November 23, 2012 by Penni Pier
Dear Lyla,
Thanksgiving has come and gone and as we indulge in leftovers, card games and the Christmas music that we are finally allowed to play in the house (Daddy is a stickler on this particular point), it seems fitting to reflect upon those things for which we are thankful. In the past few letters I have alluded to the things I am most grateful for, family, friends, good health; just to name a few. However, this Thanksgiving I am thankful for the gift of love given by a woman whom I have never met and whose name I do not know. You are too young to understand the full impact of the injury that I sustained right before your birthday last June; all you know is that Mommy’s knee was hurt and two surgeries were needed to make it better. You were a trooper this summer as I was laid up on the couch, not able to take you to the pool, park or the zoo; the reassurance that I would be off my “crunches” and walking by Thanksgiving was all the reassurance you required. We are all thankful for the skills of the two surgeons that operated on my leg; they were truly two of the most patient, kind and skilled women I have ever met. But I am also thankful for the woman who made it possible for me to live a normal life again through the gift of tissue donation. You see little one, this Thanksgiving there is a family who is grieving the loss of their loved one; a forty-two year old woman who will not be seated at her family’s table this year. She, along with her family, decided to give the ultimate gift in the face of unspeakable sadness and pain; to donate organs and tissues people like me who are in need. I do not know any characteristics about the woman whose ACL now lives inside of me other than her age. I do not know if she was a wife or mother, what her profession was or any of her dreams. I do know, however, that she must have been deeply loved by many people. Who else but someone that is desperately loved would have the courage to consider the gift of life and ambulation to others in the off-chance that she would leave this earth far too young. So tonight little one, when we say our prayers let us also say a prayer for her and her family. Let us pray that they find peace and comfort in the knowledge that in death she helped so many. Through the gift of renewed health our family has been given a precious treasure and it is our intention to honor that sacrifice daily; in every step Mommy takes, in each set of stairs that are climbed and in routine tasks that have been previously taken for granted. To the woman who gave the gift of life to so many strangers we humbly and sincerely say “Thank You.”
Posted in November | Tagged ACL, organ donation, surgery, Thanksgiving | Leave a Comment »
November 21, 2012 by Penni Pier
Dear Lyla,
Thanksgiving Day is almost here and tonight your three “boy” cousins will arrive from Minnesota to spend the holiday weekend with you. I hope very much that this will be a memorable holiday for you, one that you look upon fondly and remember often. In honor of the three musketeers that will join us this November for feast and festivity, today’s story is about their mother. I must say that my sister and I have many holiday tales that we could share with you and your cousins and they usually involve mischief and mayhem; most often at Grandma Jo’s expense. But today your Aunt Patti is the offering on the altar of humility in this holiday musing and it all begins with a tantrum and a turkey. As you know your Grandma Jo is an excellent cook and, for her, holiday dinners were serious business. There would be a fine lace tablecloth, cloth napkins, crystal wine glasses and great-grandma’s silver to adorn our humble table. There was a ritual to these feasts; we would begin the day sneaking olives off the relish tray (one for each finger of course) and end by sneaking extra helpings of whipped cream for the homemade pumpkin pie. These meals were full of laughter, mirth and the occasional under the table goodie for the dog; if you were to describe the scene at our table it would closely resemble a scene drawn by Norman Rockwell. For us holidays were a time of relative peace and harmony; we ate, we played games and we teased each other good naturedly. It is likely due to the nostalgia that my sister felt for the holidays that the “great turkey debacle” came to be. I was in graduate school and was coming home for Thanksgiving and just assumed that Grandma Jo would be hosting as per usual; I learned in an animated phone call to my mom that plans had changed. Patti was bound and determined that she was going to cook the Thanksgiving meal and like it or not we were all ordered to come and have a good time. As soon as we stepped in the door I should have recognized the stench of impending doom. Patti was in a tizzy rushing to put the final touches on the noon meal. Grandma Jo, an excellent judge of cooking times and multi-tasker extraordinaire, recognized a disaster when she saw it. She graciously offered to help with the final prep work; determined that she could handle the task herself, Patti declined the offer. In a final flurry of activity, and a few glasses of wine later, it