Topless Club Sandwich

You’ve probably heard of the sandwich generation, the group in the middle still raising kids while taking care of aging parents. Well, I was a club sandwich, taking care of two generations older than me and two generations younger.

My grandfather became homeless at the age of 92 when his house burned down in the Oakland fire of 1991. He lost everything. I was living alone in a four bedroom house, so he and his girlfriend moved in. Not only did he need someplace to live, but he needed help dealing with settling his insurance claims, replacing lost documents, building a new wardrobe, managing his health care, and buying a replacement car. Yes, he was still driving.

My mother, his only child, was suffering from dementia. She had gone downhill after the death of my father in 1984, so I took over managing her life and care in a nearby facility. I tried having her live with me, hiring people to assist, but she was insufferable. She refused to let caregivers do their job. She wouldn’t eat food they prepared, wouldn’t allow them to bathe and dress her, and wouldn’t go to doctor’s appointments without me. To preserve my sanity, I placed her in a care home in 1990, but still managed her affairs, took her to medical visits, and spent time with her.

Late 1992, my beloved brother was dying of AIDS in Issaquah, Washington. Providing respite to his partner by sharing caregiving, I flew to Washington from San Jose on Friday afternoons and returned Sunday evenings. Ken died in January, 1993 and I served as executor of his estate with all its concomitant duties.

Later in 1993, my younger daughter’s marriage failed.  Her ex-husband left the state and provided no support for her or their three kids. I could not bear to see them suffer; I needed to know they were safe. So the four of them moved into a house down the street from where I lived. I provided rent, transportation, baby-sitting, and pre-school tuition.

And I worked full time as a technical writer for IBM.

When my brother and grandfather died in 1993, I came into a small amount of money. I knew I had to use some of it to bring a little fun into my life. Taking a long hard look at the way I spent my time and the towering responsibilities I still shouldered, I realized driving was the most fun I had during those dreary days. I loved driving: the isolation, the time to myself, singing out loud, drumming on the steering wheel, and forgetting about the difficult reality of my day-to-day life. I was still locked into taking care of my mother, my daughter, and my grandkids, so my escape would have to be limited to the time I spent in the car. But, I could make it a lot more fun. I could do it in a convertible.

At the age of 54, I walked into a Toyota dealership and plunked down cash for a white Celica GT convertible. It was sweet, with a big smile for a grill across the front of it, demure retracting headlights,  a sexy spoiler on the rear, grey leather seats, and a black rag top. The first few days I was afraid to think about what I had impetuously done. I continued driving my SUV while the convertible huddled in the garage. From time to time, I opened the door from the kitchen to the garage, saw that it was really there, and closed the door wondering what in hell had possessed me.

Before long, my daughter’s car died and I gave her my SUV. The convertible became my only car. I began to realize I could do more than just drive to and from work; I gradually worked up courage and took off on weekends. My favorite getaways involved driving the California coast, especially the Big Sur coast down to Morro Bay and back. I processed grief and solved many of the world’s problems on those solo trips. I had no desire for company. The freedom to stop, go, and meander with no consideration for anyone else and no one to take care of was so liberating. I never questioned whether the top would be up or down. It was down. Every weekend it wasn’t raining I took off. Cold weather didn’t stop me, top down, heater and radio blasting, I was free. Money bought me hours of happiness as I explored California topless.

During this time I was seeing a psychotherapist because I had so many tough issues to deal with. I couldn’t focus and sort out what I needed to do. My mind was a muddled mess. On the shrink’s suggestion, I took a month off work to get my head together. In retrospect, I know I resolved much more behind the wheel than I did in therapy. He expressed concern about my impulsive spending. I was worried about not having any fun.

Supporting my daughter in a separate household became unaffordable, so she and her three boys moved in with me. We were crowded in my 1500 square foot San Jose home and I began to consider other options. We decided to move from Silicon Valley to the Sierra Foothills, where I bought a large home with a huge yard and a swimming pool. I rented a room in Silicon Valley during the week and commuted to the hills on weekends. Again, driving became the best part of my week. I developed what I called Zen driving, where I effortlessly, but fully consciously, moved through the countryside on the 180 mile drive. Heavy traffic never bothered me. I saw as it as opportunity for more solitude and contemplation. As always, when in my magic convertible zone, I alternated meditation with singing, listening to classical music at a very high volume, and transporting myself in more ways than one.

