A Health to the Company

So here's a health to the company and one to my lass
Let us drink and be merry all out of one glass


I've never been one to celebrate St. Patrick's Day. When I moved to San Francisco, and worked in the Financial District, I remember hating the mess of drunken fratboy behaviors, and the screams of "why aren't you drinking, aren't you Irish?" (really. Nothing weirdly racist about that at all.)

But now we are fortunate enough to live walking distance from a lovely pub, where we regularly take molly for dinner and/or a beer. (for us... not for her

And Sunday night they had Irish step dancing and a band playing Irish folk music. When we got there, Molly desperately wanted to squeeze inside to hear the band. She told me "mama, I like music!' when we took a potty break. When the dancers came out, she went to watch and she LOVED it. But the best? After the dancers left, and the pub became less crowded, she found the dance floor to herself, and danced for like an hour. At one point, two women came up to dance with her, but Molly wasn't quite ready to deal with that. People sitting at the side smiled and waved at her bizarro interpretive, but heartfelt, dance.

I'm old now, and my clubbing days are well behind me. I'm so happy to have a place where kids are loved as part of the continuum. A friend at work seemed surprised "you took your kid to a PUB?!?!" but it seems like the natural thing to me. I've finally come around to St. Patrick's Day, and only because now I can see it through the eyes of a child dancing to folk music at a pub while her parents slam back pints of Murphys.

On another note, though, St. Patrick's will always be a bittersweet time for us, as we'll remember it as the time we saw Kathie off. She passed away the morning after, one year ago.

Let us drink and be merry, all grief to refrain
For we may or might never all meet here again

Ketchup

Where have we been!?!?

Like everyone, we have been busy. Nothing to see here.

It looks like my last post in this here blogspot was in April and even those were tiny posts, so let's dig through the photographic evidence:

In January, Jennifer got married! Good job, Keith! I gave a toast at the reception, and I'm pretty sure it must have rocked because I don't really remember it all that well.

In February, we stayed close to home. Aunt Heather visited, and Molly loved it:

March was busy! We visited Monterey:

we spent a lot of time with Kathie to see her off in her home, and then we dressed Molly up crazy for Easter:

April was a BIG month!
I went to Las Vegas for work, and this must have been the highlight, because it's what I have a picture of:

We learned about farting rubber duckies:

We welcomed baby Tessa!

And played with snails at a birthday party:

May came around and brought grandma's homegrown zucchini:

Molly explored her various personas...
... as a bee, "getting pollen":

... and as "The Skull":

Aunt Mary visited, and Molly charmed her:

June started with Jennifer's birthday, which Molly celebrated with a dance through a giant redwood tree:

For ME (remember, this is not Molly's blog), June was huge-- I got to see the fruits of several months of planning for GoogleServe Week of Service. I am the lead for the Bay Area planning efforts-- this thing is huge and SO rewarding! After months of work with colleagues to get all these folks out into the community, it was nice to lean back and see it happen, get to serve myself. I did a project at Emma Prusch Park in San Jose:

GoogleServe is the hardest thing I do all year, and it's the thing I'm most passionate about at work. I am so grateful to get this opportunity from my awesome employer, and I'm even more humbled by the amazing passion and commitment of the team that makes it happen.

OK
What else happened in June?
I finally got my Aerostich, so I can finally live the bikenerd dream. Grey hairs and oversized BMWs, here I come!

Molly insisted she wanted to play tetherball, with predictable, and adorable results (no children were permanently harmed in the making of this video):

The house 3 doors down burned one morning:

Unfortunately, with the occupant inside, apparently murdered. Molly is now creepily obsessed with death, so don't be surprised if she asks you about death, or tells you someone is dead.


She also loves "pingerfainting"

Which finally brings us to July. We launched with July 4th at the Compound, with lots of friends, kids, beer, and a stunning view of illegal fireworks all around East San Jose.
Then Paul and I took Molly camping. She LOVED it.