was announced that we were about to eat. As we sat down to eat we began with a simple table blessing (historically the youngest at the table says the blessing and my niece Kaila was not old enough to say it yet so the job fell to me) and then proceeded to survey the spread before us. We were treated to burnt rolls, lumpy gravy, partially mashed potatoes and a runny substance that I am led to believe was pureed yams. However, the turkey looked amazing! It was beautiful, brown and smelled amazing; we were in for a treat. Our hopes for an edible morsel from Patti’s table were quickly dashed when Bumpa cut into the turkey. In her quest to replicate the Rockwellian perfection from her childhood, she had neglected to clean the bird prior to cooking it. You can imagine the gory site once the turkey had been sliced open; all of the innards had liquefied making the turkey quite unpalatable. One glance at Patti told me she was ready to come unhinged should anyone make a derogatory comment about her culinary talents. Grandma Jo, ever the peacemaker, declared that we could simply eat around the innards since that part looked fabulous. Bumpa, on the other hand, was not about to let Patti off the hook. Bumpa laughed; he laughed long at hard until his face was purple and it was questionable whether oxygen was flowing to his brain. Little one there is something you need to know about Bumpa’s laughter, it was contagious! I started laughing, Grandma Jo starting laughing and, yes, Patti began to chuckle. It would have seemed to any outsider that we had lost our ever loving minds, and maybe we had. Maybe we were so focused on achieving a sense of idyllic perfection that we had lost perspective; Bumpa brought us back to reality. You see little one, Bumpa didn’t laugh to make Patti feel bad; quite the opposite. Bumpa was letting Patti know that it is ok to make mistakes; if you can laugh and learn at the same time, things will probably turn out just fine. This Thanksgiving I hope that there is plenty of laughter at our table, that we live in the moment and enjoy one another for who we are and not some version of what we think we should be.
Posted in November | Tagged Bumpa, Grandma Jo, Nephews, Norman Rockwell, Patti, Thanksgiving, turkey | Leave a Comment »
November 19, 2012 by Penni Pier
Dear Lyla,
The holiday season is in full bloom! There are many ways to tell that we are in the midst of the hustle and bustle of this festive time of year. Animated talk of victories to be won come from our friends who are fans of the pigskin games: they are eagerly awaiting Turkey Day and the promise of gridiron action following a ritual gorging of turkey, mashed potatoes and green bean casserole. Light poles on the main street of our hometown have been festooned with garland, bows and merrily twinkling lights. Shopkeepers have frosted and bejeweled their windows to entice a look at the wares they offer to those in the throes of holiday shopping. Mommy’s and Daddy’s students start to get a bit more antsy in anticipation of the coming break and we ponder the efficacy of the lecture plans we have prepared in light of the looming hiatus from academe. Even at such a young age your schedule has become filled with pageant rehearsals and notices sent home by your teacher requesting parents to sign up to bring treats for the party you will have on the last day of class before break. While all of these things are hallmarks of the holiday season there is one tradition, for me, that signals its official beginning: the Charlie Brown specials! Charlie Brown, Snoopy, Lucy, Linus and the gang have been my holiday companions for more years than I care to memorialize in print. My old friends return at the end of October starting with Linus’ ill fated night in the pumpkin patch waiting for the appearance of The Great Pumpkin. Linus teaches a lesson in friendship, patience and faith that still resonates with me today. Peppermint Patty and Marcie are favorite sidekicks in the Thanksgiving special where we learn to be thankful for what we have and understand that despite differences we are all creatures deserving of love and dignity. It is Charlie Brown’s Christmas, however, that gives me greatest pause; I have never watched this special without crying just a little. The most bedraggled and unlikely tree becomes the most powerful of symbols in this holiday classic. In a season where sparkles and glitter reign supreme, Charlie Brown sees the potential and beauty in a tree that is overlooked and unwanted. It is because Charlie Brown can appreciate the majesty that lies within the stunted conifer that he is the hero of the Peanuts gang. Charlie Brown’s greatness lies not in his ability to kick a football, play the piano or to be the popular kid in the crowd, but in his capacity for love and caring. I like to hope that there is a little bit of Charlie Brown in all of us; we have our “good grief” days and the days where the most ordinary of folks have the capacity to care for each other in extraordinary ways. So this holiday season little one, I look forward to sharing some of my dearest childhood friends with you, in the hopes that they will become yours as well.
