Family

However they learn, so long as they learn

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My Sons’ room is a mess.

My Daughter is very good at organizing and cleaning.

She made an offer to her brothers, to clean their room for $50. She dropped it to $40 when Youngest said he didn’t have enough money.

Agreement was made, and she’s cleaning their room. Isn’t taking her long, and she’s getting $40 for it. Pretty decent rate of pay.

Wife is a little unsure about this arrangement, but I’m fine with it. Why? Because they are learning a lot.

Daughter is saving money to buy new cymbals for her drums. The cheapest cymbal pack, plus stands and so on? It’s going to run her at least $400, so she’s got a way to go…. but she just made 10% of it. 🙂   She’s setting goals, she’s working towards them. She’s seeing things she wants in life, and tho the kids know I’m willing to loan them money (with interest, of course… everything is a lesson), she refuses to do that because she’s learned that debt is generally to be avoided, especially for non-essentials in life. She’s being resourceful, looking for ways to earn more money, sooner. She’s not afraid of work. I also gave her more lessons in negotiation, which she didn’t have to use with her brothers, but she was enabled with just in case.

The Boys are learning the value of money and time. The landscaping I want in my yard? Sure I could do it and save a lot of money, but it’ll cost me a lot of time, and what else could I be doing with that time? And so, that’s what the boys are seeing… plus it means they don’t have to do something they find unpleasant. But, they’ll learn the bigger lesson when they realize they farted away their time, and also gave up a nice chunk of their money that they now don’t have for other things. But, it’s their money and their time, and they have to learn how to spend them wisely. Perhaps the $20 (each) was a worthwhile tradeoff, because I’ve seen how they clean their room… this way is certainly faster with a lot less complaining and more peace in the household. 😉

Whether good lessons or bad lessons, they are lessons and there are things to be learned.

Bang on the drum all day

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Daughter has been taking drum set lessons for a month now. Yes, we bought an acoustic set (a used Pearl Export 5-piece, older model pre-ISS mounts), no I don’t mind the noise. Actually, I really enjoy listening to her.

I like her teacher because he works not just on fundamentals but also making things fun. There’s a lot to be said for that. Skills are important to develop, but moreso is the love of music.

She’s at a point now where she’s getting some more fundamentals but also some basics of how to get around the set, like the last lesson she started doing some basic fills, mostly just a drill to help her work through the toms and then back into the main beat. Her teacher showed her basic rock beats, but then how to change them up and vary them, especially with bass drum patterns.

So what’s cool isn’t just listening to her practice those things, but starting to experiment and do other things. To just explore. I can tell she’s feeling more comfortable and confident behind the set. I certainly encourage her to just free-form it, experiment, explore, because that’s from where things grow — especially the love of playing.

 

Goodbye, Zoe

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Zoe came into our lives one Labor Day weekend.

We had 2 older cats that we knew weren’t long for the world, so we wanted to get a couple of kittens to bring into the house before the older cats were too old to accept others, ultimately to ease the transition for the children.

So down to the Town Lake Animal Shelter we went. We fell in love with 2 cats, Estella and Zoe. We couldn’t take them home due to them needing to be spayed beforehand, and since it was Labor Day weekend there wouldn’t be any medical work until Tuesday. But they were ours, and the shelter folks put the two of them together in one larger cage area. The two bonded instantly… the kids refer to them as “sisters”, and while they really aren’t, they sure act that way. Quite well bonded to each other.

We’re not 100% sure of Zoe’s age, but we figure she was probably 6 months or so when we adopted her.

That was 7 years ago.

We didn’t think we’d be saying good-bye so soon.

About a week ago we noticed she wasn’t looking right. Zoe was always a secluded and aloof cat, so it’s not easy to notice if something is wrong… especially when it happens so slowly, so gradually. We don’t know how it happened, but in short, liver failure. Once we noticed we took her to the vet. We’ve had her on various medications, I’ve been force feeding her multiple times a day, all sorts of things. But alas, her body had enough and was spent… it just couldn’t go any more. This evening we took her to the emergency vet clinic, they examined, we discussed, and had Zoe put to sleep. 😦

We all took it hard, especially Daughter. Zoe was her cat; they had a bond that no one else had. She worked hard at helping me with Zoe this past week, spent as much time as she could just being with Zoe, sitting with her in the sunlight, or whatever she could do. Daughter was brave until the end, seeing Zoe all the way to the Rainbow Bridge.

