A MOTHER'S DIARY by Dede Ranahan APRIL 7, 2014 - APRIL 20, 2014

96th Birthday * Yay for Our Team * Let the Celebration Begin * Thelma and Louise * On the Road Again * Hell-o-oh * 70th Birthday Party * A Wonderful Adventure * The Tree Guy * Easter

To read "My Diary" from the beginning, go to "Scenes from the Trenches" June 14, 2017, in the Archives on the right hand side of the blog page. To continue reading, scroll up in the archives from June 14, 2017, and click on each individual diary post. If you have difficulty, message or email me and I'll walk you through it. I didn't know, as I was writing, that I was capturing the last year of my son's life. His voice comes through loud and clear. For me, in these pages, he'll always be alive.

 

APRIL 7, 2014: 96TH BIRTHDAY

A birthday whirlwind weekend. I drove Jim and Sharon to the airport this morning after nonstop eating Saturday and Sunday. Michael prepared a delicious arugula salad with candied walnuts and pears poached in sauterne and, of course, his French bean, sausage, and duck cassoulet. David made Brussels sprouts in a Dijon mustard sauce. The lemon layer cake with rosemary and whipped-cream-cream-cheese frosting didn't disappoint. Sunday morning was Michael's quiche and more of the poached pears.

Thirteen adults and three children joined GG for her 96th birthday fete. Kerry hung 12 gold helium balloons over the dining room table. She tied double-sided family photographs to the end of each balloon string. Cousin Annette sent two dozen pink roses from Kansas City.

Mom beamed. "It's the best birthday party I've ever had."

She blew out two candles on her cake — a nine and a six — and made a wish. "Can I tell everyone what I wished?"

"Mom, you can do whatever you want."

"I wished that all of you will come back here, in four years, to join me for my one-hundredth birthday."

"We will. We will."

Happy 96th Birthday, GG Moon.

PATRICK'S FACEBOOK POST: The great thing about walking your dog in the park on a leash is that, if you get caught up in an awkward conversation with your neighbors, the dog will drag you away and you don't have to excuse yourself from the conversation.

 

APRIL 8, 2014: YAY FOR OUR TEAM

Annette calls. She wants to make sure her roses arrived. She also wants to tell me about her blind date.

"How did it go?"

"It went well. Jim picked me up, opened car and restaurant doors, showed me around his beautiful white-everything house, and kissed me good night. He's invited me to dinner again next Thursday. He wants his friends to meet his girlfriend."

"Wow. His girlfriend?"

"That's what he said on the phone."

This gentleman owns several houses, a boat, and flies his own airplane — at 82 years of age. Annette says, "I'm not ready to go up in the air with him."

Yay, Cousin Annette. At 75, you're a spring chicken and a fine catch.

 

APRIL 9, 2014: LET THE CELEBRATION BEGIN

I'm going to Bend, Oregon, on Sunday. This is a surprise trip from Marisa and Kerry for my 70th birthday. A little early, but it's Easter break and they can get away for a couple of days. Kerry, Regan, Ayla, and I will drive from Lincoln to Bend. Marisa, Sam, and Elise will drive from Seattle to Bend. Marisa has reserved a craftsman-style house in the center of town.

I'm adjusting my calendar — canceling dentist appointments, bridge dates, my shift at Snap it Up, and arranging a cat sitter for Jazzy. This morning I wake up with a scratchy sore throat. Drat. I have to will this sore throat away. I'm happy and excited to be preparing for this unexpected Oregon excursion with my daughters and grandchildren.

Let the 70th birthday celebration begin.

 

APRIL 12, 2014: THELMA AND LOUISE

I'm running around, getting ready to go. I've been laid up with this cold and I'm catching up. I hate colds. You feel like you're not really sick but you're really not well, either. Actually, you feel like shit. I'm drinking orange juice, using nose spray and eye drops, and taking antihistamines and cough syrup. Probably, all together, they're a lethal combination. But, I don't have time to fool around. We're leaving tomorrow morning at 6 a.m. on our road trip to Bend, Oregon.

Lay in cat food and kitty litter. Check. Water houseplants and outside potted plants. Check. Print off a map. Check. Fill the gas tank. Check. Buy birthday favors for the grandkids. Check. Sounds like I'm leaving for four weeks instead of four days.

This will be a Thelma and Louise adventure with a seven-year old and a five-year old. I'm raring to go.

 

APRIL 13, 2014: ON THE ROAD AGAIN

On the road again. Can't wait to get on the road again. Kerry, Regan, Ayla, and I are settled into my 2006 Prius. Kerry's driving. I'm assigned the passenger seat and the role of navigator. Kerry's phone is programmed to Siri for directions. My old-fashioned printed directions are a backup in case we lose cell phone contact.

Regan and Ayla, still in pajamas and buckled in their car seats, sit surrounded by blankets, pillows, stuffed animals, and kid-size electronic gadgets. Kerry and I agree on some ground rules:

  • The driver's always right.
  • The front seat passenger is allowed to scream once. Only once.
  • What happens in the car, stays in the car.
  • Because I'm the Birthday Queen, Kerry and Marisa can't call me out — for anything — for the duration of the trip.

According to my Google map, the distance to Bend is 424.3 miles or seven hours and five minutes not counting pit and food stops. Ten minutes out of town we run into a dead end. How did we get off the main road? Was it the driver or the navigator? Oh, boy. This could be a long trip.

Back on track, it's a clear day with blue, cloudless skies. We pass a reasonable mix of green and brown grasses, given the drought situation. Lake Shasta is low. A wide swath of black, muddy earth rims the perimeter. Half way to Bend, Kerry and I realize we haven't turned on the radio. We've been "banterizing." Kerry makes up this word. We're laughing and teasing each other. We're having a good time.

The girls are getting restless. Now I'm driving and Kerry's navigating and directing car yoga. Ayla throws her feet up over her head in her car seat. Regan's a swirl of hair flying from one side to the other.

We pull off the road in Weed. Kerry sees a photo op in front of a "Welcome to Weed" sign. She asks Regan to run as fast as she can to get an action shot and to use up some of her kid energy. Back on the road, we're driving through northern California outback. We pass an adult superstore. Gun shops and signs for certified NRA instructors appear like Golden Arches - with predictable regularity. Looking for lunch, we pass a restaurant that advertises, "We now serve good food."

Hmm. Think we'll keep looking.

