(GP on left)

When I first met Wade I was drawn to him like a sailor is to the sea. His handsome physique came second to his calm and secure presence that made me feel like I had come home again. When I met his parents, Frank and Barbara, it was no surprise that they too carried this same peaceful demeanor. As the years go by it is plain to see that compassion and kindness course through the veins of many of his family members.

In the past we have visited Frank and Barbara’s house, the house that Wade grew up in, for many a family holiday. We even conceived  Brevitt in Wade’s bed that he slept in as a child, is that sacrilegious? During these visits the house has bulged with cousins and friends trickling in to see the boys and to say hello and always in the midst of all the chaos has been Barbara’s father,  Jack Pierce McDonald otherwise known as GP, standing there  to meet and greet and proudly show off his family.

Every visit I  would speak to the boys about making the effort to ask GP to tell them stories from his past so that they could better understand their heritage on their father’s side and learn more of their Great Grandpa who had devoted himself to his country, his family and his work, but the noise level did not bode well with his hearing aide and he would switch it off altogether, making conversation with him close to impossible. In time, I felt very connected to GP through his sparkly smile and his genuine interest in his grandchildren and I began to think that perhaps verbal communication was overrated.

In these past few months, as GP’s body began to fail him, I felt a desperate urge to reach out to him and let him know how much he was admired and loved and so I sent an email to all of his family encouraging them to write down their memories of him. There came an outpouring of response and Barbara and her brother Mac read all the stories to GP throughout the day as they visited with him.

As I sat in solitude reading each new story, one thing rang consistently true, GP was a man of great integrity, a “character,” and a very loving and patient man. He was also a man of few words, as portrayed in Wade’s recapture of a time on the golf course when as a young boy Wade recklessly turned the cart sideways only to be met by GP’s suggestion that perhaps he should take over the wheel.

GP passed away on April 26th at the age of 88 years old and Wade, Tucker, Muki and I drove to Santa Fe, New Mexico to attend his Memorial Service. We spent a nostalgic weekend where Tucker and all of his cousins raced around after Muki as Wade and I reconnected with generations of McDonald’s and their spouses over wine and food. GP’s spirit enveloped us as we traveled down memory lane and the word integrity kept coming up in conversation. What a powerful word to live by and to instill in all of those who love you.

In the early morning light, I took soul filling walks with Muki, Frank and “Old Uncle Jim,” who is not old at all but was dubbed so by Brevitt and Axel lest they get confused with their two Uncle Jim’s. Muki and I raced back and forth through open fields in the parks and I inhaled the Lilacs while absorbing the pale lavender Wisteria and Iris surrounding the sculptures placed outside the Adobe homes and galleries.  Soaking in spring, which is taking way too long to emerge in Aspen, I thought about how I was ready to listen to all of the great comments made in my previous posts and move forward with my writing. Life is a precious gift and I don’t care to be bogged down by trivialities.

It is painful for all of us that GP is no longer with us but I have no doubt that his energy and good spirit still lies within all of us and as the years go by we will encourage the boys to follow in their great grandfather’s footsteps and live a life filled with integrity and compassion and I thank GP for giving us this important value to live by.

I got a phone call a few weeks ago from an old time family friend. “Jillian, I’m worried about your motha”, she said with her thick Bostonian accent. “She needs you and it has to be you. You are the one who can help her move out of her place and give her good advice about what to do with her life.” I booked myself on a flight that evening.

So today I am on my way to Hartford, Connecticut, for five days, to help me beloved mum move out of her happy little nest. I left the boys skateboarding up and down their grand parents concrete driveway in Denver, much more fun than the gravel driveway that we have at home. As I drove away to the airport I looked back at the mass of equipment that I had left for them which was now cluttering my in-laws foyer. “Have fun”, I yelled out the window.

It is a completely different experience traveling without the boys. I sat in the sixth row on both flights, a luxury saved for the people who don’t have children. How nice to not have to inhale the bathroom fumes. Maybe I should tell the airlines that once children are four and older they can actually be pleasant to sit near. No doubt, they are a whole lot more enjoyable than sitting next to an enormous, smelly adult whose sweaty arm keeps rubbing against you.

Moving up in the plane does not, however, change your status. The snotty, lazy stewardesses still treat you like a low life economy passenger. I have grown to really despise them as they role their eyes at you for making any request. I especially love it when I order my special drink that I, for some odd reason, only order on airplanes. “I’ll have a cranberry juice with seltzer water and no ice”, I order. With complete annoyance they hand me a plastic cup with ice and two cans, one of seltzer and one of cranberry juice. I wait until they get it right which inevitably starts a war. Ok, maybe I’m partially at fault.

When we arrived into Philadelphia I asked the stewardess if she could please hold up the passengers departing the plane, so that I could get my bag in the overhead department and make my flight, which was in a different, far away, terminal and departing in fifteen minutes. She told me to just muscle my way back to the bag amidst the upstream traffic. “I’m confused”, I said. “I thought your job was to help people”. She responded by telling me that she was helping me by telling me what to do. I did as she recommended by putting out my horns and charging my way back to my bag, bumping into anybody who didn’t get out of my way. I was no way in hell going to hang out any longer than I needed to in the Philadelphia airport. Puffing heavily through my nose, as usual, I got my bag and exited quickly giving the matador the dirty eye. Ole!

