A Dash of This and a Dash of That

The smells of Autumn are so intoxicating. Whether it be mulled apple cider simmering on the stove, a cooling pumpkin pie tucked away on the window sill or the crackling embers of a wood burning fireplace, these aromas envelop you in a comforting warmth, much like that special blanket, made by your grandmother just for, you as a child.

My maternal grandmother was a fantastic cook, and especially loved to bake. As a young girl, I recall sitting at her kitchen table during our visits, intently watching her transform mounds of flour and sugar, combined with eggs by the dozen, with a dash of this and a dash of that, into a colorful array of decadent cookies, cakes, pies and candy. My sweet tooth begging, for just a taste, a lick of the spoon or even better, the chance to wipe clean, with my finger, the remnants off the mixing bowls that cluttered the kitchen counter top. I would eagerly wait for the timer to buzz, hardly able to contain my delight as she removed sheets and tins from the oven, a beautiful composition of scents, transfusing the air as she arranged them strategically about the kitchen to cool and firm.

With a sparkle in her eye, she would allow me the special privilege of sampling the goodies before they were fully cooled. With a tall glass of milk setting next to me, to cleanse my palate between bites, I would devour the sticky, gooey, goodness, leaving neither a crumb, nor morsel behind on my plate. I felt so special, so loved during these Sundays of baking with my grandma. She passed away when I was just 16 years old and with her, died the recipes that were only recorded and stored in her memory alone.

Years later, my mother and I together, would reminisce about earlier days, she herself recalling the same sort of experience that she had as a girl with both her maternal grandmother and mine. A familial art form, now fragmented along the thread of our lineage. These enduring memories remain eternally intact within my sensorial consciousness, as I am easily transported back to my place at the kitchen table at grandma's house every mark of Autumns commencement, and in my own unique attempt at replicating these same ever-lasting recollections for my own children and eventually, theirs, I find that same comfort, she gave to me and wear it like a blanket warming me to my core.

A Halloween Tale

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We can all list events in our lives that have profoundly changed us. In one moment, we're one way and in the split of a second, we are forever different people. One such event in my life was the time I learned of my mom's cancer diagnosis. As adult children, we stand by and watch our parents age. Many of us have also seen our parents get sick, some recover while some do not. My mother was one of the unfortunate ones. She received a terminal diagnosis and within a couple of months, passed away just a few months shy of her 61st birthday. I was a just few months shy of my 33rd birthday when this happened- much too young for my mom to lose her life and much too young for me to lose my mother. She was an extremely important figure in my world and even though eight years have elapsed since her death, the pain is just as real and just as intense. The following post is part one of this story.

I choose to write about this now because I learned of my mom's terminal diagnosis on Halloween Night 2002. As each Halloween Night approaches since that time, I relive the true horror that is only supposed to happen in B movies, not in real life, especially mine.

Back tracking a bit, I will say that there were signs that something bad was looming. She had been sick on and off for several years, mostly related to bronchial issues. She had been a smoker for 40+ years, but ironically, had finally quit her habit just the year prior to her death after being told she had emphysema.

In the summer of 2002, we spent a few weeks together which was a normal occurrence with us. I was living in Seattle at the time and she and my dad were still living in the same house I grew up in. She made the trip out to see me 2-3 times each year, on the average, spending about a month each time. My family and I, would also make frequent visits to see my folks, usually for holidays and vacation times. During that Summer, my mom had been out to see me and then our entire family enjoyed several days, vacationing in Mexico.

The following month of September, my mom began to feel under the weather. For several weeks she felt as if she had the flu and just couldn't shake it. Her symptoms became increasingly worse until eventually my dad took her to the emergency room after she had an episode in which she experienced severe shortness of breath. She was admitted into the hospital that night and there commenced a week long ordeal of every test one could have. All tests came out negative. On the last day, one of her doctors ordered a lung biopsy. She had already undergone a chest X-ray, just as she had numerous times over the years, which never showed any signs cancer. I knew she was having the biopsy done and throughout the day, I felt an uneasiness that I just couldn't get rid of.

Halloween 2002 fell on a Thursday that year. I had been busy at work and rushed to pick up Ben at his daycare, ran home to feed Zach, Samantha and Ben and then get ready for trick or treating. I hadn't heard from either of my parents that day, but wasn't too concerned as I believed that no news was good news. With the children all dressed in their costumes, we proceeded to go around the neighborhood. David took the older kids out while I took Ben to a few select houses of friends and family, as he was only around 20 months of age at the time. I remember it being so cold that evening and the streets were slick with rain that had fallen earlier that day. The autumn leaves from the tree lined streets formed big piles along our path. Ben, adorned in his dinosaur costume, would attempt to jump into each pile as we walked. Since his costume was so thick and constraining, he kept getting stuck in the piles, unable to stand himself up.

The bitter coldness of the night, drove us home earlier than I had expected. Once home, I removed Ben's costume and put him to bed. David, Zach and Samantha had not yet returned at that point. I then began my nightly ritual of tidying up around the house and preparing for the following morning. As I washed leftover dinner dishes, the phone rang. I saw that the call was coming from the hospital in which my mom was at. I answered the phone, fully expecting my mother to start asking about how our evening of trick or treats went, but instead, the first words that still clearly echo in my mind to this day were, "Are you sitting down?" In that very moment, my heart sank and I knew what she was about to tell me before she uttered anything more. I slumped down into a kitchen chair, collapsing, really. My eyes began welling up with tears. my voice all but vanished. All I could muster was a very meek, "yes".

