The family that laughs together....

I know people who associate their family gatherings with the sound of arguing. There are some people who associate their family gatherings with frigid silence. Some families embed their angst into succeeding generations until no one even knows any more why they are mad at each other, but they stay mad, anyway.

I associate my family with the sound of laughter. I grew up being loved and nurtured by people who appreciated the humor in everyday life, and were not afraid to laugh over good fortune or misfortune and everything in between.

The ones who led the way along the journey are leaving us too quickly, and too soon. But I know that God is having a lot more fun in heaven today than he was before, because my Uncle Bud Bishop is there now. I hope he has found my dad and my Uncle Harris, and they are all laughing together about something silly like a last piece of pie.

Bud, you are missed more than you know, but you are in my heart forever. Believe it or not, that is enough.

Birthday boy no more....

Twenty-five years ago today, I first held my child in my hands. It is a magical moment, when you see that child you have been harboring under your heart for nine long months, and you are suddenly A Mom. The mixed emotions of wishing to keep them close to you, and yet dying to see them, hold them, and ultimately throw them to their own fates to see what they will be overwhelm you. You are humbled and grateful and weary at the impending responsibilities that have suddenly been thrust upon you.

And yet, you know that you will be the best parent who ever lived. You will never say or do the wrong thing. Your child will be perfection itself - behavior, attitude and actions all conforming with your ideals, because you will Do It Right, and thus, your child will do no wrong, and both of your lives will be perfect.

What a difference 25 years makes.

Yesterday, I held that same child in my arms, hugging him goodbye. Now 6'6" and living on his own in a city eight hours away, we said our farewells in a airline terminal, and I watched him walk away into his future.

After a few tumultuous days, he is beginning his new life as a graduate student in a state very different from the one he is used to. The people will be different, the city is new and offers a lot to explore, his studies will be harder and yet, hopefully, even more fulfilling, and his life is changing in every way.

Along the path to this day, I have made every single mistake that parents have made since Cain and Abel. I have criticized when I should have hugged, I have coddled when I should have used tough love. I have been too strict at some times, and too lax at others. I have said no when I should have said yes, and vice versa.

My child, while under my care, managed to take a lamp apart while it was still plugged in. He swallowed a penny and had to have it surgically removed. He stopped breathing on a nightly basis and had to be monitored for the first year of his life, leaving me forever traumatized upon hearing a certain type of alarm. He snores. He is moody and temperamental, and even those who love him best concede that he can be a little difficult at times.

He loves Beethoven and the Beatles, forgets everything immediately except useless trivia that no one needs to know, for which he is guaranteed to have instant recall forever. He has unruly curly hair that he can't control, and wears polo shirts all the time because that way he doesn't have to worry about whether or not he looks nice. He refused to wear new clothes when he was little, and he is gifted and ADHD.

He is, in short, a fairly normal human being, with his good qualities and his bad points, and when added up together equal a pretty great, but hardly perfect person.

I am so grateful to have a son in my life. He has brought kites and baseball and fights with his friends on the front yard into my life. He has given me moments of great pride and moments of total humiliation. He has been the highest of highs, and the lowest of lows, in the biggest swing of the pendulum life has to offer.

At 25, he is who he will be, the framework nearly completed. Although the finishing work will take the rest of his life, you can see the outline of the person he is, and I am gratified. When we started this process, I thought I would be responsible for the outcome. I have learned that he was born his own person. I just provided the guidance system to get there more efficiently.

He makes mistakes, sometimes huge ones, and still has a lot to learn about life. But he takes his life lessons and moves ahead, and rarely needs to review what he got wrong the first time, because he is all about education, both in class and outside of it.

I don't know what the next 25 years will bring, but I do know this much. The other night, I sat at a table and listened to my son talk about me, and what he perceives to be my good attributes. Hearing his heartfelt appreciation for something that he has always taken for granted was touching to me, because I know there are a lot of people who wouldn't say those same words about their own parents.

No matter how many mistakes I have made, no matter how many things I've gotten wrong in his life, my son forgives me for the wrongs, and only holds on to the rights. We are not perfect, either one of us, and we have made our mistakes on his life's journey. But the child who made me a mother makes me proud and excited to see the future, even as I look back on the past with fond memories of days gone by.

Adam, we grew up together, and I am grateful for your patience and courage in trusting a mom who didn't even know which way to put on a diaper at the start. I think we have done well, you and I. You are no longer a boy - you are a man, and one I am very, very proud of.

Happy birthday, Sonshine, and many, many more are wished for you to come. I hope this day holds only good things for you as you get settled into your new place, and your new life. You know how much you are loved, not only because I say so, but because I have shown you every single day of your life, and I look back with confidence that you will never lose sight of that. I wish you a wonderful year in your new life, and I look forward to the stories to come.

