Aunt Ruth

Some of my favorite memories have my Aunt Ruth in them. My earliest memories of driving up the coast to Cayucos from our home in South Gate, were of arriving at Aunt Sisi's house for the night. But the next day, usually right after breakfast, my sister Kelly and I would head across the street to Ambrosia's where Aunt Ruth worked. It was a cool touristy beachfront store. I can still hear the bell ring as we pushed the door open and Aunt Ruth would be standing there waiting for us. We'd get the usual hugs and kisses and then she'd tell us to do our loop of the store that we always did, looking for that one perfect treat she'd buy for us. It could be candy or coloring books, sometimes a beach toy. Kelly and I would wander around the store for an hour looking at everything before making our purchase decision. As soon as we presented our treasures to Aunt Ruth, she'd pay for the items, bag them up, hand them off to us and then shoo us back across the street to Aunt Sisi's house.

My aunts and mom 💓

Sylvia Silva, Ruth Brum, Bernice Casas, Meta Thorndyke, Zora Tomasini

Another treat for us was walking around the corner and up the street from the pier to Aunt Ruth's house, once she got home from work or on her days off. She had a big plum tree in her backyard that always seemed to be overloaded with fruit. We'd stand out in the middle of the yard with brown lunch sacks that Aunt Ruth would fill with fruit for each of us. We'd eat our fill and always have enough left for Aunt Sisi to make refrigerator plum jam for our breakfast toast the next day. Sometimes, when we'd spend the afternoon with Aunt Ruth, she'd wash her laundry then take it to the backyard to hang on the clothesline to dry. To this day, I love hanging my sheets on a clothesline because of my Aunts. It's such a wonderful memory for me and the fresh, crisp, smell of line-dried sheets is intoxicating.

When Bob and I were married just a few years, we moved to Cayucos and lived across the street from Aunt Ruth. It was a normal occurrence to have her walk in our front door to check on us and our firstborn. Aunt Ruth was so good to me when I was a new mother. She spent a lot of time building my confidence as a twenty year old first-time mother. She would also walk out to Aunt Meta's ranch with me, pushing Matthew's carriage as I walked alongside, stopping now and then to pick anise or talk to the cows at the fence line along the country road. Once we'd walked the mile to Aunt Meta's ranch, we'd sit and have coffee and talk about gardening. Aunt Ruth always had beautiful flower gardens and Aunt Meta's vegetable gardens were spectacular. Every six weeks or so, Aunt Ruth would dye her hair black again and always in Aunt Meta's kitchen sink. I can't count the times I sat at the kitchen table with Aunt Meta, watching Aunt Ruth with her black hair dye. 

When Aunt Ruth died, I was really sad thinking she was gone. So many memories of driving to my parents house in South Gate and later Fullerton with Aunt Ruth riding shotgun ran through my mind. We would talk the entire four hours which made the time fly. I didn't want to ever forget her and I wished that I had something of hers as a keepsake. A few years after she passed, I was at the ranch and Aunt Meta sent me to the basement to get something. As I looked around the dark rooms downstairs, I suddenly saw, back in a corner sitting on an old table, Aunt Ruth's creepy clown cookie jar. This was the very cookie jar that sat on her kitchen counter for decades and was always full of her homemade chocolate chip cookies. After Aunt Ruth died, Kelly and I had talked about sitting in her kitchen with glasses of milk waiting patiently while Aunt Ruth fished out cookies from the clown. I carried the creepy clown upstairs and asked Aunt Meta if I could have it. Of course, she agreed because that was Aunt Meta. The following Christmas, Kelly unwrapped her gift from me to find Aunt Ruth's creepy clown cookie jar. We both laughed and cried a little as well. When Kelly passed away, the clown came to me. I'm pretty sure, Kelly got a good laugh out of that.

Aunt Ruth's (creepy) Cookie Jar

Free Advice Friday

Tonight's Free Advice:

You don't have to have it all figured out. Not at thirteen or thirty-three. Not even at sixty-three. Have a plan and hopes and dreams but stay flexible. When you're willing to bend, you're less likely to break.

The Power of the Unexpected

This last week has been completely full of the unexpected. Just when I needed it the most, pleasant surprises seemed to show up unannounced day after day. It's so easy to miss these moments of joy if we're closed off and angry, which is where I end up when I allow too much of this world into my life these days. Social media, the news, negative people, can overwhelm an already sinking soul. I know. Then, just when you throw a big stinking, "I quit" out into the universe, God throws back the most amazing response through the most unexpected. 