She began to explain to me that the lung biopsy showed that she had stage 4 lung cancer. It was inoperable since the kind of cancer she had was more of a filmy coating around the lungs rather than an actual tumor. I sat motionless in my chair, unable to speak or move. Panic set over me and I told her I'd have to hang up and call her back later. I dropped the phone and dropped to the floor, sobbing uncontrollably, primal cries originating from the very core of my being.

David and the other kids arrived home at some point during this time. I could barely speak as I tried to relay to him the news I had just been given. After some time had elapsed, something took over my body and by some sheer force of will, I was able to compose myself so that I could phone my mother back as I said I would. I first spoke to my dad who in his pain, was rattling off technical details that neither one of us cared about at that moment. Even though I know that I spoke to my mom after that, I can't remember doing so. I can't remember anything further about that night- its all just a fuzzy blur.

In a little over one week, Halloween will be upon us once again. Much of what happened earlier that fateful night will be repeated just as it has every Halloween since. Rushing to eat dinner, dressing the kids in their costumes, walking the neighborhood for tricks and treats and finally, a quiet moment at the end of it all, in which I remember my mom and think how nice it would be to share with her the days festivities as I had so looked forward to doing that Halloween night of 2002.

Basic Training

I would say that I lead a somewhat complicated life- Most people would probably say the same, as we all play a number of roles to a number of people, day to day, week to week.

Stating the obvious here, I will start with the basics. I am a mother to four children; three are my own biological kids- my eldest is deceased (William, Ben and Mackenzie) and my fourth child (Jack) belongs to my husband, Keith. I have been a wife to three seperate men and a step mother to four children total, a sister to one older brother, Jeff and the daughter of my deceased mother, Sandra and my very much alive, father, Richard. I am also a step daughter to my father's second wife, Jill and now have two step-brothers, Thomas and Simon, in addition to their respective families. I have a large extended family, some in Northern California, some in Seattle, Washington and still more in various parts of the UK and Ireland.

By profession, I am a currently a domestic engineer without any sort of degree to back it up and a social worker in my previous life which ended over three years ago. I miss working outside the home for a variety of reasons. At some point, I hope to go back to work or school, but at this stage, its not practical for reasons I'll delve into later.

I live in a modest home, in a modest neighborhood located somewhere within the great Inland Empire (AKA- the 909). Keith is an attorney who manages his own practice and dabbles in many different areas of law, however, most of his cases are family law cases which involve families going through divorce, custody and all the stuff that happens along the way. He works long hours, sometimes weekends and travels occasionally for out of town clients. Being married to an attorney is not glamorous at all. His work takes so much from him, both physically and emotionally. Sometimes, I feel I only get the leftovers and resentment has built over time because of this.

We've been married for 2 years now, together for over 3 and as much as I'd like to say its all been perfect, it hasn't and it won't ever be. I'm not trying to be cynical or pessimistic, but marriage is hard and just like most things, the reality doesn't live up to the fantasy. I love Keith very much and I love our blended family. After 2 prior failed marriages, I am motivated to do everything I can to make "us" work by learning to accept, forgive and be more accountable for my own actions. A relationship is the product of two, never one and so I accept that I am one half of the equation and the only part in which I have any control over.

I manage the kids and the homestead, doing most of the cooking, cleaning and child rearing, although I have to admit that Keith pulls his weight around our home more than most and so I can't do much complaining on that front. I don't enjoy housework very much, if at all. In fact, I can think of a million other things I would rather be doing in place of it and most of the time, I put things off for as long a s I am able. My children are a joy to me most of the time, but challenging in ways I never thought possible. I constantly worry about the kind of mother I am and just hope that some of the parenting choices I make, are the right ones.


Most of my days are spent at home, looking after the kids and transporting them to activities. I don't have any friends in the area, mostly because I never put myself out there to meet anyone. My father and his wife live part time in the house I grew up in down south and the other part, in England which is where Jill is originally from. My brother, Jeff resides in San Diego. My very best and dearest friend, Marlo lives about 45 minutes away from me- which is just far enough to make it difficult to see her as often as I would like, but in spite of this obstacle, we do try and get together a few times a month and speak daily by phone.

The other friends I have are scattered about, and most of our contact is either online or by phone. Life can be very isolating for some and I feel I fall into this category. I realize that I could easily fix this by putting myself out there more than I have, more than I do, but sadly, it feels like more effort than its worth. With age, comes the wisdom that the people who have known you for a long time are the ones that are most valuable. New friends are important too, but it seems harder to build deep and lasting friendships the older I get.

I also struggle with depression from time to time- having good days and bad, but always thinking about how I can improve myself, therefore keeping the depression at bay. I try to be hopeful about the future while at the same time, being realistic with my expectations. I admit that my past has had way too much influence on my present and this realization is something I need to work on changing if I ever expect to change my circumstances.

I guess my basics turn out to be not so basic, as complexities emerge through simple description. As I read though this post, I almost feel like Eeyore from Winnie the Poo, so down trodden and sad, but truthfully I really believe that life isn't so pretty for most, as very few escape troubles, whatever troubles they might be. My attitude is not quite as dire as it may appear to be, but notable enough to warrant an adjustment which is the point behind the telling of my tale. You can't change what you don't acknowledge- I think I just quoted a Dr. Phil colloquialism.. . .