Eileen and Larry Somers

I just picked and ate some raspberries. It reminded me of something my son Alex recently said. I had asked him, what is a memory you have of Grandma Eileen?    The first thing that came to mind for him was raspberries. he remembered her offering him some vanilla ice cream with raspberries on top. I thought that was a sweet answer (literally and figuratively!).     I grew up with both raspberries and lilacs in plentiful amounts. I remember my mom using her big soup pot with handles to collect the berries. I didn't like how they got squashed in there, though. I preferred to just pick and eat.   I also don't like my raspberries chilled . . . fresh off the plant is my preference. But my mother liked to collect them and put them in the fridge. And put them on vanilla ice cream. It makes me happy to remember this.   The photo is from our plants at Strawberry Lake. There weren't many red ones left because I'd already picked and eaten so many! Also, the deer f...

I'm trying to declutter my office and life. This scrap of paper has the list of things that was on my dad's radar in 2015. I liked to write down the things that he ranted about and say, "Which thing is most important to you? What would you like me to work on?"   As I told Ann, worrying was his hobby. She tried to fix all his issues, but he was really good at finding things to be upset about!    Getting the garage floor replaced was a big one. It was old and cracked. The unevenness made it a trip hazard. It took me two days to clear everything off the floor! The guy did a nice job.  There were a lot of things we didn't get to . . . but the list is now in my recycling. And memorialized here. I also had a "Happy Holidays" money envelope with this. My dad loved to say he did all his Christmas shopping in one place and no one wanted to return it! He'd go to the bank and withdraw money. Getting those little envelopes was a predictable (but delightful) gift...

I was cutting up some cantaloupe this week and had a vivid memory of my mom doing the same thing. She would cut off the rind, then cut the crescent into little pieces. As I was cutting it, I thought about how much I loved getting cantaloupe from her, ready to eat.    She would also say, "Yum! Sweet like candy." (Smile.) Yes, fruit is rather sweet. As a child, I almost certainly preferred actual candy to fruit. She was clever with encouraging healthy eating.   I wrote the word "cantalope," but blogger told me that was wrong. Hmm. It still tastes yummy. And it makes me think of my mom.   

A game we played with Eileen was to take her slippers and run around the dining/living room and kitchen.  Once? we put the slipper in the freezer.  Fun for us, but for her?

I don't remember what brought this to mind recently, but when I was a little kid I hated having my hair washed. I think I was four, five, six years old . . . and my mom would have me lay on the washing machine on my back, hanging my head out over the washtub. She would scrub my scalp with a vengeance. It hurt! In hindsight, I think she was actually getting out some of her frustrations by doing this. I just knew that I didn't like having my hair washed. Being the "oopsy" baby and knowing that my mom was busy with teaching full time, running the household, etc. I think she was less than thrilled by raising a little kid when her others were heading into their teens. I wish I'd thought to ask her about this and see how she remembered this. I don't think she was intentionally being hurtful to me. The past is in the past. I'll put a picture of "little" me here. (I couldn't find a pic of me as a preschooler, so I just grabbed my baby pic.) Most of m...

It's weird for me to think that my perception of childhood was that we weren't very musical . . . and yet I keep having memories of songs from my childhood! Yesterday the song "It's Me, Oh Lord" came to mind and I started singing it. What a blast from the 70s!    I know we sang it as part of the worship music at St. Joan of Arc Church, but I also wish I could have a conversation with my parents about the words. It definitely stems from Matthew 7:3-5 about taking the log from your own eye before trying to remove the splinter from someone else's. (Actually, I say "definitely" because that's my own perspective. Perhaps I'm way off!) Anyhow, I can absolutely say that I need prayer. Every day, every hour of the day.   We sang this song a lot - mostly at church, but at other times, too. It's a good reminder that I am in need of prayer. I need God's grace, love, and mercy. I wonder what my parents thought about this song.  Here's a link ...