Daycare - It's not a goddam Ginsu Knife

Have HAD IT with child care centers trying to be cute and coy about tuition rates. Look, please post this information on your website. If you can't do that, please answer the damn question the first time I ask! Do not try to "schedule a tour" in response to the question. This is not a fun little game for a person who just has all the time in the world to waste with you.

I am a busy parent, which is the whole reason I am trying to find care in the first place. I do not have time for your used car sales tactics. I can only imagine what every other goddam interatction with your center would be like, should my child end up there.

"Is my kid ready to be picked up?"
"Oh! I'm so PLEASED that you asked! Did you know we offer extended care for a small fee?"
"Yes but I just want my kid. Is she ready? Anyway, you didn't even say what the small fee was."
"Oh, why don't you see how you like the extended care facility first. I know you'll love it"
me--->> calling the police to spring my rugrat from this hostage-taker.

It's a simple matter of economics-- I have $X left to pay for my little snowflake's daytime warehouse. You tell me what you will charge, and I will compare it the that number to determine if I should waste our time taking the tour. I know you think by being coy you can get me hooked first, but I am not going to pay more than $X because that is all I have. There is no more!

Forty Years!

So we were moving and fixing the cat, and at the same time, we were working on celebrating with my parents. They've been married FORTY YEARS!. I've never done ANYTHING for forty years, so I can't even imagine!

Paul and I made invitations to send out for the party:

From 2009

And then, September 12h, we celebrated!
We baked and cooked and decorated, and finally, there was a party!

I didn't take any pictures, so I'm stealing this one from my sister:




A good time was had by all, and my parents' friends totally stayed until like 1:30 am, tiring us kids out.

I hope Paul and I will be surrounded by such wonderful people (and food) 39 years from now. But I know it's a lot of work cultivating such a great marriage and community. We'll start with just the cat.

Forty More Years!

There's No Place Like Home

Kansas!
Paul and I spent a few days in Overland Park, KS a couple of weeks ago. Highlights?
I saw cardinals for the first time!

And they have proper Blue Jays. Their Jays look very different from our Stellar's and Western Scrubs, but most interestingly, they sound completely different. Jays are corvids, and so related to our beloved crows and ravens, as well as the ever-present European Starling. I'm accustomed to our Stellar Jays angry squawk, and our Western Scrub Jays questioning screech, but the Blue Jays in Kansas sound like... regular birds. Whistles and tweets, almost.

On a side note, we've recently been getting Western Scrub Jays at our backyard feeder, and I love the yelling in the morning. It's like waking up at camp.

In addition to the two new birds, we also saw Paul's Dad and Stepmom for their birthdays. It was relaxing, of course, because there is not a lot to do there. We caught up with family, which is wonderful, and drank lots of wine. Saturday, I took over the kitchen with Paul's wonderful stepmom and baked snickerdoodle cookies. On Sunday, Paul and I ventured out into the Big City to see what we could see. What did we see?

First, I lived out a childhood dream, and died of Cholera.

Next, I found a beer, where we sat at the bar. It was superbowl sunday, which meant nothing to us. The Superbowl was to start at 2pm, and it was much earlier. Most screens in the bar showed pre-game bullshit (I don't even understand watching sports, but watching people talk about sports???? WTF?) but one screen was set to Puppybowl, which? Genius. Now, if the sports pubs would set half their screens to sports and half their screens to Puppybowl (or Puppy World Series, or whatever) then couples could actually go and enjoy game days together. And families. Who doesn't love puppies?

After fortifying ourselves with beer (for me) and sody-pop (Paul), we decided to tour the Big City... by car, because it was assbitingly cold, and it's miles between interesting things. After a bit of driving around looking at buildings, and getting out once to look at historical markers and an overlook, we decided it was too cold and too boring, so we went back to the house.

...Where we did some IT (did you know there are still people running Netscape as their browser?) and more relaxing and catching up.


