter dresses.) Probably 1968

Today is mother's day. I have been thinking a lot about my mom lately because of things she is going through with dad. When I was growing up I could never understand  it when girls would complain about their mothers. I couldn't think of a thing wrong with mine. I tried, so I could say something when the other girls were whining, but there was nothing to say. She made us clothes, cooked dinner every night, treated Jayne and me as two separate individuals not as twins, didn't get too mad when we didn't clean our room, (except for the one time when mom got mad at us for being so messy because poor Stacey had share a room with two slobs. Jayne and I then separated all the stuff on the floor into three piles and counted how much was in each pile. Mom was very surprised when each pile had just about the same number of things. But she did apologize. Stacey got her own room in the basement shortly after that.) and was almost too fair with all of us kids (she counted out Easter candy so we all got the same amount of jelly beans in our baskets.) 

Mom with Roark and Jeanne and Jayne, 1956

I am the person I am today because of my mother. She taught us how to do things by letting us do. She let us make cookies, cakes, brownies on our own as soon as we could master the oven and mixer, and was genuinely pleased when we made things as well as she did. She later told me how hard it was to let us get the kudos when she could have received them herself. She taught us how to sew by teaching us the basics, and then use her machine to make our clothes helping us when we asked, but not taking over. I remember I made my Easter dress in junior high out of a bright lavender early 70s print, and just when I was cutting the bottom to make the hem even, I accidentally cut the main fabric of the dress. I was devastated, but mom very matter of factly patched the hole so it was hardly noticeable. 

Ann, Mom,, Roark, Dad and Jayne (sitting)  July 1976

Last month when I was in Mexico I told Kerri my sister-in-law how much I admired her interest in how other people live. She was as interested in the luxurious high rise condos as she was where the handy man, Nacho, lived without electricity, running water or plumbing. And I admired Melanie, my other sister-in-law, who was so determined to snorkel, even though the weather and seas were not conducive to snorkeling. Melanie just laughed and said it was like being in a gigantic blender, water, sand and bits of sea weed swirling madly around her. But she wanted to do it so she did. I was content to sit on the patio and be warm and dry. I wondered if I was the boring one. But Kerri pointed out that my brothers and sisters and I all have the ability to see what needs to be done and figure out how to do it efficiently and quickly. Mom taught us that when we were cleaning the house for company, getting ready to go on vacation, or giving a party. I guess I'm not even aware I do that, it comes so naturally.

So thanks Mom. I love you.

Dog Bread

We took John's mother Martha to get a new cell phone yesterday. She had an old pink flip phone that was Annie's before we gave it her so it was at least 7 or 8 years old. That's as old as Martha is (87) in electronic years. Martha uses the phone to call her relatives in North Carolina so she doesn't have to worry about long distance charges on her land line. (That was the only way we could convince her to use the cell phone in the first place, remember when long distance was really expensive? Her land line now probably has free long distance, but we want her to have a cell phone, so we just let her assume that long distance calling doesn't cost anything when she uses the cell phone.)

Anyway, we went to dinner afterward and I got Martha talking about growing up in North Carolina during the depression. She has mentioned several times that what we call lunch was called dinner when she was growing up. It was the big meal of the day, her family were farmers, and for dinner they always had corn bread. Not the yellow, cakey, sweet corn bread that we eat, but "much better." I don't know why, she didn't tell me. Cornbread was such an iconic part of southern living that her older brother Earl would have a "boiled dinner" and cornbread with Martha and Grandmama and Grandpapa Keaton at 11:30, then go their father and stepmother's house at 12:00 and have corn bread again and go to an aunt and uncle's home at 12:30 and have hot cornbread for a third time.

Mom Lingard then started telling us about the cornmeal "dog bread" that Grandmama would make when they didn't have anything for the dogs (they had beagles) to eat. They didn't buy dog food, the dogs just ate scraps. Grandmama would mix up cornmeal, water, probably an egg and fry it about an inch thick in her fry pan, like a pancake only thicker. When it was done, she would break off the crispy cornmeal edges and give them to the children and give the dogs the cooked bread. The first time Martha had a tortilla chip she took a bite and said "tastes like dog bread." Her brother Earl came to visit and they took him to a Mexican restaurant and he tried tortilla chips and said "Hmm, dog bread."

I fear these story telling times with Martha will end before I have heard all she has to tell. I love to hear about her southern upbringing. When she talks about her early years, I hear a little bit of the south in her voice. And my Annie says "egg" just the way her grandmother does (rhymes with leg) even though she has only been to North Carolina once. Blood will tell.

Enduring a Slow Dwindle and a Gradual Decline

My brother Roark sent this email a few weeks ago, we have all been worrying and wondering about dad's dementia and melanoma. Unfortunately it looks like there is no easy diagnosis. In a way I think we were all hoping that the melanoma would hasten his death because of the stress on mom and Dad's quality of life. So we are all enduring to the end with him. Luckily I have many good memories that I can look back on when the sadness almost overwhelms me.

Dad rowing on the Snake River below Jackson Hole, WY, Labor Day weekend 2007, before his dementia got too bad.

Dear Loved Ones,
Just a quick update on what's going on with Dad. At the beginning of February, we did a CT of his chest and abdomen to follow up on the one three months before. There were no significant changes. The nodules on the lining of his lung had not changed. Tuesday, he had an MRI of his head, which showed brain atrophy, but no evidence of metastatic disease. The good news is there is no evidence that his melanoma has spread. The bad news is that means a more likely course is a slow dwindle. Melanoma is notorious for developing metastases out of the blue, and with no warning. Dad's main symptoms of dementia, swelling in his hands, red scaly skin, and poor balance I can't explain for sure, but suspect they are part of this gradual decline. I've considered using diuretics to help with the swelling, but worry he'll have a hard time making it to the bathroom in time.

