This is a superquick post to say THANK YOU for all the sweet birthday wishes I recieved on LJ, Barbarians, my email, voice mail, and in person. My friends are the BEST. It was a great birthday except for something that Mother Nature did, which has me feeling sad and disappointed. (Wicked wind storm shattered my favorite tree. Kaput.) 

I would go on to enumerate the amazing, fantastic qualities of my peeps and describe in detail my gratitude, but I can’t because I’m racing a deadline this morning and have plans for the afternoon.

I wrote a similar message to Barbarians, but I’m not on the list and it won’t let me post. Admin? Admin? Help!

Nana turned 95 on Monday of this week. The family took her out to The Buggy Whip restaurant, which at one time was probably a very nice steakhouse but now is only so-so. Nana’s lost her short-term memory, so she probably thinks of the place as it was in its heyday. About 30 of us crowded into their banquet room and surprised her with a birthday celebration. I’m not sure whose idea it was to surprise the 95-year-old woman on her birthday: Fortunately no paramedics were needed! 

Nell Mueller is her name, but she’s always been Nana to me. I know “Nana” is a nickname normally given to grandmothers, but Nana is actually my grand-aunt. She is my grandmother’s oldest sister and for my entire life the two of them have lived together. Birthdays and holidays always included her, so I have always felt as though I had three grandmothers.

She was always tall and big, but never heavy. Her salt-and-pepper hair always perfectly set in short curls. She is fastidious in her dress and grooming: Nana always has a nail file on hand and she uses it often. She has strong features, sparkling eyes, and a gentle touch. She has gotten smaller over the years—both thinner and shorter. Now she is bony but still strong. Physically she is in much better shape than my grandmother.

Nana was “the busy one,” or so I thought when I was a child. Nana worked on her business, while my grandmother, RoRo, worked on family stuff and raising grandchildren and all of the many cousins of my generation. Nana founded the Hobby House in the 50s, which later became the Graphic Hobby House, on the family’s property at Fulton and Marconi avenues in Sacramento. Mueller Corner is across the street from Town & Country Village, and while it has never performed as well as T&C, given that it is smaller and has less available space for tenants, it is a valuable piece of land nonetheless. That was where Nana, RoRo, and their sisters Dorothy and Mary grew up. They live only minutes from that corner even now.

Prior to starting the Hobby House, Nana was an artist and an art teacher at San Juan High School. I believe she has an art degree from San Jose State. There are a handful of paintings by her around, mostly landscapes in oil. She was the one who always gave me art supplies as presents; I’ve noticed she likes to give such gifts to my son, too.

Nana never married. I suppose at one time, she was Nell, or even Nellie. I’ve seen pictures of her as a young woman. I do not know if she ever dated anyone, and I am now curious about that. She was always involved in clubs such as Soroptimist International of Sacramento North, a charity that has donated lots of time and money to improving the lives of Sacramentans and the residents of the Arden Arcade area. She was always involved in family life, just never had a family of her own.

Nana doesn’t remember recent things anymore. She forgets what she ordered for lunch only moments after ordering. She doesn’t remember that she pruned the rose bushes yesterday and so prunes them again. She doesn’t remember that the woman she has always treated as a daughter (her neice in reality) has lied and stolen thousands of dollars from her in recent years (and is now trying to abscond with the family fortune through a legal battle over the trust). Nana does not recognize Asher. Every time she sees him she asks his name and his gender. 

It makes me sad to see her like this, however, in a way, she seems really happy. Some of her sharpness has rubbed off. She is easier to please and not as picky. She isn’t in a rush to accomplish anything, although she still putters and plays hours of solitaire on the computer, whose sole purpose is to let Nana play solitaire. She misses driving herself around. She used to drive very fast.

At one time, I did a “grandparent” report on Nana; I think it was my freshman year of high school. I wish I had it now because I know I’ve forgotten lots of things about her life. A couple of years ago, I had the privilege of helping Nana publish a tiny book about the history of the Soroptimist group of which she was a member and past president. It was kind of tough working with her at the time since she has a hard time with computers, but nevertheless I’m happy I got to spend that time with her.  In some ways, she was a pioneer in business in a time when women typically didn’t venture there.

Happy 95th Birthday, Nana. You’re wonderful and I love you.

Nana at our house, Feb. 3, 2008.

Happy Birthday, mickibean!  You are probably the most enthusiastic and energetic person I have ever met. You are kind, sensitive, supportive, positive, and sweet as pie (and I like pie!). I am grateful for your friendship and hope we can play together sometime soon. I hope your special day is as wonderful and charming as you are! Love you, my Gemini sister.

