Tales of the Ordinary Days

"Are we back to normal again?" I heard my father-in-law, Larry (aka Old Guy), asking Garrett this as I laid in bed.  Garrett was performing his morning ritual of coffee bean grinding before brewing our morning specialty coffee. This was after he had read and stretched, all while I was still thinking about waking up. Through the crack in the door, I could see Larry sitting, feet up, in his favorite sofa spot. Jake, my step-son, was noisily filling his large water jug for a day in the sun at his summer job. This clanging of ice at 7 am along with the permeating coffee aroma and Larry's shuffling have been my morning wake-up routine of recent times. With my delivered cup of hot java, I hear the sounds of the morning; the garage door opening with Garrett taking Jake to work and the percolating of Larry's own coffee of choice, Folgers, in his Mister Coffee machine. His own pot to drink through the morning while enjoying his latest book. Yes, Larry, I think we are ...

Friday night lights at Skutt Catholic Moylan Field I love this time of year. Hoodies and fleece blankets are officially pulled out, ready for football games and bonfires that fill our weekend nights. Kids and parents have now nestled into a new school year. School spirit fills the air. My youngest son is now a junior at Skutt Catholic High School. His road to completing high school is becoming shorter. Past the halfway point of his high school journey, the days tick away as my journey through these fun years is coming to an end as well. My oldest, Zach, began as a fresh-faced freshman in the fall of 2007. Since then, not a year has passed that I haven't had a son walking through the halls of Skutt. Living one mile from the school, door to door, I have been blessed with a home brewing with constant activity as an extension of the school. From pasta feeds in the backyard to a meeting place for kids before and after school events, I have enjoyed every minute of the teenage cha...

My current view My mom has been in town this week. The last time I saw her was on a visit to Arizona while I was taking a time off from my work life. Now months later and with me fully back on the work treadmill, I found myself making a comment to her on more than one occasion. "Mom, I am so busy. How did I let this happen again?" I swore myself to a more serene lifestyle after smelling the roses during my months off of work. Instead I have found myself shuffling calendar entries and running from back-to-back engagements and meetings. Although I have been wildly successful in my quest to work with the right people on the right projects, I've somehow left out the balance of leaving some time for myself. Sometimes ones self is the best study of human nature. I have come to realize that what was good for me 20 years ago is different now. What I desire for daily personal time and replenishment of energy is much different today. I will rack that up to age and human e...

Mother's Day activity Mother's Day was most enjoyable. Although I wasn't able to spend it with all of my sons or my own mother, I did have a fun afternoon with Zach. The oldest. Number one child and son. The reason I was able to first celebrate this holiday in 1994. Garrett and I met Zach in Downtown Denver with no set plans other than to find some new adventures. Brunch was as at an Irish bar and grille. We gave it high marks for both atmosphere and food quality. The Bloody Mary was pretty good too. Our tour of downtown included a stroll through Union Station and then on to pool play and beer tasting at Wynkoop Brewery. I was gifted a t-shirt that reads "I Love Beer" with the word love replaced with a heart filled with the Colorado logo. Also in the goody bag was a Wynkoop beer glass. Next stop was the flagship REI store on Platte Street. With visions of Reese Witherspoon's hiking performance in Wild, I looked at the extreme hiking gear with g...

Mom, Aunt Joan, Ben, and Zach enjoy a quiet moment after the winning bid Our piano has a long and loving history with my family.   It began at the Elmer Pick home in the early 1950's. This piano was handpicked by my Grandpa Elmer's sister, Sister Aiden. And, yes, she really was a 'sister' under both meanings.  Four of Grandpa's sisters chose a life of service as a nun as their vocation . The story, as I have been told, is that the musically gifted Sister Aiden went with Grandpa to the piano store and carefully played each piano until she choose the perfect one for her brother's home.                 The Pick "Sisters" This same piano now sits in my living room.   My mom and her eight siblings were taught on this piano at their childhood home in Remsen, Iowa. It then traveled to the farm as my grandpa retired from his life as a vet to begin his life as a farmer.   The piano ultimately followed...

Love abound? Probably not... Cleaning up my e-mail archives, I stumbled on a story my mom shared with my nephew and then later shared with me. My first ordinary day as the little sister... Sandy Wagner: home from the hospital 9/16/67 Dear Josh, Aunt Sandy turned 46 years old last Friday, the 13th. After getting home from the hospital on the 16th, I laid Sandy on the sofa and called Matt & Mark to come in the house from the backyard. Babysitters Gma & Gpa Gib were going on and on about our new pink bundle of joy while both boys walked very carefully to investigate what warranted so much attention. They got real close to her face for a really good look. Who to blame? I don't remember, but someone flipped the top of the blanket over Sandy's face. No longer interested and impatient to play again, they left the room to go back outside. I wish I could describe Gma Gib's reaction and Gpa Gib's laugh. Gma Gib was a little less complementary a few minutes lat...

