Marriage Memoir by Ron and Crystal Meinstein

The other day my youngest daughter Lisa and I were working together bagging the abundant supply of maple leaves from our huge tree (about twenty bags in all). After all that work and bonding time with my daughter, I was tired and a little sore. Things aren’t quite as easy at sixty years old as they once were.

That made me think. I remember my early days living with my parents back in Oak Lawn, Illinois. Back in the mid1960s, between the ages of about ten and fourteen I got a quarter or maybe fifty cents a week allowance. I had no real expenses so that was fine. My most frequent use for my funds was my very favorite food, candy. You would think 25 cents couldn’t buy a lot of candy. But you have to remember that back then most candy bars (chunky, Hersey’s, Baby Ruth) were only five cents. I, however, wasn’t interested in those bars. My great allowance day ritual included about a mile long bike ride to the pet store. After spending abundant time petting the puppies, kitties, and Guiney pigs, I would take a tour of the exotic fish and reptiles. At the end of the tour, I got to the glass cases at the front of the store. These cases were filed with a myriad of yummy treats known as penny candies. They were actually priced between one and five cents. You could get wax lips, candy necklaces, giant jaw breakers (I know why they are called that), salted sunflower seeds, malted milk balls, black and red licorice, gum balls and many more too numerous to mention.

My allowance days were great, however, they were never enough. While it may be true that boy does not live on candy alone, I always wanted to test that theory. I needed additional funding to test my theory. When frequent attempts to upgrade my allowance failed, I was forced to desperate measures. I found work. I would go from door to door asking for jobs. I spent at least some of my spare time those early years mowing lawns, raking leaves, and shoveling snow. I was young and strong and could work in any weather.

Unlike the other day, I never remember getting sore or tired enough to stop before the job was done. When the work was done, after a clothing change and warm up in the winter, I would gather remaining energy to ride or walk to gather my true reward. Somehow, when I had to work for it, that candy tasted a little sweeter.

That leads me to my present question. Where have all of the penny candies gone? Also, and more pertinent to my present needs, where have all of the entrepreneurial youths gone? I’ve got leaves, snow, and a lawn. Maybe the problem is security. Times aren’t as safe as they used to be. Possibly the lack of willing child labor is a motivation problem. Today it seems that whiney complaining children have money thrown at them instead of being handed a rake and shown the door.

I know I sound cynical and that’s not really who I am. Blame it on my sore back. So let’s just say the problem is the lack of pet stores selling penny candies. Those candy days and the memories associated were some of my fondest of my childhood.

There is Lisa. She loves blowing leaves and listening to tunes.

Lately I’ve been too busy to worry about this blog, our book, or much of anything for that matter. A couple of weeks ago my dad broke his hip getting out of his apartment’s pool. Since then things have slowed down a lot. Rehab is a painfully slow and tedious process. Dad is used to bouncing back from any physical problem quickly. He has realized that, at ninety-three, this is no longer going to happen.

I try to see him at least two out of every three days. Our girls see him as often as they can. Over the same time Crystal has been struggling with an infection. The phrase ‘can’t catch a break’ come to mind. However, I realize that, life’s not all about me. In life, there are times to take and times to give back. The way I see it, giving back should not be a burden but an opportunity.  Dad is a proud man, but at this point he is understandably frustrated. He is, however, grateful for all of the people, Drs., nurses, therapists, not to mention me and our family, that are dedicated to helping him.

Yes, dad is a proud man. He has a lot of reason to be so. He has lived a great life. Our book One Hundred Fifty Years of Marriage details some of it. From his youth in Germany where he saw Hitler in a parade, to his trip to America at thirteen, to his return at twenty-two to fight against his original homeland, in dad’s early life he overcame much. He met mom after the war, fell in love, and married her. Their marriage lasted for 64 years. That is a rare accomplishment at any time in history. I was around for most of it. Through all of that time, I saw a man who struggled and worked hard, as a provider, father, husband, and role model.

I owe him everything, including my life. I know there is no way to pay back your parents for all they do. I only hope that, I can be the son he hoped for, and pass on some of my gifts to our girls. I have every confidence that dad will, at least to some extent, recover from this latest challenge. Things will continue to slow down. We will be there for him. He will be here until God is ready for him. At that time, he and mom will have left ripples in life’s pond, which will continue to affect our family, and potentially many more, for many years to come.