As we approach Bend, we call Marisa. We're a little bit ahead of her and will arrive at the rental house first. Marisa gives Kerry the code to gain access to the house key. Our get-away is about to begin for real.

 

Ocean Rolls from Sparrow Bakery, Bend, Oregon

Ocean Rolls from Sparrow Bakery, Bend, Oregon

APRIL 14, 2014: HELL-O-OH

NW Federal Street is our Bend address. The owners live in Cleveland, Ohio. This house will be their retirement home, along with an East Coast home in Florida.

I claim the downstairs bedroom. It's not the master bedroom but it means I don't have to climb the steep, narrow stairs to the second floor. Marisa and Kerry are sharing the master bedroom. A third bedroom, on the second floor, has a single bed for Sam and a double bed for Ayla, Regan, and Elise. The kids want to be together. This morning, the four of them are up at 4 a.m. There's too much excitement for young cousins to stay asleep.

Marisa and Kerry walk to the Back Porch Coffee Shop to buy coffee and breakfast treats. I brought ground Yuban, my coffee of choice for many years, but it doesn't meet M & K's minimum standards. It comes in a plastic container from the grocery store. It's not tall or short or blended. My cup of "real coffee" from the coffee shop doesn't impress me. I like my Yuban better.

The unexpected magic, though, is in the breakfast rolls that Kerry and Marisa bring home to all of us - Ocean Rolls, a Bend exclusive from the Sparrow Bakery. Oh, my. This is a true discovery. A cross between a breakfast roll and a croissant and flavored with cardamom. The seven of us share two of them. We all agree these are among the most wonderful, delicious concoctions we've ever tasted. Kids and grownups fight over the last few crumbs.

I don't eat breakfast rolls and I'm not a fan of croissants, but these Ocean Rolls are over the top. Why they're called Ocean Rolls isn't clear. Bend is far from the Pacific ocean or any ocean. Cardamom is native to the evergreen forests of Southern India. Nomenclature is of no significance, however. The roll is the roll is the roll.

At lunch time, we pull in at the Ten Barrel Brewery a few blocks from the house. The day is much warmer than we were expecting. We sit outside at a polished picnic table. Crayons and coloring paper are provided. Halfway through our meal, the drinks for the kids haven't arrived. I spy our waitress across the yard. In an instant, in Bend, my life changes forever.

"Hell-o-oh," I yell. "Hell-o-oh!"

The waitress turns around. Marisa and Kerry duck down. Customers at other tables are staring at us. Sam and Elise are laughing. What did Mim just do? This is so embarrassing. The waitress comes to our table. "We're still waiting for the kids' drinks."

"Oh, right. I'll get them for you."

"Hell-o-oh" becomes the vacation catchphrase. I remind everyone of the trip rule. No one can criticize the Birthday Girl.

This afternoon we hike in Shelving Park which has level walking trails, lots of big and little sticks, and water running over rocks and logs. Perfect. "Hell-o-oh" everyone shouts through the forest. We stop at a covered bridge for a group photograph.

Back at the house, the evening's filled with games like "I'm going camping and I'm bringing..." Everyone has to guess the secret code to be allowed to come on the camping trip. The kids love this game. They take turns making up the rules. After a while, the game deteriorates into knock-knock jokes involving butts and poop. Butts and poop are as funny as "Hello-o-oh" and all are mentioned, often, to fits and giggles.

The walls in this house on NW Federal Street are blushing. They've never heard such goings-on. It's a good thing the owners live far away. In Cleveland.

"Hell-o-oh."

 

APRIL 15TH, 2014: 70TH BIRTHDAY PARTY

My 70th birthday party continues. Everyone's up before me and there are more Ocean Rolls this morning. About one quarter of an Ocean Roll is left for Mim. That will teach me to get up last.

We pile into Marisa's white Honda Odyssey mini-van. We're driving to Sisters, a little tourist town about half an hour from Bend. Turns out it's not a good time to walk the main drag. The streets and sidewalks are all torn up for a major renovation. The make-over will be finished in a month for the summer tourist season, but right now, walking is a pedestrian's nightmare — plenty of opportunities for tripping and stumbling. I watch my feet and where I put them.

We head to a restaurant famous for its fish and chips. The girls order from the kids menu — their third meal of mac-n-cheese. Sam joins M & K and me in sharing an order of fish and chips. The fish and chips come and they're good. We order another basket. Kerry orders a diet Pepsi for the second time as it has not yet arrived.

Our chatty waitress says, "I used to live in Seattle. I lived there seven months. I didn't like it."

"Was it the weather you didn't like?"

"No, it was the traffic."

M & K take the receipt to the cash register to pay for lunch. I sit with the kids. And sit with the kids. This is taking a while. Ayla's upset. She wants her mom. The woman at the cash register rings up three baskets of fish and chips instead of two. She charges $3 for the diet drink that never came. Eventually, all is adjusted and Ayla finds Kerry.

Back at our NW Federal home away from home, I pass out Easter Bunny PEZ dispensers with candy refills. They're received with cheers, thank-you's, and hugs. I had Popeye and Mickey Mouse PEZ dispensers when I was little. PEZ candy was invented in Austria in 1927 as a breath mint. The name comes from the German word for peppermint — "pfefferminz." in 1948, the first PEZ dispenser was designed to resemble a cigarette lighter to encourage people to quit smoking. In 2011, PEZ, Inc. opened a visitor's center in Orange, Connecticut. A true product success story.

With PEZ dispensers in their hands, the kids disappear upstairs. M & K open their laptops on the dining room table. They both have work to do for their jobs for Williams Sonoma. They work from home and away from home.

I opt for some alone time and drive to Bend's main street shopping area where restaurants and clothing boutiques abound. I examine a few items on racks — a blouse, a jacket, a skirt. They each cost the same. $324. Time to move on.  At the market, two blocks from our house, I buy cheese, crackers, wine, and the makings for noodles and tomatoes for Sam and the girls. The grownups are having Happy Hour for our last evening in Bend.

We open the wine and drink a toast to my birthday. We play Simon Says and Sorry with Sam and Ayla. Regan and Elise are upstairs. M & K go back to the market for another bottle of wine. I pick up dirty dinner dishes and load the dishwasher. The grandchildren are dueling each other with the long, plastic tubes their PEZ dispensers came in. Packaging is always so much fun.

