A Tribute to the Donaldson Family: Tim, Anna, Jack, Margaret

A homeschooling friend asked today if there were any bloggers in our FB group changing names of children and husbands to maintain privacy and keep their identity somewhat under the radar.   A question with a huge rabbit trail for me today, September 8, 2012:  the one year crap-iversary of Jack Donaldson's death.  (G-d, just typing those words and I sit and reel from the eternal enormity those words have) 

 

Anna Donaldson used 'fake' names in her blog - her name was her own (I think), she used 'Tom' for 'Tim' and i don't recall what she used for Jack and Margaret. When I finally found Anna's blog (about 1 month after Jack's accident), I began reading from the beginning, and she wrote about 'Tom' her husband. I sat at my kitchen table feeling like an idiot.......a totally confused idiot - a fool even. ALL THOSE YEARS, my husband and I had been calling 'Tom' by the 'wrong' name -- we had been calling him 'Tim.' What the you- know-what was wrong with us? We had been in classes at Church, school functions, there were name tags, family address lists......my head was spinning. I continued to read Anna's blog. Yup, there it was in black and white: Tom. Photos of 'Tom' touching up the roots on Anna's hair. I continued reading.........I was reading about a month and some days back in time from the blog's date, Labor Day Holiday week 2011, and yes, she was calling him 'Tom.' :head:desk:   How could my husband and I have been such morons -- how could we have been calling 'Tom' 'Tim' for years???!!!

 

  I read on, sheepishly - and came to Anna's blog from the terrible night at the bridge (9/8/11) and, everyone is called by the names I know them to have. I continue reading and I come to Anna's blog post about the 'gig' being over as far as her keeping any kind of anonymity since Jack's accident. Now, Anna writes, everyone knows their names, everyone knows where they live, and now 'Tom' is 'Tim.'  I understand now.  I think of how normal it is for all of us to change names and locations in an attempt to insulate our families from any crazies who might read our blogs (btw, no one reads mine). The realization of how futile our efforts are to protect our loved ones does not escape me. 
 

Anna writes that she had warned her kids about '...lightning and salmonella and sexual abuse and pornography and STD’s and bullying and collapsing tunnels of sand and snow...'.  I've warned my kids about the very same things.  Every mom I know has warned her kids of the very same things.  Every one of us, I would bet, has smelled deli meat that we think has been in the fridge too long and tossed it out, had a whiff of milk (and even if we were only slightly unsure about where it was on the okay to drink ---------> pour it down the drain continuum), and we poured it down the drain.  Bread?  A speck of any color, I mean really, it could be dust....doesn't your bread get dusty?  Sweetie, put bread on the list for when we go out later, toss that loaf in the trash,and have your pb&j on saltines. 

 

   I sat at the kitchen table feeling the huge weight of grief on my chest, my heart aching for this beautiful family. I have a crystalline memory of Jack on the third grade field trip to National Cathedral. The kids were able to spend a fair amount of time in the lower level of the Cathedral, and docents gave them turns at sculpting marble with chisels and water;  they made faux stained glass, and did embroidery similar to what we had all seen and enjoyed in the Sanctuary. I remember Jack wearing his safety goggles,  heavy duty protective sculpting apron (akin to the weight of the cover used in the dentist office when x-rays are taken), and work gloves; he was completely immersed in the ancient craft of marble sculpting and oblivious to everything and everyone around him.  A nine year old 'renaissance man' in 2008.   (I took many photos which are all in the scrapbook the third graders presented to Ms. Ingham on the last day of school.)

 

I have no answers.  I have questions every single day.  These are always there: Why?  Why Jack? Why the Donaldsons? 

 

Jack had a life verse:  Luke 1:37 (Nothing is impossible with G-d)

 

That alone tells one what an amazing young boy Jack was.  What an amazing family he has......he had a life verse...a life verse!  The verse is on blue bow magnets stuck to vehicles all over......and I do mean all over.  We saw one on a minivan in the outer banks last April.  We see them all over northern Virginia when we are on the road.  The kids and I always point out the blue bow when one of us sees it:  'Look!  Those people have a Jack magnet!'  We gulp; we try to see if we know the people who have a Jack magnet. 