When I was growing up in Chicago in the 50’s, 60’s and 70’s I like to ride bikes.  We had a red tricycle that was great to ride until I got old enough to graduate to a two wheeler with training wheels.  I really didn’t want my dad to take off the training wheels because it helped me to balance.  But eventually I learned to ride without them and made my way around the block.  First I was just pushing with my feet touching the ground but then I got the hang of it.  I didn’t have my own two wheel bike.  My Dad made my brother a bike from a kit which he must have bought inexpensively.  My parents knew many ways to cut corners and save money.  My Dad would go to the Indiana sand dunes to get the sand for our sandbox.  Nobody noticed that some of the sand was missing every year.   We had no idea where the sand came from, but just enjoyed the sandbox under our large shady tree in the backyard. I think our sandbox was the most popular in the neighborhood or possibly it had something to do with my mother’s chocolate chip cookies.

I did ride my brother’s bike as often as I could get the chance.  My sister got a nice girl’s bike when she was about 8 years old.  It was pink and very nice.  I don’t know why I didn’t have a bike, but it didn’t seem to be that important.  Many of my friends had extra bikes that I could use when I rode with them.  My brother eventually got a schwinn silver bike which was really great.  He rode that bike all over the neighborhood.

I did get to ride an old red bike of my mom’s when I was older and taller.  It was a very old bike that unfortunately would skip.  What I mean is that I would be pushing the pedals but the chain wasn’t working so the bike was not moving forward.  This is a good way to fall down and get hurt.  Sometimes I would ride my brother’s first bike on the new cement which was laid at the end of our street.  This was much smoother than the broken sidewalk in front of our house.  This is where I would be pretending to practice for my future life in the circus.  My cousin and I planned to join the circus as soon as we were 18 years old.  She wanted to be on the trapeze, but I hadn’t decided yet so I had to practice all kinds of stunts to figure it out.  I fell many times riding with no hands, standing up on the pedals, riding sidesaddle,  etc. on that new cement.  I usually went home black and blue and sore and sometimes, bleeding.  My mom would ask me what happened, but I would just say I fell off accidentally.  She didn’t know about the trees I climbed up in the prairies either.

When we lived in Dolton, my brother, who was about 12, got a paper route.  I helped him roll the papers and load them into a basket on his bike.  I think he still had the little bike then but I don’t really remember.  My brother had a lot of health problems mainly with his left leg.  So there came a time when he couldn’t do his paper route.  My parents thought it was good for him to have this route even though it paid very little and was a lot of work.  They decided that I should do his paper route while my brother was getting better.  I don’t remember being asked exactly. It was more like, “Crystal , you are going to do Larry’s paper route until he is better.”  My brother taught me all the places to go and how to throw the newspapers on the porches.  Some houses you had to place them in a special place for the homeowner.  Then I also had to collect every month.  I didn’t mind it too much.  I got use to it and I was earning money.

The day came when he was well enough to do the route, but I was not willing to give it up.  So my parents contacted the paper to see if there was another route that he could do.  There was and he got that route.  Of course, we were still sharing a bike so we had to work that out as well. I got to know some of the people on my route pretty well and would visit with them when I collected for the paper.  Also, I went to the newspaper deliverers huge picnic which was held at the park near our house.  There were maybe 90 to 100 boys and three girls including me.  That was fun too, but all the activities like throwing a softball as far as you could, were for the boys.  The food was good and they had orange pop which I liked very much.

When I attended college I worked during the summers.  One summer I had to walk six blocks to my job at the local high school in the morning, go home for lunch and then ride my brother’s old Schwinn bike three miles to the community college.  I worked afternoons over there.  This was quite exhausting.  The route to the college included what was known as Sibley hill.  Sibley hill was near my house on Sibley Blvd.  It was not easy getting that large heavy Schwinn bike up that hill and then continue for three miles to the college.  It was not a good summer for me.  The jobs didn’t pay well and petered out before August.  Also, Ron was 150 miles away, at Bradley, having a Huckleberry Finn summer with his friend and roommate George.  They were swimming, berry picking, hiking and attending concerts and all kinds of events at Bradley University.  He had a good part time job that paid well and was taking a class.

Ron has never been a good phone caller.  He wants mainly just facts and only talks for about three minutes at a time.  He wrote me letters about all the fun he was having with George and his friends who lived in Peoria, mostly girls.  So I was struggling to say the least and ended up having major health problems, which required me to be in the hospital.  I could say that it was all the walking, riding and stress that made me sick, but it probably was going to happen anyway.

More recently we had several old bikes in our garage for a long time here in the small town of Warsaw, Ohio.  We hardly ever rode them because they had problems.  We did buy a bike rack so we could take them to bike paths and other paved riding areas.