M & K return and there's a commotion in the dining room A sparkler's blazing on top of a cupcake. My two daughters and their four children are singing "Happy Birthday." We have a choice of chocolate cupcakes with chocolate frosting or vanilla cupcakes with vanilla frosting. And, if we're good, we can have one of each.

This birthday celebration is my best, ever. Marisa and Kerry have gone above and beyond  — making the plans, renting the vacation house, paying for breakfasts, lunches, and dinners. I'll pull this memory out of my memory box and relive it again and again.

"I love you Marisa, Kerry, Sam, Elise, Regan, and Ayla. Thank you for sharing this birthday with me."

My 70th birthday road trip is coming to a close, all too soon.

PATRICK'S FACEBOOK POST: Thank God it's tax day! Now maybe all the idiots who dress up like the Statue of Liberty and stand on the street corner and wave signs and wave at traffic will go away.

 

APRIL 16, 2014: A WONDERFUL ADVENTURE

This morning we're packing up and getting ready to leave Bend. We walk to a nearby bakery. The first thing Kerry and I notice is the absence of Ocean Rolls. Oh, my. What shall we do? Back at the house, I say, "I have to leave for a few minutes to run an errand."

"How long will this errand take?"

"I don't know. Maybe half an hour. This is still my birthday celebration. I'm still the Birthday Queen."

"Well, okay, but we have to leave pretty soon, you know. It's a long drive home."

I back my car out of the driveway and consult Siri for directions to Sparrow Bakery. Yesterday, Marisa and I stopped by the bakery to check it out. I gathered the necessary information while Marisa used the restroom. 

"Yes, you can freeze Ocean Rolls."
"No, we don't have an online site for ordering them."
"No, we don't ship them."
"Yes, you can order them by the dozen."

I ordered three dozen Ocean Rolls to be picked up tomorrow, which is now today. As I pull into the bakery parking lot, my cell phone rings. "Hi. This is Sparrow Bakery. We're holding your order for three dozen Ocean Rolls."

"Thank you. I'll be right there." I don't want my Ocean Rolls sold to someone else. 

Heading back to the house on NW Federal, the car vibrates with the smell of warm, baked-this-morning Ocean Rolls, I walk in the house and give a box to Marisa. "For me? All of these?"

"Yes, we each get a dozen."

On the drive home, for an hour and a half, Kerry and I talk about Ocean Rolls. How we'll freeze and reheat them. How we'll try to find a recipe or make one up. How cardamom may be our new favorite spice — ever. An hour and a half. Is this what you call mother-daughter bonding? I don't know. Whatever it is, I want to pack it in a sealed container and preserve it forever.

We arrive back at my house. Ayla and Regan move their car seats from my car to their white Honda SUV which is parked in my garage. They're eager to get home. They want to see Daddy.

No matter how wonderful the adventure, it's always good to get home. I'm home. I'm tired. I wouldn't have it any other way.

PATRICK'S FACEBOOK POST: My official job title is auto parts delivery driver but a more accurate title would be Sirius Satellite Radio Operator as I scan the dial all day while cruising though the Northern California gold rush communities.

 

APRIL 17, 2014: THE TREE GUY

The tree guy's here. Over the winter, five of my podocarpus trees have croaked. And the African sumac, in my front yard, is drooping with large sections of brown leaves. When I look at it, I feel like I live in a southern swamp. Maybe it can recover but there are other issues.

This African sumac tree grows like a weed. It's evergreen yet drops yellow leaves all year long and it's encroaching on my roof top and gutter line. It's building my case for getting rid of it, even though I hate to remove, okay kill, any plant or tree.

The tree guy says these trees need major pruning every year. Like $300 worth of pruning. Case closed. The dead podocarpus trees have to go. The still-living African sumac has to go. Damn. The other thing is that there's a finch nest in the African sumac with two baby birds inside. I don't know this until the tree guy points it out. He can move it to another tree. I inhale.

"Move it to another tree."

We wait. The mother finch flies to the new tree with a worm in her beak. She's figured out the relocation of her nest. She's found her lost babies. She's on it. "Go, Mother Finch. I'm for you, not against you."

The African sumac comes down. The podocarpus trees come down. Huge holes appear in my yard. I'm having a yard identity crisis. "Wait," says the tree man. "Live with your yard for a while. Think about what new trees you might want to consider."

I need someone to hold my hand in this endeavor. I need a good tree guy. I think I have one.

 

APRIL 20, 2014: EASTER

For me, Easter is about family getting together. We had Easter egg hunts, forever, when my children were growing up. If not in our own yard, in GG's yard. When my kids were 18, 19, and 20, they still wanted to hunt for Easter eggs which, by then, were plastic and some included five-dollar bills.

I'm at Kerry's house this afternoon watching the custom continue. Two hundred plastic eggs, some with dimes and nickels in them, are hiding in Kerry's backyard. Regan, Ayla, and their friends, Evan and Grant, run around all the bushes and trees. In five minutes the hunt is over. Everyone has a basketful of eggs and a chocolate rabbit. As much as the hunt, sitting down on the entry way floor to count their loot is part of the thrill.

Among our clan is GG, of course, and Doug. Doug is Regan's and Ayla's great-grandfather on their father's side. His wife, Joyce, recently passed away. (My perky polka-dot umbrella story.) Doug, age 85, brings his homemade desserts — a  banana cream pie and a lemon pie. I take a slice of the banana cream pie. It's really good. Doug and Joyce were married for something like 65 years. He's making an adjustment. He's hanging in there.

Doug represents what Easter's about — hope and renewal and our individual lives playing out without fanfare. Living, suffering, and living on. It's the best thing about us. We rise up each day no matter what.

Happy Easter, Everyone.

COMING UP THURSDAY, APRIL 19, 2018
April 21, 2014 - May 2, 2014: Having a Moment * Keeping Promises to Myself * Mom * Irene * Deviant Normal * ALL THE MEANING IN THE WORLD * My George Clooney * For Crying Out Loud * Happy Birthday, Kerry Colleen
 

To subscribe and receive email notices of new book posts every other week, enter your email address in the box on the right at the top of the page, and hit the Sign Up button. If you have any trouble subscribing, send me an email and I'll sign you up from my end :-)

dede@soonerthantomorrow.com

MORE FEEDBACK FOR A MOTHER'S DIARY by Dede Ranahan

We hear the words, "gun violence and mental illness" used together everyday. How often do we hear the words "love and mental illness" used together? In your memoir, love and mental illness are inextricable. C.M

Dede, as I’ve expressed before to you, I anxiously await each posting from your blog/book! You write with such skill, and not easy when it’s so personal, but your passion sprinkled with humor are the reasons that this is successful. The subject is so important — mental health is becoming more important to our country right now with all the school shootings. Keep it up girl!  Joan 

To read "My Diary" from the beginning, go to "Scenes from the Trenches" June 14, 2017, in the Archives on the right hand side of the blog page. To continue reading, scroll up in the archives from June 14, 2017, and click on each individual diary post. If you have difficulty, message or email me and I'll walk you through it. I didn't know, as I was writing, that I was capturing the last year of my son's life. His voice comes through loud and clear. For me, in these pages, he'll always be alive.

