Summer of '08

Believe it or not, the summer (for us, anyway) is nearly over as the kids go back to school this Friday, August 1. I am making a gross understatement when I say that the summer flew by way too quickly as we are on the eve-eve of the first day of school. Here are some pictures and descriptions of what our family has done over this summer--we have had a blast!

End of the Season T-Ball and Baseball Parties

Mimi and Papa Visiting

Visit with Dana and Hannah

Wild Adventures

Fourth of July

Hanging Out at the Beach

Visit with Nana, Emily, and Zoe

Gracie's Birthday Party

Eve Learning to Walk

The Hatten Girls

Jaden--First Lost Tooth!

In two short months, we have celebrated a birthday, learned to walk, lost a first tooth, overcame fears of riding rollercoasters, learned to swim, finalized where "home" is, matured, grew, and loved. Two short months...it went by so quickly. I'm glad I was there to experience it.

Helping to Chart a Lost Continent

Helping to Chart a Lost Continent

by Linda Albert

Every woman

is part of

a lost continent

that flourished once

like Mur, Lemuria,

Atlantis,

until some ancient

cataclysm

swallowed it whole,

submerged

each woman's story

under the sea.

Fathoms deep,

we slept away

our pain for eons,

hinted at, but

best forgotten.

Now, despite that,

everywhere you look

another speck

of land appears,

thrusting itself upward

after a long and arduous

labor.

It is a delicate business,

helping to birth

a continent,

requiring every

woman-voice

to make the new

/old landmass whole

and seamless,

a foolish, fearless

heart

to chart it.

Sweet Dreams

I had a dream about my dad last night. In the dream, we were at the home that I grew up in and it must have been a Sunday morning because my mom was frying bacon. She was making breakfast for my dad and he was getting ready to go to work. I could sense the urgency for her to hurry--he had to leave and was trying to get directions to where he had to go. I spoke to him in this dream, which was unusual because in most dreams I have had about him I'm just a spectator--watching him as if I am, in fact, in a dream. But not in this one--I was part of it. He was sitting at the computer and was talking to my mom. They were talking about where he was going and he said he couldn't find how to get there. I spoke to him and told him about a Web site to visit and he said that the computer was not functioning properly so I fixed it so he could get his directions. Then, the scene changed. I was at a banquet with Jon and we were going to watch someone get an award. I think it was a school function because a little boy whom I had taught in second grade came up to me. He said, "Can I have a hug?" This particular child and I had bonded that school year because he lost his mother to an illness, similar to the illness that killed my father. This little boy always reminded me of my dad--his appearance, his personality, his wit, his ability to agitate--all of those things reeked of my dad and I had told his grandmother that on many occasions. So in the dream, I looked at the little boy and said, "Come here, baby." I hugged him and he held on to me so tight. I hugged and hugged and hugged him and I didn't want to let go. He didn't want to let go of me, either. You see, his grandmother had told me that I reminded him of his mother. I look similar to the way she looked, our personalities were similar, and the way I carry myself is just like she presented herself. In that dream, that little boy and I were consoling each other. We were taking the place of the person to whom the other had lost and for a moment, we felt like we communicated with our lost loved one. Then, the dream was over.

Semper Fi

The Fourth of July is tomorrow and it always reminds me of my dad who passed away nearly four years ago. My dad was an ex-Marine and he was a Devil Dog to the core. While most teenagers have the luxury of sleeping in on the weekends, my brother and I were typically awakened by the horns of "Stars and Stripes Forever" and "The Marine Corps Hymn" blaring through the house from the speakers of our sound system. My dad wasn't much on setting aside time to sit down and impart widsom, but rather taught by example. He didn't tell us that we should love our country, fight for what is important in our lives, and take care of your family--he didn't need to because he showed us these things each and every day in the manner in which he lived. He loved his country and because of him I, too, am very patriotic.

Every Fourth of July we take the kids downtown to watch the parade and every time I see the soldiers marching I begin to well up with tears. I become overwhelemed with a feeling of pride for my country and an appreciation for the freedom that I have that so many men and women have died for over the years. Inevitably, I think about my dad, how he fought in Vietnam when he was a young adult and how he had to watch his friends die on the battlefield--that is when I can't hold back the emotion as tears begin to roll down my face. The sacrafices that he and so many others have made for me and the rest of the country is made real at that precise moment.

Before my dad died, I had a special gift made for him to show my appreciation for not only his service to our country but also to show him what he meant to me. That gift was a set of dog tags that reads his name and the words, "Vietnam Veteran and hero to his family." When he opened the gift, he seemed almost bewildered as if he had no clue of what an impact he had on my life and he began to cry. I don't think he realized what he had imparted on me (or the rest of our family) and how we recognized the sacrifice he had made for us.
Now, I have his original dog tag and the one that I had made for him. Every now and then, I will place it around my neck and put on one of his Marine Corps T-shirts and reminisce about days past and try to hear his voice. I miss him each and every day and there isn't a day that goes by that I don't think about him. What I wouldn't give to have him wake me up just one more time by playing a John Phillips Sousa song or by banging a pot and hearing him shout, "Revellie, revellie, revellie!" One day I will see him again, but until then I'll keep cherishing the memories that I have and try to instill a love of country to my own children as my dad did for me.