I Remember...

Through the years, family traditions become the glue that gives us structure and form and memories. Our family, on mom's side especially, has long decorated gravesites on Memorial Day. This honoring and remembrance of our passed loved ones is a sweet time of celebration. Those lives already lived have meaning and impact on us.

Memorial Day is not for just our military connections. But attending a full-blown service at a cemetary on Memorial Day is a lovely and moving ceremony of thanksgiving and remembrance that we do as often as we can. I have very satisfying memories of some of those services.

The anticipation of the day, the gathering of flowers, the stories that are told and retold during this time - these are all bits of glue. Having been raised during a time when snowball bushes and blue iris were carefully tended, with one eye on any impending weather that might gum up the works, I have a special appreciation for those flowers. Sometimes it was wildflowers, more often flowers from boutiful flower beds around the yards, that were gathered and sorted, bunched and secured in jars. Each bouquet was carefully crafted to reflect something about that person it was going to honor by standing sentinal for a time along side the headstone.

This year was another such. Sister Becky and Mom and I had a wonderful time visiting and arranging bouquets, remembering special things about loved relatives.

With mom's list in hand, the jars were arranged in boxes according to where they were going. Some for Siletz, some for Logsden, some for Newport, some for Bay City and Tillamook. Last year Becky cataloged and mapped each site and cemetary, making sure we will be able to continue this tradition long after those who still do remember where everyone is are gone. They will be added to the list in their own turn...

We were able to do the cleaning of headstones in the Tillamook cemetaries well ahead of time, making the day of deliveries easier. Then on to Siletz, where we made our way up to Government Hill, a sacred place for the Siletz tribe. Ancient trees tower over emerald grass, guarding grave sites that are mounded and then covered with flower petals in lovely designs. Unusual and beautiful. You can feel the spirit as you listen to families visiting while working to tidy their family area, doing the decorating. On Memorial Day a drum and chanting ceremony echoes softly through the grove.

When we are lucky, we will run into folks we know. Just as we finished setting vases of flowers out, we were delighted to have some second cousins show up. It's been so long since I've seen Mitzi (on mom's right) and her little sister Teresa. The visit was short, but the connection heartfelt and full of laughter and memories. The girl's mom was my cousin Tinker (Edwina), daughter of mom's sister Clara.

Then on to Logsden, a few miles up the road. One person mom and her youngest sister Ruth always honor is a Finn who lived next door during their time on the farm up the Logsden road. Old Frank Paananen, who had a story of his own. As he told it, he had killed a man in Finland, and was forced to flee the country or spend his life in prison. He left behind his wife and only child, a son. We wonder, do they every remember Frank? Were there records of any sort that he had tucked away for someone to find, and notify his lost family of his death?

I remember Frank as being an old wrinkled gnomish sort of fellow, who had a wonderful dappled workhorse named Minnie. Aunt Ruth used to ride Minnie, standing on her back. Somewhere there is a photo of Ruth standing on Minnie, with her little dog beside her. Mom has a letter Frank wrote, he had addressed it to "Root and Batty", his broken-English names for Ruth and Betty. We are loving reminding mom about being "Batty"!

From the small VFW cemetary on the river road, we continued up to the Logsden bridge, where mom threw a special bouquet into the river where Ruth's ashes had been spread. Then we took time for an impromptu picnic out of the back of the car - the best kind of picnic: on the road wherever you find the time and place just right, potlucking from everyone's snacks and sacks! It was a pretty little park, right on the river off the end of the bridge. A neighborly dog joined us.

Our last stop: Eureka Cemetary in Newport. Becky showed off by walking right to Grampa and Gramma Smith's headstone - then confessed she had looked at her map just before getting out of the car!

I don't know why, but it's always important to take photos at the cemetary.

Cleaning up the headstones, tidying things up for the day.

With Bill along, you can count on some jokes. Aunt Marge and her son Danny are under one headstone in this particular part of the cemetary. I was looking about, and commented on how close together the headstones were, that they must be for ash urns. Becky said,"Yes, it would be hard to get a horizontal body in holes this size...", and I said, "I guess they could put them in vertically...", and Bill said, "Then they wouldn't be buried, they'd be PLANTED!" You had to be there I guess, but we sure laughed!

And so, I remember. I remember with heart and soul, those who have made my life richer for sharing time and memory with me.

My husband, Dennis. His favorite color was orange.

His life is eternally bound to mine. I look forward to the day we will be together again. Death is not a permanent thing, it's a passage. The veil is thin.