Posted in November | Tagged Charlie Brown, Christmas, Lyla, Thanksgiving | 1 Comment »
November 16, 2012 by Penni Pier
Dear Lyla,
I have mentioned before that your daddy and I met when we were in graduate school; we had our first date in November (on your Grandpa Dwight’s birthday). We went to Olive Garden to eat and we went “dutch,” which means we each pay half; although your daddy was short on cash so I had to pick up the majority of the tab (The events of our first date really have nothing to do with the following story but I have never let daddy forget that I had to pay on the first date and I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to do it again here). The fall semester that I met daddy was a busy one as it was my first semester in graduate school. Since we had only been dating for a little while when the holidays rolled around I went back to Minnesota for Christmas to see Grandma Jo and Bumpa; daddy stayed behind to be with his family at Great-grandma Evelyn’s farm. When I got back to school life was so busy that I was not able to go back North again until the Fourth of July holiday during the summer; daddy was to go with me. I was nervous because Bumpa had never liked any boy I had brought home (in retrospect he was probably spot on with his assessment of these gentlemen). Grandma Jo had already met daddy earlier in the spring when she came down to visit; daddy had long hair at the time and your grandma was not having it! She made up her mind then and there that she did not like daddy. You have to understand that this is a point that grandma denies vehemently now; she says she always thought daddy was a fine young man. Sometimes little one history is subjective and in some cases, revisionist. Your daddy and I drove over thirteen hours north that summer to spend a few days with Bumpa and Grandma Jo. I will never forget the first night daddy visited Minnesota. That night we sat around an old, round oak table that had been in our family for as long as I can remember. Coffee was the drink of choice, as it can still get quite chilly at night that far north if the windows are left open, and conversation was finally starting to flow. You see, daddy can be a bit reserved and shy if he doesn’t know people very well. He would argue that he is waiting to assess whether someone is worth getting to know, I argue he is an introvert (both assertions have merit). Let me preface the rest of the story by stating that, as daddy was about to sit down at the table my sister Patti jumped up and told him to take her chair, as it was one of the wide wooden chairs with rollers. My sister can have a wicked streak in her as she meets out her own tests of suitability; for her resiliency and a sense of humor are a litmus test. Daddy was finally starting to get comfortable talking to Bumpa and they started to chat about Great-grandma Evelyn and Great-grandpa Raymond’s farm. Quite suddenly all four legs of the wooden chair went out from under daddy. The next thing I know daddy’s eyes are as wide as saucers and his face was as red as Santa’s suit. I was concerned that he had hurt himself, until I heard my sister laughing. She was laughing so hard tears were streaming down her face and she couldn’t breathe. Then it dawned on me; she had given him the chair on purpose. On closer inspection of the chair, I noticed she had given him the “trick” chair. The spools on this particular chair had come apart so many times no one could keep count. It did not matter if you were big, small, short or tall; the spools on the chair would gradually separate over time and it was just a matter of bad timing for the person who would be its next victim. This Patti knew, this Patti understood and this Patti planned. For his part, daddy passed the test. He got up, dusted himself off and the conversation went right on along. I could have been mad at my sister for inflicting her brand of social acceptance on daddy, and perhaps I should have, but truth be told; I don’t think I was. I think it was Patti’s way of protecting her little sister and making sure this new addition to our family had the chops it took to hang out with the Pier clan. So little one, in a way I am grateful. It showed me early on in my relationship with your daddy that he was someone to trust, someone who was patient and most importantly someone who can laugh at himself. We are lucky to have daddy. You and I are a lot alike and it is going to take daddy a great deal of patience and humor to deal with the two of us over the years; let’s thank our lucky stars that daddy has already proven he is up to the task.