Me and my brothers (and yes, two of us were later recipients of braces) I think I have mentioned this before in my blogs. I grew up with brothers. Painful at times, but fun most times. I do know that I have thicker skin because of it. At a young age I was taught the art of fighting back physically, and mouthing back when Mom wasn't listening. I could scrap and hold my own with the best of them. I climbed trees and skinned my knees while battling to keep up with my older brothers and their friends. The forever little sister. I am now going to confess things my mother didn't know. Mom's typical response to our fighting and verbal sparring was very standard. "You three need to work out your problems on your own." A true travesty in today's culture of the forever helicopter mom. But she kept her word. We really did have to work it out on our own. There were great life lessons learned and I had bruises to prove it. Now confession time. Sorry in advanc...

Garrett's mom passed away in February. It was expected, as she had been sick for some time. But it was unexpected, as she had a slight rally with some hopefulness before her passing. Wendy's wish was for her ashes to be disbursed in the Pacific Ocean. Her husband, Bob, planned a nice service on the ocean as a final celebration of her life. His well designed plan initially threw Garrett and I a bit of a curve ball. The planned event was for midday on a Wednesday; sandwiched in between my son's high school graduation and Garrett's daughter's 8th grade graduation. And it landed smack dab on my youngest son's 8th grade graduation day. The timing couldn't have been worse. Garrett and my work and travel lives are hectic, even without these end-of-year school festivities. My parents were in town visiting for the first time in two years. Instead of entertaining them, I was flying across the country. Anxiety ensued as we booked our flights. But Garrett and I...

Here I am again. A million stories in my mind. But no pen to paper. Too busy. <sigh>. But regardless of the chaos of April and May, today was a good day. My mom and dad are back in town. They rolled in this afternoon. And we are all happy;. Zach, Ben, Grant, Sandy, Garrett. Life is good. We will be celebrating a graduation with Ben this weekend with family and friends. Seeing the loving faces of my parents is Step One. Tomorrow will be a final planning day before the gala on Saturday. It's been two years since my parents have been with us in Omaha. We missed them. Tonight we met friends for dinner in the Old Market. We laughed and shared life. As a newly minted adult, Zach was able to join us as well. A good night. And now I take a breath and long for a bit of time to write. A bit of time to catch up with my family. A bit of time to relax and enjoy the moment. As a wise friend once told me..."breathe". Just breathe and enjoy the ride. Milestones are abo...

Ben and Alex Kramer celebrating their state championship win with the crowd I am just the mom. Ben shakes his head when I confuse football positions and show weakness on the "X's and O's". He believes I don't know much about the game. In all actuality, I know a lot. While I continue to broaden my tactical understanding, I am in tune to the truly important aspects of football. Never underestimate the observations of an intuitive mother. What I see are life lessons. I'm a storyteller by nature. So I am going to tell the story of two young men with two very different football experiences. The stories are deeper than football with valuable lessons that extend beyond the field. Both players have just finished their high school careers. But their experiences were markedly different. Although their goals to excel seemed aligned, the deeper goals were not. Boy #1: This boy chased his dream of being a football star. He was told at a young age that he wou...

Today my mom changed her FaceBook profile picture to the picture above. It's me. I was caught by surprise when I saw it. This picture, from a time that precedes my memory, gave me a big smile in the middle of a crazy day. It really is the small things that fuel our heart. Below is Mom's description of the picture. It was coincidental that she noted Hubie Nothem; a Remsen local who passed away this weekend at age 100. "Picture was taken in our house in Remsen before we completely remodeled the house in 1969. The Maytag washer on the left served as extra counter space in a VERY small kitchen...the frig is on the right. Hubie Nothem and Gbp Gib Wagner worked on the house to make it livable before we moved in it in April 1966. (Sandy loved beets...and was always smiling!!!)"

Thought for the day: Every day is special, so why wait to eat on the good china? Thank-you, Mom, for teaching me this wise lesson. My china has been passed down from my grandparents. I fondly remember eating our childhood holiday dinners on these special dishes. I was the lucky recipient of this hand-me-down heirloom. Mom has used her keen eye and resourcefulness in finding matching pieces for me at garage sales and on-line. My china set is now expansive and spectacular. I am the proud owner of a variety of dishes in the silver etched, blue-flowered pattern. The latest addition of mini butter plates are a perfect complement to the separately served hot rolls. Tonight we sat down and ate as a family. I deemed it a special day; just because. So I broke out the china and served Gatorade in wine glasses. Then we took the extra-special step of eating in the dining room. With my Halloween village glowing in the background, we enjoyed our last Halloween hurrah as the decorations will...