I remember:

my dad, Albert Mills Griffin

Grandpa Harry and Grandma Ruby Fellows

Great Aunt Ellen Dowell

Great Aunt Aggie and Uncle Ed

Great Aunts Reliance and Frances
Great Aunt Esther

cousin Tinker Brown

cousin Bobby Simmons

cousin Danny Thornbrue

cousin Mavis

cousin Walt
cousin Tina

Aunt Evie and Uncle Bud Parkes

Aunt Corleone

Aunt Netta

Aunt Georgia and Uncle Red

Dear friends:

Sue Healy

Theresa Kay

Jeff Miller

Glenn Johnson

Bishop Eldon Johnston and Ellen

Mike Johnson

father-in-law Harry Leroy Stauffer

Grandma Helen Stauffer

Grandpa Frank Bishop
Uncle Chris Stauffer

Grandma Pearl and Grandpa Lester Smith

Aunt Ada

Aunt Toddie and Uncle Everett

Aunt Marge

Aunt Jessie

Aunt Ruth and Uncle Jim

Uncle Moke and Aunt Betty Smith

Uncle Mutt and Aunt Phonola Smith

Uncle Henry Smith

I saw this family, and felt an immediate urge to go add my arm to the comforting hug. It could be any family. It was such a good feeling to see several generations together honoring a passed loved one. That's what Memorial Day does for us - when we've been so wrapped up in our day-t0-day busyiness, of just plain daily living in a demanding world - we have a day set apart for us to take time, without any excuses, with thanksgiving, to remember and honor those who have walked and talked with us - who have helped shape who we are.

We NEED to remember.



And I do. I remember.

Special Delivery

Miss Birdie adopted us, knowing we would help her in her hour of distress. Namely, kittens.

I have a special peeve for people who do not take pet ownership as a responsibility in the same league as raising children - in particular, reproduction. No one wants their 10 or 12 year old girl child pregnant (although it is a horrendous fact). Likewise, I abhore seeing cats, or dogs for that matter, being left in the position of nature taking it's course which means they get "caught" in their first heat and have kittens (or pups) before they are a year old. Well before body maturity.


Granted, "Mother Nature" has created those bodies to take on the burden of reproduction of the species. As evidenced by the staggering number of unwanted and euthanized pets each year. Which is where we must take responsiblity. And where as the "superior race" we fail so miserably.


Our Miss Birdie is the perfect, and current, example. She came to us with a tummy packed with babies. She is under a year old, and being a "stray" could have had even more nutrition problems than she did. We fed her, wormed her, set ourselves up for imminant birthing, and settled in to wait it out. She held out for two weeks, two days. We hoped for a safe and simple delivery, keeping our fingers crossed for three or four kittens.

Birdie's immature body had other ideas. One of the things that kicks cats into labor is when the uterus gets too heavy. Birdie went into premature labor on May 27. She was never able to get into a full labor mode, despite having the first amniotic sac partially out.

It was soon evident to us (we've delivered more than one batch of kittens over the years) that Birdie wasn't having a normal labor. For one thing, she was running about, playing at times, leaping up to her favorite perches (which made us cringe, with that HUGE tummy), eating as usual (which means voraciously - that little cat can pack away the chow), and not settling into a "nest". Her favorite place remained the bathroom sink...


Now that is not only very unlady-like, that is one BIG TUMMY FULL OF KITTENS.

Finally, after hours of online reading, talking to two vets, and keeping an hourly log of Birdie's progress - lack thereof, anyway - the decision was made. With not a little trepidation, I took her in to the vet who would do an emergency spay, and try to retrieve any viable kittens.

Having my mind set on three, maybe four kittens, it was a shock, to say the least, when the vet called to say they had managed to get six of the seven kittens breathing. That's right. SEVEN little kits had been crammed into that abdomen, which explained why it was difficult to feel any movement. The vet staff had done an amazing job of getting those kittens out and breathing. The vet warned me, the kittens were very immature - it was going to be touch and go whether they would survive.

An emergency spay most often results in the fetuses being discarded with the uterus, no matter the stage of development. I had chosen this vet because they would at least try for viable kittens if they were far enough along. Which is a mixed blessing. Saving lives, versus adding to the overpopulation of cats in general. We made it clear that Birdie was the first priority, and if kittens could be saved, we'd do what we could to raise and re-home them.