Posted in November | Tagged Bumpa, Daddy, Grandma Jo, Minnesota, Patti, wooden chair | Leave a Comment »
November 14, 2012 by Penni Pier
Dear Lyla,
As Thanksgiving approaches this November I have noticed that many of my friends, family and students are focusing on what they are grateful for. The social media feeds are filled with short but sweet statements about love for family, pets and food. Reading these offerings of gratitude in the twitterverse and blogosphere has me considering what I am grateful for. Although I would like to write a few hundred words of sweetness that would give readers a cavity, I cannot. Not because I am not thankful for you, daddy, my health, and our family (even Gigi); but because every time I hear the phrase “I am thankful for….” I think back to the first Thanksgiving I had with your daddy at Grandma Carolyn’s house. The previous year we had spent the holiday with Grandpa Dwight and Grandma Terry; and so the Thanksgiving that is the subject of this story was very important to Grandma Carolyn as she held all of her children and their significant others captive for a holiday feast. By this point I had known your Grandma Carolyn for an entire year. Her cooking had not improved substantively during that time and so daddy and I ate before we went to Grandma’s. I am pretty sure Aunt Sara and Uncle Aaron ate before the meal too. Please don’t judge, there was plenty of evidence to suggest that if we had not dined prior to the meal we would still be hungry after it. When we arrived at the house we were stunned by the smells coming from the kitchen; it smelled delicious! Your daddy and I went to investigate the fragrance emanating from the oven. Sure enough Grandma Carolyn had cooked a bird and it wasn’t burnt; we began to feel a glimmer of hope. Your grandma had gone to a lot of trouble to set a beautiful table and I am sure she was bound and determined that this Thanksgiving would be different; this time her children would revel in her culinary skills and praise her talents. It was not to be. Grandma wanted her bird perfectly brown like the pictures you see on the front of the magazines in the check-out lines at the supermarket. Perhaps this should be your first lesson in marketing little one, rarely does a bird come out of the oven looking like that; Photoshop and food decorators are mostly responsible for those images. Nevertheless, your grandma was determined that her turkey would be brown and succulent; and so, in true Grandma Carolyn fashion, she took the foil off the bird and cranked up the broiler in the misguided assumption that fast, direct heat would brown her turkey. Needless to say the turkey was black and crispy rather than brown and juicy. I do believe that grandma’s heart may have broken a little that day to see her Thanksgiving Day offering literally go up in smoke. As we sat down for dinner your grandma tried to salvage the spirit of the meal by asking everyone to go around the table and ask what they were most grateful for. Of course they started with me since I was the newest member of the family and I said something along the lines of “I am grateful for my new family.” Then it was your daddy’s turn, the ringleader of this particular holiday circus, and he said “I am grateful there is a lot of gravy on this table.” Then it was Sarah’s turn who said “I am grateful for the milk.” Finally, Aaron quipped “I am grateful that McDonald’s is open.” By this time the adults at the table had disintegrated into full blown laughter over the charred monstrosity of a turkey that was to be their Thanksgiving feast. You may ask, “What does this have to do with being thankful?” Well little one, I am thankful for humor and grace. Your daddy, Aunt Sara and Uncle Aaron are some of funniest folks I know and, in retrospect, it was their humor that made that holiday one of the most memorable I have ever witnessed. I am also thankful for grace. Your Grandma Carolyn, while not adept at cooking, was incredibly graceful that day. Instead of getting angry at her children, she saw the teasing for what it was; affection and acceptance. After that day I knew that I may never find an edible meal at Grandma Carolyn’s but I would always find love.