My dad continues to be pleasant and tractable and is always in my heart and in my prayers.

Love, Roark (and Melanie)

I love this picture of dad with the grandkids on the same trip.

Am I Middle Aged?

This last year has been a difficult year for my mother. She has been dealing with the loss of her home of 30 years, my dad’s dementia and melanoma and her own aging issues. I am trying to do all I can to help make this time in her life easier, but I know it is not enough.


Mom and dad are living in Brett and Kerri’s basement in a lovely apartment that they finished. This means that they downsized their living space by almost 2/3rds and mom had to give away many of her things and move away from her friends. Dad needs continual care, he doesn’t remember much from day to day. He needs to be told to eat and get dressed and can’t follow instructions very well. He is most content when mom is close by and she is now his constant care giver.

Mama had seven children in seven years and raised (if I do say so myself) a remarkable family and was a loving and a supportive wife, almost to a fault. Even though she had chronic fatigue, she taught quilting at Mormon Handicraft and was instrumental in the resurgence of hand piecing in the Salt Lake Valley. Mama told me the other day that she always prided herself on her ability to cope with life’s demands.. But she has had two episodes of blacking out for five to ten seconds and no longer drives because of possible blackouts. I know she feels like she has lost all control of her life and is dependent on others for almost everything.



Mom, Marrianne Lingard, Martha Lingard, on our wedding day. They were younger than I am now, not middle aged!



Like mom, I too have prided myself on my ability to do things on my own. I felt like I could cook, sew and raise my children with the best of them. Looking back, I feel bad that I was too proud to accept any help my dear mother-in-law, Martha. As a young mother, I saw her working so hard to help John’s brothers and sisters and their families. I didn’t want her to have to work that hard to help us. So when she came to visit I made sure that the house was clean, clothes were washed and ironed and the house was in good repair. There was nothing left that she had to do to help. (What was I thinking? I wish she was able to iron for me now.) I didn’t realize that she wanted to help us. By not allowing her to help, my pride was intact, but I wasn’t thinking of Martha’s needs and didn’t allow her to serve us.

The other day Martha told me that she doesn’t remember being middle aged, she remembers being her normal self and then all of sudden she was old. She will be 87 next month. That made me laugh, because when I married John she seemed very middle aged to me. She was younger than I am now. I often wonder when I get to be old (er), like my mother and Martha, what will I be like? One thing is for certain, at one point or another, my life will be probably out of my control. If it is not already.

Are Pictures Worth A Thousand Words?

Today I finally finished and ordered (hooray) my third and last 2012 family photo calendar: one for my family, one for the Nevilles and one for the Lingards. I am not as late as it sounds, I haven't wanted to make December more stressful than it already is, so I make the calendars in January and they start in February. (Actually, January was a little stressful too, so the Lingard calendar won't start until March.)

I have been immersed in family pictures these past weeks, so I thought I would share some of my favorites.

Cute Molly under the table, Lily making a fashion statement with her hat, a family picture taken while we were visiting St Charles after Christmas, and Ian at Cherry Hill and styling with his shades and hat!

Travis and Ezra "paddling" the raft on the daily section outside of Moab;  Maggie hugging big brother Ezra, family picture at Hoovenweep, siblings on a rock, and Chris and Maggie in Telluride.

Of course we had Thomas and Monica's wedding in November. I love the picture of John and Chris making faces with Matt standing by; doesn't Annie look beautiful? The look on Thomas' face is priceless; and my fabulous family who came all the way to Portland to be there!

 And finally pictures with mom and dad. The picture of dad holding Molly makes me smile, Mom and dad and Jayne and me in Mexico, maybe for the last time together, three generations of quilters at the Church History Museum Quilt show, and that is actually Jayne with mom and dad in front of their house the day they moved.

I may not be a very good journal keeper or letter writer, but I have over ten years of family calendars that give a year by year pictorial story of three families' lives. I hope that counts as my family history. 

Not a Slug?

I am married to a man who always has to be doing something. Almost every waking hour he is being productive, whether working in his shop, doing yard work, household repairs, or working on some project or another. The list of things he did last year was truly impressive: 2 bookcases, 2 rocking chairs, 3 blanket/toy chests, 2 end tables, 2 baby doll cradles, a rocking horse, an entertainment center,  painted and installed alder base boards in the basement, finished his kayak, 5 "Kube" games sets, 4 hardwood nativity puzzles, not to mention numerous hardwood cutting boards. He also helped Annie built a bookcase and kitchen table and Matt built 2 bookcases. Compared to him I at times feel like a slug.



Some of John's projects.

To try and crawl out of my self induced slime, I tried to remember the projects I completed last year. Maybe I am more productive than I think I am. I made 5 bridal quilts, a warm snugly quilt for Thomas, a quilt using leftover baby fabrics for the grand babies to use while they visit us, 2 baby dolls and bedding for the cradles John made, tied and bound an old quilt John's great grandmother started,  helped my niece Mckenna make a snugly quilt (I shouldn't claim Mckenna's quilt, but it turned out so dang cute I wanted a little bit of ownership,) three quilted ipad sleeves, and 5 quilted Christmas tree ornaments.



Some of my projects, note Mckenna's quilt in lower left hand corner.

Maybe I'm not such a slug after all. Now if I would just stop playing "Bejewelled" on my ipad I could get even more done . . .