As I ran to my next flight, I decided that I would try to avoid ever flying through Philadelphia again. It was a depressing, dirty, crowded airport. I caught my plane and proceeded to sit on the runway for another two hours while waiting for the other planes before us to take off. The stewardess informed us that this was a common occurrence in Phillie, thus reaffirming my desire to stay away in the future.

We descended into another dark turbulent sky and as the landing gear clunked down, the older German woman sitting next to me said, “I sink zer are maintenance issues vis dis plane.”

Driving back on highway 91 brought back a flood of memories from my childhood. It  saddened me that my home that I grew up in was gone and now my mother’s new home as well. I would never enjoy those warm summer June evenings again as I did when I was a child. The lush and abundant trees alongside the highway had not been cut down for development and it was all so green. We watched as the last colors of the day set behind the hills and listened to the frogs croaking away, or at least I knew they were frogs, my mother thought that they were late night geese croaking, she and Wade constantly surprise me when it comes to naming the creatures in nature.

Tomorrow I will put on my Superhero cape, inhale a lot of Advil and get to work. I hope that I do not plunge into a depression while, once again, packing up my mother’s belongings. I can only hope that her new home will be as beautiful and peaceful as it is here. There is still so much to do before she closes on Friday and I am glad that I am here for her. I must remain strong, after all, that is what daughters are for. To  show our love in any way that we can and help our parents when they need us.

We are flying once again to visit Grandma Nicky in Florida. I don’t know how we are going to pay for it but I know that I am needing to get away. Wade is all for it. He loves those ten days he blessedly gets of peace and quiet. To his credit, he is usually refreshed and ready for us by the time that we return.

The boys are dying with excitement. We have missed two years of visiting Florida and the boys are craving their lawless grandmother who serves them ice cream for breakfast and breeds chaos.

Brevitt is excited to reconnect with all of Grandma’s friends and chat with them by the pool in between splashing them with canonballs. Axel can’t wait to search for shells and throw things off of the balcony and Tucker, who secretly eats dirt, is excited to finally blast off in an airplane and secretly eat sand.

The boys and I saw an ad for Singapore Airlines in a magazine. They asked if that was the airplane we were going on. I almost spit up my tea. Would that airlines had advanced so much that we each had our individual huge seats with costumed stewardesses and gourmet meals.

While walking through first class the boys often loudly questioned why we are so poor that we have to sit in the back by the bathrooms and pay $6.00 for spam and crackers. I find it useful to take these times to stress good working values so that they too can sit in First Class.

I called my mother, Nicky, to tell her that I had just booked the tickets and she gushed with excitement, “ooooh, she said in her refined English accent, “I’m so glad your finally coming. We will have such fun”. That’s what I love about my mommy, she is very much in denial when it comes to the realities of life.

Last time we visited, pre Madoff scandal, Michele and I with our combined six children and our mother, treated ourselves to a nice hotel room on the beach for a few days. Growing up visiting the finest hotels in the world we felt compelled to give our children a taste of the good life.

Since there were no waves to play in, the men did not come on this trip. Without them life was a lot less stressful. The kids loved running around completely undisciplined as we three elders laughed and lounged without a care in the world. Brevitt and Devon would go down to the restaurant in the mornings and drink their coffee together while eating chocolate croissants. We were overdue for a vacation and couldn’t care less about meals or schedules. We did whatever we wanted, whenever we wanted and so did the kids.

This behavior cannot last long without the inevitable trouble happening. Unbeknownst to Michele, Nicky and I, the unsupervised six kids disturbed the peace once again knocking on hotel room doors and than taking off down the hallways. We were sitting in the hotel room when suddenly Brevitt came crashing into the room and hid under the bed. The story started to reveal itself as each child sheepishly came back to look for him. Apparently a very irate hotel guest had shouted at Brevitt and told him that she was going to call the police for noise disturbance. We left him for a good half hour under the bed shaking at the prospect of going to jail. I love those life lessons!

I am filled with fear from all of the airplane crashes that have been occurring but refuse to give up travel. After all, I made it through the stages of walking up and down the aisles with my social babies and no longer have to change stinky diapers in the disgusting, tiny excuse for bathrooms. What I do dread is the cramped seats, re-circulated germs, smelly people and snotty, unhelpful stewardesses who take pleasure in waking me and my sleeping children out of our blissful drooling sleep to see if we want coffee. Why sleep if you can stay a wake caffeinated.

I am ready to face the challenges of flying knowing that the end result will be ten days spent with Grandma and the kids in the warm sun wearing nothing but flip flops and bathing suits. This is far better than ten days spent struggling daily with ski equipment, terrain parks and hours searching for activities in our Vini-man.