Then? At the airport, I figured, "this is Kansas!" so I clicked my heels together three times and found myself at home. Hooray.

chiggers and beer!

preach on!


I spent the weekend in and about Cincinnati, where my mother had planned an amazing feat-- a worldwide reunion of Pulskamps. There were about 209 people there, and 209 is also the number you get when you add the average temperature to the average humidity over the weekend, plus the number of chigger bites I got on my feet.


Friday night, there was a shindig in a beer garden at a German Club not too far from our hotel. After setting up a bit, we proceeded to drink German beer (not my favorite) and spend the evening eating and getting to know people. A visitor from Germany gave a great presentation about the old family farm and Germany in general. The location was very nice, and I secretly wish I had a spot like this available for my wedding. A covered, open-air hall with a bar at one end, adjacent to an outdoor beer garden canopied by trees, adjacent to a little forest with a path winding into it. The cicadas were very noisy but relaxing, and I tried to nap on a picnic table for a bit. At night, there were a very few fireflies.

After returning to the hotel, we all decided to stay up late, so we commandeered the lobby of the hotel and brought down wine and snacks. Grandma led the charge.

Saturday was the main event, out at the tiny town my ancestors first settled when they arrived. Highlights here were a stunning view into the valley, a nice old graveyard with many a family grave in it, from the way-back-whens, and......?


Moonshine!!!


Not that there wasn't "beer." There was plenty of Miller High Life ("The Champagne of Beers") and Natty Light Ice to go around. I choked down one of each, in solidarity.


What did we do there? After traipsing around on the graves looking for our family name (of which there were many instances), we split up to go to the first family farm. How do you get around in the countryside?


A HAYRIDE, of course! Actually, I did not fit in either of the two hayrides, so I went with my family in the rental car, which worked out nicely, since one of the locals was guiding us and giving us lots of stories.


First stop was the first farm the family settled, which has recently been purchased back into the family. This picture shows the new barn, obviously not vintage. Inside, a barn swallow nest was full of a protectant parent and several little mouths. The pictures I took with my phone were not stellar, but better photos will come when my sister and dad get their photos out.




UPDATE: screw photos! We have video!!! My dad is so cool. Does your dad have a youtube account???

We proceeded on to an old German town called Oldenburg, where we poked around the church and witnessed the horrors of a Midwestern bridal party.

Then, more farm! We stopped at a farm that is still in the family, where we saw a cousin's John Deere tractor collection, spanning back to the 1930's.

When we returned to the town, Jennifer and I snuck across the street to the tavern. It was everything you would want in a small town tavern. We chatted with locals and drank Smirnoff Ice. There were no taps, just beer in cans-- Bud Light and Natty Light Ice! This tiny town of, I'm guessing, about 100 people, once boasted three taverns! But only Sally's place is left.

After wrapping up the party, we returned back to our hotel, stopping at a gas station along the way, where I was sure I could get some better beer. Not so! There was nothing but mountains of crap beer everywhere.

This about sums it up:
No beer for me!

Sunday we went to Cincinnati to see the conservatory and the Cincinnati Art Museum. They have a good museum, and the park it was in seemed quite nice, but really I had no time to see the city before heading to the airport.

Sunday night I got home to find that my feet had been attacked by chiggers. Ironically, I was wearing shoes and socks the entire time, while my sister exposed her feet with flip-flops, but I ended up with bites all over my feet. They are really not all that bad. Wherever I was when I picked them up, it must have been scenic. The area we were in was quite beautiful, unlike some of the other places I'd been in the Midwest. The old towns were nestled into green forested hills with winding country roads. Almost pretty enough to go back. Almost.

A Year Later

I certainly didn't learn this from my mother

Tuesday night, I learned the joys of spray starch for ironing. wonder of wonders! It is wonderful! Now I just need an ironing board. This gave me an absurd amount of joy.