Happy Birthday,

mickibean

!  You are probably the most enthusiastic and energetic person I have ever met. You are kind, sensitive, supportive, positive, and sweet as pie (and I like pie!). I am grateful for your friendship and hope we can play together sometime soon. I hope your special day is as wonderful and charming as you are! Love you, my Gemini sister.

Nana turned 95 on Monday of this week. The family took her out to The Buggy Whip restaurant, which at one time was probably a very nice steakhouse but now is only so-so. Nana’s lost her short-term memory, so she probably thinks of the place as it was in its heyday. About 30 of us crowded into their banquet room and surprised her with a birthday celebration. I’m not sure whose idea it was to surprise the 95-year-old woman on her birthday: Fortunately no paramedics were needed! 

Nell Mueller is her name, but she’s always been Nana to me. I know “Nana” is a nickname normally given to grandmothers, but Nana is actually my grand-aunt. She is my grandmother’s oldest sister and for my entire life the two of them have lived together. Birthdays and holidays always included her, so I have always felt as though I had three grandmothers.

She was always tall and big, but never heavy. Her salt-and-pepper hair always perfectly set in short curls. She is fastidious in her dress and grooming: Nana always has a nail file on hand and she uses it often. She has strong features, sparkling eyes, and a gentle touch. She has gotten smaller over the years—both thinner and shorter. Now she is bony but still strong. Physically she is in much better shape than my grandmother.

Nana was “the busy one,” or so I thought when I was a child. Nana worked on her business, while my grandmother, RoRo, worked on family stuff and raising grandchildren and all of the many cousins of my generation. Nana founded the Hobby House in the 50s, which later became the Graphic Hobby House, on the family’s property at Fulton and Marconi avenues in Sacramento. Mueller Corner is across the street from Town & Country Village, and while it has never performed as well as T&C, given that it is smaller and has less available space for tenants, it is a valuable piece of land nonetheless. That was where Nana, RoRo, and their sisters Dorothy and Mary grew up. They live only minutes from that corner even now.

Prior to starting the Hobby House, Nana was an artist and an art teacher at San Juan High School. I believe she has an art degree from San Jose State. There are a handful of paintings by her around, mostly landscapes in oil. She was the one who always gave me art supplies as presents; I’ve noticed she likes to give such gifts to my son, too.

Nana never married. I suppose at one time, she was Nell, or even Nellie. I’ve seen pictures of her as a young woman. I do not know if she ever dated anyone, and I am now curious about that. She was always involved in clubs such as Soroptimist International of Sacramento North, a charity that has donated lots of time and money to improving the lives of Sacramentans and the residents of the Arden Arcade area. She was always involved in family life, just never had a family of her own.

Nana doesn’t remember recent things anymore. She forgets what she ordered for lunch only moments after ordering. She doesn’t remember that she pruned the rose bushes yesterday and so prunes them again. She doesn’t remember that the woman she has always treated as a daughter (her neice in reality) has lied and stolen thousands of dollars from her in recent years (and is now trying to abscond with the family fortune through a legal battle over the trust). Nana does not recognize Asher. Every time she sees him she asks his name and his gender. 

It makes me sad to see her like this, however, in a way, she seems really happy. Some of her sharpness has rubbed off. She is easier to please and not as picky. She isn’t in a rush to accomplish anything, although she still putters and plays hours of solitaire on the computer, whose sole purpose is to let Nana play solitaire. She misses driving herself around. She used to drive very fast.

At one time, I did a “grandparent” report on Nana; I think it was my freshman year of high school. I wish I had it now because I know I’ve forgotten lots of things about her life. A couple of years ago, I had the privilege of helping Nana publish a tiny book about the history of the Soroptimist group of which she was a member and past president. It was kind of tough working with her at the time since she has a hard time with computers, but nevertheless I’m happy I got to spend that time with her.  In some ways, she was a pioneer in business in a time when women typically didn’t venture there.

Happy 95th Birthday, Nana. You’re wonderful and I love you.

Nana at our house, Feb. 3, 2008.

We are very fortunate in that we are the lucky recipients of some really big gifts lately. Opportunities for family and personal enrichment seem to be falling out of the sky.

During the hottest part of Saturday afternoon, movers brought us a piano that is being given to us by Ian’s ex-step-family. It is a Kimball that Dan Sr., Ian’s sister’s father, purchased new in 1968. It was in Dan’s possession until about five years ago. What I hear is that he was a good musician and enjoyed playing it until he and his wife moved to an upstairs condo in Capitola. For the last several years, the piano has been at Dan’s sister’s home. A fall and a broken hip has resulted in elderly Aunt Rachel’s having to move to an assisted living home. Rachel’s family are selling, donating, and disposing of her things, including her home, to help pay for her long-term care. 