Doing the Time Warp....

Time is an interesting thing. As modern, progressive humans, we have harnessed time by defining it in such a way that we can all agree on the details. There are 60 seconds in a minute, no matter where in the world you find yourself. There are 60 minutes in an hour, and 24 hours in a day, all 365 days a year. We have even accounted for the fact that it's not exactly that way by adding a leap year day every few years to even things up and make it nice and tidy.

And yet, time is flexible. We have all experienced how the clock seems to speed up when we are having fun, but moves almost imperceptibly when we are experiencing a difficult time.

And in the toughest of times, it seems that time itself goes both too fast and too slow, and you don't have enough of it while it drags by.

We are experiencing that last time warp around here this week, as my two children prepare themselves to go in opposite directions on the map and into the same new experience - a new school, a fresh start, and all the excitement that comes with it, while leaving behind everything that is comfortable and familiar and safe.

My son will begin his work towards his Ph.D., a path which he was destined to travel his entire life, although he didn't realize it himself until a couple years ago. He is, understandably, a little nervous about the change from the comfortable life of an undergrad in a school where he is well known and respected to a school where he is starting from the beginning. In his new program, he will have to prove himself once again, demonstrating that he is worthy of the awards and honors that they have already given him.

My daughter is embarking on the first big step away from home and into the fun and chaos of college life. She will be far enough away that she will be independent, on her own, and there will be no impromptu visits going in either direction. She will learn to live with roommates, navigate her own classes, learn to budget time and money, and experience all the fun that is a part of being a college student.

It truly seems like a heartbeat ago that I carried them next to my heart, and now I see them, each adults in progress, making their own way in the world without me to guide their path. It is exciting to see the transformation, and I look forward to watching from afar as they have new experiences that no longer include me, and learn things that I never knew.

Once you are a mother, you are a mother for life. I will never stop giving my best advice, challenging them to be the best they can be, prodding them to set high standards and reach for their own stars. I will always be there when they make their own mistakes, fall short of their personal best, trip over the hurdles, and run out of fuel halfway through space.

The old saying goes, life is a journey, not a destination. As each child journeys forth in the coming days into their own new worlds, I hope they know that they are never more than a heartbeat away from the safety of their mother's love and support.

We are a terrific team, we three. No matter where we are, no matter how far we go, the family circle is still surrounding us with love and caring and support.

I loved you enough to bring each of you to this day, and now I love you enough to release your future into your own hands. Go forth boldly and embrace the possibilities. You will never know what is out there unless you reach out and grab the opportunities that present themselves with your whole beings. Time has moved at warp speed, and you are on the threshold of your own experiences.

Live boldly, love fully, laugh loudly, learn enthusiastically, listen completely, and lean wisely. Guard your values and your reputation, and you will have no regrets. Your own life is knocking at the door. Open it and walk confidently into your exciting futures.

Just don't forget to wave once in a awhile!

I'm an Only Person....

I realized yesterday that I am now less than a month away from that moment in my life when I will become an Only Person.

I find that idea both exhilarating and nerve inducing, terrifying while also being thrilling. No matter what my future holds, my life will be different than it has ever been before. No longer will I have to consider anyone else in my daily activities. I will not be tied to anyone else's needs. I will be on my own, a free woman, a true single.

I will be free to make my own commitments, unhindered by unexpected demands made by someone else who comes first. As an Only Person, I get to be first, last, and only, at least to some extent. Not gonna lie; I am empowered by the thought.

My entire life, I have been an adjunct to someone else. I have been someone's daughter, someone's sister, someone's wife, someone's mother. Rarely have I been seen as my own person, even in the work world, as I surrounded myself with photos of the family that was out of sight, but never out of mind. My schedule, even as a working woman, has always revolved around the children whose lives were at the center of my daily life, and whose needs, and usually wants, have always been put first.

I am a fortunate woman, indeed, to have such a wonderful family. I am blessed with a mother who still drops everything to talk to me when I need her. She is there for me in a million big and little ways, each and every day of my life. But my existence is no longer defined by her time and attention. I am no longer identified by my relationship with her, as I was when I was young. Although she knows many of my friends, at least by name, she is known through me, rather than the other way around.

Since the day I found out my son was on the way, I have been a mom. I self-identified that way, and others identified me that way. My life has been directed by my children's activities and lives, and for the last 25 years, that has been who I am.

I have noticed when men meet, the first topic of discussion is always their career, no matter what the setting. They identify themselves by their work, first and foremost, and everything else is secondary.

When women meet, the first thing they discuss is marital status and motherhood, even when they are working women with high powered careers. We all identify ourselves, it seems, by our families, even when we are highly placed or powerful.