Posted in November | Tagged Aunt Sara, burnt, Daddy, Grandma Carolyn, thankful, Thanksgiving; cooking, turkey | Leave a Comment »
November 12, 2012 by Penni Pier
Dear Lyla,
Yesterday was November 11, and it was Veteran’s Day. On this day we take time to remember all of those who served our nation in the armed forces; it is a way of saying thank you to those in the military who are called upon to make sacrifices in order to protect our freedoms. There are many in our family who have served in the military. Grandma Jo’s mommy and daddy were both in the Army during World War II; and your Bumpa was named after his Uncle EuGene who was also serving in World War II at the time and wanted a namesake should he not return from the battlefield. For many to serve one’s country is a calling and I think your Bumpa felt an obligation to serve when he was a young man. But for Bumpa it was not to be; according to family lore, he did not pass his hearing test on the day of his physical exam and was excluded from joining up. We never talked about the military much as I was growing up, except for the summer that Grandpa Henwood came to stay and he would swap war stories with an old man named Pappy Yokum that lived up the road. Although it was not a common topic of conversation, my sister and I did understand that those who served our country deserved our deference and respect. It came to pass one Christmas that this idea of reverence for those in uniform manifested itself on a road trip to Missouri. I must have been ten or eleven the year that Grandma Jo and Bumpa decided that we would spend Christmas with their friends Charles and Norma in Missouri. We set out for Missouri a few days before Christmas as it took well over twelve hours to get there from Minnesota. I remember that the weather was horrible; it was either sleeting or snowing during the entire trip. Many times we would have to pull over to a gas station to clear road salt and dirt from the headlamps and to refill the washer fluid. It was during one of these stops that my father engaged in what I considered to be the most peculiar behavior; he picked up a hitchhiker. You have to understand this was completely out of character for Bumpa; never in a million years would I have predicted such an act. As Bumpa and the stranger got closer to the car, I noticed that the young man who was to be our new companion was wearing military fatigues. I must admit that at age ten camouflage of any kind was a bit scary (it wasn’t as commonly integrated into fashion and pop culture as it is now). Bumpa instructed Grandma Jo to get into the back seat with Patti and me. As the snow continued to beat down on our car as we traveled south, the conversation in the front seat was lively and quick. The young man had flown in on leave and was trying to get to his folks before Christmas. His parents were poor and he had no extra money for transportation, he was relying on the kindness of strangers to get him home for the holidays. It was amazing how at ease my father felt with this young solider; how quickly they fell into comfortable conversation. After a few hours it was time for the young man to change direction again and so my father pulled off at a truck stop that would get him on the interstate that would lead him home. Bumpa gave the young gentleman money for food (I am not sure if grandma was aware of that but I saw my father reach for his wallet when we stopped) and made sure that there was a trucker willing to give him a lift most of the way home. As we got back on the road, Grandma Jo at the wheel and Bumpa in the passenger’s seat, she asked him what possessed him to do such a thing. Bumpa replied that he had overheard the kid talking to an elderly farm couple who had just driven two hours out of their way to help him out so it couldn’t be that dangerous. Furthermore, he argued, if there was trouble grandma was sitting behind the solider in the back seat poised to bonk him over the head with her high heeled shoe! Bumpa had a way of teasing and joking his way through questions and situations that forced him to confront his emotions. If truth be told, I think grandpa was touched by the kid’s story; a young man out of basic training, missing his folks something fierce and doing anything it took to get home. I am not sure of the soldier’s fate, whether he made it home in time for Christmas; I want to believe that he did. I like to think that perhaps he is out there somewhere, telling his children or grandchildren on this day of remembrance about the time when he felt the kindred embrace of his fellow Americans and what it meant to him and his family all those years ago.