 

I cannot fathom the depth of Anna, Tim and Margaret's pain;  I cannot imagine the pain felt by their aunts, uncles and cousins. 

 

 Jack has been honored this past year in every word written by his parents, in his sister Margaret's dazzling smile that graces Anna's blog and FB page, and in the events that have been established to keep the memory of this amazingly handsome, well-mannered, incredibly witty and thoughtful (as in full of thought), uber-smart boy alive. 

 

Our family will never forget Jack Donaldson.  Never. 

 

Anna, Tim and Margaret, we love you and you are always in our hearts and prayers.

 

I think of this quote from C.S. Lewis always when I think of Jack, Anna, Tim, Margaret:  "Why love if losing hurts so much? I have no answers any more. Only the life I have lived.....The pain now is part of the happiness then. That's the deal." 

 

What does any of this has to do with using or not using real names in one's blog? I know that Anna's point about the things from which we protect our children was articulately and perfectly made...right on target. I guess we use pseudonyms because we can...we do what we can. ALL we can do is what we can.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The EEL Story OR How the Kitchen Became the Heart of the Home

When I was in elementary school, my dad drove me to school every morning.  I attended St. Vincent's Academy on Market Street in Newark....it was near (right across the street) St. Joseph's R.C. Church and a fire house.  I could sit in my third grade classroom and look out the window at Martland Medical Center which later became UMDNJ (my sister graduated med school from there hundreds of years later).  But, I digress.

I have come to the conclusion that apparently the kitchen was not always the heart of the home.  It was not the gathering place, the warm fuzzy place, the 'just grab a chair and sit at the table' place that it is today.  When I think of my grandparents' homes, and even the homes of other relatives and friends, the kitchen was typically tucked away in the back of the house, non-descript, and basically a room where 'work' (women's work) was accomplished.  When I was very young, the 'living room' was where everyone gathered. 

Whatever was going on in the kitchen was for the cook to be involved with, and probably no one else.

What follows is possibly how that all changed.  I am guessing that after many incidents similar to what I am writing about below, it was decided that if a wife or husband or grandmother or great-aunt was cooking something/anything, they were not to even think about venturing out of the kitchen proper.  It's not difficult to imagine that THIS is how the kitchen then evolved to become the heart of the home -- it was just safer this way!

My dad didn't talk alot while we were driving.  The first part of the ride he prayed, and when he was finished, he would turn on the radio.  Once in awhile, we would notice something....a printed sign, or some such thing, and either I would ask a question, or he would comment, but we were both rather quiet otherwise.  Comfortably quiet, mind you.

I was in third grade when my father told me this story which means I was eight years old at the time.

One morning we driving down Springfield Avenue in Newark, NJ toward school, and on the window of a Fresh Seafood store was a really large paper sign with the word 'EELS' on it.  We both saw it at precidely the same time.

 "Eels?" I exclaimed.  "Eels?  Why would they sell eels?" 

"People eat them," my dad replied.

Calmly.  But starting to smile....which was odd at that hour of the morning.

"What's so funny?" I asked.

A smile at 7:00am could certainly be construed as 'funny.'  We were usually rather quiet together.

And, then my dad told me the "EEL STORY."

He told me that when he was six years old,  his father, my grandfather, was standing at the stove in the kitchen.  The big stock pot was on the stove, the gas was turned on under it, and the lid was on the pot.

My dad had just entered the kitchen, and Grandpa was turning to leave the kitchen.

My dad continued: "Grandpa said to me, 'Leave the lid on the pot.  Don't open the pot.' "

 I knew for a fact (perfectly obedient, first-born child that I was) that at six years of age, being told 'not' to open something was as good as receiving an engraved invitation to get one's grimy little hands all over it and totally open it to see what was inside.

I knew that at six years of age that being told not to open something wasn't even going to register....a six year old's brain wasn't even going to process those words.

