The Pumpkin Patch

Written October 2015:

We visited the Petaluma Pumpkin Patch today with our Littles.  It was fabulous.  Lots of free things to do and see.  We purchased a few pumpkins on the way out and while in line, saw a woman with a small girl tallying up her total due.  When she discovered one medium pumpkin was SEVEN dollars, she informed the cashier (for all to hear) that the pumpkin was "not worth $7!".  She was nicely dressed wore $60 pair of Tom's, had an IPhone6 sticking out of her back pocket sporting a Michael Kors bag on her arm.  I'm certain she spent $5 on a cup of Starbuck's today. 

To make a long story short, she and her child enjoyed a morning of free activities and she bitched about the cost of a pumpkin at the top of her voice.  She was rude and entitled.  It really irked me.  Does she not get it?  That pumpkin covers the cost of a free morning of play for her and her child.  Yes.  You can get pumpkins $12/3 at Lucky's.  There are no activities for that bargain price.  No photo ops.  No petting zoo.   No corn pit.  No corn maze just for the Littles.  No straw bales on which to climb. Picking your pumpkin from the box at Lucky's in front of the store does not provide everlasting memories (and a photo op) for you and your child. 

Farming is hard--especially in times of drought.  Bottom line:  Be kind and appreciate all that waits for you at the local farms this Fall.  These farmers work hard all year to entertain and enrich your family's holiday experiences.  To that lady in line at the farm this morning, I say:  Pay for your pumpkin  and thank the farmer.  Instead of complaining, try, perhaps to be an example of kindness for your child.  

Wishing you all a lovely Autumn.  Drink hot cider. Go for walks and enjoy the cold on your face. Make a pumpkin pie. Take in the beauty of all that is Sonoma County.  Happy Fall Y'all

The Journey of a Single Rock

I painted my first rock when I lost my beloved Min-Pin, Sparky to a tragic accident. My grief from that event was right up there with losing both my parents and beloved mother-in-law. I originally painted a memorial rock for Sparky and was going to place it at the dog park we frequented. Dave didn't want me to place it there and, in hindsight, he was right.  It has a perfect place in our backyard where our boy loved to lounge in the sunshine.

While painting my memorial rock, I painted a batch of stones (which I bought at the dollar store) with a simple heart. Some of the people reading this have one of those early beauties. I gave Lili a small bag full of them to distribute to friends and classmates in Mt. Shasta.

All of my grandkids have gotten on board with YaYa’s rock journey.  I believe we all agree, a heart is a universal symbol of love. During those early days of my rock painting, I painted a heart because it was simple. After all, it was something I could draw from muscle memory. Each time I painted a heart, my intention was simple--love. This was a way to put love into someone else's path to find, and when they did, my hope was they would feel the love intended by simply recognizing a heart.  

It became evident that painting rocks helped to heal my heart after I lost my best buddy. Everyone wants to talk about grief when you lose a human. But, grieving a pet is quite different. There are, after all, people who survive and thrive without a pet. I know them.  I am just not one of them. This was the perfect grief therapy for me. But, it became so much more...

I took my first acrylic painting class four months after Sparky died. I wasn't prepared for what happened. Once I saw what I created on canvas, I couldn't STOP painting!  Before I knew it, I was painting on rocks, canvas, garden gnomes and basically anything I could get my hands on. I took my activity further, not just painting rocks, but to placing rocks for others to find. I joined several rock groups and met lots of fun folks.

Which brings me to the story of this rock. I painted this rock at the end of a long day.  I decided to try something new--something I had never done before.  It was a dotting technique that I had seen on pictures of other rocks.  It was something new to my skill set.   This particular rock stayed in my studio for months because I wasn’t happy with the finished product.  It was as though there was this evil inner voice telling me it was not good enough.  Each time I would come to find a rock to leave somewhere, I would say to myself, “Not that one,” or “It's not my best work.”

Finally one day I grabbed this rock on my way out the door walking the dogs with Maddie. I dropped it on the creek walking path, kind of out the way. When you put a rock out for others to find, even if you mark the rock with an identifying hashtag, most people don't report their findings. That's just part of the game.   

