One of my first memories was the playhouse that Dad built for us when we lived in Palos Verdes. It was a magical place where we played, cooked, and built anything our hearts desired. I was always a little jealous of Mike's real tools but didn't realize I could ask for my own. When I was 55, (Yes, really!) I did ask for tools so Dad got me a tool belt and tools for Christmas! (I wonder if Mike ever asked for a Betsy Wetsy doll?) This "playhouse" was like a miniature home. In fact, future owners turned it into a guest house! When we moved to the mountains and had to say goodbye, I remember missing that house. In Mammoth, Dad built us our own little A-frame houses next to the little stream on our property. I loved mine and have such wonderful memories of playing in them, having my friends for sleepovers outdoors and trying to scare each other, Luau celebrations in the pines, and drawing and painting to my heart's content.
I received the lifelong gifts of loving music, writing and art from my mom. I can still hear her typing away late into the night and early morning hours as she wrote her weekly newspaper columns. (Funny thought just struck me, here I am typing this in the wee hours of the morning...) (although the soft tapping of a laptop keyboard sounds nothing like the sound of the clickety-clack of an electric typewriter!) I remember laying on the floor in front of the large stereo cabinet with the red light at the bottom. I'd stare into that light while listening to vinyl recordings of Charles Aznavour, Sarah Vaughn, Judy Garland, Barbra Streisand, Mitch Miller, Burl Ives, Pat Boone, soundtracks from The Sound of Music, The King and I, and imagining scenes from movies or making up elaborate ones of my own. Chores were always accompanied by "turn up the stereo" music! Of course, now when I hear Dean Martin, I have this Pavlovian need to vacuum, although as you know, I am good at not answering that call! Many of the things I love to do stem from the gifts Mom gave all of us.
I received the gift of a strong work ethic from my dad. Did you know I've worked since I was 12 and never had time off? When you left us, it was the first summer I had not worked. Dad showed me how important it is to love what you do, do what you love and take pride in your talents and accomplishments! Dave and Roma McCoy gave me the gift of seeing what a good and decent employer can be when they put their trust in Dad. Amazing people!
Pam gave me the gift of what growing up gracefully should look like and living life to the fullest. She gave me the gift of having Dad around still today because she changed the course of his life, and ours. She and Dad gave me a most precious gift that they don't even know they did when they opened their home to you as refuge from the storm, when they held your hand when I couldn't, and when they loved and admired and respected you every minute of your life. I treasure that gift beyond words.
My Grandma and Grandpa Rake gave me the gift of acceptance. I know my Grandpa loved me more that anything in the world and would have taken a bullet for any of us. My Grandma was the one I called when I wanted to fix my lavender colored gravy or make tapioca or talk to when I had to leave your father. They gave us the gift of wonderful summers on Lake Isabella. Before that, we always looked forward to staying with them in Inglewood and getting out the change jar under the kitchen sink, rolling the coins in wrappers and going to the bank together.
My Grandma and Grandpa Cook showed me that even after tragedy, people can move ahead and love again. (But that was, of course, before you. Now I know what it really took for them to do so.) And they showed me what grandparents are really all about! One time I was playing on the sidewalk with my little wind-up dog Grandpa had given me. It would take a few steps, jump over backwards and land on its feet! When an older kid in their neighborhood ran over it with his bike, on purpose, I was as crushed as that little metal and fake fur toy dog. Well, you do not want to mess with a grandchild of Eddie and Naomi Cook because they both went after that boy, hauled him back, made him apologize and sent him to the store to buy me a new dog! Take that, bullies of the world!
My brothers gave me the gift of learning to be tough by kicking with my feet when they would try to punch me in the arm. They taught me that being the only girl was the best thing ever! Mike taught me how to drive my little Bug in in one afternoon! He also taught me how to be fearless when you just really want to learn to dance and sing and not worry about what anyone else thinks, although he really did care, but he was brave that night at the local dance in Kernwood. Like you, my big brother has always been my hero. And when people point out my shortcomings, even with good intentions, he always has my back! (And, come to think of it, he always had yours, didn't he?)
My little brother Patrick gave me the gift of knowing how humor and the absurd can be important in our lives. When he was 9 or 10, he started with the "Which would you rather have happen, fall out of an airplane without a parachute, or get cut in half by a speedboat?" bit! (To which we would always say, "Neither!" and he would insist we had to pick!) He was the original Dennis the Menace and stills lives every moment like that kid! He also taught me to be fearless! He passed that on to our little brother Andy, as well.
My baby brother Andy taught me what would be the most important lessons for my journey into motherhood. He was the sweetest, most affable, adorable and talented little boy. Kenton reminds me of him in so many ways. Andy was a joy from the minute he joined our family. Grandpa Rake told me that when he saw him through the little window in the Bishop hospital (where Kameron was later born. Oh, wow, I just made that connection!), "his heart just skipped a beat and he had to take a deep breath". I can still hear his words and see that big smile on his face. I was fourteen when Andy was born and took care of him often. (It was also a good reason to skip school because Mom needed a babysitter, but don't tell anybody, please!) I learned about diapers and bottles and hugs and kisses and even how to stop a bloody nose with Jello! And I learned what unconditional love from someone younger than you means. I got to be someone's hero, if only for a short time!
But you, my sweet baby girl, you were a special gift. On my 28th birthday, you started your journey to join us. But, like the Kenna you were, you had different plans even then and maybe didn't want to share a birthday. (I never liked that idea for babies, either!) So, early the next morning, February 11, 1980, you arrived. And that was quite a story in itself. But I think I'll save that until our birthdays.
I love you, little Snoozie girl, I miss everything about you, but I am on-my-knees-thankful every minute for every laugh, every tear, every hug, every kiss, every note, every smile, every hair color, every sly look, every "everything"...
Goodnight my love,
Mama
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