Posted in November | Tagged army, Bumpa, Christmas, Grandma Jo, Henwood, Missouri, soldier, Veteran's Day, WWII | Leave a Comment »
November 9, 2012 by Penni Pier
Dear Lyla,
Daddy and I tell you all the time that growing up is about making mistakes and learning from them; without failures every now and again it is pretty difficult to measure progress. You may be surprised to note that making mistakes, and by extension learning, is a lifelong process. When I was about the same age you are now Bumpa learned a rather hard lesson about animal physiology and the ancillary uses of the common garden tomato. As you know I grew up in Northern Minnesota on a lake in the middle of the country. The seasons in Minnesota are beautiful but they are very short, especially the growing season. Grandma Jo took advantage of the rich, black soil on the top of the hill next to the house to plant a prolific garden in the early years that we lived there. Bumpa would bury the innards left in the fish house from the anglers’ daily catch right next to grandma’s garden so the vegetables that she planted would be hearty and plentiful. Grandma would can vegetables all summer so that when winter came we never ran out of good things to eat. One summer Grandma Jo’s garden was so robust we had sweet corn, green beans, peas, cucumber pickles, and gallons upon gallons of tomatoes; I can still see the jars in my mind’s eye in seemingly endless lines on the shelves in the cellar. Grandma was so proud of her work and the family would be grateful to open up those jars in the dead of winter and taste a little bit of sunshine that had been preserved by her skillful hands. Fall soon approached; with the changing of the seasons and the drop in temperature wild critters sought shelter any place they could find it and Bumpa made it pretty easy for them to find. The cellar where grandma stored all of her canned goods was very spacious and had several rooms that mirrored the footprint of the house above. In some of the rooms there were very small windows that sat level to the ground. Sometimes Bumpa would open the windows to run hoses or cords through them, depending upon what he was working on down in the basement. One ill fated day Bumpa forgot to close a window and a skunk found its way into our cellar. I bet you can imagine grandma’s reaction when she realized that she had company when she went to fetch a jar or two from her underground pantry. Bumpa tried everything to coax that skunk back out of the window through which he came, nothing worked. Bumpa knew you had to be careful when dealing with a skunk, if they feel threatened they will spray the aggressor with a stink so powerful it will burn the inside of your nostrils. Grandma and Bumpa debated endlessly about how to deal with the skunk (I am sure many of the local farmers weighed in with their opinions as well). Bumpa finally decided that enough was enough; he would get rid of that varmint once and for all with minimal risk of a skunk shower. Bumpa was under the impression that if you could shoot the skunk in the head and knock out the nerve centers the skunk would be incapacitated and unable to spray. Bumpa was a good shot and took the skunk out, but Bumpa was wrong; it turns out that skunk spray can be released as the body relaxes postmortem and the stench is considerable. Autumn in Minnesota is quite chilly with snow flurries often arriving before Halloween, but that fall every window in our house was open in an attempt to dissipate the skunk odor. As you might surmise, Bumpa stunk to high heaven since he was only a few paces from the skunk at the time of its demise. I like to imagine that there was an awful lot of chuckling by our country neighbors when they heard the story; there sure was no shortage of advice on how to get rid of the smell. It turns out that tomato juice is about the best thing you can use to get rid of the noxious fumes. Bumpa took several baths in grandma’s canned tomatoes that fall and it was days before folks could tolerate being in the same room with him. To this day I am not sure if grandma was more aggravated by the smell that hung in our house well past the holidays or by the fact that her precious garden bounty was used as an anti-skunk bubble bath for Bumpa. This story gives me comfort little one; comfort in the knowledge that it is human nature to make mistakes. But the hope is that we learn from our errors and never make the same mistake twice.