We were very touched to hear from Ian’s sister, Kellie, and his ex-step-brother, Dan Jr., that Dan Sr. wanted his piano to stay “in the family.” He hoped we might want it, and tearfully said he feels Ian has “always been like family” to him. Dan is understandably upset about the changes that are happening for Aunt Rachel, his sister, and he is frequently emotional since he had a stroke several years ago. 

So through old connections and the good will of some really sweet people, we now have a pretty, 40-year-old mahogany piano in our home. I do not play, but I have always wanted to learn. I always felt at a disadvantage when I was singing because I couldn’t plunk out my own part without help. I have held a secret hope that Lucas would learn to play someday. It seems to me that if you learn piano, nearly every other musical endeavor comes more easily. It feels like a tremendous windfall to have this instrument for the cost of moving and tuning it; we would never be able to afford one otherwise.

I know of another young boy who was in Lucas’s class last year and he plays. A music teacher comes to his home once a week and teaches Charlie piano and Charlie’s sister, the violin. I’m hoping to arrange for lessons for us to start this summer. 

So, in honor of kind people who gift us with wonderful opportunities to learn new things, I raise my popsicle in a toast: Thank you!

We are very fortunate in that we are the lucky recipients of some really big gifts lately. Opportunities for family and personal enrichment seem to be falling out of the sky.

During the hottest part of Saturday afternoon, movers brought us a piano that is being given to us by Ian’s ex-step-family. It is a Kimball that Dan Sr., Ian’s sister’s father, purchased new in 1968. It was in Dan’s possession until about five years ago. What I hear is that he was a good musician and enjoyed playing it until he and his wife moved to an upstairs condo in Capitola. For the last several years, the piano has been at Dan’s sister’s home. A fall and a broken hip has resulted in elderly Aunt Rachel’s having to move to an assisted living home. Rachel’s family are selling, donating, and disposing of her things, including her home, to help pay for her long-term care. 

We were very touched to hear from Ian’s sister, Kellie, and his ex-step-brother, Dan Jr., that Dan Sr. wanted his piano to stay “in the family.” He hoped we might want it, and tearfully said he feels Ian has “always been like family” to him. Dan is understandably upset about the changes that are happening for Aunt Rachel, his sister, and he is frequently emotional since he had a stroke several years ago. 

So through old connections and the good will of some really sweet people, we now have a pretty, 40-year-old mahogany piano in our home. I do not play, but I have always wanted to learn. I always felt at a disadvantage when I was singing because I couldn’t plunk out my own part without help. I have held a secret hope that Lucas would learn to play someday. It seems to me that if you learn piano, nearly every other musical endeavor comes more easily. It feels like a tremendous windfall to have this instrument for the cost of moving and tuning it; we would never be able to afford one otherwise.

I know of another young boy who was in Lucas’s class last year and he plays. A music teacher comes to his home once a week and teaches Charlie piano and Charlie’s sister, the violin. I’m hoping to arrange for lessons for us to start this summer. 

So, in honor of kind people who gift us with wonderful opportunities to learn new things, I raise my popsicle in a toast: Thank you!

Last year for my birthday, NoNoSays gave me a beautiful pink hydrangea in a 4-inch pot. I planted it in my front yard in a partly shady spot and it has easily quadrupled in size. Its leaves are a charming light green and it’s just beginning to bloom in time for my birthday again.

When I was a little girl, we had a clump of irises in the front yard near our mean neighbors’ house. I rarely visited that side of our yard because the neighbors had big, mean dogs, teenaged mean boys, and a pinched, mean mommy. Every year, though, right around my birthday in May, those irises would burst into the most magnificent purple you ever saw. My mother called them my birthday flower, and over the years, whenever I would begin to get antsy and excited about my impending birthday, she would say, “Go check your birthday flower and see how it’s doing. If it’s blooming it’s your birthday.” For several weeks of the year, I would brave daily visits to that side of the yard to check the progress of the buds.

I’m very happy to have a beautiful birthday flower again. Next week, the day after my birthday, NoNo graduates from CSU Sacramento with a coveted and hard-won design degree. I know that pink hydrangea is blooming for both of us. Thank you, NoNo, and congratulations!  

Asher is away with his grandmother for a few hours, probably for the first time. I am alone in the house and I’m supposed to be working because I have this little book to edit called Lebanon. 

I don’t want to be all thinky, though. I just want to go outside in the coolish morning and sit in the hot tub in the shade. I want to drink shameless morning cocktails all by myself. Or with a shameless friend, who is over 21 and doesn’t call me “mommy.” 

I have recently discovered my inner drinker. My children helped me find her; she was locked deep within me and yearning to come out into the sunshine. 

I didn’t truly discover the sacrament of coffee until Lucas was a baby. I didn’t truly discover the medicinal use of alcohol until this year. 

Call me Mother of the Year. 

OK. Back to Lebanon, where everything is peaceful and tolerant.