Kleas

dad

It's Father's Day today.  It's impossible not to think about my dad, now gone more than 18 years.  It's hard to believe it's been that long.  For anyone who has never lost a parent, it's an odd feeling how the memory of them remains fresh, while the years quickly slip away without them.

Dad never got to meet my boys.  I like to think about how much he would have loved them.  My dad was good with kids.  I remember how children always gravitated to him, his good nature and sense of humor drew my cousins and the neighborhood kids to him.  He was truly a very good man.

Sometimes I fear I talk too much to my boys about "Angel Grandpa".  I think...is it fair for them to hear so many stories? is it meaningful? do they really care at all about this man they will never know?  

Of course, my two sweet boys give me the very answer to those questions.  About two weeks ago, this is the conversation from the backseat of the car:

5 year-old: Mom...does Angel Grandpa know us?

me:....ummmmmm...

9 year-old:  Of course he does because he lives inside us.  We know all about him and he knows all about us.

5 year-old:  Good.  Because I like to tell him secrets sometimes.

9 year-old:  He is also our Guardian Angel.  I can feel how much he loves us, can't you?

5 year-old:  Yes.  He tells me he loves me all the time.

The above photo is a favorite of mine.  I took a picture of it as it is in my baby book, our ages written to the side of the photo in my mom's writing.  I always loved holding my babies face down on my chest while I rested too.  Just see here.

sunday stories-dad

This is one of my favorite pictures of my dad.  Next to him, is my sister.  I think why I love this picture so much is it really shows in his face what a kind man my father was.  He loved children, he loved to joke and tell stories, he truly loved to be with people...especially his family.  This photo was taken near the lake at the cabin.  It was my dad's favorite place in the world.  He felt at peace there.  The cabin was the house that he and my brother were building.  He was going to live there once it was finished. Sadly, he never got to.  It was a brain tumor took his life eighteen years ago...yesterday.  I miss him every single day.  It is a strange thing, but he still feels so present to me, that I forget that he did not get to meet my boys...yet I feel like somehow they know eachother.

Sunday Stories-friendship

There are some friends you get to have in your life forever.  For me, Erik is one of them.  We met years and years ago at The University of Minnesota where we began that bond that continues to this day.  He lives in Seattle now, but I still get to see him a few times a year.  

Today he celebrates a monumental birthday and I really wanted to do something special for him.  So I contacted some of his family and friends and together we sent him fifty birthday cards.  I so loved his reaction...on the phone, he sounded so honored, so pleased and best of all...completely surprised.  You can read his reaction and see some of the cards here, on his blog.

I love that he was so touched.  He couldn't believe such thoughtfulness.  

I guess he forgot how for my 23rd birthday he made me dinner.  Sneakily, weeks before he had asked what my favorite meal was and I innocently told him...split pea soup and popovers.  Of course having made neither in his life, he somehow managed to pull off the most delicious and surprising meal of just that...split pea soup and popovers. 

I guess he forgot that for my 24th birthday, he took a tiny steno notebook and filled every one of the sixty pages with funny poems and songs and pictures.  It still brings a smile to my face.

Friendships like this don't come along every day.

Cheers to you Erik!!  xxx

Sunday Stories-First Avenue Gang

These are some of the guys I grew up with.  We are a tight knit bunch, those of us who grew up on First Avenue.  We are still connected to this day, getting together for reunions, big birthdays and a smattering of funerals.  We even have a group on facebook called First Avenue Gang which is where this photo came from.  When I first saw this picture, memories of our crazy summers together came flooding back.  This photo is taken in the garage of the boy on the left.  He is an amazing piano player and started his own band.  Are garage bands a thing of the past?  He also got the foosball table seen in the photo and along with a group of friends, they set a world record for the longest game of foosball.  It has since been broken, but I recall how we younger kids came around to fill in while a player went to the bathroom or paused for a sandwich break.  With great fascination we all hung around when the local newspaper came out to do a story about their crazy endeavour.