Hilary Clinton, the U.S. Secretary of State, recently revealed that her highest priority at this moment is her daughter's wedding, a statement that resonated for every woman who has either had a wedding or been the mother of the bride. It is the biggest moment in her daughter's life, and even someone as important as she knows what is most important in the big scheme of things. I doubt that she is neglecting her duties at the office; she is, if she is like every other woman, more likely neglecting herself in order to be all things to everyone who needs her.

In one month, however, my life changes radically, as the two people whose lives have been the driver for mine will both be on their own. For the first time in my life, I will answer only to me, at least on a day to day level. I don't have any illusions that I am not still going to be the mom, and that I won't still answer to my offspring! But how I spend each day will be totally up to me, for the first time in my whole life.

I have had a bucket list of things I've wanted to do since my kids were little, and there has never been time for any of it before. Perhaps now, at long last, I will finally find the time. Maybe I will go through 20 year old boxes and discard the former memories that I have now forgotten. Maybe I will look at cards given to me by people whose names have slipped my mind, and whose faces appear only in old photographs. Maybe I will finally start the process of reducing my possessions, once so important to me, and streamlining my life to suit a still relatively young and very single woman.

Or maybe, instead, I will simply lie on the sofa and read for entire weekends, living off popcorn and raspberry lemonade. I will be able to sleep late if I want to, go to church on Saturday night on a whim because I'm driving by anyway, or sit on the deck under the umbrella for hours while playing spider solitaire.

The possibilities are wide open, and I hardly know where to start. Many people fear this time of life, the empty nest, because it means they have to start anew on a life that has become familiar and comfortable, even if it's not quite what they had dreamed of back when it started.

Having started over several times in the last few years, I am no longer afraid of the new start. Having failed almost as many times in the same time span, I am not afraid of failure, either. I see it as the ultimate learning opportunity - a time to recognize what doesn't work for me - which is just as important as finding out what does.

I don't really know what the next few months will mean for me, and for my life, but I do know one thing for certain - I am excited to see where the journey leads me next. As the old saying goes, life is a journey, not a destination. Here's hoping the ETA is still a long ways away for me, because I've got too much ahead to arrive too soon.

An Unexpected Gift

When you grow up in Minnesota and spend your adult life mostly in Kansas City, seeing a mountain is a departure from your usual reality. It indicates time away from Real Life. It helps put life and whatever problems there may be into perspective, and triggers awed inspiration in even the most calloused of observers.

But there are perhaps no more wild and beautiful mountains than those found in the state of Alaska. We just returned from ten days amidst them, time spent visiting my sweet and generous brother, Charlie, and his caring and wonderful wife, Laurel. Seeing them makes the trip worthwhile, of course, in and of itself. The mountains are an added bonus for us.

We are lucky, because seeing our family on their home turf goes along with the additional thrill of a spectacular view from the front windows and the back ones, too. Whether you are sitting in the dining room or working in the kitchen, you have a view that is breathtaking and spectacular. [Well, you do as long as the mountains aren't socked in, as they were pretty much the entire time we were there. I brought my usual drought ending phenomenon to Alaska and saved them from the summer wildfires they usually experience this time of year.]

When you say Alaskan mountains, most people think of Mt. McKinley, the jewel of the Alaska Range. But for me, I think of other mountains, rugged, wild and accessible - at least if my brother is around. Because he will spare himself no effort in order to bring the full experience to us while we are there. And on this trip, since the mountains by his home weren't very available, he drove us halfway across the state to some that were. And what an unbelievable experience it was.

We were fortunate enough to visit the ghost town of Kennecott, located in the Wrangell-St. Elias National Park. Kennecott is remote and isolated, 60 miles down a rough and rugged gravel road [the former railroad bed, in fact] from the nearest pavement.

Kennecott is an eerie remnant of the massive copper mining operation that produced over 5 million tons of copper ore during it's active life. The town was a bustling, thriving village at the end of an isolated, single rail line. Supplies were ordered from Seattle, and the only link with civilization was the train that was originally built to carry the copper ore away to be processed. It had to be a rather fragile and tenuous connection with the outside world. In consequence, they built up a town that was as modern as a turn of the century village in the middle of the Alaskan wilds could be.

When the good ore ran out, the village was abandoned, lock, stock and barrel. When my brother first visited the area in 1977, before it became a national landmark and any reclamation had been done, he found most of the abandoned town held in suspension, everything left in place, almost as if the people expected to be away a day or two and then return to pick up life where they left off.

Records were still in filing cabinets, dishes in the cupboards, furniture and equipment left where they were last in use. I can only imagine that the cost of removing everything exceeded the value of the items in question, and thus, the mining company opted to simply abandon it, rather than go to the expense of hauling it back out of the mountains again.