This rock was reported, however.  The finder wrote that she had found this on a day when she really needed some love. In fact, she kept it with her for a while until she placed it for someone else to find. She said that she was so touched by the experience that she was going to paint rocks and place for others to find. How can an experience like that not change your life? By the way, I'm going to meet this finder of the heart rock next week.   

I'm still on my journey of painting heart rocks and putting them out into the world for others to find. This one rock showed me that one small act of love and kindness can ripple out into this chaotic, random, and often cruel world to be a beacon of love to the finder.  Although hearts are still my favorite thing to paint, I have moved on to painting affirmations, rainbows, Ninja Turtles, and ladybugs. But, this rock was where the real magic began.

Fire Storm

On Sunday, October 8, 2017, we gathered for Sunday Dinner at Matt and KatieRose's house to celebrate Dave's birthday.  The beauty of a Sunday dinner routine is no matter where you are, as long as you are all together, you are home.  That night was full of the usual organized chaos of kids, dogs, and chatter.  We lingered on the patio enjoying the beautiful warm night watching the sunset.  Happy birthday was sung and candles were blown out.  It was one of those evenings that you breathe in the goodness of a beautiful moment.  We went to bed that night with the windows open enjoying the breeze, certain that fog was headed inland.

In the early hours of October 9, 2017, Dave's 62nd birthday, a vicious fire raged through Santa Rosa devastating homes, businesses and a mobile home park.  It was a freak anomaly which resulted in a 55-mile an hour wind carrying embers from a fire in Calistoga.

We were awakened out of a dead sleep by a call from Katie who informed us that they were following voluntary evacuation orders to leave their home.  Maddie was evacuated as well. They were all headed to Petaluma. Six loved ones and two cherished dogs.  Brent acted quickly because he knew he had little time to get his family out of the path of this deadly fire before he was called into the Coroner's office.  There is a team of (only) 6 deputies to cover the coroner's needs for the entire county.  Brent, one of those six, knew he would be deployed to ground zero and could remain there indefinitely.  

Dave and I hit the floor and immediately checked TV news and Facebook.  It was unbelievable to see the devastation which occurred while we slept.  Shopping centers, and an entire subdivision, office buildings and one of our beloved Sonoma County Landmarks, the Round Barn, were left in rubble.  It was unbelievable.  Petaluma became the command center for fire victims. Shelters were established in a matter of hours, livestock evacuated to the Fairgrounds.  As daylight broke, the heavy smoke in the air was an unwelcomed confirmation of horror we had seen on the news.  

Brent no sooner got Katie and the boys safely to Petaluma and was called into the worst natural disaster California has ever seen.  The images of this phenomenal disaster, of biblical proportions, were heartbreaking.  So many people lost everything.  There were first responders whose homes were burning while they fought this deadly and unpredictable fire. The weather didn't cooperate with high winds and heat.  

For five days we all watched and waited.  We prayed.  We packed precious, irreplaceable objects, jewelry, and photos.  The car was gassed and important papers were ready to go  We watched the immediate opening of numerous shelters in our city.  We hoped and prayed for those who were in harm's way doing their job fighting this wretched beast-- many working 24/7.  We did our very best to comfort our KatieGirl who had to watch all this devastation and loss knowing Brent was at ground zero.  We had our family evacuation plan in place.  On Wednesday night, the fire had spread into Sonoma and threatened to come over the hill into East Petaluma.  We waited for evacuation orders and, thankfully, they never came.  

When I packed our bags and made the mental list of the family photos which would go with me, I never panicked. I had an eerie sense of calm which prevailed and I'm sure it was, in part, knowing our evacuation plan was in place.  All of my kids (except for the Shasta Contingent) were within a three block radius.  If it came to evacuation, I knew we would all be together and really, there wasn't much beyond that which was important to me.  I guess evacuations are a lot like Sunday dinner….no matter where you are, as long as you are all together, you are home.