This photo also stirred up another memory that has forever shaped my life.  When the boy, third from the left (who sadly passed away about ten years ago), along with my brother (not pictured) saved my life one summer afternoon.  I remember the day so clearly, even though I was only five years old.  I was playing basketball in our driveway in the alley (I was dressed in a light blue and white gingham shorts jumpsuit with a white pompom on the zipper).  A man in his late twenties pulled up in a red sports car and asked me where the nearest gas station was.  At five, I thought, "duh, he had to have just driven by one to get here", and pointed that out to him.  He played dumb and insisted I get in his car to help him find it.  But I knew the rule when it came to strangers and did not budge.  But then he offered me twenty dollars and promised to bring me right back.  Well, that was a heck of a lot of money and all that entered my mind was how with that much cash, I could buy my dad a really nice birthday present.  So this stranger opened his car door for me and as I was about to innocently climb aboard, my brother and his friend came around the corner, saw me and started yelling.  The man drove quickly away.  Yup.  I truly believe they saved my life that day.

I just can't imagine how different my life would be without the bond of friendships that were made in my neighborhood on First Avenue. 

Sunday Stories-why it matters

I always have trouble re-entering this blog space after a crisis like Sandy.  It feels strange to come here and talk about my "life as normal" when I have friends in NYC who are still without water or heat (but thankfully have electricity so are able to keep us updated on their situation).   Be well friends!

Anyway.  I just started Sunday Stories last week and didn't want them to die before I even began.   Also, today's story is an important one.

I don't ever talk about politics here.  Ever.  There are just so many other forums for those important discussions, but I feel a need to write about this one.  This Tuesday, we in the US will be voting for our next president and other government officials.  Here in Minnesota (also in Washington, Maine and Maryland) we will also be voting on whether to constitutionally limit the freedom to marry.  This one gets to me.  Why?  Why does anyone care?  Why does it bother some, how others choose to live their lives?  What, exactly, are people afraid of?  Why put all this time and energy into this amendment, when if the "no's" have it, it won't matter anyway.  Same sex couples will still not legally be able to marry in this state.  I just don't get it.  If you walk through my neighborhood the number of Vote No signs are overwhelming.  It's seems like it would be impossible for this amendment to go through.  The sad part is, we are a divided state.  It just might pass.   

It began with a post on Facebook.  I wrote: Found this taped to my vote no sign in my front yard.

Friend Jenn saw it and posted I think a friend of a friend did this... Love it.  Well, the story was picked up by our local newspaper and with Jenn's help connecting the dots they were able to find the woman who was tagging the signs.  Two days later, this article was published in The Minneapolis StarTribune.

I work with young children and am a sworn avocate to their health, safety and well-being.  How anyone feels they have the right to take away that basic and fundemental right to feel safe and loved and nutured (regardless of how their family is defined!) is beyond me.  It makes me cry every time I think about it.

Why does it matter?  Our children matter.  Period.

 

Sunday Stories-Chuck Close

This self portrait by artist Chuck Close is a standout from my childhood excursions to the Walker Art Center.  I distinctly remember taking the bus to the museum with my sister when I was 7 or 8 years old. She always introduced me to all the things she loved.  I remember that sense of awe I felt when she told me the enormous 107 1/2 x 83 1/2 in. image in front of me was a painting and not a photograph.  And, I could not comprehend how someone could paint smoke that I swore I could smell.

If you are not familiar with Chuck Close here is a short write up of his career defining the change in his paintings after he lost the use of his arms and legs due to a spinal blood clot.  Amazing and inspiring that he continues to paint holding the paintbrush between his teeth.

The reason I've had Chuck Close on my mind lately is that a few months ago I was listening to The Antique Road Show and a woman on the program had brought in her original Close painting that her husband had purchased from the artist in 1960 for eight dollars.  It is called Man Walking and it is spectacular.

While searching for his paintings on line I also found an article about the original purchase of Man Walking it is a great story.  Read about it here.

(I'm starting a new category in my posts called Sunday Stories...just me talking about some things I want to remember)