I did not learn many of these once-basic domestic skills from my mother. I can't picture her ironing, actually. For some reason, I don't mind ironing, though I do need a board to make it nice.

She did teach me a lot of other wonderful things, like how to make Peanut Butter Playdough, sewing, knitting (sort of), and the simple, profound joy of being able to answer a compliment with "thanks, I made it." She taught me how to be an artist and craftsman and create beautiful things, too many at a time. And definetely how to overextend myself and make big messy piles all over my desk and then somehow, in a way no one else will ever understand, deliver it all in the end more skillfully and naturally than a real "organizer."

I'm always so proud of my mom. Cooking and cleaning and boring house chores aside, how many other people can say their mom knows how to tat, do blackwork, build a website, run a conference for non-profits, make jam, run a girl scout troop, and, most impressively in my book, get a priest to swear at her?

Easter Weekend

My dear sainted brother came for Easter, bringing his wife and ginormous baby for a flash visit.

Saturday morning I went to meet with Lionel and Jen, two of the most amazing and wonderful friends I have. They enjoyed some coffee and Bizmarkie at Coffee Society in Campbell, where I also ran into an old high school friend I had not seen since, well, high school.

Ben and Megan arrived around 5 or 6, and the family promptly launched into a chocolate and port (and then red wine, white wine, bourbon and goldschlager, but who's counting?) party. I brought some fancy-pants chocolates from Cocoabella to cut into a lot of tiny pieces so we could each try each flavor. Perhaps I am a bit compulsive, but it's my goddam chocolate!

Ben got really drunk and insisted there was something wrong with my keyboard. Whatever the problem is, seems to have righted itself!

Amazingly, we did not feel too bad in the morning. Paul got many photos of the local folk sunning themselves on rocks.







Family and friends started showing up, so I finally got dressed and proceeded into the beer. We ate all kinds of food, loafed and visited, and then finally had to go home.

The week was busy (work stuff) but otherwise uneventful. I ordered more memory so that my wee iBook might better run NeoOffice (need to install now, and I am skeered) and I became re-focused on my career change search. I had fallen off the wagon for a bit, probably a combination of busy and overwhelmed, and a little bit avoidance of something a bit worrisome. BUT, I am back on it now, and I think relatively close to deciding, more or less. That would be a nice first step.

Happy Birthday Parents!

My folks were born two days apart. March 24 and 26, some, uhhh, several years ago.

We decided to take them to a nice dinner, at a wonderful restaurant, so I made reservations at Amber, which is really nice, and the food is good, and all of that. Very parents'-birthday appropriate. Except that there is absolutely nothing appropriate about Santana Row.

We should have had plenty of time, but it took like 20 minutes to get to the strip mall (yes, San Jose, that is still a strip mall!) from the freeway, which is only like 3 blocks. It occured to me that this is what car people experience as the norm? I have no idea how they have the patience for it.
Once in the faux-urban strip mall, we spent another 30 minutes going up, and then down the two or three levels of the parking garage, not even to the top because I declared it bullshit, and proclaimed that there wouldn't be parking there either. Then "let's just valet the damned thing!"
But the valet was full.
Thankfully, we went in the Prius, so we felt quite smug that as we sat through stop and go traffic, we weren't burning gas. Smugness trumps all!

And then gave up on Amber.
Santana Row can rot to hell, for all I care. What a dump. I declare it Disneyland's bad vision of a city. I live in a city, I know what it looks like. There's less traffic, for one thing.

And found ourselves, for our fancy occasion with our dearly-honored parents, at... the Elephant Bar! (well, at least it wasn't Denny's)
We did get candles in their desserts and sing to them. Does that make it better?

Sorry, parents, you deserve much better. I had no idea that shithole stripmall would be such an attraction to everyone else! It seemed like a good idea when I made the reservations?