We stopped by to see them before going to the feed store to pick up kitten milk replacer and feeding bottles - we had no idea if Birdie could feed them all, or how she would take to motherhood. She was definately NOT interested during our visit, but she was still so groggy from the anesthesia, we didn't worry too much. Cats have incredible instincts when it comes to mothering.

We brought her home snuggled into a blanket-nested box. Our first casualties were one of the muted grey and apricot calicos, and the black and grey striped tiger. They didn't survive even the trip home. Through the evening I made two more trips out to bury tiny tiny bodies. A dark black and orange calico, and a little yellow striped baby that looked like her mama.

I fed the remaining kits with a dropper. Only one had any sucking action, the largest of the litter - a black and orange calico with a huge orange heart on her forehead. The smaller muted calico hung in there, but had no sucking reflex. I had little hope of keeping her going. We went to bed, having decided to let nature take it's course.

I was amazed to find the kittens alive and moving and mewing the next morning. Birdie was trying to figure out this "mom" business. I was able to get the dark calico to latch on - hallelujah. She had a chance. I decided to call her Daisy. The small silvery calico was obviously meant to be called Little Mouse.

Birdie struggled with the idea of staying in one place with her babies. She left them frequently, to sleep on cooler surfaces. Her incision, plus milk production, was making her too warm. The kittens, unfortunately, need to be kept VERY warm, being preemies. What a dilemna.

We had to leave for the afternoon. I figured Daisy would do OK, she was in gear. Birdie seemed to be getting the idea of returning to the nest, she was licking and cleaning the babies. But when we came home, it was obvious that Birdie had not stayed in the box with them. The kittens were very cold. Daisy was in trouble. We were never able to bring her back. Our fifth casualty. Little Mouse was such a strong little thing, but I knew her lack of sucking reflex was going to be hard to overcome. She only took drops of milk replacer at a time. She was not gaining or even holding her own.

Sadly, we lost all the kittens. Little Mouse just now died, wrapped in a warm cloth on my lap, as I was typing this.

Our special delivery did not have the happy ending we had hoped and prayed for. But one thing has been a consolation. We believe that ALL things are created in spirit before being born on earth. And when that "body" dies, the spirit separates from the form and returns to the spirit world. Those six kittens had taken breath, the spirits were present. Those special little spirits had had the opportunity of mortal existence and will continue their eternal journey. At some point in our journeys, we will cross paths again. We have a bond.



Birdie is a delightful young cat, a nice companion and pet. She didn't deserve to be pregant then abandoned. Neither did her babes.

If you don't take care of having your pets neutered or spayed, I will come haunt you. And so might they.

The No. 1 Ladies Plumbing Agency

I've greatly enjoyed reading, and then watching the BBC tv shows of, The No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency (written by Alexander McCall Smith, starring Jill Scott). Precious Ramotswe is a native lady of Botswana who is determined to make her own way in the world by becoming a detective - with no help from a mere male. Her guts in tackling the unknown, stick-to-it-ness and sense of humor recently inspired me to venture into the field of plumbing. And it's every bit as puzzling as a detective story, let me tell you!

Mom's bathroom faucet has been running a sneaky leak for a LONG time. It took our newest resident (Miss Birdie) to actually instigate getting it fixed. Birdie loves to sleep in the sink. She gets soaked from the drips. She comes and rubs on Mom. Mom decides it's time to fix the faucet. Now why didn't I think of that?!

So first we have to buy a new faucet. It was fortunate that there were only three choices in the basic, simple style we wanted. The next step up were pretty pricey, and definately too modern in design. So home we go with the shiny new faucet. We declined buying the handy plumbing book at Home Depot("1-2-3 Plumbing for Dummies", I think it was called)- I assured Mom we could save our money for more important things because I could go online and find out how to install this little faucet.

And I did. I watched the YouTube video from Home Depot (at least 6 times), it only took the guy 3 minutes and 15 seconds! He did say plan on an hour - I figured, since it was my first plumbing job, that it would probably take at least two hours. Then I looked at several more sites, taking notes. TMI (too much information) - I liked the video version. I already had 4 post-it notes full of notes, how much more info could I need?

Then it was time to gather the tools. Some searching through tool boxes in the garage provided almost everything I would need. I was grateful that my dad had left such a good supply of tools, and that I had been around Dennis' building projects so I knew what I was looking for and how they were used. I called a retired plumber friend who agreed to lend me a basin wrench, which was the only tool we didn't have on hand. He would drop it off.