Ron decided to give away our bikes.  Now he is looking for decent bikes for both of us.  They have to be better than the old broken down bikes of my childhood.  Maybe this time I will even have my own good bike which doesn’t skip.

Ok I couldn’t find a picture of Crystal on a bike, but this is a nice local picture of Amish Country. The Amish ride bikes.

Today is Father’s Day of 2014 and we are going to one of my daughter’s apartments for a BBQ. This got me thinking about my favorite BBQ food, spare ribs.  Since nostalgia is a big part of our book and this blog, I will take this opportunity to share how even a food can be fraught with memories.

Who doesn’t like really good BBQ baby back ribs? Well I am no exception. From the time I was able to eat solid food I think they have been my favorite main dish. Add some good baked beans and coleslaw and I can imagine what heaven is like. Now that I’m sixty and watching my boyish figure, I can’t indulge as often as I would like. When I do, they had better be good. While I know a few great places in Chicago, so far we haven’t found any to compare in central Ohio.

Outside of going to a restaurant, lately I have been working on my own recipes. Since one of my current projects is a cook book, my rib recipe will have to be close to the rib perfection experienced as a child.

My first and probably best boyhood rib experiences were in my home town of Oak Lawn, Illinois. The Branding Iron Restaurant had a nice dining room with white cloth table cloths. I know they had a full menu, but they also had some of the best ribs in the Chicago area. As you walked up to the building, you could smell the intoxicating aroma of wood burning and charring meat. As a child the irony was lost on me. I had no idea that Oak Lawn was an all white community. However, in the glass kitchen there were always four or five Afro-American men who worked continuously on the ribs. I believe that they were the reason those ribs were so good. They knew the secret. I have often tried to imagine how, with all of the horrors of slavery, something so good was created. At times, I would stand with my nose up to the glass, trying to figure out the method. They would flip racks of ribs from level to level at just the right time, continually basting the upper levels with their wonderful sauce. When an order came in the next ribs in line would be dropped on a plate and handed out of the smoky area to the less skilled kitchen personnel. They had it down to a science. The results were never disappointing.

The Branding Iron was more than just a restaurant. I mean that literally and figuratively. It was literally more because in the same building was the Branding Iron bowling alley. The restaurant was far enough apart that you couldn’t hear the pins being knocked down. Figuratively, the restaurant was more than just a restaurant by being an integral part of my youth. Every birthday between the ages of eight and fifteen my parents gave me a choice between a party with my friends or a day with them, doing my favorite activities. I think I had one party with friends. The rest of those years my celebration would start with swimming in one of the downtown Chicago Hotel pools (my birthday is March 25^th). My dad was more than willing to pay the small fee for the afternoon swim. Then we would return to Oak Lawn and the Branding Iron. Dad and I would bowl and mom would watch and encourage. The final part of the celebration was, you guessed it. We were all starving by that time. Those were the best ribs of my life.

The other memory of the Branding Iron occurred during; I believe it was, the summer of my twelfth year. In an effort to stimulate off season bowling the Branding Iron Lanes had a promotion. You could buy a card that allowed you to bowl one game a week at the ridiculous price of ten cents. My best friend Tim and I were all over that. Every week like clockwork, we rode our bikes through the suburban side streets about a mile and a half. We walked across the busy 95^th street, parked our bikes, and walked into the usually empty bowling alley. We played our one game, unless our moms financed a second game at the regular price of seventy-five cents. Then we wandered over to the restaurant side and ordered a drink. I think I forgot to mention, whenever you sat down, the waitress would bring out the most delicious bowl of freshly made doughnut holes, sprinkled with powdered sugar. After we finished our drinks and every last doughnut hole, we headed home, very pleased with ourselves. It may be a little late, but I sincerely wish to apologize to all of the waitresses we stiffed that summer. Our parents never taught us to tip, and our piggy banks wouldn’t allow it anyway.

One of my rib experiments on my Webber Grill

            If life is a gift and death is the thief that can steal that gift, then what is gained that can’t be lost. With movies like Heaven is for Real and God’s not Dead showing in theaters, there have been renewed discussions about topics of the afterlife. What happens? Where, if anywhere, does your spirit go when life is at its end? While I have very definite opinions on this subject, I will not, in this forum, offer any insight on this or any matter, which can only be proved with certainty by drinking the proverbial Kool Aide. I only mention the topic as a springboard for some related revelations.

