RIngs 'n' Things

Grampy and Cheli came up this weekend and Grampy brought me Grammy/Nana/Ma's diamond. I will have it set and in time it will pass to Amy and then Karie, etc. So, here's the story of the diamond. Ma and Pa (Martha and Peter Rasmussen--parents of Nana --Reta Beaman--Grammy's mother) owned a really tiny shed-like building in National City--community south of San Diego in the 1920's or 30's. They rented it out to an old guy--a bachelor. Well, in time he fell in love and bought a diamond solitaire to give his girlfriend. He popped the question. Well, she moved in, cleaned out his bank accounts and left before she got the diamond ring. When his rent was due again, he was out of money because of the girlfriend, so he brought the ring to Ma and Pa and asked them if they would hold the ring until he could get some cash for rent. They said yes, they'd to that. Well, before he could bring the money, he died. They tried to find relatives, but alas, that was unsuccessful. So the ring came into the family and Ma wore it for a time. By the 1950's when we were living next door to Nana--with Ma and Pa next to Nana and Gramps--you remember I explained that situation in an earlier blog--Nana was wearing the diamond. I was practicing piano one day at Nana's house and she was sewing--Nana could sew beautifully--even tailor--and I started watching her sew. I noticed the ring on her finger, and told her it was sooooo beautiful (I must have been around 10 or 11). She said that ring would go to my mother and in time to me--to be passed to the oldest daughter down through the generations. I thought that was pretty cool--at that age I hadn't considered how exactly I would get that diamond--that I would have to lose not only my grandmother, but my mother as well. That part isn't so great, but the diamond is beautiful, and I am going to have it re-set and will pass that ring on to Amy and then Karie. It's a beautiful 1.25 carat flawless white diamond. When I was 12, Grampy gave me a beautiful opal ring with sapphires all around--eight in all--four on each side. He had gotten it from a girlfriend in the Philippines. He had the opportunity to go home early unexpectedly, gave the ring back to her, she got mad and threw it down. He saw where it landed and put his boot (he was in the Army--it was during World War II) down on it and hid it. She decided she shouldn't have thrown it down and was looking for it, but failed to find it and went off in a huff--nothing changes in the world, does it? So, after she was gone, Grampy picked it up and took it home. He gave it to me when I was 12. Many years later it was gone from my stuff. I couldn't find it and I looked all over--it's a long story that you really don't want to hear. During this last visit, Grampy told me he had the ring--apparently, the kids' dad had taken it over and left it on a table at their home when we left after a visit. Daddy thought I had brought it back and wondered about it but kept it. He told me he had it and I was SO happy to hear it. I had looked all over Provo for it but it was gone. The next time I'm in Texas, he said to remind me and he'll give it to me again--after being lost to me for abut 35 years. Yippee!

Janus sight

This is the season for Janus (say "jay' nus"). In fact January was named for him. Janus was the Roman god of portals and gates, of beginnings and endings. He had a face on both sides of his head, enabling him to see backward and forward. This is where I am in our family. I can see back several generations and forward a few, too. I remember my great grandmother, Martha, and also know my tiniest grandchild, Allie--a span of six generations. At the beginning of each year, I am always reminded about precious lives that are no longer with us--probably because that's when we lost Jason. Becoming a grandparent creates a profound change in one's perspective. I saw tiny Jason and knew him--and loved him--immediately. I could pick him out of a group in the hospital nursery--even though we couldn't see the name on his little bed. I experienced a connection that I never expected and was unprepared for. The level of love I have for my grandchildren is inexplicable. Surely it is due to the fact that they're the offspring of my own children, but still, I was unprepared. We believe that our little people belong to us and will always be there. Of course, this flies in the face of the obvious fact that they'll become their own people with distinct personalities from us, grow up and leave us, possibly move far away from us with their sights on their own families and away from us, but we don't think about those things when they're little. Losing my little son was the cruelest event. It became a dividing point in life--before Scott died and after. I thought I couldn't experience more hurt than that. Then I lost little Jason, and not only felt that loss, but also the pain of my own child. I discovered that the anguish of my daughter was not only unbearable, but it was compounded by the loss of the precious grandson. All of this is seen from my own perspectives, of course, and I know I was not the only person in the family affected by these events. But this blog is all about the view from my eyes. Grandma Amy Brown lost two little ones: Irene and Roy. Roy was poisoned when he was two years old playing with rat poison. He and his brother John and a cousin were all poisoned, but Uncle John and the cousin lived. Roy was the littlest and was lost. Irene died of pneumonia at two weeks of age. One of the last things Grandma talked to me about was how hard it was to lose those little people from her life--and this was from a perspective of about 60 years, in the 1990's. She said she looked forward to meeting Irene and Roy and telling them about how wonderful their brothers and sister were! Ma (Martha Rasmussen, my great-grandmother) lost two children, and her response in later years was to put it far from her-and not discuss it. With life experience, I can see that this was due to the great pain she had when she thought about it, and I understand it, but would love to have heard the stories about those two little ones. One of the stories I heard from Grandma Brown was that one of her older brothers was killed (murdered) in Durango, CO many years before as a young man, after leaving a saloon with poker winnings, which were stolen. She told me how her mother (my great grandmother, whom I never knew) mourned for the rest of her life. Grandma was always hurt that nothing she ever did in her life was good enough to compensate for that terrible loss. It was a good lesson for me--long before I knew I would need it. These musings about those gone doesn't make my day (week, month, year) sad. It just brings back poignant memories, little faces no longer here, and makes me even more grateful for the beautiful family I still have.

