But on to other news…my blog is just one of many things that has sat neglected while enjoying this near-perfect Pacific Northwest summer.  It’s been an unusual summer in some ways as we’ve flipped between a flurry of events and ultra-lazy days lounging in the sun.  We’ve been reading some of my childhood favorites, including John D. Fitzgerald’s The Great Brain.  I so love hearing Luke laugh out loud at the adventures of J.D, Tom and Sweyn.  “The Water Closet” chapter has gotten a ton of play in our household.  Some stories, particularly those involving toilets and first grade boys, stand the test of time.

Our trip to Italy may have permanently ruined him for childhood camps.  After talking up how cool the Dino Camp he attended last week was going to be, he was convinced that he and his buddies would be excavating and searching for actual dinosaur bones and historical sites.  His comment after the first day, “Uh, Mom, we just dug for plastic stuff, it wasn’t a real dig site like in Rome.”  Right.  Good to know.

Summer vacation has also consisted of building a secret passage in the hedge between our house and the neighbor’s, S’mores on the BBQ, sleeping in, hours spent exploring outside, and an addiction to the mindless TV show Wipeout. 

While the boys have gone off on muddy fishing adventures, I’ve been working with my publisher on the launch of Underneath the Ash!  I still pinch myself sometimes when I think about it.  Check back tomorrow for a sneak peek of the cover design.  I love it.  I know my mom would have too, and that’s the best gift of the entire summer.

In the Vatican, Luke created his own treasure hunt after learning from our guide that most statues had leaves strategically placed over their “natural parts.”  He delighted in finding statues still in the buff and was equally awed by the enormity and beauty of St. Peter’s Basilica.

An afternoon spent wandering the ground of the Colosseum led to imaginary adventures of battling tigers and finding a secret trial along Palatine Hill where real life archaeologists were excavating a dig site.  Luke scampered on the cobblestone path and found nooks and crannies inside the monument that Gordy and I would have easily breezed by. 

I credit the ease of the trip with the simple fact that we’re blessed to have an amazing little traveler in our family and the fact that we were prepared with a tiny bag of tricks in the form of a pocket full of coins.  We were ever-ready to stop at a moment’s notice, pull out a coin, and let Luke launch a wish.  Plus, snack breaks for salami and gelato were a well-deserved treat for us all.  I’m so glad we didn’t heed the advice of skeptics and equally glad I was able to experience Rome through Luke eyes.  Legend claims that tossing a coin into the Trevi Fountain ensures a return trip and that’s a wish I know we all hope is granted!

Since our house revolves around all things Star Wars it was only fitting to serve Gordy Yoda pancakes on his special day.  Nothing says I love you dad more than a Storm trooper cut out of fluffy pancake dough or Darth Vader drenched in syrup. 

When Luke and I procured the pancake cutters we also discovered a kid-size Star Wars apron for him to serve them in.  Super cute, plus I figured it could be his standard apron.  Yeah, like aprons get a lot of wear around here…nonetheless he strutted around in the apron and delivered breakfast with flair.  Later in the afternoon, Gordy was surprised to find Luke sitting quietly by himself in his room and his apron stuffed into his garbage can.

Gordy asked, “What’s wrong bud?  What’s your apron doing in the garbage?”

Luke held back slight tears and said, “I threw it away.  It’s your day dad.  I shouldn’t have a gift on your day.”

Gordy scooped him up, removed the apron from the garbage, held him tight and said, “You’re the best present ever bud.”

With a wink to me, they proceeded to check on the world they’re building online.  I think they’ve built a pretty good one here.

While you’re reading take a moment to read this year’s winning essay “Disappearing Act.”  It’s also about a mother/daughter relationship through Alzheimer’s.  The piece is beautifully written and definitely resonates with me.  What I love about the fact that the Quarterly chose two Alzheimer’s essays in this year’s contest, is the tipping of the scales. 

The stories we tell shape our understanding.  As we dive into the personal and universal tale of grief and loss and learning to find the hidden moments of happiness, perspectives shift.  It’s through sharing our stories that we teach, heal, and hopefully pave a smoother path for those who come behind us.  For far too long stories about Alzheimer’s have been tucked away in family albums, but that trend is changing and with it, we are too.

Here’s the issue, Gordy is animal whisperer. His gift isn’t limited to one species or specific breed.  Wherever we go animals find him, or better yet he finds them.  I don’t have enough fingers and toes to count how many dogs we’ve returned to owners over the last decade.  Stray cats and raccoons know they’ll find food on our front porch. Vacationing in Cozumel last spring he rescued a turtle crossing the road.  Yep, I said turtle.  So, it shouldn’t come as a surprise that last week while driving home from a leisurely Saturday lunch, Gordy slammed on the brakes, stopped the car in the middle of the road and came back cradling a tiny wild bunny in his hands. 