Zoe was cool because she wasn’t a typical cat. She did her own thing, she didn’t need you, but yet she did. Her meow wasn’t a typical cat meow either; there’s no way I can describe it, but they were soft and quiet yet expressive. I remember how she jumped up onto things… the way she cleared things made her look like she just effortlessly glided up there; it was so cool to watch. Of course, there was the time she decided to jump onto the railing around the landing at the top of the stairs… then decided to take the flying leap of the railing, down to the tile floor some 15′ down! (she was fine, and of course never did it again).  I’ll remember her most tho for being one of the most obsessive cats I’ve ever known… constantly needing to lick and clean things, especially Estella. She was also rather obsessive about being on things, especially cardboard and boxes (see the picture. There’s a box! I must sit on it!!!). You couldn’t leave a piece of paper on the floor without her deciding she had to be on top of it. I know all cats do that sort of thing, but she took it to a whole new level. 🙂

Yo-yo… we’re going to miss you. Thank you for being a part of our lives.

What’s that pounding in my ears?

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I’m sure my neighbors are going to love me.

Daughter is starting drum lessons.

Drum… set… lessons.

The lessons start next week, but yesterday I got her signed up and last night we went to Guitar Center to get her a pair of sticks and a practice pad. They were out of the method book so I ordered it from Amazon.

By coincidence, it was the first night of Guitar Center’s 2011 Drum Off competition. We stuck around and listened to a few of the folks play. A lot of your rock/metal drumming, but one guy was especially tasty, very smooth.

One thing Daughter noticed? Of all the people lined up to play, there was only one girl. 🙂

I told her it doesn’t matter. It’s not about being a boy or a girl, it’s about being a drummer. If you’ve got chops, that’s all that matters. Oh sure, she will have to learn how to hang with the boys, but having two brothers helps. But in the end, it’s about the music, and anyone that refuses to support and encourage you is as asshole and can go away.

She’s nervous, excited, a little intimidated, and certainly overwhelmed. But she’s happy, so she told me. She’s looking forward to this.

Right now, she’ll stick with the practice pad. Since she’s to learn set, yes eventually we’ll have to get one. People — even the instructor — tells me to get an electronic set. But I’m not convinced, because you just can’t equal what an acoustic set looks and feels and sounds like. We’ll see. If we got that route, I’ll be looking for some basic used sets on craigslist for sure.

And… my neighbors will really, really love me. 😉

Being prepared – bug out bag

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If there’s anything this wildfire situation has demonstrated, it’s that I’m not as prepared as I thought I was.

Sure, we have some preparations in place for sitting tight, like if bad weather rolled through, could we sit tight on the homefront with extra water, food and so on. There are certainly some areas here where we could tighten things up, but we’re alright.

But we’re just not as prepared to bail if we have to. We thought we were, we’re not.

Oh sure, we can get it together, but consider the fires. Here’s raw footage from the Bastrop fires showing how fast a fire can spread:

If a fire broke out in the greenbelt behind our house, we have to leave NOW. Can we do that? Well, we can leave, but we’d be almost empty-handed.

I’ve looked into the concept of “bug-out-bags” for a while, but it was something that always got pushed down the priority list because other things took greater priority. But now? No… it can’t be a lower priority any more: it has to be up at the top.

The helpful thing? Wife has bought into the concept. I have to admit, that it’s sometimes hard to get things going in the household when I’m the only one that buys into it. But if Wife buys into it too, that helps the Kiddos buy into it, and so when everyone’s behind it, things have a better chance of getting done and staying a priority. Plus I think the reality of the fires made things more concrete for the kids, because well… they’re kids, they just don’t have the life experience to put things into perspective, but this sure gave them that perspective.

So, we’re going to be picking up our prep efforts in this area. Building bug-out-bags, and just being prepared. Because well… we hope to never need them, but we’ll be so thankful to have them if we do. It’s just like anything in life: the better prepared you are for when something happens — especially something that catches you by surprise — the better off you’ll be.

Veggies affordable

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Continuing in my veggie saga, the next thing I wondered was how the box of local veggies compared to the local grocery store.