Lille Juleaften

My great grandparents (Peter and Martha Jensen Rasmussen) "Ma" and "Pa" were Danish. All of their parents were from Denmark. They came to America as Mormon Pioneers and settled in Mantua (man'-too-ay), UT--and they grew up speaking Danish in their homes. After they married they continued speaking Danish between themselves, but not with their children. Thus, my grandmother, my Nana, didn't speak Danish. It ended with Ma and Pa. I remember as a child playing in their home, listening to them speak Danish to each other--it seemed a little magical. One of the traditions their parents brought with them from Denmark was "Little Christmas Eve". The Danish Christmas celebration is on December 24 night. So, the night before that is "Little Christmas Eve" or Lille Juleaften (after the trip across the Atlantic, growing up in Utah and moving to San Diego, it ended up as "lilly yulee outen". An LDS missionary from Denmark knocked at my door once in Provo, and I invited him in. I asked him about this celebration, and he pronounced it "Lil' uh Yul' uh Aften--pretty close I thought. In Denmark, he said that it's a children's thing. They get to eat aebleskivers -- he asked me if I knew what those were (hehehe) -- and rice pudding. I could see from that my children are true Danes! On Little Christams Eve, the adults drink "glogg"--mulled wine, and eat cookies. My great great grandparents (I didn't know them) brought the tradition to the US, but re-worked it somewhat so that it's a trial run for Christmas Eve. The elves fly around the world checking on where the stockings are hung, and leave a tiny morsel to show that they have been there, and to warn the children not to move their stockings or Santa will not be able to find them. Obviously in the early 19th century, since the Danish Santa Claus was a gentleman who wore gray clothing and a red winter cap and brought goodies for good children, it needed a little editing to make the trip to 20th century America! My children's dad, Thomas Michael (Mick) Warner, was also Danish--a little more than I am. I asked his grandmother, Patra King (Kong) Warner (who came from Denmark) about this and she said she knew about it and loved it. She also taught me how to make aebleskivers. I hope everyone in the family can use some of these ideas to enhance their Christmas celebrations.

