A Remembrance

Today, in 1966, my youngest sister was born.  It was a harrowing event.  It had snowed and blown for several days and drifts were piled up against the doors 6' high.  There was at least a foot of snow on the ground.  The major road behind our house was plowed, but not our neighborhood street.  

Mom was ready to give birth.  I was the eldest child at 15 and it was all a bit scary.  I was too young to really understand when my other siblings were born, but I knew something about it this time. 

The plowed road was 150' away from the garage.  Dad handed me a shovel and said "dig" as he wielded his own.  We dug out a path to the plowed road in a serious wind and had to repeat it as blown-snow came in. 

Finally Dad said, "you're in charge" and drove off with Mom.  No advice, no suggestions, just "do it".  So I did it.

Sometimes I think back on my life and note that Dad never really acknowledged anything worthwhile I did.  He was always rather critical and quick to point out errors.  But I guess what he said and what he thought were different.  When push came to shove, he was confident enough in me to just say "take care of your brother and sister" with some confidence and off he went with Mom...  This only really occurs to me while writing this.  

My recollection of the reports afterwards said 6 women were helicoptered to local hospitals for births that day and one was driven in.  That was Mom.

So there I was at 15 with a 13 year old brother and 9 year old sister.  Well, I had baby-sat/been in charge before for a few hours with prepared food but not for several days.  Damn good thing I used to help Mom in the kitchen...

I found food and cooked it.  I made sure my siblings got into bed at a decent hour.  I entertained and reassured.  Made sure they watched some favorite TV.  Dad called a few times to make sure we were OK.  We were.  I assured Dad we were fine and there was good food and all that.

The local road was cleared 2 days later.  Mom and Dad returned more easily than they left.  And brought a new sister.

Her name was Jennifer.  Mom forbid "Jenny" or "Jen" so we got away with "Jif" (she loved that brand of peanut butter as she learned solid foods).

I was off to college by then, and she loved it when I came home some weekends.  I was her mysterious Big Brother.  I wore hats then and always put mine on her when I arrived.  She loved that.  She was adorable!  And she adored me all her life.

Sadly, she did not have the charmed life I have had.  Mom and she did not get along as they both aged.  When Jen ("Jen" stuck better than "Jif") was in her 30s, it was discovered that she had an arterial/ventrous blockage what was inoperable at the time and that would likely kill her some random day.  

It happened when she was only 44.  Her male Partner In Life found her dead on the kitchen floor one day.  He has taken wonderful Fatherly care of her children since then.  A good person...

Jen raised 3 children to healthy adulthood, 2 of whom had cystic fibrosis and she spent a lot of time helping them survive as a single Mom.  She was a vegetarian, an organic gardener better than me, raised some fancy chickens for the unusual eggs to sell, and she followed The Grateful Dead when she could.  She happily shared anything she had.

When her partner announced a memorial for her, over 200 people attended.  She was loved and admired by many.  

So, today, I remembering her beginning and end.  It is not a very sad time.  She and family knew the brain blockage would get her some day.  She enjoyed her short life.  I think of her often.  Jen and Mom died the same year, just a few months apart and I lost a beloved cat.  2010 wasn't a great year here.

I'll remember her start in life more than her end.  It was unusual and memorable.  All of my siblings and I have some things in common that I cherish.  With Jen, it was organic gardening.  Jen wasn't a computer-type, but we exchanged letters sometimes discussing organic composting and our current heirloom veggies and a few thoughts on life in general.  

But she was always a special person to me.  So this post is about what started in 1966 and ended in 2010...

New Riding Mower

On May 2nd, I mentioned that my new purchase sitting on the trailer attracted attention from a neighbor and 2 passerbys (male).

No we did not practice social-distancing.  Not because we are guys, not because we are "brave", and not because we think we are immune.  In the moment, we just forgot.  A new piece of equipment made us forget about the present problems.  We were back "before".

I equally feel sure that somewhere at almost the same moment, there were some women gathered together who engaged in some accustomed group activity (I will not speculate on the activity, it doesn't matter), and equally forgot about masks and social distancing for a brief few minutes.

But yes, we were careless.  But, after we got it started, backed off the trailer, and I drove it to the shed and returned, we talked for a awhile.  And (equally without thinking about it), stood about 6' apart.  No one specifically mentioned it, but we just did it automatically.

I sure hope nothing comes of it, and the odds ARE rather slight.  Some habits are hard to break.  We want to shake hands, we want to be close to other people, we want to communicate without having to raise our voices.

Habits are old; the pandemic is new.  We err in this new situation sometimes.  All we can do is our best.

The Historian Anthropologist in me says women hug to express trust and closeness.  And that men shake right hands to show they are not holding a weapon (which is one of several reasons "lefties" were viewed with suspicion LOL).  It also determined which side a warrior would pass a stranger by assumed sword-arm and that carried through to cars by habit.

One could argue that we in the US drive on "the wrong side of the road"due to a lack of historical sword-culture.  I think of the oddest things sometimes...