Anothersunrise » Search Results » memories

When I Was a Kid

dawn — Sun, 10 Jul 2011 16:19:05 +0000

I thought I could talk to the wind. I guess anyone really can talk to the wind, but I thought it listened. A few months ago, Annabella made a sign for her door, it said, “I can control the wind.” We’d never discussed it. It must be genetic.

I would run and roll down hills, spin in circles until I fell down, and laugh so hard with my brother and sisters that I nearly peed myself.

I used to turn my tricycle over and and pull up handfuls of grass and run them through between the front wheel and the fender (it must have been a fancy trike!) to turn it into straw, or gold, or wool or anything else I wanted.

When I would get anti-social, I would grab a book and a flashlight, I would go into the bedroom I shared with one of my sisters and hang the hood of my robe over the tall post on the headboard, sit down under it and read. Alone, alone at last, for 5 stinking minutes! They never found me.

I remember thinking it was the coolest thing that my mom was a good bowler, but I really loved that she was a great baker.

And I used to carry things from one place to another by pulling up the front of my shirt and making a little pouch. Thanks for making me laugh and reminding me of fun childhood memories, Andrew.

Happy Easter

dawn — Sun, 24 Apr 2011 13:32:58 +0000

It’s pretty quiet here.

Dyeing eggs is pretty quiet with two. Growing up, with five kids around, it was pretty wild about 99% of the time. Then add my only two cousins in the world… My memories are not distinct, but more like brief glimpses of a room of tasmanian devils.

Even the hunt this morning? Not super fair with a 4 and a 7 year old. Somehow, Mom got a memo from the Easter Bunny telling her how many eggs there were, and as soon as Bel found 12, she stopped and helped her brother find the rest. SHOCKING!

Memories

dawn — Tue, 22 Dec 2009 18:00:21 +0000

Today I went to the Y, to try and stave off some of the debilitating damage I’m doing to myself with food, in the holiday spirit.
After a brisk 40 minutes on the treadmill, I figured I could just ‘relax’ on a recumbent bike for another half hour or so and read. After a few minutes two repair guys showed up and started working on the bike next to me. Normally, I wouldn’t pay any attention, but I had to look up to figure out where the smell was coming from. Old Spice. None of the new flavors they are selling, either. Old school, original Old Spice. How can I be sure? Because the minute I caught a whiff, clear as day I had an image of my Poppop sitting in a red chair. His big hands resting on the arms as he waited patiently for me to finish cooking him something in my little red toy aluminum frying pan. I was cooking on the matching easy chair next to the one he was sitting on. I couldn’t have been more than 6 and was probably more like 4.
A little holiday gift, that memory. Made me feel warm, loved. Writing about it makes me misty eyed.

Here he is, I think he just got back from taking Eric camping in Yosemite, and panning for gold. Or that’s how I remember it. I am the grumpy looking one, probably because I did not go camping.

Olfactory Memories

dawn — Sat, 25 Jul 2009 20:20:00 +0000

Just after nap today, Annabella came down stairs looking all bleary eyed and fuzzy. She actually slept at nap time, which is rare these days.
I asked her if she wanted a snuggle and she came over and puckered up. “No, not a kiss or even a hug, I asked if you would like a snuggle.”
So she pulled herself in real close and I buried my face in her neck and I was dumb struck. “Andrew, smell her neck, right here.”
She loved this attention and quickly ran over to her dad. He took a big, deep whiff of her thin little neck. Head tilted to the side, her bobbed hair dangling akimbo. Andrew looked nostalgic a moment, then he announced, “She smells like the hospital.”
Not exactly, but right where I was going. You see, our girl has been boycotting the bathtub in favor of enjoying her space and her things, video games and other such things. Not that I’ve ever been one to bathe her every day anyway. But I digress…
Her little unwashed neck and hair smell just, JUST, well, exactly the way she used to smell when she was too new to be washed very often.
And given the volume of people I’ve been talking to lately about her birth, her time in the hospital, or even just how very fortunate we all are to be where we are in our lives right now…
Well, it was really amazingly sweet. As that is the closest I’ll ever get to having a new baby of mine again.