Do you know what happens when someone you love and admire gives you a bottle of wine that not only let's you know they love you back but also offers validation to who you are at your very core? You cry a few happy tears and you get excited to keep going forward because you feel seen and heard and maybe even just a bit encouraged that what you're doing really does matter. All that in a bottle of wine? Definitely in this one! Thank you Terri. I am so grateful to be loved by you, my friend and I can't wait to head your way sooner than later.

I can't even begin to put into words the happy shock these flowers were when they arrived. I sent a few photos to one of my sister's long-time friends. It was a small act on my part and I hoped they would bring some smiles. I never, not once, expected to receive these beautiful flowers with such sweet words of thanks. Again, a few happy tears were shed along with a flood of memories that made me smile. Especially when I remembered a day spent with her, Kelly's friend, at a horse ranch. Just the two of us because she knew I loved horses and so she offered to share her time with her horse with me. This  thoughtful gift of roses and carnations brought it all back and the feeling of gratitude I had that day. Thank you, Pam. Your thoughtfulness is appreciated more than I can express. Once again, you reminded me how kind people can be.

Then these two weirdos showed up just when I needed them the most. And what was going to be a few days has turned into almost a week. I just about cried when they said they could stay longer. Not just that they could but they wanted to. When your cousins who are also some of the closest people in the world to you, choose you over peace and quiet, well, that's just some serious love right there. It has been daily belly laughing and for anyone that doesn't know, laughter is truly medicine to the soul. Thank you Cher and Kel for choosing us this week over anything else. I can't tell you what this has done for my heart. I feel so much lighter and that's saying something coming from a fat girl. I love you both.

I did not see this one coming and it absolutely brought me to tears. My sweet sister-in-law sent a completely unexpected package filled with family heirlooms. The handmade cloths and napkins were given to her by her grandmother and the darling china dishes from Germany were her mother's when she was a little girl. There is also a plate that's a surprise for one of my children so I didn't show it. The best gift in this box is her letter to me. I cannot begin to describe how much someone's written words mean to me. They are sharing a piece of themselves with you and there is no greater gift than that. Thank you, Carol. I love every item in this box and will make sure it goes to the grandchildren we discussed. I love you and I'm grateful you're my family.

And finally, my dear cousin, Wendy. We have been family for decades, since the day she married my cousin, Jeff. I have loved her and been thankful for her but truthfully, we have spent little time together due to geographic distance. This week, what began as a thank you text for some photos I had mailed to her ended up being one of the most wonderful conversations we have ever had. I am so grateful for this family and so proud of each of them. They have chosen well in one another and continue to set the example of what family means. Thank you, Wendy, for your willingness to share your heart with me and for your constant kindness towards me and my family. We love you and your three men more than words can express. 

I am so grateful for this week and my eyes are completely open to how blessed I am. Thank you, God.

Willy (Guglielmo) Walter and Olga Mary Walter

 Probably one of the saddest stories in our family, for me anyway, is about my Uncle Willy. He was born in San Luis Obispo in 1907 and died in Switzerland in 1938. There are no known photos of him. As best we know, he was possibly born with Downs Syndrome and was deaf with a cleft palate. Willie was fourteen when my mother was born. There are only two stories I was ever told about my uncle. One was about the day he was taken from the ranch in Cayucos and sent to Switzerland. My mother said she was very young and loved her brother very much as did all the siblings. When the kids realized what was happening that day, they all hid Willie to prevent him from being sent away. Sadly, it didn't work for long and they watched their brother leave never to see him again.

When we were in Switzerland a few years ago, my cousins took me to the cemetery where our family is buried. Willie wasn't there but they remembered stories about him. Hearing how my Uncle Willie was known for sitting on the front porch, crying out, broke my heart. I can't imagine the pain of being separated from the only family you ever knew. In truth, I have always been a bit disappointed that my grandfather would do such a thing but I wasn't there so I don't fully understand the whole story. I do know, it was a sad memory for my mother. I believe in heaven and I know Willy is there now. He is not suffering. He is whole and healthy with his family. I truly believe this and look forward to the day we meet and I can see him face-to-face for the first and forever time.

Aunt Sisi, Aunt Olga (back)

Cousins Beverly and Mickey (front)

My Aunt Olga was the eighth child of my grandparents. I was only four when she died so I don't really have any memory of her. I do remember the day she died though because my mother was crying with one of her sisters and they were talking about how yellow Aunt Olga's skin had been. Now, I understand my poor aunt was jaundiced with her cancer but at four, this sounded like a strange and terrifying thing, to be yellow. It still makes me sad to think about her leaving us so young at only fifty-one years old, the same age as my sister Kelly when she died, also from cancer. Aunt Olga's husband, Uncle Albert, had died of cancer five years earlier, leaving their only child, my cousin Beverly, with no parents. My Aunt Meta and Uncle Lorin took Beverly, who was about fifteen. My cousin Beverly is a strong woman who has done some pretty amazing things in her life, including raising two decent human beings as a single-mother. I have often thought Aunt Olga and Uncle Albert had to have been pretty great people to raise such a strong daughter those first fifteen years.