A typical six year old never imagines that THIS will happen:




A typical six year old is told "Don't open that pot!" and sees and hears this:



OR this:


Or this:




You get the idea.  The six year old, or five year old, or seven year old is going to open the pot, sack, bag, box, door, jar, window, whatever it is.  The key word here is OPEN.  But, you knew that!

My dad continued:  "Grandpa walked out of the kitchen" 

I was only eight years old, and even I knew that Grandpa should not have walked out of the kitchen.; or at least he should not have gone far.

My dad continues.  "So I dragged a stool next to the stove and climbed up." 

See.

Those 'household accident statistics' have apparently been recorded for a very long time.

I was on the edge of my seat.  Seat belts weren't invented yet.  My father hadn't said this much to me on our morning rides in two years.  I was enthralled.  I had to hear what happened next.

"I climbed on the stool,"  my dad says, "And I lifted the lid off the pot."

He's laughing now. "The lid was barely off the top of the pot, and I began to scream and shout: SNAKES!  SNAKES!"

My eyes, normally big as saucers, grew twice that size.

"Snakes?" I practically shouted.

My dad is laughing and shaking his head no.

"Eels!" he tells me.  "Eels!"

"They came out of that pot as soon as I lifted the lid.  They slithered out of the pot, onto the stove top, and then were on the floor all over the place.  Slithering all over the place."

Okay, that was a visual I didn't need, but it clearly had stuck with him through the years!

"I'm screaming, 'Snakes!' and Grandpa comes running into the kitchen.'

"There are eels all over the place," my dad is laughing.

"Grandpa picks up a skillet that was on the stove, and he starts hitting the eels with the skillet.  He is going all over the kitchen hitting eels.  He is on his hands and knees on the floor hitting eels."

My dad tells me that at the same time Grandpa is exterminating eels, he is yelling at my dad:

'I told you not to open the pot.'

My dad said he was running around the room in tears screaming 'Snakes!'

When grandpa had finally finished doing whatever it is one does to eels with what was probably a cast iron skillet (no flimsy Farberware in those days), he looked at my father and started laughing.

And, he says to my father, smiling:  'Scared ya, huh?'

For sure, Grandpa.  Any individual who can remember in perfect detail something that happened probably 25 years earlier, well, they were probably scared.

And, in my opinion, the prospect of things slithering around one's kitchen is in part responsible for a school of thought which developed...that being that no small child should be left alone in a room with a pot of something that could exit said pot in a slithering fashion.



Hence, the kitchen became the heart of the home.

And, that, Mimi, is the EEL STORY!

Why Are My Kids Telling Everyone That We Are NOW Gluten-Free Vegans? Oh, Right....Because We Are Almost One Week Into Eating GF-Vegan........

LONG STORY SHORT:   (and when does that ever happen?)

On the day of the Nordstrom's Rack Meltdown, my husband accompanied the kids to the American Girl Store at Tysons for the Valentine's Day Cookie Decorating Event (I don't get mad, I get even! *wink*wink).  He, did, however, get to spend time with the lovely LM (and I would have gone ONLY to spend time with LM, but I was seething....beyond mad.....seething) and she was telling him about The China Study and her decision to switch to a vegan eating style.

Husband was fascinated.  Two nights later when I was finally speaking to him and listening to him, he toldme about The China Study and LM's decision and we decided to give it a try......me more than him probably because I am the one who does all the grocery shopping and cooking.

I sprang into action.  A mere three nights later (I needed time to get up to speed, time to feel like I knew what I was doing, oh yes.....and time to understand exactly what vegan IS) we had our first (cooked by me) gluten-free vegan dinner.  Gluten-free because the ONLY cookbook I could find at Wegman's (that's right - still no trip to barnes and noble) was GF and V.......onward I went.

FTR, they loved the dinner -- it was delicious.  BIG THANK YOU to LM.  I am loving being in the kitchen again.  THIS change makes me have to pay attention and think and plan.

So, I am sharing here with you (my loyal reader:  Cousin Mimi (((hugs)))    b/c I think that mnot days, Mimi is the only one who reads my blog......and I haven't forgotten about the eel story, Mimi) 

THE BEST GLUTEN-FREE VEGAN SNACK RECIPE ON THE PLANET

Tried in my kitchen to quell the whining of 'there is nothing to eat in this house'...which was always heard in THIS house.......no matter HOW much there was to eat

And, no, THOSE are not what the recipe is for......the recipe is even better!!