One particular Sunday night, I was returning to Silicon Valley around 10:00 P.M.; there was virtually no traffic. A Strauss waltz blared from the speakers in the door while I waltzed down the highway, staying in my lane, but swinging from one side to the other as I counted out one-two-three, one-two-three. It took a while before I noticed the red light of a highway patrol car in my rear-view mirror. I pulled over and the patrolman approached my car. His first question was, “Have you been drinking?” I assured him I had not. He said he had observed me weaving within my lane, not crossing the line, so he wouldn’t cite me, but he wanted to know what was going on. He let me go with a recommendation that I restrict my waltzing to the dance floor.

During the time I owned my convertible, it suffered three injuries. The first was a sad encounter with a BMW driven by a distracted teenager. After a month in the repair shop and $13,000 worth of rehabilitation, it was nearly as good as new.

My beloved car suffered its second mishap on the morning of January 22, 1997, when my older daughter gave birth to her second son. I was so excited by the news, I backed into the garage door frame on my way to the hospital. The result was a small dent in the rear bumper which I left unrepaired. I thought of it as a birthmark.

My long distance commuting ended when I began telecommuting and anticipated retiring. Many days I didn’t even leave the home in the hills I shared with my younger daughter and her three boys. The convertible often stayed in the garage while my daughter drove our Suburban. My getaway drives became explorations of the Sierra mountain passes. I drove them all. My faithful wheels managed the 10,000 foot granite summits with ease. In the middle of October, 1999, golden Quaking Aspens shimmered, cowboys rounded up cattle grazing in high alpine meadows, and the first snowflakes fell on my unprotected head; it nourished my soul. 

By this time, my oldest grandson was 15, looking forward to getting his driver’s license, and hopeful that he would inherit my beautiful little car. He jumped the gun one day when he decided to take the convertible for an unauthorized spin. However, he was thwarted when, while still in the driveway, he banged the convertible into the Suburban. The damage to the Suburban was undetectable, but the Celica suffered a disfiguring blow to the right front quarter panel, and its left headlight could no longer retract. I couldn’t deal with it. The car had 120,000 miles on it, the threads on the rag top were showing signs of wear, and now this unsightly blemish. I decided to sell. I ran an ad and agreed to sell to the first respondent, a young man who planned to surprise his wife with a birthday gift. I sold it for about half what it was worth, but more important it went to another loving home.

Obligatory, Late, and Final Dogwood Report

This year's photo of my Dogwood tree's blossoms is ten days later than usual for a couple of reasons. Spring is about two weeks later than usual and my enthusiasm is waning. But, here it is:

I had the tree severely pruned last fall, all the lower branches which were beginning to obstruct the walkway have been removed, so the tree now has a taller, thinner aspect than a typical dogwood. Here's a link to last year's picture taken ten days earlier. Notice in last year's April 18 picture the tree is already in leaf. This year, ten days later, the leaves are just beginning to appear. It's been a long snowy winter for this part of the country.

My enthusiasm is waning because in my heart, we have moved back to California.  We will be leaving on June 20, nine weeks from tomorrow. Logan will be travelling to Europe June 2-16 and as soon as he returns, catches his breath, and does his laundry, we'll be on the road. So much to do before that time! So much stuff to sort through and get rid of. So much packing and planning. So much overwhelm!

Logan has started a regimen of walking to build up his endurance for the trip. He is very determined to be able to participate fully. I'm excited for him. I think he has my wanderlust. While he's gone, I plan a quick trip to Charleston, South Carolina. South Caroline is the only state I haven't visited, so I want to check off one more item on my bucket list. Tomorrow evening I'm checking off another item. I'll report more on that next time.

Whirlwind Trip

Logan and I spent a very productive long weekend in California over Easter. We left Springfield on Friday, my 75th birthday. I celebrated by walking through airport security wearing a sweater and my shoes (and a few other articles of apparel), having just arrived at the age of privilege where such wild goings-on are tolerated by the folks at TSA. Nonetheless, Logan and I both had to endure patdowns because of our various metal body parts.

I drove our rental car (a Chevrolet of some sort that was nearly impossible to get in and out of because of the low entry)straight to Davis because I miss Ben too much and couldn't wait to see him. Well, I was able to wait just a bit -- Logan and I hit In and Out Burger before driving to the campus. I don't know why their simple classic burgers, shakes, and fries are so good, but nearly all California emigres drool at the thought of them. Many of the joys of moving back to California are retail related: Costco, Ikea, Whole Foods, Trader Joe's, In and Out Burger, REI (gift shopping for Ben), Crate and Barrel, Cost Plus, Williams-Sonoma, etc. I know these places exist in other parts of the country, but they are all close together and easily accessible from where we'll be living (and shopping).