Nostalgia & Body Origami

dawn — Wed, 30 Jan 2008 16:53:44 +0000

I’ve been taking yoga classes for around 10 years, off and on. One of the consistent messages in yoga, whether you take it in a private studio or a rec. center, is that you need to be present in the moment.
Your body, all twisted up and shaking because you’re losing your balance, there on the floor? Yeah, it needs your brain to come back. Before something bad happens, m’kay? Yes, it is important in yoga and in life to be present in the moment.
For me it is tough, because when I am there, in the moment, my brain goes, “OK? Everyone all right? OK. I’ll be right back.” And it jogs off to some past moment, when I was there in the moment. They are the strangest moments. One winter day when I walked out of the student center at college. A sunny day when I just finished a favorite book as a kid. Not necessarily significant moments, but moments when I wasn’t planning or pining.
Now, I’ve noticed lately that the location of the classes means a great deal. I’ve taken some fantastic classes in an elementary school auditorium and commercial gyms, even a private yoga studio or two. It’s not the status of the place, or even the facilities it contains. When I slow down and actually notice things around me, it’s hard to keep my mind in that moment.
My most focused yogi time was spent in an elementary school auditorium in Fremont, California. Although it wasn’t the school I had attended, it was in the same town. And twice a week for nearly two years, when I walked into that space, I walked in and felt like a child. New to the world, ready to try something different. The familiar, cool and lonely smell of old linoleum. The somehow energy-filled emptiness, of a now darkened space normally inhabited by children. All of their brightness and keen interest abounding in that room, contagious.
It certainly didn’t hurt that the instructor might as well have been Maude from Harold and Maude. Definitely the most agile 80 year old I’ve ever met. Here I was, not yet 30 and after 2 years, I still couldn’t do a lot of the things she could. But that movie-strange-familiarity also supported the quality of timelessness the class inspired in me.
Now I am taking a yoga class that is held in a middle school in Minnesota. Not at the middle school (Junior High for you Californians) I attended in Minnesota, but certainly evocative of it. As if there is a certain cleaning product line, or carpet quality that has been standardized across the region, across decades of time. I find myself back at the beginner stage again (and again, and again). As always, an eager student. Somehow though, I am not the child-like enthusiast I once was.
Memories from this time are more complicated. Tween angst, first kisses. One day walking into the school for class I momentarily felt the giddy excitement I used to feel walking into some far away school in the darkness of an early Saturday morning, to compete in Speech. Another day the looming cinderblock walls, smell of a far off swimming pool or perhaps just the seeping damp of perpetually leaking locker room showers were rather oppressive.
I’m not sure why the past pulls at me so strongly when I’m actually working at focusing in the here and now. Maybe I’m not the only one. You tell me.

Pride

dawn — Sat, 03 Mar 2007 23:24:39 +0000

Can you believe it?