If you're reading and liking "A Mother's Diary," please let me know. I'm building a case for getting it published — one way or the other. Thanks. 

Please share my blog/book with "other wayfarers who might catch a resonating echo while wandering in my woods." Thanks.

COMING UP THURSDAY, APRIL 5, 2018
April 7, 2018 - April 20, 2018: 96th Birthday * Yay for Our Team * Let the Celebration Begin * Thelma and Louise * On the Road Again * Hell-o-oh * 70th Birthday Party * A Wonderful Adventure * The Tree Guy * Easter

To subscribe and receive email notices of new book posts every other week, enter your email address in the box on the right at the top of the page, and hit the Sign Up button. If you have any trouble subscribing, send me an email and I'll sign you up from my end :-)

dede@soonerthantomorrow.com

Pat and me in 1969

Pat and me in 1969

A MOTHER'S DIARY by Dede Ranahan MARCH 24, 2014 - APRIL 4, 2014

Thank You * Anytown, USA * Grandparent's Day * Love is Alive * Pacing Myself * Getting Ready * Life Goes On

To read "My Diary" from the beginning, go to "Scenes from the Trenches" June 14, 2017, in the Archives on the right hand side of the blog page. To continue reading, scroll up in the archives from June 14, 2017, and click on each individual diary post. If you have difficulty, message or email me and I'll walk you through it. I didn't know, as I was writing, that I was capturing the last year of my son's life. His voice comes through loud and clear. For me, in these pages, he'll always be alive.

 

MARCH 24, 2014: THANK YOU

Dear Lincoln Hills Foundation,

On behalf of the Lincoln Hills Family Mental Illness Support Group, thank you for your recent gift of $1,000.

The group is surprised and excited to have this kind of support. I've opened a checking account in the group name with an EIN. We have two signatures assigned to the account for control purposes. We are in the process of brainstorming a book list for a group library and a speaker list for upcoming meetings.

We will keep you apprised of our activities as you have requested and will acknowledge the Lincoln Hills Foundation at each opportunity.

Please extend our gratitude to the Board of Directors and to your Advisory Board.

Sincerely,

Dede Ranahan
Group Moderator
Lincoln Hills Family Mental Illness Support Group

 

MARCH 25, 2014: ANYTOWN, USA

Back working the cash register in my favorite thrift store. Today, kids clothes are two items for $1.00. Long-sleeved tops are $1.00. Buy a pair of pants and get a second pair free. Repeat customers are beginning to rely on this shop. A regular wants to know, "Are shoes a dollar today?"

"Not today."

"I'll wait then. I'm a single mom. I have to watch my budget."

A woman plops six women's tank tops on the counter.

"Looks like you're getting ready for summer."

"No. I have MS and I spend most of my time at home in my pajamas."

Another woman has a question. "Do you have any long cigarette holders?"

"Not that I'm aware of."

"I'm looking for them and they're hard to find."

A woman buys some kitchenware and a plastic nose attached to Groucho Marx eyeglasses.

"Who's going to wear this nose?"

"I am. I teach a class for seniors at the community college. I'll wear this for one of my lectures and see if they notice."

"I'd love a picture of you teaching in your fake nose and glasses."

"Okay. I'll bring in a photo."

A man with long hair comes in every Tuesday. He walks around the store until he senses something calling out to him. Today, he buys a string of costume pearls. "My sister will use these for crafts. I have a room with boxes I'm filling up with the things I buy here. I used to buy and sell stuff. Now I'm stashing it away for my kids when I pass on."

A pregnant woman loads up on baby and toddler clothes. Another regular, a hispanic woman, returns a pair of black shoes with thick, rounded soles. We don't usually take returns. "The manager said I could return these if they didn't fit my son. They didn't fit."

"Do you have your receipt?"

"Yes, right here."

"Would you like to look around to see if you find something else?"

For 30 minutes the woman picks through clothes, shoes, kids clothing, pots, and pans. "I don't find anything today."

I process her $5 refund. I put the returned shoes back on the men's shoe rack. As the woman goes out the door, a man walks in. In short order, he stacks three men's tops on the counter and spies the newly returned shoes. "Those are really interesting shoes. Looks like you could rock back and forth in them."

"Would you like to try them on?"

"Yes, I would." The man walks around the store with his old shoe on the left foot and the new shoe on the right. "Yep. These are interesting shoes."

"Would you like to try on the other one and make sure they feel good?"

"No, I know I want these shoes."

He makes his purchase. Three winter shirts and one pair of shoes. $8.

Items of all sizes and shapes come in, go out, come in, go out. People of all sizes and shapes come in, go out, come in, go out. Another ordinary, extraordinary day in the thrift store.

PATRICK'S FACEBOOK POST: My dog just set the world record for most urgent shit ever taken.

 

MARCH 28, 2014: GRANDPARENT'S DAY

Today is Thomas Jefferson Elementary School's 10th Annual Grandparent's Day. Regan's teacher says, "This kind of day is what makes me love teaching. Keep your fingers crossed, as we're losing other things to 'core' curriculum, that we don't lose this day."

I take a seat in the multi-purpose room. I'm getting teary perusing the program - Flag Salute and Pledge of Allegiance. Out of five classes of second graders, Regan's been selected to lead the 200 visiting grandparents and her classmates in this pledge. When it's finished, Regan, holding the microphone in hand, says, "Thank you. Please be seated."

Her little voice is clear and steady like she does this every day. Later, Kerry will tell me, "Do you know how much this means to me? I mean, she's shy and it's taken a long time to get her to this point."

Five second grade classes proceed to sing nine songs. My favorite song is from Sesame Street:

WE ALL SING IN THE SAME VOICE

My hair is black and red
My hair is yellow.
My eyes are brown and green and blue.
My name is Jack and Fred
My name's Amanda Sue
I'm called Kareem Abdul
My name is you.

