"Sometimes it is a kindness to let someone be wrong."

So said I to my niece one sunny afternoon when she was yelling at her friend Zach because he insisted that 14 immediately follows 7.

He was on the point of tears and insisted he was right.
He was wrong.
But he was 4.

He hadn't yet grown up enough to realize, indeed, 14 does not immediately follow 7.  Yelling at him wouldn't do any good, and it would be kinder to let him sit in his fallacy until he was ready to hear the truth.

Thus I tried explaining to my niece.  And as soon as the words were out of my mouth, I realized I needed to hear them far more than she.

How Grandma Lois Married an Abusive Man and Saved the Lives of His 3 Children; also entitled, "That one time I saw Grandma cry"

Four generations: Mom, Sister, niece, Grandma Lois

My grandpa died when my mom was 3 years old.  This was always a great tragedy to me, as I am incredibly nostalgic and fiercely in love with my family.  (Let's ignore that I wouldn't have been born if he'd lived...that's a moot point and a long story.)  Yet in keeping with "all things working together for good", my grandma remarried when Mom was 8.  His name was George.  Georgie Pordgie. A living nightmare.

He'd killed his first wife and her father, though he never got caught for it.  We know he did because he tried to kill my grandmother in the same way they'd died.  He tried multiple times.  Thankfully my grandma had a crazy mother and knew how to deal with insanity - she simply refused to die.

But she would leave.  After 4 years of terror and tantrums (the tantrums, of course, on George's part) Grandma left.  But she couldn't just escape into the night, no. You see, George the sadist had 3 daughters by his first wife.  Grandma Lois couldn't leave them to be beaten and berated til death or majority did them part.  She determined to get them out too.  The problem was, things didn't work in the 60s the way they work today - no matter how many times George's abuse was reported, the children were not taken away and the man was not imprisoned. There was only one thing left to do: buy him off.

The house was  in Grandma's name. When George denied her custody of his children, she offered him half the proceeds of the sale of the house.  By some great miracle (there IS a God), he agreed, on the stipulation that they go to a girls' home rather than be given to her.  She said yes, found them a good home in Iowa, and put them on a plane.  To this day she'll say letting them go was one of the hardest things she ever did, but she had to do it to get them away from George.  The girls were raised in Iowa and ended up staying there.  Though I heard the stories my whole life, I never met them.

Two weeks ago my cousin Desiree got married.  Desiree is the daughter of my mother's half sister Dawna - the only child Grandma Lois and George had together.  The oldest of George's daughters came out for the wedding, since Desiree is technically her blood niece.  Meeting her was kind of like meeting my dead grandfather: a legendary creature from my mother's past come alive again.  All the old stories were dredged up, but this time I got to hear them from Sandy's perspective too.  Apparently he'd tried to kill her the same way he'd killed her mother.  To an abused 9-year-old in the 1960s, Grandma's second marriage is the best thing that could have happened. She calls Grandma "Mama" - strange and childlike and affectionate to my ears since my mom and aunties and uncle just call her "Mom".

I went with Grandma and Aunt Brenda and Aunt Carol the day Sandy was dropped off to the airport cause, like I said, I'm terribly nostalgic.  These family interactions mean something to me; the stories are buried in the vaults of my heart. I waited in the running car as I watched the four of them disappear around a corner to see Sandy safely off.  When my aunties and grandma came back they were crying - all three.  As Sandy said goodbye she had clutched them tightly, crying, and saying, "You saved my life."

It was the only time I've ever seen my grandmother cry.

R.I.P. Bonnie Jean

You are missed,
and
I will see you again.

Jenny Brandt

"As a soap enthusiast I know that death is just one more thing in life that you can cheat."

(From this super bizarre and hilarious Swedish blog.)

Giving and Taking

I just read the most magnificent blog post about how one church does the offering: http://www.wadeburleson.org/2012/11/thankful-for-giving-this-thanksgiving.html.  I really really really wish my church did this.  I wish all churches did this.

End of year challenge:

to see how long I can go without saying something negative.  And to not be boring when not saying something negative. (Sarcasm is so fun!)

Healing, Healed

Me: I'm not in pain, I'm just kind of uncomfortable and annoyed.
Hannah: That's called a normal period.

Many moons ago I was a 3-year-old in love with my older sister. She was my favorite person in the entire world and I would have sold my "beautiful blond hair" to be exactly like her. She liked me a lot too - until my mother naively allowed me to sit beside them while Mom taught Sarah to read.

Sarah has dyslexia and I don't. No one new this at the time, so just by sitting with them I learned to read within a few months, while Sarah didn't learn for another couple of years. It was at this point that Sarah decided she hated me, and she would continue to hate me for the next 15 years.

About a week ago I wasn't using my brain and I recounted this old family story to my 5-year-old niece who is currently learning to read. Tonight she popped in one of her reading videos, and after a few minutes I heard her say, "Mommy, you need to listen to this. You need to learn the sounds so you can learn how to read better and you can like Aunty Rachel."

.:Still a better love story than twilight:.

Totally seeing this.

Family Heritage

When my Grandpa Ray had just started dating my Grandma Lois, Grandma took Grandpa to meet her mom - my crazy Great-Grandma Effie Mae.  First thing GG did was whip her boob out of her dress, look my grandpa in the eye and say, "My husband says I have the breasts of a 16-year-old."

Grandma Lois and I

Grandpa Ray married grandma anyway.

That bit about getting married...

February will see me to 31, and I have no problem with that.  I didn't have a problem with 30, or with 29 before her, so why should 31 be any different?  I don't agree with the phrase "age is just a number" because I definitely experience different things with different ages...there are biological realities that simply pay no attention to cliches, and these things must be faced and, to some extent, embraced.  But I don't get panicky over the passing years or my changing body, so growing older doesn't bother me.  I like birthdays.  I like birthday presents.  I like birthday cards. (February 22, ya'll.)

The one thing that never changes as I age is my older, married, female friends' conviction that I'm going to get married someday.  I have reconciled the possibility of "spinsterhood" for myself, cause, frankly, I may not get a spouse.  I mean, I just might not.  I'm nearly 31 and no prospects*. And for me, that's okay.  I'm okay with my marital status.  But when I make comments like, "Well, I may not get married," my older, married, female friends jump in with

"Oh no, I'm sure you will!"
and
"I don't think singleness is what God has for you!"
and
"Don't worry honey!  There's someone out there for you!"

I...don't know how to respond.  I'm content; don't steal my peace.  Cause really sweet friends, I simply might not get married.  And I am perfectly, 100% fine with that.  Please let me focus on my present and not be distracted by a future that may never happen.

*A word to my friends: do not suggest online dating.  Just don't. Just.don't.

Best news EVER

California Prop 35 passed!

More about the act here: http://www.caseact.org/case/

Vote!