Tonight has been sad to look back on and attempt to write about but it's important to take what we know and share it with our children and grandchildren. These family stories connect us, from generation to generation. In this time of social media and cell phones, it's even more important to show the younger generations what relational living looks like. Part of that comes through sharing our family's stories. I can't honestly say my grandchildren love when I first confiscate their electronics when we're together but I can promise you, by the time they leave, we have shared many conversations of those that went before us and it's a very good thing. 

Happy Birthday, Cher!

Today was my cousin Cher's birthday. She and her husband Kelly came to visit for a few days and I can't tell you how much I needed this. The last two days have been nothing but cooking and eating, drinking mojitos and having completely inappropriate conversations. Do not ask Kel or Cher about the Bedazzle Billboard. Ever. Don't say I didn't warn you. Time together always leads to uncontrollable laughing until my stomach hurts and I have trouble catching my breath. There is something so completely healing about laughter. Everything just feels right in the world after a good laugh and who doesn't need that right now?

Cher is one of the kindest women I know. Her heart is enormous even after suffering some serious blows. She continues to choose generosity and joy and that can't always be easy but she's never been one to take the easy way out. When I was caring for my father and sister at the same time, it was Cher that jumped on a plane and rescued me from the edge of insanity. I never had to ask twice and often, I didn't have to ask at all. Cher knew and understood what I was dealing with and chose to stand beside me even though she was in the middle of caring for her own dad. That's just who she is at her very core. 

Cher is my safe place in this life. I know I am loved and can trust her. What greater gift can you give a person than that?

Happy Birthday, Cher! I know it's your birthday but I'm the one that received the best gift with you here. Thank you. I love you.

Old people gone wild. Yes, please!

Do I love you? Is the Pope Catholic? Well, probably not this one.

Waldo Walter and Sylvia Angelina Walter

My Uncle Waldo was the fifth child of my grandparents and the first born in the United States. I have only seen one photograph of Waldo as a child.

Waldo is the little guy on the bottom left. Sisi is the little gal on the bottom right.

I don't know much about Waldo other than these few things: he and his sister, Sylvia, were born in the same year, 1904. Waldo died at twenty-four years old when my mother, his sister, was only seven. He died on the ranch from a gunshot wound.

When Waldo died, the local newspaper wrote a story with a HUGE headline that read, SUICIDE. It was a Sunday morning and he had gone to the bunk house alone. The other children and my grandfather were on the ranch in the house and outside when they heard the gunshot. Uncle Swiss was the one that found Waldo, deceased. 

Several times, through the years, I asked my mother what she thought happened and it was always the same story. Waldo was cleaning his gun and accidentally killed himself. As I got a bit older and braver, I asked a few of my aunts who also said it was an accident, with my Aunt Sisi letting me know she didn't appreciate the lies that had been printed about her brother's death being from suicide.

My cousins and I have discussed Waldo through the years and there are so many unanswered questions. I suppose the facts are as such, nobody really knows except Waldo and anyone else that may have been there when it happened and it really doesn't matter anymore. The sad thing is, so many of our family members missed out on time with our uncle. I like knowing he is reunited with all his siblings and parents once more. 

The sixth child, also born in the US, was my Aunt Sylvia or Sisi as we called her. I've written quite a bit about her already throughout this blog, so tonight, I'll share just a few more things that keep her close to my heart.

My mother loved all her siblings deeply but she never kept it a secret that Aunt Sisi was really the one that raised her after their mother died. Sisi always felt like a grandmother to me and I looked at her as one in many ways. It had to have been difficult for her to lose her mother so young and then take on the responsibility of so many children when she was only eighteen years old. Her nickname in the family was Captain and she definitely lived up to it. She was a tough broad but no one in the family would ever doubt her love for all of us. Her family was the most important thing in her life.

Aunt Sisi and Uncle Joe married in 1924 when Sisi was not quite twenty years old. They had an interesting relationship, to say the least, but it seemed to work for them, and really, that's all that matters in the end. They never had children of their own however their house was always full of children because of all the nieces and nephews. I can honestly say Aunt Sisi and Uncle Joe loved kids. Sisi could be harsh and rigid at times whereas Uncle Joe was pretty relaxed. I almost think he stayed in that relaxed state of being just to annoy Sisi. It worked. Even so, they moved through life together for sixty-two years.