Click here to hear the entire song.

There's hope for all of us. The next generation, Regan's generation, will be fine. They have good parents and grandparents and teachers. Why shouldn't they be fine? Listening to these pure, sweet voices I'm coming undone.

Grandparent's Day continues. It's quite a production. We take a break and the kids serve the grandparents treats. Regan brings me a cup of strawberry lemonade. "Is this okay or would you rather have raspberry lemonade?"

"This is perfect."

She gets her own strawberry lemonade and a plate of cookies for us to share. I ask her how she was chosen to lead the Pledge of Allegiance. "Some of us tried out. I had the loudest voice."

Hmm. I suspect a wise, caring teacher here.

Back in the classroom, grandparents share stories of branding irons, sewing their own clothes, ice trucks, and war medals. The kids are attentive. The teacher asks the children what they've learned from their grandparents' stories. They all agree. Life is very different now. One little girls says, "I like hearing what grandparents have to say."

Regan and I leave for a quick lunch off campus. She orders a cheeseburger, fries, and a chocolate milkshake. I seem to make a good grandma move when I say "yes" to the milkshake.

I drop Regan back at the school office. Later today, I'll pick her and Ayla up at their house for an overnight at my house. Stay tuned...

 

MARCH 28/29, 2014: LOVE IS ALIVE

I'm not in charge of this overnight. Two little redheads outline the program. It's non-stop activity from drawing, to picking out the right color jelly beans, to dressing up, and dancing to made-up songs and cheers.

In the kitchen, Regan's wearing her mother's high school cheerleading outfit and brandishing ostrich feathers for pompoms. Ayla's twirling in a pink princess dress from the thrift store. The floor is littered with discarded clothes.

"We are the feather eggs."
"We are the feather eggs."
"We will beat the dogs."

Ayla shakes plastic eggs, filled with pebbles, to Regan's beat. At the end of their cheer, they both take a bow. Of course, Grandma Mim applauds with wild enthusiasm. 

We're hungry now and we chow down boxed macaroni and cheese shaped like Sponge Bob characters, and a couple of strawberries. We settle in on my red sofa, under my red blanket to watch Frozen. Regan and Ayla have seen it three times. It's their favorite movie.

I say, "I'm excited. I haven't seen it yet."

Ayla assures me, "Mim, if you need something, we'll get it for you because we've seen the movie before and you haven't."

We enjoy the voices, the heroines, the animation. When all seems lost, as it always does somewhere in a Disney movie, the heroines discover that "love is the answer." We like Elsa because she has magic powers. We like Anna because she's spunky and has red hair.

It's time for vanilla ice cream drumsticks with caramel centers and chocolate on top. Regan picked them out at the store. "They're the best."

In the pull-down wall bed, the three of us snuggle together for bedtime reading. One of the books is When Did I meet you Grandma? The last page is to be filled in.

IMG_1949.JPG

"I call my Grandma, 'Mim.'"

"My favorite thing about my Grandma is..."

I'm holding my breath.

"She gives us candy."

"My Grandma is wonderful because...she gives us candy."

"I love my Grandma because...she gives us candy."

Every question ends with the same answer. This is very funny. So much for my dreams of "wonderfulness." Ayla asks, "When did I meet you, Mim?"

"We met each other in the hospital when you were born."

"Can we have another jelly bean?"

"Umm, no, you've brushed your teeth. Good night, Regan. Goodnight, Ayla."

I'm writing this down, hoping that sometime Regan and Ayla might remember this day. And this overnight.

PATRICK'S FACEBOOK POST: For those of you who don't believe in love, love is the sound of a man tightening his lug nuts on his wheels with a drill before heading off on a long journey with his wife and child. Love is alive.

 

MARCH 31, 2014: PACING MYSELF

I'm gearing up for the big 96th birthday dinner this Saturday. Today, after my workout with Deanne, I vacuum, change the beds, wash two loads of clothes, pay some bills, and make a to-do list for the rest of the week.

I promised myself, when I began writing about this year, my subject matter would be organic — my recordings would spring up from real events, not from contrived drama. My premise was most any day, and most anything, could be interesting. Sometimes, in describing a quotidian event, I find a gem. Like watching a lowly corn kernel transform itself when it pops.

When I was in high school, I collected an anthology of poems about little things. I wish I could find that anthology now. I had an early intuition about what's important and I want to nourish that intuition again.

In this week that will be one of busyness, I'll factor in time to reflect. In the moments between doing and doing more, I'll listen for the cadences, the sound track that would rise and fall, if my life were a movie.

This is one of the gifts of aging. Things don't have to be as exciting as they used to be. I'm pacing myself.

PATRICK'S FACEBOOK POST: Lunch has become my favorite word.

 

APRIL 3, 2014: GETTING READY

I'm cleaning toilets, cutting dead leaves off plants in the outside entryway, and grating lemon peel for the cake I'm baking tomorrow. Michael's package of French sausages and duck legs arrived and I've put them in the fridge, along with three batches of homemade Irish cream I blended this afternoon.

I'm nervous about the lemon layer cake since I've never made it before. If it looks like a flop, I'll call Kerry and ask her to pick up a cake at the market. I'm hoping my cake will come through, though.

My to-do list, in addition to the cake, includes clean the litter box and make Saturday's prepare-ahead breakfast. Probably, clean the litter box is the most important. Don't want the house reeking. Ah, the things we wind ourselves up about.

PATRICKS' FACEBOOK POST: People playing music together is the polar opposite of people fighting. I know I posted this photo a while ago, right around the time it happened. Wanted to revisit this remarkable luncheon hosted by Michael Bayard celebrating a recent healing journey I made. This is the group of sound healing musicians who became a pivotal support group in a time of great distress. Thanks again!

 

APRIL 4, 2014: LIFE GOES ON

My Kansas City cousin calls. She wants to know what time to send two dozen roses for GG to my house on Saturday. She also wants to let me know she has a blind date coming up.

"How old is he?"

"He's 82. His wife died a year ago."

"Where are you going?"

"He's taking me to dinner and picking me up at my house. I want him to see who I am and where I live."

"Please call and let me know how it goes."

"I will. Danny told me, 'Have fun, Mom.'"

Yes, have fun and go find a person who needs to find you. This is not always easy to do. May the force be with you, my Kansas City Cuz.