CRISPY RICE TREATS...HEALTHY STYLE

These are amazing!  My husband LOVED them and he is the pickiest eater on the planet -- my kids are right in line behind him.  TRY THESE!

2 cups puffed rice

1/4 cup sesame seeds (optional)

1/4 cup chopped raw almonds

1/2 cup currants or raisins (optional)

1/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon

1/4 cup vegan chococlate chips

1/4 teaspoon vanilla extract

3/4 cup macadamia or cashew butter (or other nut butter of your choice - we used cashew)

3/4 cup brown rice syrup (DO NOT SUBSTITUTE - USE BROWN RICE SYRUP)

Place the puffed rice, seeds, nuts, currants, cinnamon,and chocolate chips into a large bown and mix together.  In a smaller bowl, stir together the vanilla, brown rice syrup, and nut butter, then add this  mixtur to the puffed rice mixture.  You will need to stir this together really well so it will hold when you cut it into bars.

Lightly spray a 9-inch square pan with vegetable oil non stick spray and spoon the ingredients into the pan.  With wet hands, spread the mixture out so it fills the pan.  Refrigerate until well chilled.  You can cut into bars, or cut bars as you need them.

ENJOY!!!!!!!



MELTDOWN AT NORDSTROM'S RACK

The house was going to be shown Sunday (yesterday) between noon and one-thirty which meant we had to vacate.  We are getting rather good at being displaced, but I guess I had reached my limit, hence, the
Nordstrom's Rack meltdown -- you can read about it here:

Dh took ds to dh's office to put up art work (he has a new office and is decorating) - I took the girls, and we were going to barnes and noble (our new home away from home when our house is being shown) -- nordstrom's rack is next door to barnes and noble. I have been tring to run into NR for four weeks and get myself a new pair of casual flats for every day. I tell the girls, let's run into NR, I need flats - just flats and then we will go to B & N and get a coffee and do schoolwork.  I do wonder WHY? I am doing school work -- I went to school, I graduated college.....why can't I go to B&N and get a triple tall americano and read a mindless magazine?



Enter NR.  I am looking for what I want, and the two girls begin the parade of 'Isn't this cute -- it's my size.' Well, of course it's freaking your size -- why else would you be shoving it in my face. I repeat to them that I was buying shoes -- PERIOD. The entire weekend had already been one big spend fest for dd12 as she had cotillion, mani-pedi, hair trimmed, blow dry, new dress, pantyhose, lipstick & eyeshadow and make-up application at Elizabeth Arden where her hair was taken care of, etc. AND.......everything they were showing me was for much warmer weather -- it was 28 degrees here yesterday -- the clothes they were selecting were thin as tissue paper. I did explain that to them.  They did look at me as if I had lost my mind.  Hadn't I heard of 'layering?'  You know, tissue-paper thin fabric on top of tissue-paper thin fabric -- oooooh, cozy warm!



I continue to look at shoes -- finally find two pair and I go over to the 'knee high' section because it has been too cold to go without socks or something.



My phone rings -- -- it is DH. Hey, he says. You guys aren't at B&N so I just walked into NR -- I know you are here -- where are you?

I do consider diving under a carousel of clothes and telling the whitest of lies:  'Nordstrom's Rack?  What are you talking about?  We are at Barnes and Noble......the one in Reston!  Oh, ha-ha-ha, you looked for us at the one in Fair Lakes.'  Lord, forgive me.



I decide to be honest.  I look around and see him and wave. As he approaches me, both girls also find me and they are carrying no less than 20 items each of essentially 'cruise wear.' 'OM gosh!' DH says. 'Who said you could buy them all that stuff.' 'I'm not buying all THAT stuff.' I say. 'They are fantasy shopping while I get two freaking pairs of shoes.'  I am clearly STILL delusional at this point to think I am going to get out of the store with anything.....least of which might be what I want.



