Parke Circle

Sunday after grandma's viewing, we drove by grandma's old house. I dream of this home all the time and have missed it dearly since we sold it in 2004. I knew that once grandma passed away, I would want to go back, and since the funeral home was on that side of town, I knew it was a perfect opportunity.

I decided to get brave and knock on the door to ask if I could take a few pictures of the front. Well, my cousin ended up answering the door, and it turns out pretty much everyone else in our family had the same idea (all unplanned)! The sweet owner was so generous and welcomed us in and took us all on a tour. I was in tears before I even stepped inside. The home still had that same sweet feeling, and while a lot had changed (it looked so nice!), it all felt perfect. Grandpa's office is now a baby's room and as we were all talking and reminiscing, it was mentioned how wonderful it is to see a young little family loving this old home where we spent so many years growing up.

Life moves on in circles, it seems. And as we were saying goodbye to our grandma, our new friend Sharla was bouncing her pudgy five month-old baby boy. I cried a lot that evening. In the front room, in the kitchen, by the backyard screen door, and especially when I saw our big, tall trees and the purple hyacinths in the front. It was all so good for my heart.

And talk about the kindness of a stranger. Sharla didn't know our family at all, but she even made the effort to come to grandma's funeral the next morning. I was so touched by her sweetness. She'll never know how much that night meant to me!

Madre

{1996 or thereabouts}

Yellow and purple crocus bloom beneath bay windows in the front yard of the third house on the right on Sapphire. 83621. My mom planted those in the spring of 1991. We had just moved in. Twenty years later, they're still blooming, though someone else lives there now. Crocus and daffodils and tulips; reliable and giving. They come again, year after year.

When I think of my mom, I think of flowers. Sunday afternoons, dresses, summertime. I think of blue eyes. And green gardens and pretty fingers. I think of muted pink nail polish, good books and perms.

I think of ease and kindness. I think of giving. And smiles. And light. And fun. The cookie dough eating, craft making, late-night story reading kind of fun. Ask Morg, she may be the funnest person he knows. It will stay that way for a while, I'm quite sure.

Edna T.

{my Grandma Tilley keepsake box}

One summer, when we were camping, Grandma Tilley casually mentioned to Mr. Keller over the campfire, that the Mexicans had taken over the Burley park. "No whites are allowed anymore," she said.
We had been married for six months. I think it's safe to say that that has been filed away as one of the more funny moments to come from my side of the family. (Though, there have been a few.)

Grandma Tilley was always present, sort of in the background, with her usual quiet, steady self. Not emotional, or affectionate or dramatic, really. Just factly and simple and there. Until quite quickly, one winter five years ago, she wasn't anymore. April 1st, she would have been ninety-six.

I've been missing her chocolate cake lately, and the silk quilt on the bed in her spare room and the way her house smelled like linen. The bouncy balls in her kitchen drawer, and her closet full of toys and her glass music box vase with peach flowers that sat in the curio by her front door.

I think I've thought more about her since her death, than I ever did while she lived. I've thought about what it could have meant to be born in 1915, in a farmhouse in Hayburn, and how she had nine siblings, and was the oldest of twin girls. Or how she had five children of her own, and three marriages, surviving an abusive, alcoholic husband, and another husband dying in World War II. I've thought about all the years she was willing, as a great grandma, to be such a part of my grandma glenna's family, how we were really the only great grandchildren that had a relationship with her. She went everywhere we went, to the Oregon Coast a million times, camping, to Utah. She was so independent and adventurous, always along for the ride.

Every now and then, when it's really loud, and we're eating good food, and my aunts are talking a mile a minute, and grandma glenna's talking over us all about Dr. Oz or Miss Cleo, and the kids are playing and whining and fighting, and then Jackie breaks into random song, and then everyone joins her, and it's so loud, but no one is really listening, I realize there is one less in our group of crazy, and it's the quiet one.

I miss her most in the background. It's like pausing in a fluttering room and noticing something is gone, but not knowing exactly what until you sit down and realize your heart's aching a little, and you're missing something you forgot wasn't there. That's what it's like missing grandma. Sometimes, if I don't look, I think she's still there.