Colleen and Robby met us in Davis and Ben "bought" all of us dinner loowith his student dining

commons card after we spent some silly time in my hotel room at the Aggie Inn. I spent the night in Davis while Logan went home with Robby and Colleen.

The next day Logan and I checked out the apartment we want to rent in El Dorado Hills. It is quite nice and conveniently located to retail (!) and family. Amenities of the complex include a pool, clubhouse, basketball court, dog park, washer and dryer in the unit, and three bedrooms which we will somehow squeeze into. I am so ready for this move.

Sister Valery and Jim Piper were married at Saturday noon. They said their beautifully-scripted vows on the beach at Negro Bar Beach on the American River and then we went to the nearby Sudwerks for lunch. The weather was sunny and mild and the very small select company sublime. 

 Colleen and Andy wait for the ceremony to begin while Susie Lee and I fool around taking each other's pictures. Susie (she calls herself Sue these days) and Valery have been friends all their lives, 61 years. Our families lived next door to each other.

 Logan made it down the stairs to watch the ceremony. He did amazingly well on the trip, schlepping through airports, sitting in cramped seats, sleeping on couches, and maneuvering over rough terrain.

 The bride and groom just before the ceremony, and (below) while exchanging vows.

 The happy couple hosting the reception at Sudwerks.

Valery shows off her wedding band while Jim proves he never grew up.

 Ben and Logan paid their respects to Missy while we visited Jim and Valery at their home after the wedding festivities.

 Silly cat at Valery's thinks Colleen placed this bowl under the table just for her comfort.

Silly Ben thinks this hammock was placed in Colleen's backyard just for his comfort. Valery looks on while he reads from an assigned book for one of his classes at UC Davis.

Today we are back at home and things are gearing up for our move. The house is listed and we have already had a couple of people express interest. One opted for another house, the other hasn't seen the house yet, but wants to have a big house in this neighborhood and ours is the only large house in our neighborhood on the market. 

How I Spent the Rest of My Summer Vacation.

 Ben, Danny, and I arrived in Sacramento on Tuesday afternoon, June 11. Colleen was at the airport to meet Danny and whisked him off as quickly as she could. I kind of think she had missed him just a little. Ben and I made our way to the rental car office, picked up a spiffy red Chevy Impala, and drove to Valery's in rush hour traffic. I was nervous about being in heavy traffic after my years in Missouri, but it went very smoothly. We spent a quiet evening playing Mexican Train, well, not too quiet, we laughed ourselves silly and then went to bed exhausted after a long day of travel and a two hour time change.

Wednesday afternoon, Lisa Cardwell and I went to the Purple Place for a drink and some munchies. 

That place hasn't changed a bit in appearance, but the menu has definitely gone upscale. A friend of hers joined us after a bit and we enjoyed getting acquainted while watching the world go by. Then I stood up, announced it was time for me to get going, said my good-byes, and left. It didn't even dawn on me that I had left them with the bill until sometime the next day. I was mortified. 

Before going to the Purple Place, I got to see Lisa's kids Cameron and Alexandra. Cameron has grown so tall and is just a super nice personable kid. Alexandra is quite a talented singer and guitar player. Cameron plays guitar too, but he didn't perform for me this trip.

The second full day Ben and I were in California together, we went out to Davis to go bike shopping. We cruised the city streets looking for bike shops. We saw lots of bikes, including this beauty

but finally settled on this one. Selling points were: the color, green, which is Ben's trademark eco-symbolic favorite; the chain guard to protect against the battering campus bikes suffer; the rack, suitable for mounting saddle bag-type baskets; the absence of a derailleur, the gears are enclosed in the hub of the rear wheel, to prevent parking rack damage; the handy-dandy bell on the handlebars, ubiquitous to Davis bikes; the very sturdy lock affixed to the frame; and the overall form, fit, and function. I hope it serves him well (and doesn't get stolen!). He pedaled it around the campus right after purchasing it and it magically found its way to the Bohart Museum of Entomology where Ben enjoyed staring at exotic insects and visiting with a PhD student who worked there. I do hope Ben will be able to work there in time.

