In Memoriam

 

(The above photo is from our 1995 SCPD Christmas Party. Lola reposted it a couple days ago before she left us. She's the tiny, non-smiling blonde in the back row. Yes, I was wearing heels.)

If you are fortunate, you encounter giants in this life. They are not always large in stature, some are small and feisty and take zero grief from anyone.

If you are really lucky, you will find a personal giant. That giant will come equipped with a fire and determination to drag you into the best iteration of yourself you can be. Usually despite your best efforts otherwise. 

Giants accept no excuses because they’ve lived it. Done it. Handled it all. They only know to create a way forward when the rest of us are still scattered. Their impact is felt in the moment and far, far beyond.

I don’t know that I can ever encapsulate this particular giant of mine with mere words but I need to try…

When I left SCPD dispatch - in the midst of our local police department joining with the county and becoming Netcom -  I wrote something for Lola and had it framed to commemorate the significance of my time with her. When I gave her what I’d written, she teared up. Then was immediately annoyed because she never made me cry in training. (That she knew of.)

She challenged my naive 20-something self to be so much more than a job. In enumerable ways, she taught me about life. To show up and do your best. That excuses are for the unprepared. How to be generous with people but give no quarter. (She would totally use other words there.) And above all else - do the right thing. If only because it is the right thing.

She demanded these things in no uncertain terms.

I loved working for her. Even when I got in trouble for not knowing where an overpass was in a verbal pop quiz. Thank you Mike Pruger for graciously accepting the spur-of-the-moment patrol ride along. Driving me to said overpass and waiting while I walked across it as instructed. Despite the fact that when you went in service you announced over the radio there was a “banished dispatcher” with you.

PS I’m also pretty sure that was the night I saved your sunglasses as they slid across the dash towards my open window during a pursuit. You’re welcome.

Personal calls were not allowed in dispatch because all lines were recorded and potentially could be material in a trial. Lola was the one who had to weed through the audio, capturing the pertinent sections as required. Sometimes though, ahem, personal calls were made and we took great delight in the midst of said calls, shouting “Hi Lola!” just so she wouldn’t be bored while listening. 

She was especially understanding when she found me dancing and lip syncing on a graveyard shift to a boom box we had in the corner of dispatch. To my credit I finished the song despite our super awkward eye contact. To her credit she merely shook her head and went back to her office.

There are people who come into your life and alter it forever. Usually you don’t recognize it in the moment with the impact only becoming clear later on. But oh, sometimes you know it right then and you relish every margarita and tortilla chip, dance, and story you are privileged to share together. 

Lola Crain, there will never be another human being like you.

She Still Looks For Me

 A millisecond is less than an eye blink. Science-y people can address this in greater detail and in ways I cannot fathom. My sociology/criminology degree only goes so far. 

What I do know is this: in the instant registering victory or failure, my daughter looks for me. In a moment demanding response, my girl checks to see I am there. 

It’s quicker than the catch of a pop-up. Or its drop. Faster than a solid hit. Or the last swing of a strike out. More rapid than a stolen base. Or bunt. Or getting called out.

It is an infinitesimal shift disguised as a glance. To find me. To make sure I see her. And I am there. I see her. Every time.

I can write a bunch more words about all this - lord knows I have that capacity and inclination. But somehow this particular exchange between us seems sacred and I will honor it.

Very soon she’ll realize she can validate her own self and doesn’t need my presence nor approval. It’s going to absolutely crush and delight me in equal parts.

That time is nearer than I’d like but that’s how this all works. I adore the honor of watching her evolve and grow. Even as she moves beyond me…because, oh, that’s the good stuff right there.

It all feels so fast. And I’m nowhere near ready. But it’s not about me at all. 

For now, for today’s game, she still looked for me. That is enough. 

Words and Moments

My dad and I loved what he’d call ‘visiting’ with each other. I’ll be real, we both just enjoyed talking and we could certainly each hold our own. Whether at the kitchen table, a restaurant, or especially at a book store with a coffee after some book purchases!

Some talks were anecdotal and humorous. Dad: “Did I ever tell you about…?” Family stories passed down and I was never quite sure what was actual truth and what was embellished in the interest of a good story. I enjoyed them all the same. Still other conversations as adults were deep, meaningful, and sometimes unwieldy. 

In those challenging discussions, we didn’t always agree but it made the interaction more significant. When someone you love and respect presents an opposing viewpoint, you probably should take a pause. At the very least, quit planning the next thing you intend to say and simply be open. Breathe.

I treasured the times dad asked for my opinion because he really wanted to know my thoughts. We’d share quotes and poems from our favorite authors. One was Frederick Buechner. Look him up for his vast CV. Most importantly, Buechner wasn’t afraid to dig deep and question. That immediately made him one of my ‘top ten.’

I sent this quote to dad a few years ago and just re-read it before a wonderfully healing yoga practice:

Dad’s response? “Buechner does it again! I love you the most, Jules.”

Note to self today? Timing is everything. Thanks daddy, I hear you loud and clear.