Saturday my dad went off to a train party (raucous fun) and so my mother, my sister, my Hott Boyfriend, and I went to Alum Rock Park, where I spent many a day as a child. Alum Rock Park is the place where we had Day Camp and other events as Girl Scouts, visited the park and Youth Science Institute with our elementary schools, probably had a few birthday parties, etc. I spent a lot of time there since my mom was the organizer of several such events and as such, my entire family would be there. My grandfather got poison oak in his eye one year at Girl Scout camp, when he was the leader of the boy's unit. We would put watermelons in the creek to keep them cold for the afternoon. We would keep our old shoes with holes in them and go creekwalking, letting the algea and waterspiders squish around between our legs and toes. At the YSI, we'd visit owls and snakes, and if they had time, they'd gather the kids in a large circle and let a ferret out in the middle for us to see. I remember evacuating a few troops of girls out of the playground at the YSI area once when a mountain lion came down near the playground. And of course the many times we'd stick our heads into the mineral springs and baths to wrinkle our noses and imagine why in the heck some people thought it would be a good idea to drink it or soak in it.

It's a wonderful place, in short. And I hadn't been back as an adult.

We got sandwiches and had a little picnic with a red robin, some blue jays, several squirrels, and some sort of heron or crane. Then we went for a little hike, which turned into a somewhat decent hike when we decided to go up to the South Rim trail. I think it must have been about 3 miles, the first being a switchback ascent, followed by a beautiful view over the canyon and into the San Jose valley. There were many critters, including a lizard which had lost most of its tail, fuzzy-wuzzy caterpillars, a deer, and several birds of prey. The only downer to this trail was the outrageous amount of poison oak. I've never seen so much poison oak, with such healthy leaves. It had completely taken the trail, such that you had to wiggle under and around it to avoid it.

We felt quite pleased with our hike and finished Saturday night at the Rockbottom Brewery, where some waiter insulted me by describing a beer as being IPA-like (it wasn't, it was more like a Belgian) and taking five minutes to warn me how strong it was. What. Ever. Bring me the damn beer, bubba. At some point I started talking about elephants and Paul tried to take my beer away. Feh. Anyway, it was like a poor interpretation of a Belgian, and just really not all that.

We came home and found that my dad's train party had not landed him a night in the slammer, and shared some port and chocolate.

It is so nice to have my sister around now. Where she used to always scurry off after whatever planned activity had brought her, she now gets to hang out and do fun stuff with us, or boring stuff, as it sometimes may be. I really enjoy her company. I'm so happy for her!

Sunday morning we jump started Paul's bike off of mine and made it back to Berkeley just in time to meet up with Paul's mom for breakfast (breakfast #2 at this point) She had to hurry off to prepare for some great adventure. So we took advantage of the afternoon to hike down to "downtown" Berkeley. Fortunately, there is a restaurant called "Downtown" there so you know when you're "downtown." After some beer and Irish food (?) at Becketts, we finally saw Pan's Labrynth before heading home. Dark movie. I enjoyed it.

Unfortunately, Monday had to come, and ruin everything. Feh.

This coming weekend, we will probably go to the hillclimbs at Carnegie. Dusty Beers!

Seattle

This past weekend, Paul and I went up to Seattle to visit Maggie. My new neice is cute, I guess, but babies of this age aren't all that fun. I was sick, so I didn't, like hold the baby or anything. Mostly she just screamed and pooped and slept. I should have waited a few months if I wanted something more entertaining. Babies don't get interesting until they are a few months older, when they can actually interact. For now, she is a pooping and screaming machine, and she keeps Ben and Megan busy. They are quite possibly the most responsible and engaged parents I've ever seen.

So while they changed, bathed, fed, rocked, and gave bourbon to Maggie (just kidding about the last one, sort of), Paul and I walked around their new neighborhood a bit, and by around, I mean, straight to the pub, and then straight to the cupcake shop.

We screwed around with the cat, G, who is really a dog in kitty clothes.

We drank the beer, lots of it.

I felt a little better just in time to fly home. I just hope I did not get baby or parents sick.