This past Saturday, Wife gathered some prices of veggies at the local HEB. Last night we did some rough math.

We couldn’t do a straight apples-to-apples comparison because the veggies aren’t totally the same, we don’t have scales to weigh out what we have and so on. So it was a lot of estimating and “well, this veggie was the closest thing” and so on.

But more or less it seems to work out, may even be cheaper in some regards… like we got a huge bunch of basil, and herbs are expensive. That there makes up (for) a big portion of the cost.

We’ve got 3 more boxes in our initial “subscription”. Once that’s up, we’ll see what to do from there. Who knows… the farm is trying to raise a lot of up-front capital to purchase more land and are offering things like a 1-year weekly subscription for $1500 (works out to $28.85 per box, and thus a $216 annual savings provided the regular box price doesn’t rise from its present $33). Maybe we’ll do that because we’re going to buy and eat veggies… I’m all for 1. long-term cost savings, 2. if it helps them grow their business, awesome!

Anyways, I’m satisfied in the financial aspect of this and the food/quality and every aspect of this. All feels good to me.

Huzzah!

Tapioca Pudding

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Tapioca Pudding.

Some people love it. Some people hate it.

I love it.

But not just any tapioca pudding. It has to have large pearl tapioca in it. Why? Because it’s fun… or at least, as a kid I sure thought so. I still do.

When my paternal grandmother died a few days ago, I couldn’t help but think of tapioca pudding. She made it for us all the time. For whatever reason, she refused to use the small little “grains” even though she could conveniently buy them at the local grocery store. No… she would drive all the way to the PX to get the large pearl ones. Just for us (me and my sisters).

Any visit to Grandma’s house had this implication of tapioca pudding. We looked forward to it. Sometimes she didn’t have it; maybe a bread pudding or a rice pudding, which were good too, but they weren’t tapioca. It’s those big tapioca pearls in your mouth.. the way it feels.. it’s just fun. I think that’s why Grandma made it for us — the fun.

So when Grandma died, I went online and found a place that sells large pearl tapioca. I ordered some for each of my sisters and some for myself. Younger Sister received hers first and immediately emailed me… she knew, and she thanked me. Older Sister received hers just a few hours ago; I haven’t heard from her yet, but I know she knows. It holds the same special place in each of us.

As soon as my shipment arrived (and I realized that 5# is a LOT of tapioca), I demanded some be made. Wife understood — it’s a memory, it’s a tribute, it’s a memorial. Half a cup of pearls started soaking….

I didn’t realize that they had to soak overnight.

I looked at them. Within 30 minutes they felt soft enough… did they really need to soak overnight? They’d be dissolved and useless, wouldn’t they? But OK… we’ll follow the recipe. And gosh, they are a little bigger from soaking up the water, but they still seem smaller than I remember. Hrm. Is this going to turn out right?

Sleep. Wake. “Come on, Wife… let’s make pudding!” In fact, I gave Wife a bit of a hard time about making the pudding; it had to be a the priority for the day! I didn’t want to miss it. Hanging on to Grandma, just a moment longer.

I leave for a doctor’s appointment and Wife has started cooking. Very involved process… not difficult, just time consuming. You have to tend to it and stir and such for at least 30 minutes.

I return. Pudding.

I dig into it.

It’s not exactly as I remember it… but honestly, I have a hard time remembering it. The last time Grandma made us tapioca pudding was very long ago (she wasn’t well for many of her last years). But the exact flavor and texture didn’t really matter… it was all about the large pearls. 🙂  I fall back to my childhood, to being at Grandma’s house. I see the spoon, the bowl, the pearls, Grandma smiling at us and us smiling back at her.

This is the first time I paid attention to what it takes to make tapioca pudding. No it’s not hard, but it is time consuming. It takes a lot of planning — you can’t just decide to do it and whip it up as some 30 minute meal. You have to think ahead, you have to plan ahead, you have to work ahead. It takes time to obtain the tapioca. It takes time to soak the pearls. It takes time to cook and prepare it. It takes time for it to chill. You have to be thinking of things… you must have these things on your mind, long before they’re in front of you.

I never knew.

But now I know. And I can see… just how much love Grandma had for us.