Grandma Opal and Her Pin Curls

Every night Grandma Opal ‘set’ her hair. With a bit of water, she’d wind some strands of hair into a tight circle and secure it with criss-crossed bobby pins. She did this around the edges of her entire head. 

The tedious ritual added numerous minutes to her nighttime regime, but she still did it faithfully. In the morning she’d take the pins out and coax out the curls. And then she’s back-comb the heck out of the top of her head.

(Sorry, Grandma, I said heck.)

She only washed her hair a couple times a week. When she did, she’d go into the laundry room, turn on the dryer, kneel on a folded towel and stick her head in the running dryer. This was WAY before safety precautions.

I’ll never forget the first time I saw her do that. 

The discipline with her hair was mirrored in the rest her life. Her kitchen, for one, she’s save two green beans to put in her infamous Friday Night Casserole. Leftovers from the entire week, usually covered in cheese and baked. Somehow it was always oddly delicious.

The way she kept her house. Everything had it’s spot and lord help you if you moved it. She wouldn’t say anything but you best believe that knick-knack would be in its rightful spot within 5 minutes. I’m thinking now she probably dusted every dang day for it to be that clean…all the time.

(Sorry, Grandma, I said dang.)

But the one thing I’ll never forget is her strength. When my Grandad died so suddenly, although she had to be reeling, she was still serving. At home, at the viewing, at the service, and the reception. Checking in on her kids and grandkids, loving us through it all.

I had driven over from the coast for the days-long celebration of Grandad’s life. We congregated in the home that had given us all so much love. Family was abundant and helped buffer the harsh shock of loss. We sang and cried and laughed and then cried some more.

I’d planned on staying just two houses down with my parents that night, but I saw Grandma sit down (finally) and went over to her. I took her hand and whispered, “Do you want me to stay here tonight?” She smiled at me and said, “Tonight I want to be with my husband.”

I can only imagine what that night was like for her. 

That comment has stuck with me since then and I think about her often when I face something challenging. A thing that blasts in out of nowhere and makes you question it all. I know without a doubt I get my stubbornness from her. (Because she told me so!) I’m hoping to carry on the strength part too.  

My Daddy

 I’d get these phone calls from my dad - which I’ve give anything to receive today - and he would leave this message if I couldn’t answer. There was this thread of joy in his voice and it was everything.

“Hey Juj, it’s Dad calling. It’s 8am my time and I was wondering what you are up to today. I hope you are doing something fun. I love you the most.”

His particular phrasing and the lilt in his tone immediately brought back all that was good in my childhood. He managed to infuse delight in every word.

In this period of time, Dad was on the West Coast and I was living on the East Coast, thus his need to distinguish time zones. As if our ridiculously expensive smart phones wouldn’t register the difference.

My favorite thing about these messages is his use of a nickname that HIS dad had initially given me. And that he always announced he was the person calling and when he was calling. Again smart phones.

I just really miss him.

We All Need Some Fresh Air

Somewhere, in the midst of all this crazy time at home - my nephew texts me. He asks what I’m doing for the next couple days. I respond, “Being awesome. But other than that not much.”

He tells me he wants to come visit & I was immediately all in, because Drew brings the party and joy wherever he goes. And boy do we need that right now. 

His 6 foot 6 inch self showed up here yesterday around dinner time. We set off on a mini tour of our little town & in search of some quality grub. We found that in giant cheeseburgers and fries. And awesome family stories.

After dinner we came back to our place & rewatched ‘Godzilla’ while Drew & Ella carried on a legit convo of Marvel vs. DC characters. I am pretty much always astounded at my 12 year old’s grasp on cinema, what she likes, and what she ‘stans.’ I was merely a witness to the back and forth dialogue and loved every minute.

These unexpected moments are the ones that re-fill my reserves. 20 year old nephews carving out time for family. Making quality cousin time and finding ways to connect. It was so fun to watch. Reminded me of MY cousins that I love so much!

All this just really points to the testament of how my brother parented his 3 kids & 2 bonus kids. He was honest, open, and at times strict. But it was all done with so much love. He is my parenting hero!

Before Drew arrived, my brother sent a text saying, “Have fun with my son!” It just made me grateful all over again for my family. 

This One

She was born in my heart. No doubt about that. I’ve made a purposeful decision to parent without judgement, to welcome and gently direct this beautiful person. It is the best thing I’ve ever done. 

I’ve given her the power call me out if I overstep into her space & squash her feelings. Because I do. Often. We clash about dumb stuff - how ‘I think’ her room should be, or how she should handle her business with friends. And school...ugh. Thanks Covid-19.

We are two separate people but we truly respect each other. We have a dialogue that works for us. We use words as much as we can. And when they fail, we say, “I need space.” 

She is so pure & resolute with her emotions. I know people say parenting teens is so hard. And it is, for sure. But, oh, it can be SO good!

Yesterday, we sat on the couch and read together for over an hour. We shared parts of what we liked about our books & ways we could make real life better. She has brilliant ideas, I’m encouraged for our future. 

Then she said: “I like hanging out with you because you’re interesting.”

And that’s possibly the biggest mic drop ever.

Whatever happens next? Well, that’s just extra icing on the cake. Or, the guacamole for your nachos.