We both arrived in Pheonix at the same time. I was coming from Orange County and my sister Jo from New Orleans. We were getting together to celebrate the birthday of our youngest sister Norma, who lives in Mesa, AZ.
We picked up the rental car and headed east towards Mesa. Jo was in charge of navigation while I drove. What was to be a 30 minute drive turned out to be 2 ½ hours. Getting on and off the freeway several times, and reentering the address did not help either. Calling Norma just added to the confussion. I still do not understand two things: 1. How did we get lost? 2. How did we make it to Norma’s house?
Once we arrived we started the planning of our adventurous weekend. Norma had a great idea, that Jo should watch a mini series from Spain which had English subtitles. So going straight to Netflix,and it did not take long for Jo to get hooked. I had just finished season 3 the day before arriving, so I understood why Jo was so enthralled with “Velvet.” I rarely watch secular TV, but this is different, as I neglected many of my daily obligations to binge on this Spanish love story. I got caught up in the romance of fast-talking Spaniards.
Frankie, Norma, Lady and Boy
My sister Norma may as well run a petting zoo. She always has so many animals, consisting of two dogs, two cats and a rabbit. These pets usually end up in bed with you. Foof, the rabbit, suffered trauma by an overzealous playtime with Frankie, an American Bull Terrier. The poor bunny had to be put down. It was Bella, my 11 year-old niece, that discovered the wounded hare. In our entire family Bella can certainly rank top ten in the drama department, and after a trip to the vet she and her brother Jacob were inconsolable. Foof was mourned the two days while I was there and certainly many more. This was Bella’s pet and she loved her Foof.
Bella and FoofMe, Norma and Jo
The following day we went hiking and I racked up 7,000 steps on my Fitbit. The weather was beautiful and the scenery of the different types of cacti in this desert region was an education and new appreciation of this group of plant species.
From the time our children Mikos and Sonja were in early grammar school, they were skiing. I have never liked this sport or any sport for that matter, so my experience with skiing was always a new adventure. Before Mike and I were married we went on a skiing date. I wore jeans and borrowed a pair of my mother’s leather gloves to protect my hands. As I was a novice, this experience was a series of falls, wet jeans and freezing hands. This sports trauma never changed; year after year we skied, and year after year I was still a beginner.
Sonja, 7 years oldMikos, 4 years old
We had this fully loaded blue van that we named Vanna. Vanna weathered many annual trips to Utah and Mammoth Lakes. Utah was our base for skiing. Deer Valley was our favorite and back in the 90’s the lift tickets cost was a whopping $35. We worked hard selling Christmas masa (raw corn flour for making tamales) from our tortilla factory, and used this money to supplement our ski trips.
We stayed in Salt Lake City and drove the half hour up the hill to ski. Skiing was like getting ready for work, Mike and Mikos loaded up all the ski gear while Sonja and I got ready. Once we arrived, Mike handed over my heavy skis. I would lift the K-2’s over my shoulder and they would always split apart. I was a hazard even before putting on my skis. As I kept forgetting how long skis were, people would dodge my approach when I turned.
Mike purchased the tickets, making sure that we fastened them to our jackets, and then he had to deal with me. I could never buckle my boots and this became part of Mike’s daily ski routine. The boots were so bulky and uncomfortable that when the last buckle around my ankle was secured, I wanted to scream. It took several attempts to get this right and Mike was always the one to do it. It was no wonder that he was in a solemn mood by the time he got on the lifts.
The chair lifts were another hazard, and I was always in prayer that my ride up the hill would be safe. One time, the chair lift operator helped me on, he accidentally stepped on my ski and it fell off. As the chair went up I looked back in horror as my right ski was at the bottom by the chair lift. Getting off a chair lift was already a challenge and now having only one ski added to my stress. It was the longest lift ride so I had plenty of time to plan the exit strategies off the chair. I remembered that it was a snowy day but I was was sweating profusely. Setting next to a stranger filled with useless advice just added to my impending fall. “Is it my balance that makes me fall?” I asked myself. My mind was running wild with ways to get off the chair without causing a dog pile. Finally the last jerk on the lift before the exit, and I told the stranger to steer clear of me (at that point I had not decided if I was going right, left or straight). With my left foot securely in the boot attached to the ski, and poles in my left hand, I scooted to the edge of chair lift. As if a pair of winged angels gently guided me in slow motion, I made it off safely and then I fell. A few chair lifts behind was a man carrying the lone ski, I quickly put it on and skied to the lodge for some much deserved hot chocolate.