While Ben was off exploring, I was visiting with my dear friend Nancy. She took the train (and car and BART) from San Mateo to meet me in Davis for lunch. She also met this engaging bit of sidewalk art. Oh, how I love Davis. I could envision retiring there, should I ever retire. She looks terrific (I meant Nancy) and as always it was wonderful to spend even a few hours with her. We had lunch and strolled for a while. Colleen just happened to be passing through Davis on her way to San Mateo, so she was able to give Nancy a ride back to her car parked at the BART station. The day was perfect, maybe mid-80's, nothing like the beastly heat they have endured the past week. We really hit it lucky.

The next week, Ben and I drove up to Pioneer to visit my high school friends, Jack and Linda. Linda has been recovering from a difficult surgery and is taking things a bit slow. But, we had a nice, albeit brief visit. I regret not getting any photos of either Lisa or Jack and Linda. 

The day before I left, Ben and I made my ritual visit to Robin's grave and washed off the headstone with champagne, saving the last mouthful to drink a toast to her memory. It's so hard to believe all these years have past.

Many of Ben's ancestors are buried in Gold Country cemeteries.  We made a stop at Placerville's Union Cemetery where the Blair marker stands at the highest point in the Cemetery. There are maybe a dozen people buried in the plot, but not all of them are noted on the marker. The cemetery has records of who is buried there.

Dinner at a Thai restaurant with Valery's friends, Dorothy and Chuck, was a real treat. We must have sat at our table for 2-1/2 hours, but no one seemed to mind. Ben and Chuck really hit it off. Chuck is a Chemistry professor and they found much to talk about, scientist to scientist. Dorothy is a quilter and I enjoyed visiting her studio on a previous visit to California.

Foodie that I am, no visit to California would be complete without sampling some of the fresh produce I miss. So, I had some fresh Sloughhouse corn, yummy artichokes, and asparagus. We can get corn, artichokes, and asparagus in Missouri, but they just aren't the same.  

And I came home all alone. Ben stayed with Valery so he can start UC Davis in the fall and Danny traveled home separately on Friday. 

The Picnic

Sunday, the day following Bill and Brit's wedding, some friends and family members gathered at the Marshall Monument picnic ground of the Marshall Gold Discovery State Park in Coloma, California. I love this park for historical and sentimental reasons. And I love this picnic ground in particular. 

The area is steeped in family history. My great-great grandfather, Ezra Schooley, is buried in Coloma's Pioneer Cemetery where his is the oldest standing grave. Ezra didn't make it to Coloma alive; according to newspaper accounts from that time, ". . .he died ten miles short of the diggings, from the disease of the country."  Ironically, before I ever heard of Ezra Schooley, I bought a home in El Dorado Hills, which is about ten miles from Coloma, along the historical road that leads to the diggings. It could not have been any further than five miles from the spot where Ezra died.

My great grandfather, James Blair, wed Ezra's daughter, Amanda Schooley, in 1865. James and his brother, John, had established Sportsman's Hall in Pollock Pines, just a bit further east.

Sportsman's Hall served as an inn and a place to layover while wagon teams waited their turn to cross the Sierras on the one-way treacherous road that lead to the Comstock mines just east of Carson City. It also served as a pony express station. Today it is still in operation as a restaurant. My great grandmother, Amanda Schooley Blair, is standing on the porch with her two oldest daughters in this photo (one half of a sterioptican photo). 

Ernest, the son of James and Amanda Blair married my grandmother Minnie Pauline Nichols (born in Folsom, CA) in 1908. At the time of their courtship, both were living in Placerville and would on occassion take a day trip and picnic at the newly erected Marshall Monument in Coloma. 

So, to make a short story long, that is one of the reasons I enjoy visiting that picnic ground -- knowing that I am treading the ground trod by my grandparents during their courtship.

 Easily recognizable is Ben in the green shirt, cousin Robby sits next to him and then sister Valery and her friend, Jim.

 Brother Rick and his wife Kathy enjoy a moment of solitude away from the madding crowd. The picnic tables and barbecue pits are of WPA construction.

The first three people on the left are Kim, Jeannie and Jason. Kim is Jason's wife and Jeannie is Kim's mother. Jason was adopted at birth by my brother and his ex-wife. Jason reunited with his birth mother a couple of years ago in a fairy tale story that brings tears to my eyes every time I think of it. Jason's birth mother, Dianne and her husband Danny sit across the table from Kim. Dianne released Jason for adoption when she was fifteen years old and never had another child. Reuniting with Jason was for her a miracle and they have been very present in each other's lives since.