Critter...

...is now Margaret Caroline Turner
11:49 pm, January 3rd, 2007
She weighed 8 pounds, 1.7 ounces
measured 19.5 inches long

I know nothing about babies, but my mom tells me that's sort of big-ish.
Congratulations Ben & Megan! Now mom can stop hassling me for grandchildren!

I'm an Ayi!

I will now start collecting for her ribbon allowance & cedar chest.

First Christmas Tree!

It's almost that time, and, well I'm a sucker for Christmas. Really any excuse to hang out with my family is a good time, but Christmas is just more. I have spent the past few weeks listening to Christmas music non-stop, baking the hell out of some Christmas cookies (we baked double batches of 12 kinds of cookies two weekends ago at the Turner Compound), and wondering what to get for the people in my life. When people tell me they hate Christmas, it makes me angry. I don't want to hear that. If you aren't enjoying it, you're not doing it right, and that's a personal problem, not Christmas' fault.

So Paul and I got a Christmas tree (a first!) and decorated it at his house. The cat hasn't knocked it over yet, and it has yet to catch fire.

Last weekend we had dinner with the folks (mine and Paul's mom) at Priya, the oh-so-yummy Indian restaurant near Paul's house. Sunday, we went to the International Motorcycle Show in San Mateo. Which was bigger than last year, but a lot of it was crap. I witnessed the ugliest motorcycle I have ever seen, and wouldn't you know, it had a little sign next to it saying that it had been voted #1 best in show? The most offensively ugly motorcycle I've ever seen in my life, hands down. The best thing was a 50cc cafe racer a guy had made so his two-year-old son could have a bike that matched daddy's restoration project bike. So cute. And, well, a whole lot of fun stuff over at the Husqevarna booth! We entertained the idea of dual-sport sidehack riding again for a bit, then jumped around on some ATVs and a Honda Ruckus. I got some stickers and signed up to win all kinds of crap. Which I never win. We saw people, and that was nice.

I'm pretty sure one of those Husky motards will be in my Christmas stocking? Or maybe that's why Paul put the tree on a table, so bike could fit under it...


I, of course, never got around to making Christmas cards, so consider this yours.


Merry Christmas, Happy New Year, quit your complaining.

Thanksgiving

I got hung up on posting because I got stuck at Thanksgiving. Normally, I have a lot of thanks at the ready, but frankly, this past year hasn't been the kind you would be readily thankful for. Should I be thankful for the disastrous ending to my dream of going to the Isle of Man? How about thankful for one of my best friends being in the hospital with a major head injury and no good prognosis (I still think he'll do well, just slowly)? Maybe about my grandfather passing quickly and too soon. And then sprinkle in the crappy work environment I suffered for months, the bleak occupational outlook and accompanying feelings of being trapped and being a failure, the speeding tickets, the weight gain and generally feeling like ass, the horrible luck we showered onto my brother's house, the inability to move into a new place, and, gee, while I'm feeling sorry for myself, we lost the good cats!

Well, OK, you know, all said and done, this has been a shit year. So the thanks didn't come readily, but where I can find them, they are meaningful.

I'm thankful for the late night conversation I had with James when he crashed at my house. I got to tell him exactly how much he meant to me, point blank. I'm thankful that I showed him how much I admired him. I'm thankful that sitting on the couch at the SFMC alone one evening, he said to me "that's the nicest compliment anyone's ever given me." Because I don't think we'll ever have those times again. But I made myself known. James was one of those presences that changed my life for the better. I'm glad I told him that when I had the chance.

I'm thankful for the home and family that my grandfather built for me. I'm thankful for the wisdom and meaning he passed on to me, for the time we got to spend basking in his character and frighteningly broad intellect. I'm thankful for all the love, and for the love I witnessed him giving to the world at large. I'm thankful for all the too-strong hugs and the courage he's given by example. Mostly, I'm thankful for the last time Paul and I made it up there to help with the garden and enjoy my grandparents without the rest of the noise when we had the chance. There's just not always another chance when you think there will be.