Feeling worse

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Sore throat still present, now with extra scratchiness!

To top it off… I screwed up my ankle last night.

I had just fallen asleep when I hear this sudden crash from the kitchen, Wife, and various Kiddo voices freaking out. It jolts me out of bed, I run towards the kitchen. Lots of “SASHA! SASHA!” and crashing going on, panicked sounding. I was wondering if the dog got one of the cats? the kids? Completely out of the question. No alarm going off, so no one broke into the house… but all this noise and freaking out! What could it be?

Well….

You see, Sasha likes to help out when someone is doing dishes. Put a dish in the dishwasher rack and puppydog likes to lick off anything she can find. Seems last night when she was done helping she turned to leave but her collar or tags got stuck in the bottom rack and she pulled the rack along with her… which freaked her out, then of course dishes and silverware clinking and crashing, which freaked her out more, but being it was all attached to her she couldn’t get away and so it just continued to be a horrible situation for the poor dog. Wife was able to intercept her, stop her, and free her, but oh the poor dog…. she was so freaked out. 😦

I screwed up my ankle because as I tore around through the hallway I slipped and came crashing to the ground. I was basically crawling into the kitchen last night… the kids said it was quite a sight.

What a mess. 🙂

I’m still all sore this morning, can’t speak well, can’t walk well… but I’m just hoping that Sasha isn’t scarred for life now, afraid of the kitchen, afraid of dishes clinking. Wife did a little “rehab” work with her last night before bed, coaxing her with some treats back into the kitchen. I hear puppy awake now, so I’m going to go see how she’s doing.

Good-bye, Grandma

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I woke up early this morning (as you might tell from the timestamp).

I check my email and this came from my Dad:

Just a message to let you know that [my brother] and I are at our Mother’s bedside in the certain last moments of her 93 years of life. She is in hospice care and not expected to live through the night. At the moment the good Lord calls her home we will have a brief family prayer at the funeral home the next day and a prayer graveside that same day. None of you should worry or make any arrangements to be here. You can pay your respects the next time you are in Omaha. She had an indomitable spirit and strong will to live and gave her two boys great support and encouragement each and every day of our lives.  We revere her and hold her up for your prayers. I will keep you posted. No flowers or worries. I love you all. Dad.

I sit here not knowing what I write. It’s not really a surprise given her health, but she did have such a strong will to live that I guess if she lived for another 10 years I wouldn’t have been surprised at that either.

I remember the big white house on Ruggles Street. Picking crab apples. Curiously picking through the barn when we shouldn’t have. I remember walking down the hallway and stepping on a thumbtack with my big toe. The games we’d play with the blocks and that big steel dumptruck (which my Dad still has)… or games like Waterworks, Sorry, Pit… and our favorite, Rummikub. I spent a lot of time at Grandma and Grandpa’s house as a small child, and there were so many things there that fascinated me. A rush of that is coming back to me now, like the old letter scale, her desk of many drawers, the hurricane lamp, those old green couches that were always scratchy on our legs, the old radios and electric fans, the floor-model TV, the little candy dishes full of those Brach’s mixed bin candies (never liked those coconut neapolitan things, and that’s all that was left in the dish by the time we left… and then the next time we came over if she hadn’t been to the store yet).

Of course, how could I forget… it was Grandma Eleanor that gave us kids black licorice. Every time we’d visit, we’d so look forward to that as we only got it at her house. Technically it was Grandpa’s, but she always slipped us a piece if we were good. 🙂

I can see her face… heck, I remember when we’d act up and she would warn us “Don’t make me cross with you!” and boy you shaped up. How she would make us breakfast. It was the first time I had Shredded Wheat… no, not the frosted mini-ones, but that one big biscuit. Or the first time I had Grape Nuts and poured a big bowl (how’s a kid supposed to know!!), and while Grandpa forced me to eat it, she saved me from it. Heck, even little things like how there was always a tub of margarine on the dinner table.

Little things a boy remembers, eh?

Oh… and then there was how she would cook for us. When she knew we were coming to visit, she would travel all the way down to the PX, no matter how far out of the way it was, to buy tapioca for us. Not the little grains, but the big tapioca balls (the size of large peas) and make pudding for us. That was my favorite. Or her bread pudding… oh so good. Heck, as I write this, I can see her in the kitchen of the later house off Pacific Street, in the kitchen there cooking… putting the prep scraps into old plastic bread bags as she went along.