Sitting next to Danny are Tom and Nichole (Tom is blocking Nichole). Tom and Nichole along with their daughter Mallaika have the distinction of being the ones who traveled furthest for the wedding. They make their home in North Dartmouth, MA, where Tom has just completed his first year of law school.

Folks you haven't seen in other photos are Susie Lee, girlhood friend of sister Valery, standing on the left. Next to her is Jason, then Rachel and Kevin. Irene Ogawa is seated in front of Kevin. She is a friend of mine from ROLM/IBM days twenty-five years ago.

And here are the newlyweds -- Bill and Brittany Paine. To the left of Bill are Amy Schulze and her husband Bill. Amy was Ben's (and Logan's) second grade teacher in California and she remains forever in our hearts and lives. She and Bill live in the Coloma area where she has a bunch of dogs and a horse. Bill keeps bees, is a birder, and a retired veterinarian (a providential match for dog lover Amy). They are wonderful people and intend to stay active in Ben's new life in California.

Avoiding inclusion in any pictures, but making a token appearance, was Seth Matthews, son of my dear friend, Nancy Matthews. Nancy and I were neighbors at the time Kevin and Colleen were born. Kevin, Colleen, and Seth have known each other all their lives. Seth is now assistant DA in nearby Calaveras County.

All told, it was a glorious day, a perfect balance to the wedding of the previous day, and a great chance to connect with some folks who didn't make it to the wedding.

The Wedding -- Bill and Brit edition

To start at the beginning, one afternoon about a year ago, brothers Robby and Bill had stopped for a hamburger. When they were back in the car, Bill said to Robby, "I'll give you $5 to go ask that waitress for her phone number and I'll give you $10 if you get it." Robby got his $10, Bill got the girl, and so it began.

 The wedding was held in the beautiful Meadow Vista, California home of the bride's parents. When we entered we signed the guest book and then went through the kitchen where the wedding cake was displayed. The cake was baked by a Napa bakery, the same one that baked the cake for Eva Longorio. Apparently the baker is a relative and made this cake, a replica of a car owned by Brittany's beloved and recently departed grandfather. (BTW, this cake is far more clever than the Longorio cake).

 

Little touches throughout the house celebrated the couple, like this display on the kitchen counter. 

Among the invited guests (and there weren't many -- around 75 close friends and realtives): sister Valery and her beau, Jim; daughter-in-law, Rachel; my daughter and mother of the groom, Colleen Paine-Ivazes. I don't know in which of the many rooms of the palatial home they were standing for this photo. Just to give you an idea -- in a window niche of the foyer, stood a full suit of armor. Across the room, near a love seat arrangement in front of the fireplace, stood a mannequin in an antique wedding dress. I don't know if the mannequin was permanent or a gesture because of the wedding. The love seats and fireplace were part of the foyer, I guess it served as a waiting room for guests.

The harpist played everything from classical to Beatles music (or are the Beatles now classical?) to the traditional Lohengrin's wedding march. Bill and Brittany are both rather shy and preferred a simple wedding. They considered getting married on a cruise, away from all the fuss and bother, but compromised on this wedding in Brittany's parents back yard. The wedding beautifully blended tradition and casual elegance. It was perfect.

 

Mallaika was the only attendant and really enjoyed her role as flower girl strewing the path with rose petals (artificial) for the bride to enter upon.

Here comes the bride on the arm of her father. Brittany chose a formal strapless gown, that laced up the back and had an elegant train. She was (and is) gorgeous. 

The ceremony was performed by the bride's aunt who is a recently ordained Universal Life Church Minister (I believe she was ordained just for the occasion so she could perform the ceremony). She said it was her first and probably only wedding.

I'm pretty sure Mallaika thought the wedding was all about her. She didn't mind a bit that she was the only little kid there. She amused herself by wading in the water,

and giving a speech, audible to no one but herself. When I later asked her what was her favorite part of the wedding, she replied, "when I made my speech."

And that's all the pictures I took, because I turned my focus to champagne and dinner. After dinner a live band played up on the altar/bandstand, but there was little dancing. The bride and groom danced a shy slow dance for a few bars and then everyone turned to visiting and imbibing. It was truly a perfect wedding. The bride and groom joined us the next day for a family picnic (report to follow) and then left for a honeymoon cruise.

