Ch-ch-ch-anges!

I’ve been feeling a bit lost lately.

Maybe it has to do with the fact that I’m now an orphan. Even at 61, “orphan” is how it feels. I just plain miss my mommy and daddy.

Maybe it’s the realization that my career is, for all intents and purposes, over. At some point that resume that used to reflect deep, broad experience became a resume that just says “old has-been fart.”

Maybe it’s a delayed response from being an empty nester, combined with a yearning to be a grandparent. Kids have always been central to my existence – wanting them, having them, watching them grow, and letting them go – and this peace and quiet (that I remember begging for at times!) is sometimes just deafening.

Maybe it’s unhealthy blood pressure and weight readings and a constant pain in my legs and groin, all of which make me feel like a slug. I’m taking action – again. Can I stick to it this time?

Maybe it’s Trump. DUH.

Maybe it’s because we’re looking for the place that we’ll next call “home.”

“WAIT!” you say. “Wait!” How can we be looking for the next place we’ll call home when we bought property in Suncadia two years ago and had begun to design our dream house? You’re astute to notice.

The truth is, we’ve pretty much decided not to move to Suncadia full-time, much as we love it there. Two primary factors played into our decision: 1.) There is no top-quality emergency healthcare nearby. Granted, the Urgent Care in Cle Elum is open from 9 to 5 on weekdays and for a few hours on weekends, but if we chose some other time to collapse onto the floor gasping for breath, unconscious - or worse - on a Sunday night, we’re screwed. 2.) Beautiful as the Cascade Mountains are, winters can be brutal and never-ending. Interstate 90, pretty much the only way to get from Seattle to Suncadia, shuts down due to snow and ice a bit too often for our liking – especially because I promised to babysit for future grandchildren in Seattle on a weekly basis.

We’ve been looking at Gig Harbor  and other communities “on the other side of the water” instead. Unlike times when we’ve moved in the past, there are few constraints this time. We don’t have to look in any specific school district, we don’t need to live close to any job, and we’re less financially constrained than we were earlier in our lives. Total freedom! How nice – and how crazy-making! We’ll know when we find the right place, but who knows when that will be? Next week? Next month? Next year? Watch this space.

Until then, I have a book to write.

This is the post about my father’s death…

…the one I have started so many times since he collapsed at 3:15 AM on the morning of February 21st, almost six months ago. The one I just can’t seem to ever finish.
For most of my life, the mere thought of my father dying would prompt my throat to close up and tears to well in my eyes. The world needed my father, I reasoned (unreasonably); he simply couldn’t leave us – ever.
That’s about as far as I got every time I began this post because at this point I simply become overwhelmed at the enormity of the story I have to tell - the story of my father’s childhood as a Mischling (half-Jew) in Nazi Germany, the story of his mother’s role as unwitting protectorate of her family, and of her sudden death in January, 1944 which cast my father, his siblings, and their Jewish father into chaos. It’s the story of my Jewish grandfather whose passion was his highly regarded collection of German Romanticist art – a separate, but related story that continues to this day as we await word regarding restitution of some works from his collection which found their way to various museums in Austria and Germany.
Every time I begin to write about my father’s death, I feel obligated to speak to the enormity of his entire life.
But today I decided that it’s just too much to ask of myself, so I’ve given myself permission to write only about one small event -  the last time I saw my father.
This much, I can do.
Ironically, I don’t have a single photo of Dad and me together during that visit, which took place from January 26th through January 30th of this year, less than a month before his death. But I do have lots of pictures of Elisabeth with her Opa. (Elisabeth, who was on hiatus between graduation from CRNA school in California and the beginning of her job as a Nurse Anesthetist at University of Washington Medical Center, came with me to visit Dad and Lou in Ashland.)
Baby steps. I can finish this post.
I can post photos from that visit by just going through my photos in the folder at Pictures/Events and Excursions/2017/January – Ashland.
These first photos actually sum up Dad perfectly. He is in his perfectly organized workshop. Always the practical engineer, Dad decided that his walker needed some storage space, so he shuffled into his garage workshop, my index finger in his belt loop to steady him. And there, Dad proceeded to improve his walker using spare parts that he’d saved from some other random project. (Because he was German, and organized, and frugal, and inventive.)

Dad was quite unstable on his feet, so Elisabeth stayed close by, ready to catch him, should he begin to fall.

How ironic, I thought, that I’m concerned about him falling as he works on his walker – with power tools, no less!
One of our main goals on this trip was to fill Dad and Lou’s freezer with lots of healthy homemade meals. Caring for Dad had become a full-time job for Lou, and she was exhausted. Surely we could help by cooking a few simple meals!
When Elisabeth and I are on a mission, we are a force to be reckoned with! Or not to be reckoned with, depending on perspective. Of one mind, we knew our mission: plan, shop, cook, freeze.
On it.