Fast forward a hundred years, and the town, with it's abandoned buildings and other detritus, has been named a national landmark. It is in the process of being restored, a project massive in scope, which has brought Kennecott back to life again with the influx of engineers and architects and forest service personnel. A supporting cast of restaurant, lodging and guide services have sprung up, too, and suddenly, the ghost town is bustling again.

Kennecott is hardly less remote today than it was back in 1900, and the journey there is a rough and ready reminder of just how isolated that area is. The pavement ends at Chitna, on the Copper River, known to salmon lovers for their world famous fish.

The 60 mile drive from Chitna to McCarthy, on the former railbed, running in the valley between two mountain ranges, is an awe inspiring journey through nature in its purest form, with new and ever more spectacular and breathtaking views around every curve. The forest, pressing in on the road the whole way, is teaming with wildlife native to the area, including bear, moose, and my personal favorite, porcupines.

We parked the van in McCarthy, the last "living" town at the end of the road, and walked over a footbridge to meet the shuttle that would take us into Kennecott. It is like a time warp, in many ways, blasting back into another world and another time.

From a distance, the copper mill looms over the little village, which itself overlooks the massive Root Glacier. The runoff from the mountainside on which it is perched, running through the middle of the town, has claimed many of the buildings that formerly made up the town. The evidence is everywhere of the buildings that have been shoved down the mountainside with the force of the water flowing through them as you can see them smashed and devastated in various places along the water's route.

The process of reclaiming the remaining buildings is well under way, however, with the water being harnessed and rerouted to the best advantage, not to control nature, but to work with it. The buildings are being moved up and out of the way, allowing the water to flow back in it's traditional place. It is a project of enormous scope, and it's clear that it will provide occupation for some time to come, as they are only beginning the long and arduous task of restoration.

The town is nestled on a mountainside, with trails leading in every direction. You can easily head down to the glacier, laid out below in it's spectacular expanse. You can, as easily, head higher into the mountains, aiming for the mines above where the ore was extracted and brought down the mountain to the mill.

The trails cut into the vast, green expanse looming above the town, leading the way to the promise of every mountaintop. When you climb those steep and unforgiving trails [the guide book called them relentlessly steep, which we agreed was a fair description] you feel on top of the world. It is an almost untouchable paradise, where you can easily commune with God and nature in equal measure.

Whatever mountaintop you achieve, there always seems to be one above it to reach for, and you feel small and insignificant as you see the panorama laid out below you. As with every mountain, the scale is deceptive - you feel like everything is right there, within easy range, and then you realize it's still just as far away as when you started.

There is no easy way to reach the heights of the mountaintop. There are no shortcuts in that natural setting. There are no trams, no trains, no gondolas or elevators. To reach your objective, you must make the climb, step by step,each one difficult and arduous, even as it takes your breath away to see the panorama laid out below you. The work to get there makes achieving the mountaintop even more thrilling, and knowing that few are willing to make that effort is rewarding in and of itself.

Every time I go to the mountains, I am awed anew by the wondrous beauty they present. The crashing of tectonic plates deep under the surface of the earth has produced a scene of such beauty and magnificence, words are simply inadequate to describe it.

As you make the climb into the otherworld of the mountains, your senses are almost assaulted by the rugged beauty of nature seldom seen. It is exciting to know that you are walking on territory seldom tread by human feet, and that you are communing with nature much as the earliest settlers did so long ago. What you see today is probably not much different than what they saw a hundred years ago, and I suspect that they were as awed and overwhelmed by their surroundings as we were.

The best part of all, however, comes when you have achieved your goal, and the journey back begins. The trails are not straight down, that would be far too steep. Instead, they zig zag back and forth across the mountainside, leading you from one side to the other, and on each turn, you are treated to yet another view. It is an unexpected gift each time you look up to see the scene has changed - familiar yet different.

The unending far northern daylight allowed us to arrive back at the lodge where we were staying at midnight, still in the light of the waning day. We had a view that was unparalleled the entire way down, not a moment of the wild beauty wasted. I was grateful to my brother and sister-in-law for taking me to the mountaintop, despite their own fatigue and desire to go to bed. It was a rare and unique opportunity for me, and one which I will never forget.

Nature, in her purest form, is simply not reproducible. I took pictures, of course, to remind myself of the experience. When I look at the limited two dimensional representation of that experience, I can conjure up in my memory the thrill of being there, and while it isn't enough, it is adequate, at least for the time being, until I can return and once again experience it for real.

A trip to visit my family is always a gift, and I am grateful for the time and the love we shared. The unexpected gift of the mountaintop, however, came straight from God.