Confessions of a Blogger (from 2012)

Confession Number 1:  I havent touched my blog for over a year. I was 'worried' when I searched among my favorites places for the link.  I felt a tinge of panic at the thought of loosing my posts as only some of them are backed-up in Word. Despite the fact that I've had numerous life changing events in the past  16 months, I kept telling myself  "Tomorrow I'll write".  It's no surprise that tomorrow, turned into 16 months at the blink of an eye. 

I have so much for which to be thankful; my grandchildren and children,  Dave's retirement, a recent trip to Disneyland and a trip to Kauai scheduled for the fall.  Until now, I just couldn't seem focus and write.  Well that, and my new Iphone which has made me become lazy and reduced me to one-fingered typing--not exactally condusive for long correspondence or updates more than 250 characters. 

Life goes on.  Each day the sun rises, the day unfolds, and I'm comforted  that bedtime has once again arrived , so the  cycle can begin  tomorrow.

Confession Number 2:  I have decided that since Dave has retired that I'm officiallyu ignoring Mondays.  Who likes Monday anyway?   After a long day shopping and preparing Sunday dinner, I'm ususally exhausted anyway.  So, I no longer schedule anything on Monday.  I stay in my jammies most Mondays and if I do anything  it can most likely be accomplished from my bed.  Sparkey likes Mondays.  He gets up with Dave, hits the Dog Park, comes home for a treat and high tales it back to bed to snuggle with me.  After years of working,  raising kids, volunteering and keeping a family on track, who cares if I take Monday off?  Not Dave.  Not my kids.  Definately not Sparkey.

Confession Number 3:  My crystal chandiler hasn't been washed  since November.  It's really getting dusty since Helper Dave has made the garage into a workshop. There is lots of sanding, grinding and painting going on out there and make no mistake:  I'm not complaining!  All of the new projects have created  dust and especially since the chandelier is in close proximity to the backdoor which leads to the garage it's vulnerable.  It's that same "tomorrow" attitude that has gotten me behind with my housecleaning that  halted my blog .  Don't even get me started on the ceiling fans and  my lack of housekeeping in general.   If my Mother walked into my house, she'd glove up and pour the Pine Sol. 


Confession number 4;  I really suck at keeping up with my friends.  If it weren't for Facebook, I'd never have contact with most of them.  I've become a 'texter' and a 'poster' rather than a caller and card writer.  I feel guilty, but with social media and texting so easily accessible in our daily lives, it's just so easy to text rather than call.  Moreover, the postal theft is astonishing....first targeted is a card envelope looking for gift cards.  Just read that the postal service lost 18 billion (with a b) dollars last year.  When we stop getting mail delivery I won't be so hard on myself about sending cards.  It looks like that day is coming faster than I thought.

 Confession number 5   I suck at spelling and grammar.  I really should take a class in fundamental grammar to be a better writer.  It is on the "to do" list, which has become more like a bucket list.  There are so many things I should do to make myself a healthier and even a better person.  Most days I lack focus and spend the day looking for my glasses and my keys.  If I can't remember where they are, how am I going to learn to conjugate a sentence?


Confession number 6  I think boxed cake mixes are awesome.  Yes, I know how to make it from scratch, but sometimes all you have time for is a box of Betty Crocker to bake someone happy.  One of my family's favorite desserts is a Peach Cobble Dump Cake which takes 4 ingredients.  Even for the healthy food Nazi's out there, occasional use of a box cake will not kill you.

Confession number 7  If I had not married Dave, I would be a hoarder.  He would even say I'm a qusi-hoarder now.  I keep everything.  He throws everything away.  In the big picture of life that's a pretty good balance.  I wouldn't be a filthy hoarder.  I would have a system.  I can mentally picture the maze of boxes in the garage.  Thanks to Dave the maze is only in my mind. 

Confession number 8  Facebook is really for Baby Boomer.  Generation X thinks it was created for them.  Even creator Mark Zukerburg though it was for them.  I'm here to tell you I love Facebook.  I receive a lot of satisfaction keeping in contact with my family and friends.  I love watching children of young adults who are peers of my adult children.  I have reconnected with family via Facebook. I have DISCOVERED family though Facebook.  For the record, I don't play games or click "like" because it will help starving children. 