The day after our cooking extravaganza, Elisabeth asked Opa about “the suitcase.” This suitcase, which has always contained works from my grandfather’s art collection and has lived under my parents’ bed for well over 60 years, deserves a blog post (or book chapter) of its own, but suffice it to say that it’s all my father had to his name in April, 1953 as he arrived in America.

I loved watching Dad and Elisabeth exploring the contents of the suitcase together – and I was amazed that my dad was able to kneel, crouch, and be the least bit comfortable on the floor! Maybe he wasn’t at all comfortable; maybe he powered through, understanding the important connections being made – even, in a way, between generations that would never meet.
 
The suitcase is now empty. Much of the art will being going back to two European museums, lovingly bequeathed by my father, in honor of his father.
The next day, having watched the toll my father’s deteriorating physical (and mental) condition was having on Lou, and concerned that some action would need to be taken soon, Elisabeth and I (with Lou’s approval) visited an assisted care facility.

It was a heartbreaking but necessary next step. We didn’t tell Dad.
That evening, we did what we’ve done after dinner since Elisabeth was a baby – we played a game.

I have no idea who won. It didn’t matter.
A few weeks later, just days before my father died, his sister, Ulli, visited from Berkeley. Oh, what these two have been through together!

It seems only fitting that the last photos taken of Dad are with his beloved little sister. The sweetness of this last goodbye almost has me wondering…

For those who came to Dad’s memorial and saw the botched version of the slide show that Tom and I had so carefully timed to the tenth of a second (that somehow played with NO timing at all), here is something a bit closer to what you should have seen -- though the music and transitions are still botched. (Would Dad appreciate the perfectionist in me that is still so frustrated at not being able to show this slideshow to you exactly as it was created?!)
And for those who weren’t at the memorial, here’s a glimpse of my father’s life.

Aging and the passage of time: A weekend of perpectives

Most of us don't really ponder the concepts of aging and the passage of time until they thrust themselves forcefully upon us.  I haven't been able to escape the reality of aging lately - though I'm lucky that the reminders have been pleasant. Some have even been downright joyful!

Last week we made an offer on a 1.2 acre lot in the Tumble Creek neighborhood of Suncadia. Tom is pretty much over the moon about planning for our retirement there, mostly because he gets to build (or at least be involved in building) a house. I am finding my way over the moon as well and think it'll be a really good place for us to spend our "golden years." We'll both get what we want: Tom will get to build a house on a quiet, large, secluded lot where it doesn't rain most of the year (though it definitely snows) and I will get my dream house in an active community with lots to do. I'll blog sepearetly about that endeavor once escrow closes and it's a done deal. But here's a little tease:

The day after our offer was accepted and went under contract ("You are Getting Old, Event #1), I woke up at 3 AM to get on a 6 AM flight to the Bay Area to visit with Elisabeth and to attend my aunt's annual wine tasting party.

 My parents and my aunt met a group of people in Germany when they were in their early 20s, just after the war. These friends not only immigrated to America together, they raised kids together in the same Berkeley community in the 50s and 60s, and have been extremely close all along.  What started as a big group of loud, feisty, fun, slightly crazy young whippersnappers is now a very small group of slow, quiet, reflective old people. It's actually hard to watch. ("You are Getting Old, Event #2.) But I'll get to the wine tasting later.

Elisabeth went to the Bay Area to go to graduate school at Samuel Merritt University, where she's training to be a Nurse Anesthetist.

It's an incredibly intensive two and a half year program and she has very little time off during the entire program, but she just happened to have a few days off now, between semesters, so we had lots of time together this weekend. (God, I miss that girl!!) We started our time together in the cadaver lab at her school, of all places! ("You are Getting Old, Event #3?!)

I wasn't allowed to take photos in the cadaver lab, but it looked a lot like this, with a cadaver under each sheet. It took some getting used to, but is actually fascinating, and Elisabeth LOVES her chosen profession. She promised to come back to Seattle to practice after she graduates, but she and Danny really love the Bay Area. It's really selfish that I want her back, isn't it?

Our visit to the cadaver lab really gave us appetite (not... but it was time to eat!), so we headed to Rick and Ann's, which is in the Berkeley neighborhood where I grew up. Then we walked around the neighborhood in which almost all my childhood memories were formed. ("You are Getting Old, Event #4.)

Many of those memories were formed at John Muir Elementary School - which happened to be in session!