Weight

I remember my mother's weight yo-yo-ing all my life. I saw her "normal" and really heavy. My grandmother "Nana" (Reta Beaman) was always the same "normal" weight and so was her mother "Ma" (Martha Rasmussen). Mother said she was fat as a child and it followed her all her life. I wasn't fat as a child but got so in my early 20s. OK Bob, I'll join the "biggest loser" family initiative. Here's my December 2008 weigh-in receipt from Weight Watchers. The "Total: -14.4" refers to the amount I have lost since becoming a Lifetime Member in April 2006. Actually in spring of 2004 at my annual physical I weighed 195, then when I joined Weight Watchers in May 2005 I was at 188. During the 6 weeks from hitting my goal until I received my Lifetime Membership, I lost a few pounds and started that part at around 139--or whatever 124.8 plus 14.4 is. My goal weight was 143. My doctor says I shouldn't go below 115 so I have some wiggle room. I guess the absolute maximum I could lose and still be healthy would be around 7 or 8%--I will make 5% be my weight loss goal--maybe 118 pounds. (!) I want to write a little about my sister-in-law Karen (Martin). I am so proud of her, because I do know how hard this is--the maintaining part. She always looked great and the incentive to lose must have been much more difficult to acquire. She looks wonderful and I can learn a lot from her. When Grammy "Enid Martin" lost weight, I was really in her corner cheering her on. I think the main reason I loved it was because it made her so happy. She got new clothes, re-did her hair, went through her days with a "lighter" spirit. I loved seeing her that way. I wasn't really concerned with what she weighed, but I did notice that when she was fatter, she was unhappier. My maternal grandparents (Nana and Gramps) and Grammy's brother (Bruce) never had weight issues that I know of. But I remember Nana talking to me about keeping my weight down--so maybe she did, but had it under control. At that time (I was around 12), my weight was dead normal, so I think she was reflecting her thoughts about my mother onto me. I think Grammy took a lot of heat about her weight from her mother. Maybe Grammy felt her mother's critical eye on her and that added to her unhappiness about being fat. Whatever it was, becoming a tiny lady was one of the very bright spots during her last few years. I loved it for her. I know she was proud of me for my weight loss. Off the subject of weight, the other truly bright spot was her progeny--and they are myriad. She used to say, "We have the most darling babies!" as she surveyed the gallery that Cheli set up around her. She loved looking at the pictures of her babies. One more thing about weight: Grammy hated her wide hips. One of the last things she told me was something about her ugly wide fat butt. Whenever she looked at a picture of herself as a young woman, or even a little child, she commented on how fat she was. It made me think about how entwined our thoughts about our physical body are with our self-esteem. It makes sense, but it can be deleterious to our mental health if we're tryng to love ourselves while hating our bodies. I don't think we can separate the two. So, one thing that Bob's weight loss initiative will accomplish is that our family will emerge with renewed self-esteem, and that's really a good thing. I would encourage everyone to write down his/her weight, and keep track. Whatever method you choose (except fad diets or starvation) is OK, but keep track and we'll see how we do in July when we're all in Texas (Texas in July? Are we sure we have thought this out carefully?)

Warm Christmases

The first Christmas ( 1971) we lived in Provo, UT, my children got up on Christmas morning, opened their presents, ate aebelskivers, and went outside to play with their new things. In about 2 minutes they were back inside because it was COLD out there and there was a lot of snow and ice all around. It had snowed on Haloween that year and had done so off and on and been really cold ever since. Remember we were just up from San Diego, and all four of them (Amy, Eric, Jennie and Scott) sat on the couch sadly looking at their presents that they couldn't take outside to play with. One of them (I have forgotten who) said, "It's not supposed to be cold on Christmas--it's not supposed to snow!". I told them to hold that thought and that I agreed with them, but there it was. They decided that White Christmases were unfair. yep

Avalanche

Thinking about things to write, is like standing at the bottom of the mountain with the snow racing at me. I'll try to write about things I remember growing up--like watching Topper on our new TV on Friday nights with Bobby and my dad. In 1952. after Mother and Daddy were married, they worked at the California Laundry in San Diego. Daddy worked days and mother nights, so we always had a parent at home--they were far ahead of their times. We lived in a house owned by my maternal grandmother, Reta Rasmussen Beaman in San Diego on K Street. There were three houses in a row: our house, then my grandparents, and then my great grandparents. It was a lot of fun having three houses we could go to at any time and people there who thought we were pretty nifty. We used to have door-to-door salesmen often. If we could catch them at our house, we'd tell them no one interested, close the door, and then run out the back door and over to our grandparents' house, race through the house and answer the door there. We'd do it again -- running to our great grandparents' house and answering the door there as well. At that point, the salesmen would usually just shrug and walk away. For a time without computers, cell phones, a Wii, Xbox and only one TV that came on sometimes at noon and had 2-3 channels, it was high entertainment. Our great grandmother "Ma" (Martha Jensen Rasmussen) used to get dressed up (to the nines, really, hat, gloves and coat) walk down two city blocks to the bus stop and ride to downtown San Diego to go to court. She sometimes went every day and followed the trials--she especially loved the murder trials! Even then as an 8-12 year-old, that seemed a little weird. This is the same lady who made lye soap in her back porch laundry room, and hosted elections in her living room--not usually at the same time. I'm pretty sure this is longer than a post should be, so I'll close here. Stay tuned, you never know which direction my gaze will travel.