I'm thankful for the courage I've been given, to tell people what the mean to me, in the time that I have with them.

I can't find too much thanks for missing out on the Isle of Man, but I did learn this, and it's got to be worth it:
Paul and I have had a lot of good times, so many it seems unreal. But good times are easy, and it's easy to love someone when times are good.
I'm thankful for the knowledge that Paul and I can withstand extreme stress. I know what it looks like when we are angry at each other. I know how Paul will care for me when I overextend myself, when I have great loss, when I feel overwhelmed, or face failure.



Overwhelmingly, this has been a shit year. Next year, I hope to be thankful for much less heavy things, but for now, these will do.

For we may and might never

Kind friends and companions, come join me in rhyme
Come lift up your voices in chorus with mine
Let us drink and be merry, all grief to refrain
For we may and might never all meet here again

Here's a health to the company and one to my lass
Let us drink and be merry all out of one glass
Let us drink and be merry, all grief to refrain
For we may and might never all meet here again

One of Uncle Carl's kids or grandkids, or someone, got married at Chaminade a few years back. It was a beautiful ceremony, and I was there with my parents and my grandparents. During the reception, the DJ announced for all the married couples to get up and come to the dance floor, and then dance. My parents and grandparents went up and danced for a bit. Then the DJ asked for those who'd been married 10 years or more to remain while the rest sat down. Then 20 years or more. Then 25, 30, 35... and soon my grandparents were the only ones left. But they still had a long way to go. 40, 45, 50, 60!

The image of the two of them up there dancing alone while everyone cheered (and they did cheer!) will always stick with me. In all the noise and ruckus, there was just my grandmother, smiling in the arms and eyes of my grandpa. They were so proud and happy that day. I think the bride actually gave her bouquet to my grandmother instead of throwing it to the unmarried women. (at least that's how my mother remembers it) When they came back to the table, they were a little tired, and a lot ecstatic.

After the wedding, my grandfather made us all drive to Marianne's to get ice cream. I thought it was a place they'd been recently or regularly, but in fact it was another of those things my grandpa had done once many years ago, and kept filed in his encyclopedic brain. Worth it; I am hooked forever, and going there always will remind me of Grandpa.

My grandparents were preparing to celebrate their 65th wedding anniversary this December 27th. We were all excited, and preparations were being made. Invitation postcards were already mailed. 65 years of marriage is so rare, and 65 years of happy marriage... We all were so excited.

And in the end, it was pretty sudden. My grandfather was out cleaning up sides of highways, having meetings, going door-to-door campaigning for local ballot issues and his favorite congressman. He had climbed Mt. Whitney a few times. He was a strong, hearty man, who gave painfully slappy hugs right up until he didn't anymore. Paul seemed surprised that I didn't take what would have been the last bit of peanut butter for my waffle the last time we visited. Normally, I'd do just that, but you just didn't take Grandpa's peanut butter. Even *I* wouldn't do it. He wasn't the sort of man you'd want to upset.

My grandfather was a champion bellower. He would famously declare at the end of the evening, when parties were still in full swing, "I'm tired, everybody go to bed." And they would.

One of my favorite memories of my grandfather is the time I got to go to a Peace rally march, before the war in Iraq started. Grandpa, my mother, myself, and my cousin's daughter, all got to go together. Four generations, and I know my grandfather was proud. When can I grow into a person I feel would really be worthy of his pride?

For all his loud showy strength and power, my grandmother is the quiet, soft voice that reigned him in and made sense of his life. I cannot imagine my grandfather without her. I grew up in the world they built for all of us; my strength comes from them; my sense of right and just comes from them; my love of peanut butter and family come from them. My big, strong eyebrows come from Grandpa. We've all been trying to cultivate his eyebrows on our own faces. I hope I can cultivate his sense of responsibility, justice, and service as well.