            We had our Easter celebration yesterday evening. Yes, I know for the rest of you it is still a week away. God’s timing doesn’t always coincide with everyone’s schedule. I cooked for thirteen with family and friends in attendance. It was a German feast with sauerbraten, dumplings, red cabbage, beet salad and a lot more. The meal was a specialty of my mom. Fortunately, she taught me before she died. Everyone raved about the meal and there were several references to Mimi (mom). Dad was particularly impressed. He said it was just as good as Mimi’s. That was high praise indeed. It made me think about my mom. She was always so strong and full of life. Serving others was her greatest joy. In our book, there are numerous stories of her impoverished child hood, and struggles growing up in war torn WW2 Germany. When dad met her, and hired her to cook and clean, for him and the other American counter intelligence agents, she barely knew how to cook. That wasn’t the mother I knew. Both dad and I took her somewhat for granted. She was truly skilled in the kitchen. She made things look easy that I now know aren’t easy at all.

            The real point is that, while she is no longer with us physically, she isn’t really gone either. Every time I make one of her favorite dishes, or remember some of her wise sayings, every time I see her picture, or one of the numerous little nick knacks from one of dad and her vacations, she is with me again. I propose that our lives consist of a sequence of events. Wherever those events touch others in a meaningful way, to some extent, we live on.

            If you are seeking more substantial discussion of life after death, talk to my dad. According to the IRS he is dead. We spent several hours with social security today, trying to straighten out the mess. Dead or not, I reassured him that there is no way it will prevent the government from accepting his tax money. After all, two of the only certainties in life are death and taxes.

Crystal’s Corner: Pineapple Upside down Cake

            Ron talked about our pre-Easter dinner.  I made a pineapple upside down cake because we also celebrated Michelle’s boyfriend’s birthday.  It is his favorite.  Whenever I bake, I remember my mom.  She was always baking and we baked together.  She taught me so many great techniques and tricks about baking and cooking.  I liked to bake and would experiment with difficult cakes and cookie recipes. I also took a class on decorating cakes and made many of them for our family celebrations.  I know that my mom is in heaven and she is well. She had many health problems when she was here.  It was difficult to see her suffer with headaches and pain.  But her spirit was always bright.  She would make jokes and tell funny stories even when she wasn’t well.

 She made many Easter dinners and wonderful holiday meals.  My brother, my sister and I helped her.  She taught us different things to make that would be part of the meal so it would be easier for her.  It made us feel like we were part of it. 

As part of our passing down tradition, whenever we celebrate, we assign dishes to our girls and they always bring something for our holiday meals.  Ron is writing a cookbook with recipes, techniques and family stories for our girls and grandchildren.  I am really glad he is doing this.  I will be adding some of my recipes and especially baking tips.  Now if you will excuse me, I am going to have another piece of that delicious pineapple cake.

 Have a nice Easter!  It is the best day of the year. We know that because of Jesus and His resurrection we have eternal life.

Just another family meal

            It is amazing to me how things change as you get older. Yesterday I spent about an hour reassuring one of our daughters that she was making all of the correct moves in her job and her life. She is just overwhelmed right now and can’t see the forest for the trees. What amazes me is that, once a rebellious teen, she now sees life for what it is: a continuum. At one point, a long time ago, I shared all of my best advice, even though at that time I was questioning a few “certainties” myself. I was certain she ignored me or let it go in one ear and out of the other. Today, however, I realize that she heard everything I said. What she needs now is reassurance. There are constants in life. There is good and bad. We need to focus on the good. There is only so much you can do in a day. That is all you can affect. Stop worrying, it’s counterproductive.

            Where did I get all of this wisdom? Much of it came from my parents. I didn’t know I was learning or that they were teaching. I remember one summer day when I was about twelve years old. My friends were all busy and I had nothing to do. My mom saw I was bored and was caught up on her housework. She suggested a bike ride. I had just learned how to make a fire in Boy Scouts and wanted to demonstrate. The Forest Preserves were a simple five to six mile ride. She was reluctant at first, but I talked her into it. I could always talk her into things.

            We rode through the neighborhood and passed my favorite store. It was the pet shop. It was wonderful. Not only did they have fish, puppies, kittens and lizards, but they had the city’s largest supply of penny candies. We had to stop for just a minute and about twenty cents worth of candy. You need your strength on a long trip, you know.

            We were now on the main street, 95^th street. It was four lanes at that time, so we had to be careful. We peddled and talked about anything and everything. About a mile before the forest preserves we got to the town of Hickory Hills. It was aptly named. The three hills were huge. I could have easily ridden my bike up and down without much trouble. Mom was a different story. She was always in great shape. But great shape is different at twelve and over forty. We walked the bikes and continued our conversation.