I'm not sure what brought this to mind recently, but "Ishkabibble" is a word my mom used to use. My sisters and my brother and I heard this when something was yukky or gross. I'm not sure about the spelling because it's just one of those words our mom would say!   I'm posting a random pic of her because blog posts are more fun with images. She didn't like having her picture taken, but this is from a Christmas dinner at her house. She was getting out the "good silverware."    Louise definitely took up her habit of making her own words to fit different meanings. Whatever brought "ishkabibble" to mind recently made me smile. Thinking about my mom does that for me.

With the news of the earthquake that hit Morocco last Friday (Sept. 8, 2023), I was reminded of a conversation I had with my mom many years ago. We were talking about things that scared us. She said she was most frightened of earthquakes. That surprised me, but as we talked she shared about her time living in California in the 1950s.  She said it was a terrible feeling to be going about her day and have things suddenly start shaking and rattling. She told me she never wanted to live in an earthquake zone again. I asked her if it was more frightening than tornadoes and she said absolutely. We talked about how we'd never experienced hurricanes or volcanoes. It was an interesting conversation that I just recently remembered. Actually, I think she may have been on the gulf coast during a hurricane after that conversation . . . but I wasn't there. That's a Louise story to tell!

I've often said that I didn't grow up with much singing . . . but that's not entirely true. Recently, I started singing Alouette ( Canadian version ). It got me thinking about why that song was in my brain and what triggered me to start singing it out of the blue.   I remembered back to when we were singing it in French class (8th grade?) and I was very familiar with the tune. I had not known, however, that it was about plucking a bird's feathers! And further, the verses have us plucking feathers from the different body parts INCLUDING THE BEAK! If you're curious but don't speak French, here are the lyrics in English. It was fun to learn about this song my dad had sung to me.   Besides Alouette , we grew up singing Frère Jacques . I guess my dad was more into singing (and playing piano) than my mom was. I wish I had recorded him singing when I had the opportunity.  I could probably add more to this entry (and perhaps I will later), but I need to work on more pr...

For some reason, the song "Let there be peace on Earth, and let it begin with me . . . " came into my head yesterday. My mom really liked that song and Joan of Arc often had it in their rotation.   The lyrics: Let there be peace on earth And let it begin with me Let There Be Peace on Earth The peace that was meant to be   With God as our Father Brothers all are we Let me walk with my brother In perfect harmony.   Let peace begin with me Let this be the moment now. With ev'ry step I take Let this be my solemn vow   To take each moment and live Each moment in peace eternally Let there be peace on earth And let it begin with me My mom was a pacifist and a person who cared deeply about humanity's need to be kinder to one another. I love when I have memories like this. Criticism and fault-finding were a huge part of my upbringing . . . but there was plenty of positivity and joy as well! Wikipedia has this info that I didn't know (highlight is mine): " Let There Be...

This is a sad story. I'm not 100% what year it was (2011-2013?) but I had to fill out the same old paperwork for work. Every year, the same stuff! Phone number, address, blah blah blah. (I was super tempted to write "Nothing's changed.")  But on the section where it asked for a secondary contact in case of emergency, I paused. And cried.   Louie is always my first contact. But my mom had always been that second one, just in case. And it must have been the fall of 2011, because I remember the struggle I felt knowing she wouldn't have the mental acuity to take an emergency call on my behalf. The realization that her role in my life had changed and I needed to be strong for her . . . rather than me being able to lean on her . . . that was hard.   I asked Morgan if I could put his name and number down in case of an emergency if they couldn't reach his dad. Of course, he said yes.    I am incredibly blessed that I had my mom around for 48 years of my life and that ...

I'm not sure why this became our "thing," but my mom wanted to have a cloth calendar to hang on the wall in her kitchen each year and buying it for her became my goal. I used to find them in stores like Pier I, but as the years went by it got harder and harder. Then online shopping made it a breeze, though I had to order it for her birthday so she wouldn't get worried about not having one for the next year. When dad died and Louise inherited the house and everything in it, she went through the cloth calendars and wrote down all the years' worth (see pic at left) and I made a list of the missing years (below). I'm not sure what happened to those . . . but I'm pretty sure Mom originally had them. My mom *always* had the annual cloth calendar up on the wall! I think I had originally planned to complete the set(?) or was just being compulsive about the list. It doesn't really matter, but I thought I'd make a record of it here for posterity. I'm ge...