To compound matters, Luke seems to have inherited the “speaks to animals” gene.  The pleas began the moment he saw the bunny.  “Please, oh please mom, can we keep it?”   There were promises of warm bottles, a covered cage in the backyard, and late night bunny feedings.  Gordy’s sheepish, begging eyes didn’t help, “You know Kate, it doesn’t have a chance out there.”

Oh great, so either I add a wild bunny to our collection of animals or I become know in our house as the bunny killer.  What’s a mom to do?

Enter Google.  And let me just say thank you Google.  Turns out wild bunnies don’t make good pets.  In fact upon further investigation, I discovered that wild bunnies have less chance of survival in human hands than when left to perils of nature.   I further consulted the emergency vet, who assured me the best solution was indeed to return the bunny to the wild.  Probably in an attempt to make us all feel better, the vet suggested we create a nest for the bunny out of a cardboard box and fill it with leaves and twigs.  Luke took this idea to heart, adding baby carrots to attract the older bunnies.  We tucked the nest under a bramble of blackberry bushes and within seconds the little guy hopped back into the vines.  “Go little guy, you’re back home!” Luke shouted.  Yes, he was, and I gotta say I was just a little sad that his home wasn’t ours.

First, the Vancouver Voice, where I write my column Couv’ Connections, is venturing into subscriptions.  Now instead of grabbing a copy of the Voice at your favorite coffee shop, it will arrive nicely bundled in your mailbox for a steal of a deal.  Click here for more info on how to subscribe and kick back in your pj’s to read the next issue of the Voice.

Second, I recently learned that I’m a finalist in the Oregon Quarterly’s Northwest Perspective’s essay contest for an essay I wrote titled, “Pack It Up Kids-We’re Leaving:  Lessons Learned from an Unlikely Football Fan.”  I love the kind of writing and features that the Quarterly publishes and am thrilled to be connected with their incredible writing community.  Plus, this essay is an homage to my Duck-loving dad who so deserves to be recognized.  As soon as the essay’s live on the web, I’ll share it widely. 

Third, early this summer I’ll be writing a column about Alzheimer’s for a new publication.  More details to come but as always, I welcome your suggestions, and for this particular column, any caregiving stories you’re willing to share.  I promise to change names and protect the innocent!

Saving the best for last…a release date for Underneath the Ash is coming soon.  That’s all I can say for now, but stayed tuned!

A few hours later, he snuck into his rooming, hollering for us to stay out because he had a big surprise planned.  He emerged in his “fancy suit” just in time for pizza night on the basement couch.  Go figure.  And, come on who doesn’t want to knock back a grape soda and slice of pie in a suit and snap-on tie?

From the suit to the camo tee and Johnny Cash tunes to almond flavored Easter cookies our house is eclectic.  We don’t walk in a straight line every day.Of course none of these things go together.  But, I wouldn’t want them to.  And, maybe we’re just recreating a 2010 vision of the new Rockwell generation.

Bucking the current trend, we opted to allow Luke to invite as many kids as the age he was turning.  Three for three, four for four, five for five and this year six for six.  His parties thus far have been simple and lovely.  Reminiscent of birthdays from my childhood where my mom would decorate our dining room with pink and yellow balloons and bake a homemade angle food cake with fresh raspberries sprinkled on the top.  To date, his birthday bashes have been manageable and without the pressure of eagle-eyed parents ready to pounce, very low-key.

That changed this year when Luke trotted home from school one day, flopped his backpack on the kitchen table and announced, “This year I’m having a sleepover!”  A sleepover at six really?  After a long debate, we decided a six-year-old sleepover was still better than twenty-four kindergartners going head to head at Chuck-E-Cheese right?  Well, actually I’m pleased to say right!  Believe it or not the sleepover was a smashing success.  Sure, six boys and two dogs on an overcast evening translated into running laps around our dining room table and eating popcorn at 11:00 at night.  But, minus a lightsaber fight that got a little out of hand and a battle over who landed their spaceship closest to the Death Star, they were easy.  It was a reminder for me at how important independence is, even at this early age.  There were no tears in the middle of the night or requests to be driven home.  They tucked themselves in and told funny stories, which apparently when you’re six is anything related to farts.  I’m glad we took the plunge, although we might need to re-think seven for seven next year.