And then, the organ. You know, it was always us kids that messed around on the organ, but I swear I recall her playing it a time or two. The song “Drink To Me Only With Thine Eyes” comes to mind, not sure if she played it but I know it was in one of those songbooks she had and I recall thinking it had a funny name.

One thing she liked to do with us was take us to the Humane Society. We’d go there with her, pet all the animals there, especially the cats. Maybe that’s where my love of cats started. She always had pet dogs (Puddin’!), and we didn’t have cats in my house growing up until later… so maybe it was from Grandma and all those visits that made me into a cat person. 🙂

She always took care of us. She never defied her husband, but she was always the foil/counter to a lot of his gruffness.

As I reflect back while I write this set of disjointed memories, one thing I realize is how much of my memories are from me as a young boy. I think that’s because the majority of my interaction with her was then. As she got older, eventually Alzheimer’s set in… heck, I remember after my Grandfather died she turned in the old station wagon (in which the A/C was always on “bi-level” and low fan speed, even in the worst summer heat… ugh!) and she got a bright red Chevy Blazer, eventually she realized that it wasn’t best for her to be on the road any more and she gave the keys up. She was able to come for my wedding, but then I’d recall when we’d visit we might talk but you could see her struggle with her memories… looking through a photo album and swearing she knew the people in there, but there was no way she could. It just broke my heart. But once things really set in, she just became happy. We’d visit her and while she likely didn’t know who we were, she was so happy and happy to see us. I recall the last time we saw her how much she just watched Youngest and was just drawn to him. Even tho she never could know my children, I’m glad they got to meet her, even if it was only a fraction of who she was.

Update: I just got off the phone with my younger sister. She called me, crying a bit, which of course is understandable. But we quickly turned the sadness into a great celebration of rememberance and she reminded me of so much more: the bingo set (we LOVED that little cage to roll around the balls); the stuffed koala bear; the Wooly Willy; the tea cups with the faces; those old perfume “vaporizer” with the little squeeze bulbs. I forgot how she called Kool-Aid “bug juice”. As I was talking to Younger Sister about riding in the car with Grandma (she too remembered the bi-level A/C), I found myself sitting in the front seat of the station wagon sitting next to Grandma and remembering all her purses… they were so neat. How we’d all be out in the backyard catching fireflies. How when we’d come over for an extended stay, she’d have towels and washclothes set out for us… but the neatest thing was always her Neutrogena soap… the clear/amber stuff.  And of course, how she would say “Well!” with this cute little twisted smiling face. I could never convey that here and do it any justice, but I see it clearly in my mind’s eye. Thank you, Sis, for the updated memories. 🙂

And I just remembered something she used to say every time she saw a ladybug: “Ladybug, Ladybug fly away home. Your house is on fire and your children will burn!”.  When we were kids that was just cute… looking back upon it in later years, it sounds terrible! But it was just our Grandma being funny.

She was tough. She was tenacious. She was firm and strict, but fair. While she may not have been the most lovey-dovey, you could see in every action the love and care she put into things. Always carried herself as a lady.

Thank you for everything, Grandma. I love you. I’ll miss you. Enjoy freedom.

Happy Birthday, Dad

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My Dad turns 70 years old today.

Normally I try to refrain from posting too much personally identifiable information here, but Dad’s been a public figure for most of his life so it’s not hard to figure his birthday and age. Anyways….

Thinking about my Dad turning 70 is difficult for me to accept. Something about that number signifies that you’re truly old. Sure, you turn 40 and joke about being old, but you’re not really that old yet. But 70? Sure, 100 is older, but you can’t find any way to finagle 70 into being celebrating your 29th birthday for the 42nd time. And so with that comes having to admit that Dad’s time with me remains limited.

Am I the best son in the world? I don’t know. Is he the best Dad in the world? I don’t know. I do know that he’s the only Dad I have, and I’m the only son he has. So for better or for worse, we all we’ve got.

But really, it hasn’t been all that bad. In fact, I’d say it’s pretty good. I am who I am today because of him, and so I’m grateful and thankful.