PATRICK'S FACEBOOK POST: This whole missing Malaysian jetliner thing just goes to show that, though we claim to be highly evolved, we really have no idea what we are doing.

 

COMING UP THURSDAY, APRIL 5, 2018
April 7, 2018 - April 20, 2018: 96th Birthday * Yay for Our Team * Let the Celebration Begin * Thelma and Louise * On the Road Again * Hell-o-oh * 70th Birthday Party * A Wonderful Adventure * The Tree Guy * Easter

To subscribe and receive email notices of new book posts every other week, enter your email address in the box on the right at the top of the page, and hit the Sign Up button. If you have any trouble subscribing, send me an email and I'll sign you up from my end :-)

dede@soonerthantomorrow.com

MORE FEED BACK FOR A MOTHER'S DIARY by Dede Ranahan

I so much like to share your life. Sometimes I see me. I want more, more, more. So mark my name as an avid reader. I don't blog, only write poetry. How I would have loved to converse with Patrick.  Such wonderful people in the world. Pity we don't know each other.  GranaAnna

Dede, I applaud you for your diligent work on behalf of mental illness. Thank you for tirelessly pursuing this. It certainly is paying off for you, & for all of us. Madeleine

 Thanks for your postings Dede, they make us think. Irene

 

To read "My Diary" from the beginning, go to "Scenes from the Trenches" June 14, 2017 in the Archives on the right hand side of the blog page. To continue reading, scroll up in the archives from June 14, 2017 and click on each individual diary post. If you have difficulty, message or email me and I'll walk you through it. I didn't know, as I was writing, that I was capturing the last year of my son's life. His voice comes through loud and clear. For me, in these pages, he'll always be alive.

If you're reading and liking "A Mother's Diary," please let me know. I'm building a case for getting it published - one way or the other. Thanks. 

Please share my blog/book with "other wayfarers who might catch a resonating echo while wandering in my woods." Thanks.

COMING UP THURSDAY, MARCH 22, 2018
March 24, 2018 - April 4, 2018: Thank You * Anytown, USA * Grandparent's Day * Love is Alive * Pacing Myself * Getting Ready * Life Goes On

To subscribe and receive email notices of new book posts every other week, enter your email address in the box on the right at the top of the page, and hit the Sign Up button. If you have any trouble subscribing, send me an email and I'll sign you up from my end :-)

dede@soonerthantomorrow.com

Pat and Me 1969

Pat and Me 1969

A MOTHER'S DIARY by Dede Ranahan MARCH 9, 2014 - MARCH 21, 2014

A Birthday Invitation * A New Dilemma * Perspective * Empty Bowls * A Real Life Mystery * Of Ants and Me * No Invaders, No Dragons, No Trolls * Spring 2014 * Internal Drum by Patrick Ranahan * A Bout of Self-Doubt * A Paradox * What to Keep and What to Discard

To read A Mother's Diary from the beginning, click on the June 2017 archives in the right hand column and read "Before: Scenes from the Trenches."

 

MARCH 9, 2014: A BIRTHDAY INVITATION

Hi Everyone!

You're receiving this email because Evelyn Moon, better known as Mom and GG Moon, is celebrating her 96th birthday on April 8. As the calendar falls, we're hosting her "official" birthday dinner on Saturday, April 5th. You're all invited and, if you're too far away and can't attend, you're welcome to call and wish the lady of the day, Happy Birthday!

Michael's preparing an arugula salad and a Cassoulet D'Artagnan. I didn't know what this fancy-sounding concoction was either. It's a hearty dish of duck sausage, and beans. Very French! I'm offering sardines, with sun-dried tomatoes, garlic, onions, and capers as an appetizer and a lemon-rosemary layer cake for dessert.

The above mentioned dinner will be at my home around 6 o'clock. Please RSVP. Hope to hear from you, one way or the other.

Love, Dede

MARCH 10, 2014: A NEW DILEMMA

Pat calls. He's still delivering auto parts. The church gave him a going-away party. He quit his Sunday job there.

"How's Lexi?"

"She's being a bit of a problem at the moment."

"How?"

"Well, she pretty much chewed up the shutters on an upstairs window. And she's peed a few times in the upstairs loft."

This is not good. Poop would be gross but dog pee? It sinks into the carpet padding and you can't get rid of the odor. We consider a few solutions. Pat's thinking of shutting Lexi in the downstairs closet when he's gone. I don't like this idea. The closet's bigger than her crate, but still.

"You can't leave her in the backyard?"

"No. She howls and digs out under the fence."

"What about the upstairs bathroom? It's bigger than the closet and has a window to let light in."

Pat doesn't like this idea. 

"I know you love Lexi but is this a fair arrangement for her? Do you think you should give her back to the dog rescue?"

"Give her back? No, I'm not giving her back."

"Well, something has to be done."

"I know."

Silence on the other end of the phone.

"Could she ride along with you in your car when you're making deliveries?"

"No, Mom. She can't ride along with me."

Silence on my end of the phone.

I'm concerned. I won't worry Mom with what's happening in her rental house. A "real" landlord wouldn't allow the dog to stay. I remind myself I can't fix everything.

"Well, let me know what solution you come up with."

"I will."

"You saw the email about GG's birthday dinner?"

"Yes, I'll be there. Talk to you later."

"Bye, Pat."

This situation needs a remedy. It can't continue as is. I'll let it churn a bit. I hope Pat will think of something he can live with — an accommodation that's good for Lexi and good for the house. I hate that getting a job means he may have to give up the dog he loves.

A chat with Pat. A new dilemma.

 

MARCH 11, 2014: PERSPECTIVE

Cosmos, a new television series, is premiering. The reviews compare it to an updated Carl Sagan program. I'm watching the first episode. It includes computerized graphics and animated storytelling. The narrator talks about space and time in terms of trillions and billions of galaxies and light years. He says, "According to a cosmic calendar, human beings didn't appear until 11:59p.m. on December 31." He mentions a space probe we've sent that broadcasts a message in different languages. "Hello, we're from earth. Is anybody out there?"

The message includes quadrants and specific directions to our address in the solar system. Stephen Hawking, the scientist, doesn't think this probe is a good idea. He says, "The universe is big and weird. Would you call out in the jungle to let others know of your whereabouts?"

The TV story takes us out to the edge, to the moment before the Big Bang -- a time before time, when nothing existed. And then, from one explosion, came worlds upon worlds upon worlds. It's hard to get your head around. Our home, our earth, isn't even a speck. It's a speck on a speck. We're specks on a speck on a speck.