During WWII, Aunt Sisi worked at Camp San Luis. She was very proud of her support and effort during the war and would often tell stories of helping Uncle Joe walk the streets of Cayucos in the evenings to make sure all houses were using blackout curtains. One of the other things Aunt Sisi was proud of was her membership in the Druids or as Uncle Joe called them, the Fallen Arches. I think just about every lady in Cayucos belonged to the Druids back then. They were always hosting a dinner or a show or other fundraiser at the Vets Hall at the bottom of the pier. I loved attending those dinners where the whole town showed up and half of them were related to us one way or another. 

Aunt Sisi owned one suitcase her entire life. Now, I own it. It sits next to her dresser in our spare room which we call, Sisi's room. I inherited her entire bedroom set that she used her whole married life. I slept in this bed with her when I was a little girl and now my granddaughters sleep there when they come stay with us. 

Aunt Sisi's dresser is just as it's always been, with a bottle of fancy hairpins sitting next to the hand mirror and hairbrush William Randolph Hearst gave her as a gift one year. She was one of Mr. Hearst's cooks when he lived at the castle. My granddaughters love sleeping in this room and playing with all the gloves, purses and jewelry in Sisi's dresser. We were never allowed to do this as kids but I believe Sisi would be pretty pleased to see her great-great nieces playing dress up with her things now.

These are a few of Aunt Sisi's necklaces she wore. The two on the right, she actually made. Aunt Sisi was always making something. She loved to crochet and knit as well and taught many of us how to do the same. I love to crochet to this very day because of her.

If I could have one wish with my aunt, it would be to tell her how important she was to me. I would tell her how much she shaped my life for the better and what a difference she made to the town of Cayucos. 

I don't wait anymore. I don't waste time being embarrassed. I own my feelings and tell people how much I love them and what they mean to me. I have to because the older I get the clearer it becomes how very short this life is and how quickly it's over. 

Some of you reading this have been on the receiving end of my love gushes. Not even sorry. If I love you, appreciate you, think you're wonderful, I'm going to tell you. You're welcome. 💓

Leave Me Alone. I'm Fine.

Today was one of those days. I was all set to write about my next two relatives and it just wasn't happening. The day felt upside down from the moment I woke up. I hurt everywhere, physically and emotionally. That is just the truth of it.

After staring at the keyboard and photographs for hours, I decided to just be honest instead of trying to make something happen that wasn't going to happen. So, I'm writing tonight about my depression and what it looked like today.

This is not going to be interesting or matter to most people and that's ok. I promised myself I would write every day this year for me. It was something I needed to do to move forward from my sisters death. So, I'm doing it. Some days, fairly well, other days, not so much. Either way, I'm pressing on and that's huge for me. 

Today wasn't one of those scary dark days. Depression isn't always unbearable. Sometimes, like today, it's just flat out annoying. It trips you as you try to walk a straight line. I had trouble concentrating and trying to complete the simplest task seemed impossible. But I kept moving forward. It might have been at a snail's pace but I'll take that over being stuck in one spot any day.

The last week or so I've been facing some issues I don't really feel like facing. That is an open invitation for depression. For me, anyway. Anytime I try to outrun or stuff down pain, it eventually catches me and usually when I least expect it. I tell myself every time this happens, just face it, it's so much easier in the long run. I should probably listen to myself one of these days.

Anyway, I'm reminding myself once again, there is no magic formula for grief. There is also no expiration date. Grief is such a strange thing because it brings up things you didn't even know were there or maybe you did but you chose to ignore them. I don't know. I'm not a shrink. I just play one in my head.

I do know this much. As soon as I start cocooning and telling myself I don't need anyone, I just want to be left alone and other such lies, that's my que to move in another direction. I am choosing to stay open no matter how much I want to close down. I am choosing to keep hoping and trusting in people, well, some people, no matter how much I just want to live alone in a barn with my cow. I'm choosing. 

Funny story, my major when I went back to school was psychology with a minor in sociology. I wanted to be a counselor and save the world. Then I realized my mother was right, I can't save anybody. I also noticed many of the counselors I knew were messed up. If that's not depressing, I don't know what is. The biggest reason I stepped away from my degree was I knew I would be a terrible counselor. I don't have patience for people like me. I have compassion for hurting people. I don't have compassion for excuses. I would have been the worst kind of counselor. A real Dr. Laura. She's pretty brutal but I tended to agree with her a lot when I was a listener, back in the day. No wait, I would not have been a Dr. Laura. I'm much tougher than that. I would have been a Dr. Bernice! Or a Dr. Sisi or Dr. Ruth. Not the sex therapist. She seemed nice. No, my Aunt Ruth who was also pretty brutal like Bernie. Hey, if you can't take the truth, stay out of the Walter women's kitchens.

Ok, enough. I'll be back at it tomorrow with a few stories about two more of my mother's siblings. Until then, keep choosing. I am.