We have Skyped, and it didn't hurt a bit

I don't like talking on the telephone; it takes a lot of energy and doesn't give enough back. That's probably because I like to take in information through my eyes, not my ears.

At ages three and four, our grandkids will talk by phone for a little while, until suddenly they are gone and you find yourself talking with their mom, who is laughing at how abruptly they were distracted by something shiny.

All that was before Skype.

With the kids planning a three-week trip to Montana, we decided to join the Skype generation. Our computers have no working built-in cameras, so we bought a $30 combination camera-microphone at Target, installed the software that runs it, and downloaded the free version of Skype.

Our first couple of conversations were notable for their awkwardness.

Them: "Hello, are you there? We can't see you."

Us: "Hello, we see you but now we can't hear you."

Them: Mouths moving.

Us: "We're going to hang up and call again."

Once we re-established the connection, we could see and hear one another. But our camera periodically wandered so only one of us was visible. Easily fixed; I had set it to "follow my head," which does not work when two heads are involved. Occasionally our sound cut out...I would recommend not buying the cheapest equipment if you are going to use it often. The software controlling the camera and microphone popped up on our screen periodically, and Peter would frantically search for the right command while the rest of us kept a running commentary. "We can't see you any more!" "What did you do?" "Get the picture back!" "Hurry!"

As with any electronic equipment, once you get familiar with it, the technical aspects become almost invisible. The computers at each end of the conversation link up, happy people bound into view, and everyone starts talking.

We had extended, animated conversations about their trip - playing with their cousins, going to Yellowstone, visiting a museum. We saw ViMae's new gold sparkly shoes, admired whatever they were wearing, and laughed at their jokes. Augie has begun making up jokes of his own. Q: Why did the hippopotamus go to the watering hole? A: Because it was in Africa! Hahahahaha.

On their Daddy's birthday, we held up cards we had made. Peter went traditional, using stickers, stampers, markers, and crayons. I used virtual markers and paint, via a drawing program on my iPad.

Eventually the conversation dwindles, and it's time to say goodbye. The children lean in and kiss our images on the computer screen. I kiss the camera lens, and then make a funny face. The last thing we hear is Mommy saying, "Augie, you can turn it off now, Just click h...." Click.

And for the next couple of hours, we walk around with big smiles on our faces. I still don't like telephones, but I love Skype.

Meet Mr. July

What a great photo for July, in the St. Paul Firefighters 2011 calendar. I love the composition, and the combination of strength and tenderness. Plus, you know....

Have a wonderful holiday weekend.

A Fathers Day Remembrance

Dear Dad,

This is my first Fathers Day without you, and I can’t let it pass without sending a few notes your way, especially about your funeral service this past week. You would have enjoyed it.

Everyone who came had a story about what a very nice man you were, and how much they always enjoyed your company. Keith put together a great photo display so people of every generation could find photos of you as they remembered you.

1943, about to leave for WWII

You looked spiffy in your Knights of Columbus cutaway, as did those who served as honor guard at the funeral home (quite a surprise to any who hadn’t seen them before). (Darn, I have just searched for a photo of you in cutaway and chapeau, and I cannot find it.)

When I was the organist for funerals at Blessed Sacrament church all those years ago, we used some pretty trite hymns. I was glad that the church now has a really good soloist, and I liked all of the music (Al told me you chose two pieces and he and Keith augmented the list). This was especially good for me, because for days I’d had one stupid song running through my head: Lime in the Coconut. Oops, here it comes again.

You’d have been proud of all the arrangements Keith and Al made, of their heartfelt remarks that moved people to tears, and of Dave’s superb presentation of the readings.

1945

As we prepared to leave the church, a big wave of sadness came over me. Yes, we were lucky to have you until age 95-and-a-half, and yes, it was a gift to spend time with you in your final months. But now that time is over, and I will miss you. I can tell that I have some tears yet to be shed, and they will probably come unexpectedly.

We had a brilliant blue sky for the graveside service, and I was very moved by the military honor guard, complete with flag, taps, and rifle salute. It reminded everyone of your WW II service, and it united us with the families of those still giving their lives for their country. I thought about the fact that questions of war and peace are irrelevant at such a moment. When the burial service was over, I laid a flower on Mom’s grave.

Most of all, you’d have loved dinner at Sammy’s Pizza after the visitation Monday evening. It was a once-in-a-lifetime gathering of your children with all Kay’s daughters - your stepdaughters - plus various kids and grandkids and friends and cousins. Everyone was on their cheerful best behavior, and several of us wished this could have happened while you were alive.

1951, with Lynne, Bruce, and me

Your friend and neighbor Odin came to the visitation, on his 98^th birthday. A couple of Mom’s good friends came, and several relatives from her side drove up. Two of your former daughters-in-law were there. But the most celebrated guest was Jean, the woman who has cleaned your apartment at Talahi assisted living for the past year. I’d met her at the nursing home, and I’d seen her cry at finding you not doing well. She took vacation days and brought her two daughters to Hibbing for the funeral. Everyone welcomed her, included her in the dinner at Sammy’s, and couldn’t stop talking about what a wonderful thing it was that the staff could be so caring, and that you could make such a wonderful friend so quickly.

2010, clockwise Lynne, Dad, Keith, Al, Dave, me

I find that I am looking for my own words, my own rituals for saying farewell. The words and rituals of the church funeral, although I grew up with them, don’t console and uplift as they once might have. But in the people who came, the stories they told, the way they came together, there is great testimony to your life and your legacy. This brings comfort and inspiration. Rest in peace, Dad, and Happy Fathers Day.

My grandkids could have painted that....

As a matter of fact, they did. As part of ViMae's birthday celebrations, we gave each of them large-grip paint brushes and spill-proof paint cups. We poured in modest amounts of washable tempera paint, fashioned smocks out of garbage bags, and stood by with paper towels and a wet cloth. They both had a great time. Correction: We all had a great time!

ViMae has been using circular strokes in her drawing and writing lately, and we were pleased to see her begin with bold ovals that filled the page. She filled them with thick swirls of color upon color (see above).

Augie loved the green paint (which we mixed from blue and yellow, to their great delight), and he used it to establish an initial shape for most of his paintings. He said he was making pizza, and he added layer after layer of new ingredients (right).

When I asked Vi what she was making, she said firmly, "A pattern." Personally, hers reminds me of a vase and his a salad. and I love them both.

How about one more pair. At left, Pattern II by ViMae. Below right, Augie's I Think it Looks Like a Shark.

Augie's preschool teacher compared his technique and style to abstract expressionist Jackson Pollock (1912-1956) (two of Pollock's works at left). She hopes to introduce Augie to this work, to give him a connection to the art world. At first, I thought, "Bad idea." But Augie lovingly "played" the piano after watching Dr. John. He watches drummers, from Gene Krupa to Keith Moon to Karen Carpenter, and then produces his own music, inspired by theirs. Looking at Jackson Pollock's work will not diminish his own.

That's something we love and admire about both kids. Their art - like their music and their lives - is bold and free and bursting with color. It fills the page - it doesn't cower in the corner the way my timid little drawings did. In fact, I'm thinking of buying the same tools for myself so I can newly explore my own artistic side.

If you're doing this at home, the oversized brushes and spill-proof cups help, and we will use the cups even if we switch to daintier brushes. Also, we are going to try pieces of cardboard instead of paper. It will give them a bit larger canvas and will stand up to the great globs of paint they like to apply! FYI, the brushes and cups are by Melissa and Doug and the washable tempera set is by Crayola.

P.S., Thank you to all who commented so beautifully on my post about my dad. I'll be away from computers for the next couple of days as we bid him a final farewell.