Just walking down the path toward the school, which I must have done hundreds of times in my youth, brought back a flood of memories! (You are getting old, event #5.)

Those poor tenants behind that door (which used to be red)! Did we really think "ding-dong ditch" was funny day after day?

The stairwell leading to the cafeteria  is full of memories for me and I swear, I could hear hundreds of school children chattering and I could smell those 40 cent school lunches being prepared! The bumps on the railing were to keep us from sliding down to our lunches. They weren't much of a deterrent!

My favorite part of the school has always been the classic Craftsman auditorium with the beautiful green velvet curtains! Many a nervous child spent time on that stage!

John Muir's library was moved when the school was retrofitted about 20 years ago, but the beautiful "Mother Goose" wall painting were salvaged and now grace the new school library. I'm so glad to see that these were painstakingly saved! It is so worth it!

After I filled Elisabeth's ears with memory after memory ("On my birthday in fourth grade, I brought a stuffed snake to school and wore my new after ski boots." "I learned that Walt Disney had died in that classroom on a hot Spring day." "The principal's office was in there. Mr. Ventor had a paddle that he used to swat naughty kids - always boys!"), we decided to take a quick walk to the house I grew up in.

I noticed right away that the porch outside my bedroom (from which I could see the Golden Gate Bridge straight ahead!) had been expanded.

There used to be a walkway straight through from the main road to the pathway behind our house and I wanted to show Elisabeth that path... but it was no longer a straight path and we had to trespass in order to get to the path.

As we walked along the path, a man appeared. "Hi! We're trespassing!" I explained. Then I quickly added that I grew up in the house. While we had lived in the house for the entire first 13 years of my childhood, the current owners, who bought it from us in 1970, still live there!

"Just knock on the door," the man (a tenant who lives in the ballroom -- yes, we had a ballroom!) suggested. So we did!

1963

2015

For the next two hours, we were given a tour of what has become of my childhood home! ("You are Getting Old, Event #6.) The current owners are a doctor and an artist. I didn't see a great deal of evidence of "doctor," but "artist" was everywhere -- and I mean everywhere!

 Remember this photo of my mom and me in her dressing room?
 
Well, that room currently looks like this:

And the fireplace that looked like this?

1958

 That now can be seen here:

I'm glad some of the things I remember so well are still there! The beautiful dining room built-ins, the original farmhouse sink, the claw foot tub, the mother-of-pearl push-on-push-off light switches, the classic bathroom tile, and even the same tub we all took baths in way back when!

1960

It was so great to hear the stories about the sale of the house from my parents to the current owners! They even called the rooms by OUR names as they showed us around! "Here's Chris' room... the "little living room... the ping-pong room...")

 And we ended with a photo, of course! Thanks so much, Steve and Marian! What a treat!

After we visited my old house, we got to visit Elisabeth's NEW house... or rather her's and Danny's studio. So cute!! ("You are Getting Old, Event #7.)

Speaking of "cute," my dear cousin (where I was staying, as Kat and Morgan would stay with Elisabeth when they arrived on Saturday) just added this new cutie, "Percy,"  to the family!

On Saturday, Kat and Morgan arrived and we played tourist in the City. What fun!

Sisters!

The new Bay Bridge

Lombard Street

The real tourist attraction is the tourists!

Stately San Francisco homes...

Elisabeth and Danny (and the Golden Gate)

Kat and Morgan (and the Golden Gate)

Mom and her girls (and the Golden Gate) ("You are Getting Old, Event #7.)

The Golden Gate!

When we got back from the City, we were exhausted! ("You are getting old," event #8.)We chilled a bit in Elisabeth's yard...

 ...and across the street on one of North Berkeley's huge rocks, from where we watched the sunset.

Then we headed back to the cousin's to have a delicious Thai dinner -- and to wear out one very large dog and one (currently) small puppy.

The next day was the wine tasting. To be honest, tasting wine played very little role in my day. Mostly I just reveled in being with family... and friends from waaaaaay back, before I was even born -- who have gone from young and feisty and unstoppable to old and tired and slow. (See "You are Getting Old, Event #2.)

Claudia and Ulli

Dad and his two youngest ("the little ones," we were called)

Some people actually did taste wine!

"Mickey" and Ray

Elisabeth and my cousin Marcus

The four Heumann "kids"

...with Dad

Kathy and Ray

Ulli and Thomas, sister and brother

Sister and brother and spouses

 What great fun the weekend was, from start to finish!

I tried my hardest to keep my eyes open on the plane ride home, but could barely capture my favorite views through sleepy eyes,

Mt. St. Helens

Crater Lake

Mt. Rainier