            Finally, we got to the woods and I demonstrated my fire starting technique. Mom seemed amazed. Although I now know that she probably learned the same trick younger than me in her youth in Germany.

            We got back home without incident. We both had a great time, although she complained a little about her sore legs. The point which I am skirting around is that I always had open lines of communications with my parents. I learned so much as I grew without knowing that’s what I was doing. I think it is great to have parents who care and to not have to make all of your own mistakes. It is nice to learn from those who care about you and then pass it on to those you care about. Thus the continuum and the chain is unbroken.

With a little luck my last winter picture of the year.

            For about the last week I’ve been battling a cold or maybe bronchitis. Crystal’s been spending most nights downstairs. She insists that my snoring keeps her awake. While I normally sleep like a baby, I totally believe her, since I my breathing has a little rattle during the day as well.  

            A couple of nights ago I woke up alone in my bed with a very scratchy throat. I couldn’t get back to sleep. I flipped on the light and began foraging for a cough lozenge on Crystal’s night stand. To my horror and dismay there was no lozenge to be found. As an afterthought I looked in my night stand. There it was, wrapped in its red spotted saran wrap covering. It was one of my mom’s hard strawberry candies. My kids know them. My grandkids know them. Whenever Mimi was around she would offer you a candy. As I sucked on the treat I thought about all of the times mom looked after my needs: all of the trips to the Doctor, her miraculous chicken soup, cool and hot rags as needed, and always perfect bedside manner. During my entire life she never stopped taking care of me. Every year at Christmas I could count on new socks and underwear.

            It’s now been a couple of years since Mimi’s left us. I am getting used to buying my own underwear and socks. As I suck on the candy I notice that it has indeed done the trick. My throat feels a little better and I can get back to sleep. I have no idea how one of her candies got into my drawer, except that somehow; she is still looking after me.

Crystal’s Corner: Chicken Soup

            Ron and I have both been blessed with moms who took care of us when we were sick.  My family seemed to get everything that was going around and illnesses of our own. My mom would make us tea, chicken noodle soup (usually from a can), pudding, Jell-O, etc.  But also she was very comforting and told us jokes to cheer us up.  My dad was also very caring and would go to the store if we needed something.

            Ron makes chicken soup from scratch when any one of us is sick. He even sends soup and other comfort foods to the girls when they are sick.  He will make potato soup for Michelle because that is her favorite.  My girls appreciate his cooking and some of my cooking more since they have lived away from home.  While in the past, they would complain about having to eat leftovers, now when they come over they ask me if we have any leftovers and would it be all right if they ate them.  Also, if they know that Ron is making something they really like they will call me and ask me to save some of it for them.

            Ron learned how to make French onion soup from a French chef in Chicago.  He made it for my parents and after that my mom told me “if he ever makes it again you better invite me over.”  She was always a big fan of his cooking.  My Dad loves to have us visit him; and usually Ron and I make a nice meal while we are there.  He always wants us to stay longer.  We leave him a plate for the next day which he appreciates.

            I think, in many ways, Ron and I were lucky because our moms did not work outside the home.  My mom started to teach quilting while I was in high school, but it was part time.  Some of her classes were in our kitchen so the quilting ladies became part of our lives too.   I stayed home most of the time with our children.  If I worked it was part time.  I think that they appreciate it now more than they did when they were growing up.  I was the mom at home and usually had their friends over as well, especially on snow days, or when their moms had to work.  I don’t know if it is the chicken soup that makes you well or the love of the person who makes you the soup; probably a little of both.

My footprints from a recent walk at Hilltop Golf Course

            We just came back from a trip with Ron’s Dad to Chicago.  He wanted to go back to his neighborhood in Oak Lawn (Ron’s boyhood neighborhood) and see his neighbors and friends.  Ron drove all the way the first day.  This wore me out a lot on the second day.  It was getting colder the longer we were there but for the most part the days were sunny.  It can be really cold in November in Chicago.  I remember freezing while my sister and I went trick or treating on Oct. 31.  We had to either wear our costumes under our coats or try to decorate our coats.   We were the cutest little gypsies for years.  It was our favorite costume and we always had enough odds and ends to put it together.