'WHAT?' both girls say. Now pouting.  They dump their stuff into the cart and stomp away in search of even more tissue-paper thin clothing dotted here and there with sequins........which no doubt to pre-teens aids in the seasonal transition of clothing from winter to, errrr, still winter.



DS11 comes over practically buried under long sleeved (thank heavens -- someone with a brain in his head), Ralph Lauren plaid shirts (which are essentially his uniform) -- but I usually only buy one or two at a time (they are 'marked down' to $36.  Now call me crazy, but I consider that a little high priced for a shirt for an 11 year old who has to be reminded to shower) -- he had about 6 of them.....shirts, not showers. 



'Mom!' (WHY is it always MOM? WHY not DAD?)

 'Look. They have my shirts. I am almost out of them -- we should get these today.'  I have a fleeting thought trying to fathom how one 'runs out of shirts,' but I quickly give it up. I take the shirts from his arms, and he sprints away calling over his shoulder: 'I'll be in the boys' shoe department.'



DH is headed over to men's shoes, and I follow him -- my cart is piled high, and my two measly pairs of shoes are buried.



By the time I negotiate my way to men's shoes, dh is wearing one very nice brown dress shoe and asking me what I think of it. I am Switzerland.  'It's nice,' I say, as neutrally as I can.  As neutral as the gorgeous pair of Tory Burch ballet flats I DID find in my size that are marked down from $350. to $49.67........THAT neutral.  He agrees -- I'm going to see what else they have, he tells me. Oh, he says -- how much is all that in the cart?



'WHOA!' -- I say -- I came in for a pair or two of shoes -- we are not taking all this stuff. Most of it is for spring and summer and looks like it is for a life-sized BRATZ doll and not coming anywhere near my house - except for ds' shirts, and he doesn't need a passel of Ralph Lauren shirts.



I continue:  'And, I don't know how much all this is -- my intention was to walk out with shoes and socks -- nothing else.'



'Oh' says dh.



'Don't we have an NR $20. gift certif at home?' Yes we do.  But I don't know where.  And, I don't say that I have a pretty fair idea of what all the crap in the cart costs and $20. isn't going to even make a dent in it -- the freaking little Kate Spade socks I selected to go with the TDF Tory Burch flats are $20.

 He says that he and ds (who has put three pairs of shoes in the cart at this point and says he is going looking at jeans) will run home and CALL me with the Certificate # so I can give them the number when I check out and get $20. off what I have now estimated to be $350. worth of merchandise NOT including my shoes.



By the time I say 'No - don't do that - we are not buying thise stuff. And I am not giving them a number when I get in line -- I don't want to feel like an a** if they won't take the #........' he is out of the store.  DS is giving me the thumbs up and waves as he runs off with his father.



I stood there. I take a deep breath, my hands are shaking. I feel tears welling up. I turn and say to the two girls, 'we are going home.' And I started walking out of the store. 'Wait!' they say. 'You didn't get your shoes.'

I continue walking.



We drove home -- 1.3 miles from NR.



I walked in the house -- 'What are u doing here?' says dh -- 'I'm getting ready to call you with the gift certificate #.'

I have not included any of what I said next.  Not.one.single.word.  It is better that way.



'Take the kids and go do something fun with them please,' I reply. 'Right now.'



'You didn't get your shoes,' he says.



'You all need to go and I need to be unavailable to you all the rest of the day. Do you understand?' I say.



And, they leave (I've given you the pleasant version -- I DID totally lose it with them.  Totally.  I was even able to work in the heritage of one's parents and the offspring of one's parents peers.)



I sat for hours and listened to the sound of 'silence' in the house -- no one picking or pecking at me. It was delightful.

Why I'm STILL in therapy.......

This exchange between me and my sister (which began with me asking my oldest daughter a question about a piece of furniture that my mother gave to me, and I gave to oldest daughter) hits the nail on the head if one wants to know why I am in therapy.  Here goes:

It starts with this:

Mariann:  S32 (oldest daughter), do you have EEE's (my mother) tea cart from her dining room set?  I have a sinus infection and so does M(12).

