Spring Break...Roar!

Waaaaay back in the Spring Break of 2003 I decided to take as many siblings as could fit in my Pontiac Sunbird (2-door, white) and we sped down I-5 to the exciting destination of...Grants Pass!   Oooooh, you say, how exciting!  I must note that that many kids crammed into that small of space behaved VERY well on the drive down (seriously they were packed in there like a circus clowns in a mini-cooper).

Anyway, Grants Pass was where my good friend was living, having found her first teaching job down there and while she was gone, she let us use her apartment--wasn't that nice of her?  And while it was a lovely apartment, we really had two other destinations in mind: the Oregon Vortex in Gold Hill, Oregon and Wildlife Safari in Winston, Oregon.

The Oregon Vortex is either a grand hoax or a mysterious whirlpool of force, depending on your point of view.  In the House of Mystery my siblings observed golf balls naturally roll up what appeared to be an incline (instead of down as one would expect) and a taller sibling become the shorter sibling as they switched places on what appeared to be level ground.  Truly mind-boggling!  By the time we left they were believers!

The next day we drove a bit further north and visited the Wildlife Safari.  Correction, we drove through Wildlife Safari.  Wildlife Safari is a zoological park in which a 4.5 mile 'trail' winds through various natural gated areas and visitors risk the well-being of their vehicles to drive through the actual habitats.  It was way cool.  Animals from Asia, Africa, and the Americas roam free (do NOT feed the animals, thank you!) and you can park your little car and stare at them as long as your heart desires.  Or you can speed through to the next habitat when a certain four-legged feline starts attacking your rear tire.  NOT the place to mend a flat!

And while it's been a few years since we've managed to go on a trip together for Spring Break, I know that everyone will still celebrate in their own special way and I'll hold out hope that as people get more settled (and local) that we'll have the opportunity to do it again!  Beach house anyone?

St. Paddy for Paddy

St. Paddy's Day...one of us siblings' most beloved holidays.  It's a time for dancing and celebrating and sharing....heck, who am I kidding, we all know what we love it for.  And while it was several generations ago that our Irish ancestors set foot on the Americas, it's days like this that we remember it being just a wee bit closer and like to celebrate it up.  And in the off-season, we each have our own ways of 'owning' this part of our heritage--some by hanging flags in houses, some via Celtic tattoos or jewelry, others music and yet others through clothing or brew choices.  

And one day we'll all travel there and feel that 'home away from home' feeling as we gaze out at the rolling green fields through the smudged window of a tiny Irish pub.  Pint in hand and a song in our hearts.

But in the meantime, since my brother Paddy is so far away on St. Paddy's Day, I decided to do a little tribute to him...here you go, bro!  Here's to hoping you find a way to Irish it up in Kuwait!

P: Pretty, isn't Paddy pretty?

A: Athletic, never seen a guy work so hard and be so tough on his body.

D: Dork...yup, he's a bit dorky sometimes.

D: Dang nice...I was going to say 'darling' but I thought that might be a bit silly, but he truly is a really dang nice guy!

Y: Yee-haw.  That's for the cowboy that hides inside him and suddenly pops out from time to time wearing a hat and wranglers and wants to go shooting.

So here's to you Paddy!

Bouncing Baby, er....Toddler

As the time nears for me to biologically become a parent I find myself looking back at the various adventures, that inevitably led to mishaps from time to time, that were a part of our childhood growing up on a farm.  And I always end up shaking my head in disbelief that somehow we managed to defy what must have been the greatest odds ever, to not only survive but survive with all body parts and all siblings intact and whole.

No exaggeration.

A truly noteworthy feat.

Seriously.

Take for example, 'little' KP as a bouncing baby boy--though truth be told at the time of this particular incident he was more of a toddler than a baby.  And the bouncing part of this description is incredibly important to remember.

And no, you siblings of mine who are reading this, this is not THE KP story that you all think it is.  Seriously, this is at the most a PG-rated family blog and that particular story at least earns a PG-13 rating though most men would say R.

Back to the story that this is, rather than rehashing the one it isn't.  

Growing up our family was known from time to time to gather with other devout Catholic families to pray together (the Rosary) and to hand make Rosaries to be smuggled to the other side of the Iron Curtain (where, we were told, the Communist leaders there would torture and kill people if they found them carrying these religious items--yup, totally cheery, stress-free childhood).

On this particular sunny spring day there must have been 5 or 6 moms, their eldest daughters, and their Rosary kits sprawled about our rectangular shaped living room slipping 10 Hail Mary beads on string, knotting it, one Our Father bead, knotting it...you get the idea, and chatting about various family and religious topics.  

The kids that were too young to string beads were romping upstairs and from time to time we'd hear a thump through the ceiling, pause to hear if it was followed by a cry and when it wasn't, went back to making Rosaries.

I remember coming back from my fourth or fifth trip to the bathroom (yup, I was slacking off) when all of a sudden, right when I entered the living room, one of the mothers let out a blood curdling scream.  Like the rest of the women and girls in the room we quickly looked to where she pointed.  

And managed to see the last segment of my still-in-diapers-brother, KP, fall out of a two-story window.

I didn't know how to swear yet, but whatever my equivalent was at the time, you better believe it was going through my head.

The women rushed outside to check on the toddler KP and I rushed upstairs to check on the rest of the kids.  I flew up one and a half flights of stairs and into the bedroom at the end of the hall where sure enough, a gaggle of tattered boys were leaning out of the second story window.  They appeared to be looking for something and I quickly assumed it was my brother.

I was wrong. 

Let me back track and give you a little landscape here: this was a two-story farm house, circa 1910.  Not only did the windows not fit perfectly in the sills, but there weren't such luxuries as screens either.  This particular window opened up to the tin roof covering the ground floor porch.

In the innocent way of little boys, the window had been open and somehow a toy figurine had landed on the steeply sloped tin roof. 

Well the obvious solution was to dangle the toddler out the window onto the roof and tell him to reach for the toy.

Brilliant boy logic.

It is still undetermined exactly who was holding KP and how and why they let go.  But let go they did and my still-in-diapers-brother, KP, skidded down the tin roof where he was caught in a rather large Camellia tree.  Which managed to hold the stout lad on each branch for approximately 2.5 seconds before dropping him down to the next limb.  Through the large downstairs picture window, it looked like he was bouncing from limb to limb--hence the blood-curdling scream.

It's likely that this branch-bouncing (see I told you to remember he was a bouncing baby boy) saved him from real harm or, as I like to exaggerate (but not by much)...from death.

And there you have it.  One very true example of how it shocks me that all my siblings survived.  Whole and all body parts accounted for.

See?  Perfectly normal, nice guy.