Really, maybe she is.

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Edna Tilley loved walking, soap operas, rocking in her chair, writing in her journal, giving tight sqeezes, attending Saturday night dances, waking up early, and getting her hair done.

I loved her old rotary phone, her low voice, her story telling, and her homemade rolls. I loved her.

Ode To Our Sunny Sunshine.

Once, thirteen years ago, we saved a pure-bred Britney Spaniel puppy from being put to sleep because she had a black nose (instead of brown) and short hair (instead of long). For years and years, she menaced. She chewed. She ate things dogs aren't supposed to eat. Things like socks, bags of Hershey's chocolate, underwear, plastic bags, fleece scraps, and various other things potentially harmful for dog digestion.

In our younger years, we dressed her up in doll clothes, hot-glued colored ribbons on her ears for holidays, pulled whiskers from her chops, poked, prodded and dragged her (nicely) around like a stuffed toy. She camped with us, went on road trips with us, made home videos with us, and slept with us.

She got a bone each Christmas and scraps from the dinner table each night.

When we moved to the country, she'd disappear for hours at time, running through corn fields and chasing pheasants. She was always the fastest. She always came back.

She was a dog of tricks, with a long list of feats.

Then one day, she got old. And her face turned gray and last time I was home, she snored all day, even when she was awake.

Last Friday afternoon, Sunny left home for the last time.

And we all lost a sibling.

My father lost a child.

There is something to be said about a good dog.

Families are, after all, forever. And I would like to think she waits for us in heaven.

7:21am.

For as long as I live,

all members of my family

will always be welcome 

to saturday morning snuggling

in our bed.

It's a place of warmth, laughter, tickling, and growling tummies.

Ever was it so growing up, and so shall it be forever and ever!

PS - think you ever get too old to snuggle with your parents?

I don't. Still do it every time

I go home.

Childhood Christmas Revisited.

*photo courtesy of the fine photographers of The Idaho Statesmen.

Oh my! I just got an email from my dad with a link to the Idaho Statemen. Turns out, the best decorated house this year is that of 2137 North Sapphire Place --- the place I called home when I was a little girl!

Every now and then, when we're in Meridian, we make a special trip down Chateau Drive just to pass by. My mom's lace curtains are still hanging in the front bay windows. Every time we pass the house, I have an overwhelming urge to run up to the door and tell the person living inside that I lived there first - that I grew up there.

I have a feeling we'll be driving by this house again in the near, near future. And I will have to resist knocking on their door to tell them that I spent ten Christmases there and that my dad's christmas lights looked way better.

You betcha, dad. It's true.

Check out the article here.

To my J.A.M.

{jennica holding baby morgan - november 2008}

{ten reasons why i love this lovely lady}

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1. she was my first best friend - my cousin.

2. she sluffed grade school for days at a time, just to visit me.

3. we used to make awesome forts together, particularly one in the crawl space of our home on Sapphire where we carved our initials and the initials of other 'true loves' on the houseboards.

4. we've only been in one fight and it was over doll clothes when i was nine.

5. she's a female michael jordan. seriously.

6. she gave me her abercrombie jeans when i was in 10th grade. a few months later she decided backsies were in order and that she needed them back (seriously, no hard feelings). oh, those few months!

7. she wore a wedding dress tinted ice blue for prom in 2001 and she looked absolutely royal.

8. we used to write eachother secret letters back and forth from twin falls to meridian. i still have them tucked away in the closet of my room at my home in the country.

9. she's been my shopping companion through thick and thin.

10. she was the best at making believe. roller blades and swimsuits transformed us into figure skaters. then, at night, we used to turn off all the lights, using the piano lamp as a spotlight and we'd watch our shadows on the wall while we danced and sang and pretended we were stars. we played 'house', we played 'store'. we were mothers and wives. we drove pretend cars. we rode pretend horses. it was through magic alone that we became anything we wanted to be.

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here's to simpler times. to perfect memories and many more yet to come. To our own little darlings - may they have as perfect of a childhood as we did.

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i love you with my whole heart, jenn. i hope your birthday is splendid. just like you.