I'll Take the White One

Danny went car shopping the other day when his mom Colleen and brother Robby came to town. He tried on the Smart Car, but it was too small.

Kevin and Rachel came down from Kansas City that same weekend to celebrate the 49th birthday of Kevin and his twin, Colleen. We gorged on a meal of childhood favorite foods: flank steak marinated in teriyaki, rosemary garlic roasted potatoes, green beans lyonnaise, homemade German's Sweet Chocolate cake, homemade carrot cake and of course, clam dip. The requisite birthday song was sung complete with "Many more to you, Woooappy birthday dear. . ."

Danny is a great cook and has spent a lot of time working in restaurants -- Italian is his specialty. Here he and his mom are putting together a wonderful meal of eggplant parmigiana, spaghetti with browned butter and some kind of cheese, buttery, cheesy, garlicky breadsticks, and a tossed green salad. It smelled yummy and tasted even better (and it used every pot and pan in the kitchen!).

Robby is on his way home, probably a little the worse for the sleepless nights hanging out with his cousins. Saying goodbye was hard to do, he's a great kid.

And here they go, off to the Kansas City airport in Danny's new Mitsubishi Endeavor (it was just the right size for him). They were fortunate to get away in the slight lull between this week's record-breaking snow storms. I hated to see them go, but was grateful for their safe travels. I hope they hurry back.

Reunion Part 4

Colleen and Valery made it all happen. Colleen hosted at her home in El Dorado Hills and prepared fabulous food including a yummy ham and a barbecued turkey (I think husband Andy fixed it, whoever did it, it was the yummiest turkey I've ever had). Valery organized, invited the folks, and made more yummy food, including the standard Blair clam dip.

 

 Brother Rick and his bride, Kathy came down from Napa, abandoning their six goats and a goose for the day. They call their place Toad Ranch, but I wonder if it shouldn't be Goat Acres instead.

Antwan, the son of Maria who is the daughter of Mary Ann by her second husband. My brother was Mary Ann's first husband. Our family would be rather small if it weren't for our proclivity for sweeping in shirt-tail relations. I'm so grateful for that and so glad Antwan is a part of our family. And yes, Antwan is tall, and yes, he does play basketball (for Sierra College).

Three of my grandsons, Colleen's youngest three, Robby, Billy, and Danny.

The whole fan-damily (as my father would say). In the back row from the left: Brittany (Billy's girlfriend) Billy, Danny, Michael (son of Lynette, my brother Mickey's daughter) Antwan (son of Maria, the daughter of brother Mickey's ex-wife) Stephen (second son of Lynette). Front row from the left: Andy (Colleen's husband), Colleen, Stephanie (Michael's wife), Lynette holding her grandaughter Haley (Haley is the daughter of Stephen and Ashley in the red blouse. Behind Lynette is her sister Maria (Antwan's mom) next to Maria is Maria and Lynette's mom, Mary Ann (my brother was her first husband). I'm standing next to Ashley, Valery is in front of me holding Stephen and Ashley's son Jacob. Next to me is Joe Steiner, third husband of Mary Ann and a keeper). My sister-in-law Kathy Felch is next to my brother, Rick Blair. In front of them, the threesome holding hands are Kim, the wife of my nephew Jason (he is the son [adopted as a new-born] raised by Rick and his ex-wife). Jason is holding hands with his birth mother Dianne. Kneeling in the front, Robby Barton, Colleen's youngest son, holds his fat pug, Chomper. Next to Robby is a girl who's name I didn't catch. She is the daughter of Mike, a friend of Colleen's husband Andy. Mike took the photograph -- thanks Mike!

Jason and his birth mother Dianne. Jason was adopted at birth by my brother and his wife. Last year Jason began a search for his birth mother and scored when he found Dianne who was fifteen years old when Jason was born. She never had any other children. Finding each other was a fairy tale story beyond imagination. They can't look at each without shedding tears of joy and neither can anyone else. Can you see the resemblance? Particularly in the mouth and dimples. Brother Rick is so supportive of this reunion that it adds yet another dimension of joy.

My niece, Lynette, daughter of my brother (deceased) Mickey, and Mary Ann (now married to Joe Steiner) and her grandson Jacob (my great great nephew -- or is that great grand-nephew?). He was an amazing precocious, charming, and energetic little boy nearly four years old (October 11).