Posted in November | Tagged Bumpa, Grandma Jo, lessons, skunk, teaching, tomatoes | Leave a Comment »
November 7, 2012 by Penni Pier
Dear Lyla,
Sometimes when someone has been gone from your life for a long time it is hard to remember their face quite accurately, or recall the sound of their voice. Instead your memory of the individual may be composed of isolated incidents recalled for a brief instant or perhaps a touch, taste or smell. This is the case with the memory of my Great Grandpa Guy. Grandpa Guy was married to my Great Grandma Susie and is the only grandpa that I remember from my daddy’s side of the family. My Grandma Susie’s first husband, Eric, died before I was born and Guy and grandma married later in life. Grandpa Guy and his first wife Laura never had any children; when he married grandma he had an instant family complete with lots of great grandchildren. Grandpa and grandma had a cabin just a hop and a skip down the lake front from the resort I grew up on; Patti and I would get so excited when they would arrive for the season. We were always welcome at the cabin where Grandma Susie would take us out to her little garden to pick vegetables for lunch and then we would wait until grandpa came in from fishing so we could all eat together. My memory of Grandpa Guy is a bit fuzzy but there are a few things about grandpa that I remember vividly. Grandpa was very tall, so much so that I used to think that maybe he and Abraham Lincoln were related. Grandpa also had a great laugh. What made it so great was that grandpa always had a rather stern expression on his face, not because he had a gruff personality but because his face was just naturally severe in its structure, and when he laughed his whole face transformed before one’s eyes. Perhaps the thing I remember most about grandpa was the treats he always kept in his pockets for us (butterscotch buttons and pink peppermint rounds). You see, by the time he married grandma her grandchildren were already grown up so we were his first foray into interacting with people 65 years younger than he was. I think he fell into grand parenthood like a fish to water. He figured out that by offering sweets for us to nibble on that he would be the grandparent that the little ones would flock to; he would leave any disciplining that needed to be done to Grandma Susie. If grandpa got tired of us he would simply walk down to the water and get into his boat to go fishing. How lucky we all were to have grandpa in our lives; we were not his grandchildren by blood but we certainly were by choice. He was an example of goodness and patience for a brood of children who were born with a propensity to talk one’s ear off (it’s in our DNA honey, no escaping it!). Grandpa Guy went to heaven when I was ten years old; I remember that day like it was yesterday. There would be no more good-natured teasing, no more lessons on how to cast my fishing pole and no one waiting at the cabin door to share treats. We grieved for our grandpa who was not an educated man in a formal sense, but was a great teacher to my cousins and me. Although grandpa is no longer with us in body, he is certainly alive forever in my heart and has made an indelible impression on my character. Grandpa lives on is some of the phrases that have made their way into my everyday manner of speech and the lessons he taught us when we were young are the same ones I will pass on to you. I think grandpa would have enjoyed you a great deal little one; you would have kept him on his toes and he would have reveled in giving you more sweets than are good for you. You are a lot like him in many ways; kind, caring and mischievous to name a few. What you must know little one is that Grandpa Guy is an important part of your family history and I thought it was time you two met.
Posted in November | Tagged Grandma Susie; lake, Grandpa Guy, Patti | Leave a Comment »
November 5, 2012 by Penni Pier
Dear Lyla,
My students and daddy’s students frequently ask us how we met and why we got together. I am sure that your daddy’s tale differs from mine, and I am positive it is never a consistent answer. Over the past few years I have heard responses ranging from weary surrender to mythic storytelling. One thing I have learned is to let your daddy tell his own tales and that there will likely be a large dose of humor and mythology involved in the telling. I am sure that the two of you will likely have a laugh or two at my expense over the years as you bond together to tease your silly mommy: I see it happening now; the two of you have a very similar sense of humor. I will cheerfully accept your gentle ribbing, secure in the knowledge that it comes from a place of love and admiration. The truth is that I believe your daddy wanted to marry me for a variety of reasons and today I will share one. Although he may chuckle heartily and say “that isn’t why I married your mommy,” deep down he will recognize the honesty when I say: one of the reasons daddy wanted to marry me is that I can cook. Coming from me it sounds horribly antiquated and fits a multitude of stereotypes that make me inwardly recoil; but there you have it, mommy can cook. What you need to know is that my culinary skills are really quite average; there is nothing special about my cooking (other than there is love in every bite). However, in contrast to your Grandma Carolyn’s cooking prowess, I seem like a contender for Iron Chef. While growing up your daddy, Aunt Sara and Uncle Aaron used to joke about what they would get for supper. According to them, every night the carbohydrates came from a box and the protein came from a can. The night’s fare was, as they recount, either chicken “junk” or tuna “junk” (they use more colorful language but I am trying to keep this letter rated G). I could not believe that this could possibly be true. It sure was in stark contrast to my own experience because your Grandma Jo is an excellent cook! After spending more time with Grandma Carolyn in those early days I became increasingly aware that your dear grandma has many talents but cooking isn’t one of them. I have so many examples of good intentions in the kitchen gone wrong that I will have several more letters to write just based on those experiences! Unfortunately for Grandma Carolyn, her heartfelt attempts to show her love via food have failed miserably time and again. I remember one weekend when I stayed with Grandma Carolyn and Uncle Aaron while on break from school (daddy was teaching so he stayed behind) she wanted to make one of my favorites, barbecued kielbasa. By this time I had already tasted her cooking and I eagerly volunteered to make it myself but she insisted that she could do it. I watched in horror as she threw the meat into a pan set over the highest flame possible, she then proceed to add an entire jar of store bought barbecue sauce. Little one I need to tell you that cooking is partly art but it is a whole lot of chemistry, and if you don’t understand chemistry then you end up with a pan full of meat stuck to the bottom with the glue you created from heating sugar quickly at a high temperature. The meal was inedible and it took your Uncle Aaron and I well over an hour and a half to clean the pan! It is a certainty that when you get older and you are sitting around with your cousins, aunts and uncles we will retell all of the stories of Grandma Carolyn’s cooking disasters. Your grandma has a good nature though and she will join in, both in defense and confession of her lack of culinary skills. What I want you to know little one is that even though grandma’s food was largely inedible; she made her offerings with love. To feed someone is the most basic thing that you can do for another human being and one must always accept an offering of food with the utmost respect for the hands that prepared it.