Hopefully, they’ll have the March issue on the Growing Up Santa Cruz website soon.
Until then, here’s the text of my article. I think they did a very nice job on the layout. I’m just so proud I could bust.
(Please let me know if you would like a copy of the newspaper. I’ll mail them out.)
Born Too Soon by Dawn Syren Jenkins
The first few days of parenthood are the most exciting, exhausting and sometimes terrifying many parents will face. The challenges escalate exponentially when your newborn is one of nearly 500,000 born prematurely every year in the U.S. That is the same as the total number of babies born in California last year. Over the last 25 years, the rate of premature birth has increased almost 31%. Today, one in eight babies are born before 36 weeks gestational age.
Contrary to popular belief, premature birth is not the sole property of crack addicts and car accidents. The causes are varied, often poorly understood by the medical community and can affect almost anyone. Proper prenatal healthcare can help, but sometimes there is little or no warning.
What does it mean to be born so early? Premature birth is the leading cause of infant mortality. Of those that survive, 25% will face life long health issues, such as cerebral palsy, chronic lung disease, hearing and vision problems, mental retardation and learning disabilities.
I, like most women experiencing their first pregnancy, didn’t give prematurity a great deal of thought. I went to my prenatal appointments, which went well, ate as well as I could and tried to take care of myself.
Our family got a crash course in prematurity when at 26 weeks gestation; I became seriously ill with severe preeclampsia and HELLP Syndrome. We had just begun discussing our birthing options, looking for baby furniture and decorating a nursery. Suddenly, my life was in danger and so was our baby’s. My naïveté that I was somehow protected by my youth, my health, my education or my socioeconomic status, was immediately stripped away.
Our daughter weighed just 698 grams, about 1.5 lbs., at birth. Babies born at this weight have about 60% chance of survival and no guarantees regarding hearing, vision, brain function or lung function.
Within 24 hours she suffered a pulmonary hemmhorage and had to undergo surgery to close a duct between her heart and lungs. It would be 2 weeks before we were even allowed to help change her diaper and she’d need an extra shot of morphine, before we could begin, to help her cope. It was 4 weeks before we would be able to hold our little girl for the first time, and only then with the assistance of 2 nurses and a respiratory therapist.
Milestones are very different in premature birth. Instead of books filled with first smiles or first baths, parents have vivid memories of surgeries, blood transfusions and first unassisted breaths.
The earliest babies, those born before 34 weeks, are at great risk for Respiratory Distress Syndrome (RDS) and bleeding in the brain. RDS can be minimized with age or can result in lifelong issues like asthma, greater susceptibility to illness and can lead to child care problems. Bleeding in the brain can resolve itself in time or can lead to the need for developmental, physical or occupational therapy and can mean lifelong challenges with learning disabilities.
In December of 2006 the Preemie Act was passed by the House and Congress and signed by George W. Bush. This bill authorizes the National Institutes of Health and the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention to expand research into the causes and strategies to prevent premature birth and would also increase federal support for education and services related to prematurity.
California has been ahead of the national curve in this area. Already parents can receive benefits ranging from financial assistance with medical bills through Medi-Cal, to therapeutic assistance in the home through agencies such as the San Andreas Regional Center. Intervention of this kind means hospitalized infants will get the care they need and help minimize the drain on public health and education resources.
Although there have been great strides taken in the area of medical treatment for premature infants and in follow-up services available to them, the key to moving forward from reaction to prevention is in the hands of organizations like the March of Dimes. The mission of the March of Dimes is to improve the health of babies by preventing birth defects, premature birth and infant mortality. They carry out this mission through research, community services, education and advocacy to save babies’ lives.
After 119 days in the hospital, our daughter came home and we began experiencing all the wonder and terror of being new parents. Once we had settled into our roles, we discovered a need within ourselves — we needed to take our experience and do something that would make a difference. With the help of the March of Dimes, we are now using our energy, passion and understanding to raise awareness and educate others about premature birth.
The spring after our daughter was born, we participated in our first Walk America event, at Vasona Park in Los Gatos. This year will be our fourth year walking, our third as Family Team Bellapalooza. We found that once we shared the opportunity to make a difference with our friends and family, they couldn’t wait to join us.
To find out more about how you can help prevent premature birth, please visit http://www.walkamerica.org. Sign up your own family team and make a difference.
To sponsor team Bellapalooza or read more about our daughter’s story, please visit walkamerica.org/anothersunrise .

Happy New Year!

dawn — Sun, 01 Jan 2006 17:49:16 +0000

Though the passing of one numbered year into the next seems at best arbitrary, the meaning the beginning of a fresh year has for each of us is never. A wish for all in 2006…
May you know love and joy in the days to come.
May you know truth and dignity and respect.
May the sun shine and bring to mind the brightest of memories.
May the stars shine and inspire in you a special dream.
May the rain come and bring with it opportunity to grow.
May the temperatures drop and bring time to snuggle.
May laughter and fellowship be plentiful.
May your hearts be filled with kindness, forgiveness, and love for others as well as yourself.
Hold on to what you know and love, but leave room to open your hearts and minds to the bounty of the new year, to all the life brings your way this year.