 Our dad was born in New Brunswick, Canada. He never became a U.S. citizen, relying on his "Resident Alien" status for the majority of his adult life in this country. He talked about becoming a citizen a LOT. Especially the last few years of his life when macular degeneration had pretty much wiped out his eyesight. He'd listen to audiobooks and think about things. He would often start a conversation with, "What were the thirteen original colonies?" "I'm not sure, dad. New York, Pennsylvania, Delaware, Maryland, . . . Why?" Apparently, he was practicing the information he thought he needed to know to pass the citizenship test. Sigh. While going through his papers after his death, I came across an envelope with some old paperwok. It contained citizenship application papers. It was most recently revised in 1959! I'm not sure why he talked about it, thought about it, and even had relevant paperwork for five DECADES and never actually worked toward ...

There was a lot of swearing in our household, but there were definite limits. The F-bomb was not allowed. "Sheeshtamatchi" was the made-up swearword to replace the real thing when an effort to NOT swear was happening. Eileen could not tolerate the word "piss" and wasn't too fond of "pee," either. "Just say you have to void!" She would make us laugh so hard with this.

 Larry loved beating Frank (former priest) in saying the Our Father in Latin.  Ann still brought Eileen to St. Joan of Ark when she had dementia.  One time I told Frank what Eileen said towards the end of mass "Get me the hell out of here!"  He laughed.

 When I was a kid, a highlight of the long winter was the weekend in Jan, Feb, or March when my parents paid for a hotel room on a Friday night. We would pack up our stuff (especially swimsuits!) and drive the five or so miles to Burnsville to stay at the Howard Johnson's Motor Lodge. It had a SWIMMING POOL! We were in Heaven! We put on our swimsuits and spent hours on Friday night and more time on Saturday morning swimming, splashing, and warming up in the hot tub. We called it "Ho Jo's Mo Lo" for short. Great memories! If/when I come across a photo from that era, I'll add it.

I had artwork in a show and kept asking my sisters to attend the opening, because I figured I had to bug them to get them to come.  When I was leaving the house I asked them "aren't you coming?"  They said no, that they had not been invited.  I inadvertently hurt their feelings because I assumed they would always be there.

I was sharing some leftover squash with Joshua last Monday. (He wasn't interested.) I told him "it's sweet like candy." Just saying that made me immediately think of my mom. She used to love eating squash! I remember her describing it that way - sweet like candy. Loved my mom!

 A few days ago, Louie and I were TPed. Whoever did it didn't do a very good job, though. It was enough to remind me of my own teen years and TPing our friends' houses. One time, my friends had hit our house on Aldrich Avenue really hard. My mom didn't like wastefulness and disapproved of TPing. She made me pick up as much of the TP as I possibly could. Stored in brown grocery bags, she made us use it in the bathroom before we were allowed to "get" rolls of toilet paper that were from the store. Whoever TPed our house last weekend had left a 3/4 roll of paper by the garbage can. Louie asked me what I did with it. "Picked it up and put it in the bathroom upstairs." "You're going to use it?" "Absolutely! It was still dry." Then I thought of my mom and smiled. Perfectly good toilet paper - why throw it away? I also remember my mom having all three of us girls come into the bathroom so she could demonstrate how to select paper for wip...

 Larry often (daily?) said lovely things to my mom. One of his favorites was commenting on her "beautiful brown eyes." I thought of this recently when I told my dog he has such beautiful brown eyes . . . and realized that the phrase sounded really familiar! It sounded familiar because I heard my dad say that to my mom throughout my childhood. He also said "Have I told you lately that I love you?" or "Have I told you lately how much I love you?" So sweet to have this language poured out on a regular basis! I'm glad that there were as many "I love you" statements as there were in the household I grew up in. Thanks, Dad. <I wrote the above on 9.2.2020. I'm back here on 2.6.2026.>   I told my dog he had beautiful brown eyes and thought of my dad telling my mom that. He would also joke that her eyes were brown because she was "full of sh*t." My parents were very verbal - in good ways and in critical ways. There was love, laught...