Posted in November | Tagged Aunt Sara, cooking, Daddy, Grandma Carolyn, Uncle Aaron | 1 Comment »
November 2, 2012 by Penni Pier
Dear Lyla,
It is now the beginning of November and the air is starting to get crisper as we make our way toward winter. On some mornings as I step on the back porch to let Gigi out I am treated to Jack Frost’s artwork on our arborvitae and the walnut trees. It can be breathtaking, this raw display of nature that the seasons provide for us with indomitable regularity. It is neither the temperature of the air nor the dance of frost on the foliage that has caught my fancy as we begin to embrace the holiday season; it is the music. I love music of any kind, but I especially love holiday music. Your daddy loves music as well little one; I could not have said “I do” if he didn’t. It is this love of melody and rhythm that is responsible for your eclectic tastes; often daddy and I debate the merits of you being able to sing the lyrics to the song “Sheep Go to Heaven; Goats Go to Hell.” I want to remind you at this point the mantra that we have for songs that may be questionable to your teachers and the parents of your peers; “that song is for home or the car only!” Part of me is secretly pleased as punch that the Red Hot Chili Peppers has been a favorite of yours since you were three; part of me is terrified that we have somehow exposed you to such adult music that you are beyond the point of amendment. Daddy and I both agree on one thing; music will be an important and integral part of your life. We disagree on a few things too. For example, I wanted to get you a keyboard and so he got you a drum set. I think that the xylophone is an acceptable instrument for a young child; he bought you an electric guitar. While these are things that I can overlook, there is one contentious point on which daddy and I will never come to terms; the role of Christmas music in everyday life. If I had my druthers we would listen to Christmas music twelve months out of the year and if daddy had his way it would be twelve hours (preferably during the time when we dream of sugar plums). Every year at the beginning of November I ache to begin the festivities of the Christmas season, but I am reminded by daddy and my students that Thanksgiving must be given its due. To dismiss the holiday entirely because I yearn for the familiar melodies of my youth is to miss out on the unique offerings that this traditional day of thanks has to offer. So little one, I made it my mission to seek out a unique and utterly festive Thanksgiving playlist! It has taken me a little over three years to amass a library of songs that can play for four hours with nary a song repeated. The play list is composed largely of classical music with heavy tones and solid rhythms. These melodies are in stark contrast to the light and airy selections that are the hallmark of the Christmas season. The rich sounds of thanks provide context, I think, to the hustle and bustle of December. The anthems of Thanksgiving are reflective, they are stable, they are comforting; and like your daddy’s arms they are designed to make you feel safe and secure. Our lives are very busy little one and sometimes we need to slow down a bit and remember to count our blessings. How marvelous that the gift of music will always be there like an old friend; ready to soothe and calm us when we need it the most.
Posted in November | Tagged Christmas, music, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Thanksgiving | 1 Comment »
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Dear Lyla,
Letters To Lyla 