Recently, my grandparents went to a charity auction where one of the prizes was a part in the local drama school (or club, or whatever)'s play. One of the local winemakers actually started bidding on the part, for my grandmother to have the part. My grandmother has been a teacher all her life, by calling, and when I was a child, was very active in getting the kids into drama (specifically, the Wizard of Oz, but I also remember her taking me to see The King and I which one of her students was in). They won the auction, soo that my grandmother would be in the local play, and my grandfather, who is notoriously frugal (well, he is a child of the Great Depression, and wasn't a big spender) got so excited by it, that he started bidding on a prize of the local drama/singing students coming to the winner's house or event to sing "There's no Business Like Show Business." Totally out of character for Grandpa to spend money on such a thing, but, see, he adored his Kay, in a way that outweighed every practical bone in his body. For all his brashness and loud grumpy-face show, Grandpa was a man who lived every deed and thought in love.

It's hard now, to wake up to the reality that Grandpa won't be there to ask who left their glass half full on the table, or look for that piece of paper (he's spent most of his life looking for a piece of paper). I can't imagine that we won't be told where to go (15 miles out of the way) to get cheaper gas. My uncle said it best, that whenever you didn't know something, you could just ask grandpa. Now who will we ask? Who will jump up from every dinner to grab an encyclopedia, almanac, atlas, or dictionary?

I miss him so much.

and all I have is, that, we did make it out there once this year. I meant to go again, though. But things aren't always where you left them; things won't always be there next time. My grandparents have always been my heroes, and I wish I'd made more time, to be there, to absorb everything, all the stories, all the wisdom, all the character.

Don't let it pass you by, and always tell the people that matter, how much they mean to you.

From the Amador Ledger Dispatch:




John Joseph Pulskamp, an honorable and honest man born in Pittsburg, PA, December 17, 1920 died shortly after midnight on the morning of October 31, 2006 in Jackson, CA. His wife, Kay, is doing well, confident in her faith and appreciative of their sixty-five years together. He spent his last hours in relative comfort, surrounded by his loving family, singing to him and recalling stories from the beautiful life they shared. The impact of his life is large and will continue through his children, grandchildren, great grandchildren, and many friends.

Retired from the Los Angeles Department of Water and Power, John and his wife, retired teacher Caroline (Kay) Pulskamp moved to Sutter Creek in 1994. Locally, John was active in the Immaculate Conception Men's Club, the county Democrats club, the Knights of Columbus, the Duck Race, and Call To Action of Northern California (an organization of progressive Catholics).

John is survived by his wife, Kay, five of his children: John Richard Pulskamp (and wife Betty Rose Pulskamp), Ellen Jean Pulskamp-Turner (and husband Ray Turner), Patricia Theresa Busch (and husband Ron Busch), Mary Catherine Pulskamp (and husband Robert Lockhart), and Michael Ignatius Pulskamp (and wife Debra). Their oldest daughter, Carol Ann Pulskamp, died April 29, 2003. John has seventeen grandchildren and eight great-grandchildren with a new great-grandchild, currently known only as Critter, due on John and Kay's 65th wedding anniversary, December 27, 2006.

Asked how he wanted to be remembered he said, "I tried to help." What more can a person offer?

John will be Lying in State at his home until Saturday morning. A vigil and wake will be held at the home Friday evening, starting at 7:00 PM. A Funeral Mass will be celebrated on Saturday, November 4, 11:00 AM at Immaculate Conception Church, Sutter Creek with a reception at the family home following the service. The church is at 125 Amelia Street Sutter Creek. The home is at 290 Gold Strike Court in Sutter Creek. All are welcome.

John would be honored with donations to: Jericho, 926 J Street #410, Sacramento, CA 95814 or to Sutter-Amador Hospital 200 Mission Boulevard Jackson, CA 95642


Services provided by: Mc Crory's of Pine Grove