            Being in Oak Lawn and the Chicago area brings back many memories. I lived in the Chicago area until I was 20 years old and went away to Bradley University.  My parents had moved from the Roseland area when I was ten and lived in the city of Dolton, which wasn’t too far away. A lot of things had changed while I was growing up in Dolton.  The large fields full of prairie grass and trees and critters gave way to new houses and businesses.  Especially more fast food restaurants moved in.  I met Ron when I was a Junior at Bradley and then learned about Oak Lawn and his family history. He had been living there since he was five years old and most of the neighbors were there the whole time.  Some of them are still in the same houses.  He showed me all of the good places to eat there like the Oak Lawn Restaurant (still there) and nearby forest preserves. 

            What was interesting to me on this trip was how I realized that the whole time we were living as a married couple in the Chicago area we were always going to the forest preserves and parks.  We wanted to live in the country.  He hated the traffic, didn’t want to go downtown very much to plays or concerts or shopping.  I like plays and concerts, but didn’t like the traffic, the cost and the parking problems.  We did go many times with his mom and dad, especially after we had the girls.  Since we moved away in 1987 we visited a lot and the girls have a real sense of Chicago.  I am very glad of that.  I always liked the Art Institute and the library downtown. 

            I had gotten a job downtown Chicago right after college.  I was so brave and naïve back then.  It was good I was both.  I did meet some interesting people as I worked at different office jobs in the Loop.  I did spend time at the Art Institute for lunch on free Thursdays and at the library.  I walked to the train station (sometimes it was 12 blocks).  I took the train and then Ron would pick me up at the station after his work.  His job was near wherever we lived.  We only had one car which saved us money and put us together a lot.  I think that was difficult in some ways, but good for our marriage too.

            I am glad we took this trip. I really enjoyed talking to his neighbors and friends and eating at good restaurants.  It did bring back memories from my childhood.  My parents were always close to people in the neighborhood and had many friends – most of whom became my friends and mentors as well.  The people in your life do make a difference in your life.  You are who you are because of all of those influences.  Can you hear Frank Sinatra singing about Chicago in your head?  I can.

Crystal and Dad in side yard of Oak Lawn, Illinois house just prior to moving to Ohio in 2012

I was walking with dad at Blendon Woods Metro Park the other day. He mentioned that it was September 21^st. That was the same day one year ago that the movers packed up all of his stuff from his house in Oak Lawn, Illinois to move to his new apartment here in Ohio. It was the first move he had made in over fifty years. It was the first move he had made in over sixty-five years without his wife, Mimi. I know it had to be one of the hardest things he has ever done. It was the only thing that made sense. He had to be closer to family.

Once we arrived at his apartment and all of the grand kids and great grand kids showed up to help, I know it made sense to him. To some extent it was like he was discovering a family he didn’t know he had. We all worked together in synchronicity and harmony to put together his apartment in a way that he would find pleasing. I had done all of the measurements and had an idea what would fit and where it should all go. When done, in a surprisingly short time, dad took us out to a group dinner. The only thing missing, and I knew we all thought it, was Mimi. She would have loved a move closer to us.

Unfortunately, that’s just not the way life works. You can’t live in a world of could have, should have, would have. You can only live in the here and now. Here and now dad and I were walking in Blendon Woods, talking about a sad anniversary. I asked if he thought about Mimi on September 12^th. It was her birthday and already our second birthday without her. All he said is that not a day goes by that he doesn’t think about her. Somehow that made me feel good.

I don’t think it hurts to look back to those precious times with loved ones who have gone on. Is it part of grieving? Certainly. But more importantly, it is part of keeping love alive. I believe that regardless of the pain, the love is worth living for, and needs to live on past what our bodies can endure. Mom, if you are reading this, know that you are sorely missed. Oh and Belated Happy Birthday.

Crystal’s Corner of the World: TV shows and mom

Lately, I have been finding TV shows on TV that I use to watch when I was growing up.  Shows like That Girl, The Love Boat and Love American Style.  I am glad these shows are available now. I like seeing them, but sometimes it makes me sad.  My mom loved comedies on TV.  We watched these shows together and laughed and commented about them.  I miss her laugh.  I miss our conversations.  I have had many dreams about her.  In my dreams she is well, wearing the quilted clothing she made for herself and happy.  We are talking and laughing together.   She wasn’t well for a long time before she died.  I am glad in my dreams she is well.  I do believe I will see her again in heaven.  Sometimes it is hard for me to wait although I have a lot to do here, and my children and my husband, who I don’t think I can live without.

I am grateful for good memories of my mom and me during my childhood and growing up years.  Cherish the time you have with your parents, children and friends while you are together.  The time goes by so fast.

Crystal and my mom looking into an aquarium around 2010