S:  i never had eee's tea cart--hope you guys feel better

Yesterday at 9:51pm ·

Mariann: the piece that the top opened up and became behemothly (?) large?

12 hours ago ·

LuLu (my sister):   Yeah, you had it. It used to have candy hidden in it in 1971. I wanted to check and see if it was still there one day at your house. I think it was 2009...

11 hours ago ·

Mariann:  i know she had it -- she just doesn't know it was called a 'tea cart' -- it should have been called the 'stuff it under there, we have no room for it' cart.

11 hours ago ·

Mariann: btw, I ate the candy. (((YUM)))

11 hours ago ·

LuLu:  Did you eat the nuts for Mah Jhong too?

11 hours ago ·

Mariann: Yes. But I told mom you did. That's why she threw her shoe at you when you were running up the kitchen stairs.

11 hours ago ·

LuLu:  Fat cow/Skinny duck.

11 hours ago ·

Mariann: Better I should have raised pigs......I would have sausage.

11 hours ago ·

LuLu:  I'm going to get a room and go live all by myself.(This one is still in use.)

11 hours ago ·

Mariann:  Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm. When you do something wrong, walk across the street, point to this house and say: THAT's where I USED to live.

11 hours ago ·

Mariann:  obviously i have done something the police are at my door.....really.....no sh*t.

11 hours ago ·

Mariann:  ok-- all is well. kids let the dog out without turning off the alarm. I thought it was the homeschool police.

11 hours ago ·

LuLu:  ‎"When you do something wrong, walk across the street, point to this house and say: THAT's where I USED to live" was the "Sex Talk". Explains alot.

10 hours ago ·

Mariann:  it.certainly.does.

10 hours ago ·

LuLu: I had to learn about sex from books because my mom wouldn't tell me anything. I asked many times as a child "how the baby got out of the mother's body". The answer was always, "it just happens. God does it." Imagine my surprise as an OBGYN when I realized that this was not always true.

10 hours ago ·

Mariann: Explains alot.  'I don't know nothin' 'bout birthin' babies, Mis' Scarlett!'

10 hours ago ·

S:   Are you two having fun and amusing yourselves? The "teacart" or buffet as I called it was sold this summer with the rest of the dining room. It was part of the payment for the bathroom- go figure

9 hours ago ·

Mariann:  Actually, I was totally serious - I must have missed when it was sold. Anyway, mariano assumed something had happened to it when he broke into your garage earlier (just kidding) and didn't see the dining room set. And, it's a tea cart - it becomes a buffet when one opens the top and puts food on it. Lulu turned it into a trip down memory lane.

7 hours ago ·

LuLu: ‎"Buffet" as in Warren or Jimmy, or is it Bufee as in rhyming with touche or away? OK, I'll stop now.

2 hours ago ·

Mariann:   You probably never saw the episode of 'Mad About You' -- Here's 10 minutes of the best of show -- 4:30 is the buffet part but the whole thing is classic.    http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B7Fl_9vP5I4

And, that is why I could have bought myself the most gorgeous Vuitton handbag last month BUT FOR THE FACT that I wrote a check to the therapist instead.  My mother (EEE) has the most amazing collection of Vuitton.  Go figure.

The POLICE were just here ----No, not Sting and the others............

The Men in Blue -

Never a freaking dull moment!

  Must be a slow morning.

'Who's at the door?' the twins asked nervously, peering out the front window.

 'It's the police!'  E (11) shrieks.

Seems that the twins let the dog out w/out turning off the alarm.

Not one to let an opportunity pass by, I responded:  'Oh no!  It's the EX-homeschool police!  An unannounced visit.  I've heard of those kinds of visits, but I didn't really believe they made them.' 

You have never seen two kids produce pencils and spelling books faster in your life. Tee-hee!

More's the pity that on Sunday, the twins busted my digital camera by trying to take a photo of DD11 throwing the enormous Beach Body Exercise Ball at DS11 who was holding the camera trying to preserve it for all perpetuity.  Otherwise, a photo of the look on their faces would have been.......um....priceless! 

Said photo would also, alas, have clearly shown M(11)'s bruised eye from said exercise ball smacking said camera into his face.