Clover Lane

My brother is once more "famous" :). 




His beautiful pieces of art are now in Anthropology and they go quickly so get them while they are hot.  I LOVE THIS LINE!!!  It makes me think of spring!

When Andy was little he was "my" baby (he is the youngest of five, I am the second oldest) and he was so sweet and chubby and took life at his own pace and ALWAYS has, which makes me admire him even more.  He noticed all the little beauties of nature and felt no need to rush and my dear mother and father honored that about him.  (Remember that, moms of kids who move at their own pace-these kids are the smart Godly contemplative ones after all, who live in a crazy world of stress but refuse to take part.)

After college he moved to be with the love of his life, Rose Marie, in Kilkenny County Ireland, where Rose has a pottery shop in a castle yard.  Their work complements each other in so many ways-work at home and work in the shop.  They have two lovely children who we all adore-even when they say naughty things (which I never think they do) they say it with an Irish accent which makes us all think it's the cutest thing in the world and we can't help laughing which might or might not annoy their parents. 

His work has been featured in Architectural Digest and so many other publications I can't keep up.  His pieces have been sought after far and wide.  He is a testament to following a dream, and being true to your inner soul. 

Love this interview with my Uncle John (my mom is his oldest sister) and everything he has to say about hard work, competition, the drive that is necessary as the sole provider for his family, growing up in a big family, peas and toast mentality (you get what you get and you like it!), the "Greatest Generation", and my wonderful Aunt Kathleen who is one of my top mother mentors.

You know that line in Napoleon Dynamite where some kid on the bus asks, "What are you going to do today Napoleon?"  And Napoleon answers, "Whatever I want to, GOSH!"

My Dad has been retired a couple of years (not sure exactly-has it been that long?) but if you asked him that question he would have answers like this, every single day:
"Bailing hay for 8 hours."
"Tapping trees and hauling 300 buckets of maple syrup."
"Chopping and stacking wood."
"Re-landscaping the front yard."
"Pruning an orchard of apple trees."
"Putting up 40 jars of strawberry jam."

Last week I called him-my mom was out of town for a week or two and I was checking up on him.  It was about 8 o'clock at night. He said he just got in from chopping wood and was in the middle of making an apple pie.  I was ready for bed and exhausted.  He is 74!  (By the way, my mom flew to Indonesia by herself for 2 weeks because she was asked to train Montessori teachers. See what I'm up against?)

I am happier than heck I have the example of my parents- they taught me and continue to teach me what it means to serve others, to live a full and happy life, to work hard.  No sitting around and griping about illness (and let me tell you-my Dad has been through alot health-wise but you would never know it) and the weather and all that old people talk.  I laugh to think of my parents on a cruise ship buying gold and sipping fancy drinks and hot tubbing during "retirement".  Ha!  That will never happen, I'll bet my last dollar on it.  And I love it.  I'm so proud of both of them.

A few photos I took of a beautiful baby girl, Finley Rose:




My favorite:  (it could be my obsession with swaddling that makes this my favorite?)

So many memories add up to make a childhood don't they?  And to make an impression of a person you keep with you for a lifetime.

I can remember rushing to my mom's stationary drawer at 4:00 p.m.  I was little...4, 5, 6?  I'd go there often to write notes to my Dad, and when I saw his car working it's way down the street after work...I would actually hear it crunch first on the stones....I would burst out the door and run my little note to him as he got out of the car.  I remember feeling shy about that bursting out the door.  I can remember how he seemed tired after a long day, a long commute, but how he always had a smile as he took the note from my hands. I can feel the warm sun, the fresh evening air, I can smell the spaghetti cooking in the kitchen.

I can remember the time my Dad crushed his finger hammering shingles on the roof.  I was scared to death, hearing him yell for help.  I can picture his face, and the cloth diaper my mom had thrown up to him on the roof to stop the blood.  I can feel the panicked, scared feeling in my stomach that made me want to run and hide.

I can remember the time it was my turn...a brick (yes, Katie, I still blame you) dropped on my finger from a picnic table, a burning pain, blood dripping, me screaming barefoot across the painful stones.  My Dad grabbing me, running to the bathroom, another bloody cloth diaper (boy, those come in handy, don't they?), the cold water making it more painful.    The discussion...ER or not?  ER we go.  I know it was a warm, beautiful summer evening, and somehow that made it all better.  All the attention helped a little also.  I knew I was safe, because my Dad was in charge.  To me, he knew more than any fancy doctor.