Back in the 90’s the tickets were punched to see how many runs you accomplished. To me, it was a bragging right and I wanted nothing to do with it. Mike on the other hand saw this as an investment, and he was going to make sure that we were getting our money’s worth. A stern reprimand followed when he found out that by lunch time I had only two runs. I reluctantly agreed to ski the rest of the afternoon.
Sonja was my ski partner but she quickly advanced, so I was the lonely skier of the family. Mikos and Mike were advanced skiers and never had the patience for me. My family would ride up with me on the chair lifts and then disappear. I once took a wrong turn on a pretty steep hill and the only way down was to ski. Remember the MC Hammer song, “That’s Why We Pray”? Remembering the song is the reason I am still alive today. Traverse, snow plow across the wide mountain, fall, get up and repeat while singing MC Hammer’s song. This was my biggest ski accomplishment on a black diamond run (most difficult) and it was done without a single family member witnessing. This story will forever go down as a rumor industriously spread by none other than myself, but God is my witness, and it took almost half of the afternoon to get back to the lodge.
In the 20 years of skiing I have so many fond memories of family bonding. Both Mikos and Sonja have continued with the family tradition of skiing and believe it or not, Mike is still a great skier. Not me, I gave it up.
“He says to the snow, Fall on the earth,” and to the rain shower, “Be mighty and downpour.” Job 37:6
First grade, cannot find any photos of 3rd grade (still sporting the same hairdo)
She carefully sorted her Valentine cards, setting aside the one for the teacher. Just one card read “Will you be my Valentine?” This card made her little heart patter with excitement. She was smitten by Joe, the smartest kid in her third grade class. He was perfect in her eyes and even his crowded front teeth made her smile. No one in her family of eight knew that she would one day marry Joe. How could they understand? Her four- year-old sister was too young to grasp these things and her brothers, all three of them, would tease her to the point of tears. Her two older sisters thought of her as a mere child. Just one other person she could trust, her best friend Anita. Anita was petite in size, she was kind and sweet, and only she knew how the little girl loved Joe.
It was Valentine’s Day, the day she would know for certain if her true love would reciprocate. The bus ride to school seemed to take forever, and all she could think about was the cards she and Joe would exchange. Her unspoken love was about to reach a new zenith, and it was a lot for an eight-year-old to bear. When she entered her classroom she quietly took her seat toward the back of the room. They sat in alphabetical order, and always among of the last ones. She wished her last name started with a “P” like Joe’s instead of a “U”. All day long, lunch, two recesses she waited for the card. The art project that day was to make a holder for all the Valentine cards; she cut and pasted, and the end product was perfect for holding that one card from Joe. Fifteen minutes before dismissal, the teacher announced that it was time to exchange cards. The girl’s eyes widened with excitement and she pulled her brown bag with the Valentines. You could hear the giggles as all the children took turns in handing out their cards. It was Joe’s turn, and as he came toward the little girl, she put her head down. This was it, she thought to herself, now I will know how much he loves me. The bell rang it was time to go home. She held that one card tightly in her hand and opened it. The card had a picture of a kitten holding a heart which read “You are sweet, Valentine.” What! No! No! this was not happening! She looked over at Anita. Anita was smiling, almost to the point of gloating. The same card, purchased at Woolworth’s, that she set aside for Joe, was in the petite hands of Anita! Joe loved Anita, not the little girl. She wanted so badly to cry that it hurt, but she remained strong. The bus ride home was torture, and sitting next to Anita added to her heartbreak.
Yes, this is my first memory of Valentine’s Day. I have no idea whatever became of Joe but I do remember that he broke my heart that day.
St. Valentine
Valentine’s Day has become a huge marketing ploy; the statistics are staggering with over $13 billion spent annually on this holiday. The average consumer will spend $161.21 on Feast Day of St. Valentine. Remember that it is about love and not the gifts. (I have to keep repeating that to myself).
St. Valentine of Rome is the patron saint of love, young people, and happy marriages. St. Valentine was put in prison by the Emperor Claudius for marrying couples and professing his faith in Jesus. While he was in prison he healed a jailer’s daughter of blindness, and on the day of his execution, he left the girl a card signed “Your Valentine.” This is the reason we exchange Valentine cards.