Have to keep this in mind as I worry about dog pee.

 

MARCH 12, 2014: EMPTY BOWLS

My friend, Grace, and I are at the Sacramento Convention Center. The River City Food Bank is holding its annual fundraising luncheon, Empty Bowls. Local artists and art students donate their pottery. A lunch ticket costs $40. It includes soups prepared and donated by local restaurants, and the choice of an empty art bowl to take home.

We worked at last year's event which raised $100,000. This year's goal is $125,000. One-third of the meals, provided by the food bank, goes to children. One of four children in the Sacramento area lives in poverty. The food bank also serves seniors and families.

Grace and I are dressed in black pants, white tops and black aprons imprinted with the words, "Empty Bowls." We're serving soups — chicken and artichoke, pozole rojo, and lentil. The soups rotate a pot at a time until the pot is empty. The favorite, year after year, is a crab bisque.

Empty Bowls is simple, elegant fundraising. Everything's donated. Volunteers man all the stations — check in, pottery tables, information tables, and soup lines. High school students clear tables and replenish table settings. When the event ends at 1:30p.m., volunteers get to select a bowl from the ones remaining.

I choose a small, light-green bowl that I'm putting on the dresser in my guest room. It's a perfect receptacle for car keys, earrings, or spare change. My multi-colored bowl from last year decorates the table in my entryway. It's filled with jelly beans for Easter. Sometimes it holds candy hearts or candy corn or red and green wrapped chocolate kisses.

My event souvenirs are year-round reminders to give thanks for my full pantry, and to remember that there are hungry folks out there — many in my own neck of the woods.

 

MH370 Memorial Kuala Lumpur International AirportPhoto credit: sinh nguyen hoc/flickr

MH370 Memorial Kuala Lumpur International Airport
Photo credit: sinh nguyen hoc/flickr

MARCH 13, 2014: A REAL LIFE MYSTERY

Where did Malaysia Airlines Flight 370 go?

The plane disappeared six days ago on a routine flight from Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia to Beijing, China. The Boeing 777 aircraft is one of the largest and safest in the world. The plane reached its maximum known altitude, 35,000 feet, and speed, 539 mph, twenty minutes after taking off. It disappeared, without a warning or a distress message, twenty-two minutes later. Forty-two ships and thirty-nine aircraft from 12 countries, including the US, are searching the Gulf of Thailand and the South China Sea.

Everywhere I go — in line at the bank, in the check-out line at the grocery store, in the bridge room — people are speculating about this missing plane. Theories abound. Mass electrical failure, sudden decompression, pilot suicide, terrorism. One man predicts that the plane will be found empty. "The passengers and crew have been kidnapped by aliens."

Everyone's pointing fingers. China's criticizing Malaysia's handling of the situation. Bloggers suggest the Malaysian military shot the plane down and then covered up their mistake. Chinese citizens complain their government isn't doing enough to help find the aircraft. In Iran, because two Iranian passengers with false passports were on board, one lawmaker calls the entire episode a form of psychological warfare by the US to sabotage relationships between Iran, China, and Southeast Asia.

Meanwhile, families and friends of the 239 people on board wait, in limbo, to learn the fate of their loved ones. Just when I've been pondering the relative, minuscule size of our earth in the universe, our world seems very large again. Where is this airplane?

 

MARCH 16, 2014: OF ANTS AND ME

I've been battling ants around the kitchen sink for two days. The pest control person comes. He traces the ant pathway from inside my dishwasher, across the entryway, down the hall, through the laundry room, and out the door to the garage. He spies a hole in the door frame, at the garage floor level, where the ants are trailing in and out.

I like ants. Maybe "like" isn't the correct word. I respect ants. They're industrious and social. They eat insects and do other good works. I search the web for ant info.

  • Ants can lift 20 times their body weight. In other words, if a first grader were as strong as an ant, she could pick up a car.
  • There are various jobs in an ant colony — taking care of eggs and babies, gathering food, and building mounds.
  • At night, caregiver ants move eggs deep into the nest to protect them from the cold. During the day, they move the eggs to the top of the nest for warmth.
  • Some birds put ants in their feathers to eat parasites.
  • Ants are clean. Worker ants take rubbish from the nest and put it outside in "rubbish bins."

When I was little, I'd pick up ants crawling around the bathtub and take them outside. They're living things, I thought. I hated to kill living things, except maybe aphids on rose bushes. Mom says, "I never had to hire a pest exterminator because I had you."

So, here I am, hating to kill ants. I know I can't share my house with them. They'd be pushy, overbearing roommates. I let the pest control guy spray. He says, "You'll see strays for a couple of days."

I squirt the stray ants around the sink with window cleaner. They don't make this easy. I'm watching one ant, pacing back and forth, trying to comprehend the dead bodies all around him. Oh, shit. He's carrying a sick comrade on his back. This is too much. I can't kill this hero ant. He gets a reprieve. I coax him, still carrying his buddy, onto a napkin and carry them outside.

For the rest, I hope this window cleaner kills you right away. I hope you're all, mature, two-year-old ants who've enjoyed good ant lives, with weekends off and comprehensive medical coverage. I hope your colony gets the message to stay out of this house so we can live in peaceful co-existence.

I must share all this ant stuff with Ayla, the little girl who loves bugs. I'll tell her the story of ants and me.

 

MARCH 17, 2014: NO INVADERS, NO DRAGONS, NO TROLLS

I'm with Regan and Ayla at their house. Kerry and David are down the street at a neighborhood get-together. Regan's playing "Home on the Range" on the piano. She's concentrating on the notes on the sheet music. She's learning.

"Do you like playing the piano?"

"Yes, I also like having different members of my family babysit us. It's good to get to know other family members besides Mommy and Daddy. You, and my other grandma, Michele."

Ayla adds, "And Papa."

Regan says, "Yes, Ralph. Ralph and Michele."

We shift gears. Regan pulls a game out of the closet. The three of us sit at the dining room table playing Operation. As usual, I'm losing. Ayla makes a statement I've heard before. "Let's play a game that's easy for Mim."

Regan and Ayla begin assembling plastic tunnels and runways for marble races on the entryway tile. I'm still trying to get down on the floor. I do what I'm told. "Hold this piece." "Remove that section." Regan reminds us, "We need to work together as a team. Mim, as a team member, would you like a Girl Scout lemon wafer?"