It’s always a hard thing that catches you by surprise — that first day something flies out of your mouth and then you realize, “Shit! I sound just like my father!” You hate it, you hate to admit it. But then you find those moments happening more often. When you start to look at them collectively, you realize it’s really a good thing — at least, if your father raised you right and well. I figure my Dad did just that.

He installed a strong work-ethic in me. I remember there was a time while growing up that he’d always come home and say to me “Son, what did you do today that was productive?”  Now, still to this day I relish the notion of having a day without any productivity because sometimes being one with the couch and idiot box is a nice thought. But I’ve come to find that it’s only that — a nice thought. If I wasn’t truly productive today, I feel like I wasted my day. I no longer appreciate days full of sloth, lethargy, and slack. If I didn’t get something done, I’m pissed! In fact, I find that accomplishing milestones every day towards greater goals brings me a great deal of joy.

All from Dad’s nagging in my youthful years. 🙂

One odd thing is how Dad influenced my parenting style. Because of Dad’s job, he wasn’t around all that much. I used to hate him for that, because all the gifts and money and whatever in the world still deprived me of the thing I wanted most: him. I have one memory of a time in grade school. Parents were to come to have lunch with their children. Older Sister’s day was prior to mine, and I recall when they came for her day, before they left they came over to my class’s table to say hello to me. All my friends were shouting out “Hey, Mr. Daub!” and gosh if I didn’t feel like the coolest kid with the coolest Dad. I couldn’t wait for them to come eat with me on my day. Then on my day, I reserved a seat on either side of me, the placemats I had spent hours making were ready…. and, my parents never came. I was crushed. And obviously it made quite and impression on me, because I can still feel that crushing emotion today. That, along with other things about my growing-up years well… on the one hand, that my folks weren’t around afforded me a lot of freedom which was cool. But on the other, I longed for doing things with them and the lack of them hurt. So I resolved when I was a parent, I’d be around.

I’d say that between my working from home, Wife and I homeschooling the Kiddos… that yeah, my kids have probably already been around their parents more in their short lives than most people are around their folks in a lifetime. 🙂  If you saw our family, you’d see how tight we are. I’m happy of what I’ve been able to cultivate here.

All because of my Dad.

Now granted, that seems like a bad thing… that Dad did bad. Well, yeah… it wasn’t what I wanted, but it worked out alright because it helped me become a better person. And when I look at it, I consider what my Dad did. He worked hard because of his Dad, his work ethic… but also because his Dad didn’t provide him with much, so my Dad strove to be better than his own father. That’s just how it is: we always want to be better than our folks. Of course, I’m sure in some way I’m screwing up with my kids and there’ll be something they think I sucked at and will resolve to improve upon. So the cycle goes.

One more thing. My Dad’s been a politician for most of his life. For the most part, I hate politicians, because the field tends to attract a lot of scumbags and assholes. But I’ve always felt my Dad was different, and not just because I’m biased as his son. I’ve tried to look objectively at my Dad and what he’s done. He went from being a Federal politician to being a local one. Folks, that’s not how most politicians work: they all want to climb the ladder of power (and corruption). I believe my Dad understands the notion of being a public servant and working to truly serve the people, even if they didn’t agree with him. It’s funny… throughout my life I’d be out with my Dad and he’d be politicking and I’d be standing off to the side waiting for him. Lots of people would come up and talk to me. One thing I often heard from folks? That they didn’t like or agree with my Dad — but they respected him. Why? Because he stood up for his principles. He wasn’t some typical wishy-washy, spineless, substance-lacking, two-faced stereotypical politician that pandered to everyone and served no one but themselves. He had his convictions, they were always well thought out, well-reasoned, well-researched, principled, sound. Even if you didn’t agree with him, you couldn’t help but respect him  (and remember, respect is something earned… he was that compelling). To that, it’s an ideal I only hope I can live up to. I strive to be a man of integrity, of conviction like my Father’s. You can hate me if you wish, but that’s good… because it means I stood up for something. Winston Churchill may have said that, but my Dad taught me that.

All in all, Dad… it’s been good. I know it’s taken years — probably more years than you planned on — for some lessons to sink through my thick skull, but I hope they finally have. I hope I’ve done you proud. I know I’m proud to call you Dad. I love you.