The picture above makes me laugh. The first question that comes to mind; who took this picture? It had to be either me or my brothers, based on my father's expression. He was obviously giving direction. And we were obviously not following them very well. Mom is trying to look like she comfortably fits in the chair; which she doesn't. Rebecca, although not ready for the picture either, pulls off a halfway attractive smile. And as for Dennis, all I can say is...how about that seventies hair and wire glasses? As you would expect, my mom made her dress. Note her dark pantyhose with white slingback sandals. Too bad we can't see the whole shoe. I remember my dad's plaid pants very well and that particular trip to Omaha to visit our Aunt Becky and Uncle Denny. The adults were leaving for dinner at Mr. C's. It is difficult to imagine our photographic life before our camera phones. Back in the day, we would have to wait to develop our film and then sort out the rej...

I asked my mom if I could share an old family picture and accompanying note that she had shared with me. Mom is our family historian extraordinaire. Her attention to detail and CSI skills on unearthing an unfamiliar face in a photo or date of event is the best, bar none. ___________________________________________________________________ This photo of my grandmother, Mrs. Adam (Mary) Pick, and her children was taken Sept 1943 in Iowa.  Wearing the army uniform is my father, Elmer, 27 years old. In 1922 at the age of 55 my grandfather Adam had a stroke & died leaving Grandma Pick with 11 of her 12 children still at home on the farm in Alton IA.  Elmer, my father and the youngest, was 6 years old that year.  Catholicism runs deep in the Pick family beginning many generations ago in Germany.  In America, Grandma Pick was blessed with a brother, Fr. Henry Rolfes, two sons, four daughters and one grandson, Fr. Anthony Pick, all of whom joined the Francis...

Pick Aunts (w/Adam, Gma, and me) Aunts (L to R) Joanie, Connie, Mom, Kathy, Barbara, Rebecca I recently visited my Aunt Kathy at her cool downtown apartment. As we sipped wine and enjoyed light conversation, a stack of photo albums caught my eye. After asking permission to peruse, I quickly surmised that I had stumbled upon some lost treasures. Kathy, a lifelong talented photographer, had meticulously documented her life through pictures. My childhood was included in her pictorial story. Many of the found photo treasures were snaps I had never seen before. Forgotten stories and ordinary days were quickly remembered with an emotional flood to my memory. I'm a sucker for pictures. When visiting friends, I find myself drawn to all the photos framed on walls and shelves. I love to hear about the different people that played such an important role that their photo is displayed front and center. An army picture of a young soldier now an elder or a baby picture of a grown man; ...

A girl always needs to pop her wardrobe I wrote a blog recently about my love for varying accessories and a great pair of shoes. My mom commented that I certainly didn't grow up with an abundance of shoes. Then she pointed out a prized pair I owned; blue saddle shoes. We chose them for my First Communion. I am quite sure I was the only First Communicant with blue saddle shoes. The other girls wore white patent leather strapped sandals. Theirs were considered traditional church shoes, mine were not. And I was thrilled. My mom gets credit for all of this. First off, she allowed me to wear the bright shoes on that important day (most moms wouldn't have for the sake of not wanting to be different). It was my mom who instilled in me a desire to pop a wardrobe and dare to be different. Together we created fashion with a sewing machine and a shoestring budget. This is where my mom gets the most credit. Those cool pieces of purchased clothing were many times bought off of sal...

I am Miss USA to the left and Bev, Miss America, to the right. With my many years of running and recent addition of cycling to my repertoire, I am frequently asked the question, "Why don't you do a triathlon?"  My answer has always been, "I'm not a very good swimmer. I would sink." I have perfected the dog paddle, but past that; my skills are limited. This statement does seem a bit odd based on my childhood summers spent with endless, parentless hours at the pool. An inquiring mind would wonder how I could have slipped through those many sun-filled years without a whistle twirling around my finger and my butt situated in a lifeguard seat. I am going to have to blame this one on my mom; the woman who virtually does nothing wrong. But in this case, her snap decision to remedy a wardrobe malfunction with a safety pin totally derailed my swimming future. My wardrobe was designed and sewn by my talented seamstress mother. Mom had a l...

The final product...details below I grew up in Iowa, the land of endless corn. Knee high by the Fourth of July; it was always in abundance. I loved this succulent indulgence since a small girl. Corn on the cob was prepared and available at every church picnic and summer family gathering. A side for the special family meals prepared by my mom. But she warned me against too much of a good thing. Mom often said "Don't eat too much. Remember, corn is what they fatten the pigs with." The phrase has stuck with me for life. But I still love corn. And I eat it. Just not too much. Memories of sweet corn not only includes biting into a juicy cob, but the less pleasurable job of shucking the corn. This was the part that we did not like. It was a task my brothers and I avoided, although not very successfully. Prior to a family gathering, we would sit on top of buckets in the back yard, shucking corn into garbage cans. The silks would stick and the husks would fly as we tore...