But I did need a few things, so I took my short list to Rosenburg's Building Supply, about an 8 minute drive (one way) into Tillamook, and got the caulk and a can of WD40 -that sink was installed about 35 years ago, I thought perhaps some of the fittings might be baulky - more on THAT understatement in a minute.


So here's the tools you need to change a faucet: an adjustable wrench (cresent wrench) or two,
a scraper, and a channel-lock wrench, and some clear caulk, and WD40 (you'll be glad you have that last item - trust me).
A nice shiny new faucet - which thankfully comes with all the innards needed.

After some more reviewing instructions, I decided those post-its were too small, so I took a minute to itemize the steps, complete with check-off boxes, and then I was ready.

Almost.

Here's the view of the scary place. You never want to go here unless IT IS ABSOLUTELY NECESSARY.

Step one: turn off the water with the Shut Off Valves. Check.

Step two: disconnect the stopper mechanism. Check. It hadn't worked for about the last 15 years, anyway.

Step three: use the crescent wrench to disconnect the feeder hoses. Are you impressed with my plumbing vocabulary yet?

Step four: release the faucet assembly by unscrewing the large holding nuts.

Here's where we hit the first delay. The basin wrench hadn't arrived. I had thought that might happen, and while returning from fetching the caulk and WD40 (have I mentioned, you are going to NEED that?), I stopped by another handyman friend's place to see if he had one, which he did, but he wasn't home and his wife had no clue where it might be. But she was expecting him any moment, and would send he along with the basin wrench.

Neither guy showed up by the time I was ready for the wrench. We killed some time. Then mom said, hey, it's only about $10 or so, go get one. So back to Rosenburg's.

This is the plumbing aisle. I took a deep breathe and ventured in.

It definately helps to have grey hair, and a knack for looking totally befuddled, because it only took about 3 minutes for John, the salesman I had talked to on the phone regarding the basin wrench, to arrive. He showed me the basin wrench section, we discussed what I was doing, and he had a lot of helpful suggestions. I didn't tell him I already had most of them in my notes.

If you've never been into the plumbing department, I should warn you: most of the tools look like they came out of a medieval dungeon where they were first used to intimidate and torture people. They have kept that dubious distinction, reincarnated as plumbing tools.

I was very proud for having remembered to get plumber's tape when we first got the faucet. I KNEW that would be on the list, and it was. It's weird stuff, feels kinda like skin - it's very filmy and loves to tangle when you are cutting it. It's made of teflon. Do not cook with it.

It didn't take long for Birdie to arrive for inspection duty. She is very possessive of her bathroom - that's where we keep her litter box, and where she gets fed, and where she is incarcerated when necessary. Notice, the basin wrench has been added to the tool supply.

Now I can get back down to business. Step four was quickly accomplished with the handy basin wrench (and I'd like to know just who named some of these tools). On to Step five: lift off the faucet. Umm. Wait a minute. There's another little problem. Even though the water is turned off, the faucet is still leaking. A brief ponder, and consultation with the plumbing assistant (Mom). The shut off valve must be defective. So was that the problem in the first place??

Called John at Rosenburg's. Yep, that was something we needed to fix. Was it a straight feed or angle feed? What kind of pipe? What size? I was learning plumbing by leaps and bounds. John said to bring in one of the feeder hoses, and he would take it from there.

To remove the valves, the main water supply had to be turned off. That shutoff is underground, out in the front yard. Brother Chris happened by to just in time to take care of showing us how to do that.

Back under the sink. Mom wanted to know how to run my digital camera, so I'm instructing her while wrenching on the wrench. Remember that WD40? I had sprayed the stuffings out of those shut-off fittings several times, as soon as I figured out they were going to have to come off. The cold side wasn't too hard. The hot side refused to budge.

Gotcha, ya little rascal.

Back to Rosenburg's, where I had decided, taking a page from Dennis' repair theories, that both hoses and both shut-off valves were going to be replaced. Two new hoses and valves later, complete with instructions from John, and we were back in business.

I wonder if surgeons keep adding different scalpals and such to their trays, as they proceed? You will notice, the tool array has increased...but now all is ready, for the grand finale'. Towel. Tools. Tape. Scissors (which turned out to be too dull to cut the tape...).

At last, the old faucet was lifted off. Let's see...I think that was about Step five. WAY behind schedule...

Inspector Birdie was on duty.

"Watch where you're putting that thing, my tail is right there, you know."