I remember running out to visit my white pet bunny one cold spring morning, excited because my Dad had just spent the day before building a brand new fancy cage for her.  I remember seeing the hole torn through the bottom of the cage, finding my poor dead bunny around the back of the garage.  I remember wailing and running inside, and having my Mom and Dad panicked, "What? What?"  I remember the look of absolute fury on my Dad's face because we knew right off the culprit was the big mean dog whose owners let him roam the neighborhood.  I knew he would take care of it.  The fact that he was as mad as I was sad, made me know he cared so much.

I can remember when I bought my first used car, a little Honda Accord...saving for that down payment, negotiating over the phone.  I had no idea what I was doing and quite accidentally, because of pure desperation, I ended up negotiating a pretty good price.  I remember knowing, somehow, maybe from a little chuckle from him, or the look in his eyes, that he was proud of me for that.

My Dad is quiet, kind, forgiving, sensible.  A hard worker more than anything.  A bootstrap kind of guy.  I don't think he's asked anyone for anything in his life...an ounce of help, a request to borrow, a favor.  He does it all himself, and never expected not to.  He worked two jobs often to provide for his family.  At the same time, I've never heard him turn down a request for help in my life.  If there is work to be done, he works harder, faster, more efficient than anyone else, no matter what the job.  He can clear a field, plant and tend a garden, build a house, fix anything.  

And on top of that, I don't think I've ever heard my Dad complain once.  Maybe sometimes about his knees, only because he's had surgery on both, and only after he does something like haul two 40 pound buckets of maple sap for 8 hours a day, and still then, he'd do it in a way that make you think he's joking.  "I'm a little sore today, we hauled syrup from 2,000 trees you know."  Um, YEAH?  Your 73, DAD!!!

There is no one I could be prouder to call Dad.   He has set an example, in his actions every day of his life, for 73 years, of what it takes to be a good, honest, hard-working, loving son, brother, father, husband, and grandfather.

Sometimes people are meant to come into your life and change it for the better.

When I was in sixth grade, I was assigned a "big sis" to write to from the all-girl's academy down the street.  I wrote a letter, and then Jane, who I chose from the list because Jane was (is!) one of my favorite names ever, surprisingly, wrote back.  We kept this up...she sent a picture once and I, little mousy shy 6th grader, was in awe at this incredibly beautiful older girl who actually cared enough to correspond with me.

I once, in pure desperation to be "just like her", bought a bottle of magic potion to grow really really long hair from the back of a teen magazine.  In months my scraggly dirty dishwasher hair turned into thick, shiny, long, dark brunette locks.  Oh, no it didn't.  All my hard earned money wasted, and a lesson learned.  But Jane taught me many other much more important lessons from our friendships...lessons I learned by the example of the way she conducted herself in life.  Here was the gorgeous, incredibly smart, and confident girl, but more important GOOD...good to the core, respectful to her parents, respectful of herself, kind to her friends...just really really GOOD.

We corresponded for years, then lost touch for awhile...and found each other again, thank goodness.

Jane tells the story better (and includes some funny pictures of me in grade school)...except the part where she says I was a good friend to her.  I worshiped her, of the long shiny hair, jetting off to college at one of the top universities in the nation.  She was not only a great friend but one of the best role models ever to walk across my path.  And still continues to be.  A girl couldn't ask for anyone better.

Jane sent me all those letters I wrote to her over my late grade school, junior high, and early high school years, and I have so much to say about how different things are now.   It made me sad.  I seem so innocent and young compared to so many of the girls the same age today.  Of course everyone says how fast our kids  are growing up now, but really there is huge difference.  That's another post for another time.  OH, to be young again.  We aren't giving our children, I'm afraid, the same chance at a long lovely childhood.

That's my Dad. He used to do the same thing for me and my sisters and brothers when I was young...pull us on the back of the tractor. It was so fun...I'm not sure why, really, because it doesn't seem so fun now...it seems like the perfect recipe for smelly fumes and motion sickness.  Patrick and Andrew loved it as much as we did long ago.

I know that looking at photos of stranger's relatives is probably just the most boring thing ever, but today is my Dad's 71st birthday. So you HAVE to today.

See my Dad down there? He's the second to the last. Isn't he the cutest little boy ever? Sorry about the sideways photo, but that's the way it was taken. I have no idea why, but I'm sure there's a great story behind it.