Sounds good to me. Regan and Ayla want lemon wafters, too, but there's a hitch. Regan asks, "What if Mommy and Daddy notice that three lemon wafers are missing?"

Not to worry. I say, "If they notice, I'll explain that I ate all three lemon wafers myself." Problem solved.

We head upstairs to the playroom. It's a disaster. It looks like, well, a well-played-in playroom. Toys and princess dresses cover the floor. I offer to hang up the dresses in their special princess wardrobe. One by one, all the dresses are off the floor. 

Hmm? Regan's formulating a plan. "Let's clean up the playroom and surprise Mommy and Daddy." In short order, everything's being restored to its proper place. If I don't know where something goes, Ayla tells me where to put it. Regan says, "This is exciting. Mommy and Daddy are going to be so happy."

We dump a jar full of beads onto the pristine, cleaned up floor. For twenty minutes, our team pops beads together in a long string. We're building a giant worm. The worm's finished. We're looking for a measuring tape to measure how long it is, but we can't find one.

We put on pajamas and brush teeth. We watch a video about Wally the Troll, his pet dragon, and Bad Gremlin Bob. Bad Gremlin Bob has captured the castle. He's nailing signs across all the castle windows and doors - NO INVADERS, NO DRAGONS, NO TROLLS. This becomes our mantra. We march around the family room chanting.

"No invaders. No dragons. No trolls."
"No invaders. No dragons. No trolls."

Photo credit: David McKelvey/flickr

Photo credit: David McKelvey/flickr

David checks in. It's 9:30p.m. and Regan has an early morning to get to a ski lesson. Regan climbs into her bed. I climb into bed with Ayla to read three books The last book, about a caterpillar, is her favorite. I ask Ayla if she's sleepy. She is. "When Mommy and Daddy come home, I'll ask them to cuddle me. When they're not here, I like to fall asleep by myself."

Got it, Ayla. I turn off the light in Ayla's lavender room. "Good night, Ayla. I love you."

I check in Regan's pink room. She's sound asleep. "Good night, Regan. I love you."

How do you freeze time?

 

SPRING 2014

Spring has returned.
The Earth is like a child that knows poems.

                                   Rainer Maria Rilke

 

INTERNAL DRUM

Those footsteps beneath my window
came and went so fast. The ground,
still frozen in spots, begins
its long thaw. The boy passed by
without incident, just the sounds
of his feet, a mud-sucked heartbeat.

When I think about my heartbeat,
its patterns and palpitations, windows
and valves busy with blood, the sounds
of circulation and murmur, the ground
pulses right along with me. It works
by pure magic, this internal drum,

begins anew every moment, always beginning
another push, another pump. Heartbeats
seem to be generated by superhuman force.
I asked the window what it thought.
It said, "there's the ground, trees point to the sky,
I hear no sounds.

But if you can hear the gift of sounds,
place them on the page as evidence of what began
and ended in an instant." A survey of the ground
complete, a military jet maneuvers, its heartbeat
hushed, into its inland cavern, its window-
less womb, where tools clang when dropped by
the uniformed hand. States away, traffic rushes by
the dancing cop, his frantic hands, the short sounds
of whistle and clap. A broker puts his nose to the window
on the thirtieth floor, mutters, "I must begin
my day," clutches his chest and drops, his heartbeat,
tired of his refrain, shows him the ground.

Out in a suburban field, a child squats upon the ground,
runs his fingers through the mud, listens as cars race by.
Today in school he learned the subject heartbeat,
he held his wrist and counted as the sounds
came through his ears by stethoscope. "Begin,"
the teacher said, the children obeyed. The window

took on the fog of nervous youth, and the ground began
its long stretch from the window to the sounds
of the eastern sea, all of this by way of heartbeats.

Patrick Ranahan
Published in
Latitude on 2nd
Cool Waters Media, Inc
2012

 

MARCH 19, 2014: A BOUT OF SELF-DOUBT

Here I sit at the computer, staring at the screen. The monthly cleaning crew is dusting and vacuuming and I'm trying to stay out of their way. I'm trying to stay out of my own way. Pesky thoughts flit across my mind. Why am I writing? Do I really think my life could be of interest to someone, sometime, somewhere? Some days I think I'm leaving a "gift" for my descendants. I'd love to find letters my great-grandmother wrote 100 years ago. Other days, I fear I'm becoming a self-absorbed old woman.

A writing teacher once told me to write what I want to read. I've always preferred nonfiction over fiction. I've always favored history and peeks into days gone by. In that sense, I'm writing what I want to read. I can't be the only who'd love to read a grandmother's diary.

Or am I?

PATRICK'S FACEBOOK POST: Monsanto is not banned in America because in America if you make something that is bad for you but tastes fucking great and makes you feel good, you are going to make a fortune.

 

MARCH 20, 2014: A PARADOX

I write I'm not writing anything today.

 

MARCH 21, 2014: WHAT TO KEEP AND WHAT TO DISCARD

When I think about the past, I remember specifics — images, sounds, scents. I see dimples in a smile, drops of water, my Rottweiler's big brown eyes. I hear train whistles, lawn mowers humming, and the white noise of clothes dryers spinning clothes. I smell pink bubble gum, apple cider vinegar, and pine Christmas trees.

I think about the life that's been unique to me. I remember the ordinary. I reflect on the struggle that life can be, even when it's good. I bow to the everyday challenges of climbing up, sliding down, and climbing up again. I admit to the ways things came out differently, many times, than I'd imagined — or hoped. I deliberate about the friend who wasn't a friend, and the person I ignored who was. I acknowledge decisions that turned out wrong and guesses that turned out lucky.

When I look back, I simultaneously see the world as I saw it as a child and as I see it as an adult. From this observation deck, I can choose, with more discernment, what to keep and what to discard. Maybe writing down my daily thoughts, in hindsight, will be an effort that turned out to be a good thing.

I guess time will tell.

 

COMING UP THURSDAY, MARCH 22, 2018
March 24, 2014 - April 4, 2014: Thank You * Anytown, USA * Grandparent's Day * Love is Alive * Pacing Myself * Getting Ready * Life Goes On

To subscribe and receive email notices of new book posts every other week, enter your email address in the box on the right at the top of the page, and hit the Sign Up button. If you have any trouble subscribing, send me an email and I'll sign you up from my end :-)

dede@soonerthantomorrow.com

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