(I took some pictures while sitting on the floor - I only had so many ups-and-downs in me, so I let my assistant do the above-counter stuff.)

Here's why the scraper was on the list. The old gasket, under the old faucet, has to be removed and then the countertop scraped clean of any sealer. That layer of mold and gunk looks like it might be reaching some semblance of intelligence, after incubating for 30-odd years.

Notice the purple flashlight. It was there for a very good reason. It was holding Birdie's tail at bay. Mom didn't want the cat's tail getting in the new caulk she was applying. I suggested moving the cat. Neither of them liked that idea...

If you ever have the priveledge of replacing a faucet, expect debris.

I was able to install the new faucet, fastening the nuts underneath with the new MTT (medieval torture tool), get the new feeder lines fastened at the top, change out the cold shut-off valve - then we took a break for dinner (yes, I know, it's been way more than two hours - more like about 5 at this point) while we waited for the muscles to show up to teach that hot water shut-off valve a thing or two. I didn't feel so badly when I saw brother Terry using the pipe-wrench (another tool - which I actually knew what it looked like) to hold onto the main line AND the crescent wrench on the fitting. He's really strong, and it still took him some good leverage to get that pest off. It was the leaky one, too. Very corroded.

So then I replaced the valve, using the plumber's tape on the pipe threads, fastened the feeder line, and waited while mom went out to turn the main line back on.


It LEAKED. How insulting. I redid the fittings, with new plumber's tape, being careful to use only one wrap, as John had instructed. "Most people put on too much and it makes it leak."

It still leaked. Rats. So after about 7 hours of working on this project, (which involved getting up and down off the floor - an exercise that is difficult with my glitchy knee and feet), we put a basin under the drips, and went to bed.

Next morning we called a plumber. He arrived in a timely fashion and his first words were: "How much tape did you use?"

When I told him only one wrap, as instructed, he laughed and said, "I bet you almost had it, you should have used at least three wraps!"

Well, that's all it took. Less than 10 minutes later, no leaks. So I felt pretty good about what I had accomplished all on my own (almost). And since he was already there, he went ahead and replaced the stopper unit - which took a hack saw and another hour. I had previously told mom there was no way I was tackling that, I could see it was more than I was able to do, and we'd wait for another opportunity when we actually needed a plumber. Little did I know...

Oh yeah. The guys always have "war stories". So here's mine, complete with visuals. I only dinged my knuckles once, at least that showed any wounds.

But I really nailed myself when the crescent wrench slipped off that stubborn valve. My hand came back (without the wrench in it, thank goodness), and my thumb knuckle caught me right on the cheek while my thumb nail went in my eye! It was covered with WD40 by that time, and boy does that stuff sting. I was almost afraid to look at my thumb, it felt like my eyeball was probably stuck on the end of it...

So just a couple of little cuts, a red (and sore) cheek, and blood shot eye for two days. Not too bad. I didn't feel the sore ribs until the next day, where I had been laying across the edge of the board.

So here's our shiny new faucet, no leaks, a working stopper, and Birdie can go back to sleeping in the sink.

Nothin' to it. All in a day's work (OK, day and a half) for The No. 1 Ladies Plumbing Agency.

Farming In Living Color

A twenty minute drive southwest of Portland, where the rich valley land begins to surge upward to the rolling foothills of the Coast Range, you may come across some of the most vibrantly colored crops of the area.

Near Banks, these yellow fields seem to absorb pure sunlight and reflect it right back.

Farmers are totally dependant on the honeybees for adequate crop pollination...

these fields of 'rape' would only produce a fraction of their oil-rich seeds without the bees.

In case you didn't know, or guess, these are fields of....

That's right! Those bottles of light amber oil in the grocery store come from plants that rival Midas for color.

The tiny seeds, encased in the long pods, are crushed and pressed to release their precious oil. Whether for food or fuel, Canola is an imminently desirable crop. I'm curious about the financial figures on it, maybe I'll do some research. It's definately a specialty crop, you don't see it much in the northwest.

Another color-box crop is the Red Clover. We found some fields close to the canola. Wow! Talk about needing sunglasses!

Oregon's climate, in the valleys between the Cascades and Coast Range, allows for an abundance of seed crops, especially the grasses. These red clover heads contain a small fortune in itty bitty seeds.

Our "quick trip to Portland" stretched throughout the afternoon, as Mom and I moseyed along back roads through countryside we hadn't visited for many years. We are farmers at heart.