Confession 9  
Being a grandparent is the best job in the world.  

El Dio de los Muertos

      It's been nearly ten years since I adopted the tradition of El Dia de los Muertos, which translates to Day of the Dead. The Mexican celebration is November 1 (All Souls Day) through November 2. You can educate yourself on the history with the click of a mouse. In our house we have personalized this celebration to reflect our family.

Each year, just before Halloween, we set up an altar in the center of our home.  From year to year the finished product has been slightly different.  After 10 years it has morphed into this beautiful expression of recognizing our loved ones. We do our best to keep a candle burning on the altar during the day. It is one of the things I do before the holiday hassle begins. It allows us to take time to honor those friends and family who have left this world. Upon the altar are things and photos of the ones who came before us and those who have left this world. The "things" I've collected through the years include my Grandmothers Mass card along with one of her rosary's. There are a pair of shoes which belonged to my brother Gary who was tragically taken from us in 1966. My mother cherished these worn shoes belonging to her oldest child, which still had dirt on them from her family's homestead in Texas where he was born. There is one of my father's many name badges from the annual Sonoma County Trail Blazers ride.

My kids gave me a hard time when the first altar appeared. Dave looked at me with a tilted head but never questioned our new family tradition. I've collected many things over the years. This year at our Family Reunion I acquired a small wall altar which has a cast replica of the Holy Family (under glass) in "bright" colors despite its age. My Prima Clairette believes it belonged to our Great Grandmother.  If you do the math, this collectible has to be over 100 years old. In all honesty, when Dave saw this piece of vintage religious "art" he got real nervous. When it came home with us, I heard his "that piece of s___? Isn't coming into our house!" This week, when I brought it in from the garage his "Wait a minute...." was met with the assurance that this piece of my family's history would only be appearing at Casa Heizer through Thanksgiving.

Usually our altar is up just before Halloween (All Hallows Eve, which precedes All Soul's Day, a holy day of obligation for Roman Catholics).  As I am many times, this year, I'm running behind schedule.  I only put the finishing touches on this year's shrine today. Last year, I was running behind (as usual) and Maddie noticed its absence questioned me.  After a brief exchange she, without a word, retrieved the box which holds the nucleus of our family altar.  These treasures which have been acquired over numerous years and have snowballed to include:   Two small urns, about the size of a chess piece, which contain a small amount ashes belonging to  each of my parents. The matching personal urns are covered with mother of pearl and have brass accents. There is a small music box which plays "The Way We Were" and inside the red velvet is a lock of my mother-in-law's hair. Some might think these things are odd, even morbid, but I find them comforting reminders of the "ones who came before".

While it is present, the little altar receives visits from family members and guests.  I find my kids looking at the book which holds names and mass cards of many family and friends.  If the flame is out, someone will light a candle and hopefully will take time to remember.  I believe that one cannot grow to full potential without knowing from where they came.  I credit the success of my children to two things:  Eating at the family table and knowing from where they came. 

This tradition has allowed me to display all the "things" which I hold on to merely because they were part of someone I loved. My brother's shoes are a reminder to my children of their Uncle who died long before they were born. He would have made a terrific uncle as he was the BEST big brother. Today, I saw Katie showing Brandon each cherished piece laying before them. She spoke to him in a soft voice as they admired each item. That mental picture was a Kodak moment which will pass before me before I leave this world.

I hope at least one of my kids adopts this tradition in their home. If they don't, it's not because they don't care. I know they do. I see each one of them at some point having a quiet moment remembering the patches from the quilt which we call our family.

A Work in Progress...: Christmas 2009

A Work in Progress...: Christmas 2009

The Church of Swiffer

My mother was a clean freak. She was the only woman I knew who cleaned before the cleaning lady came. Never was there a dish in the sink, a bed unmade or dust on the furniture. If you opened a closet, clothes were hung, covered and grouped in like colors. Her shoes were kept in the original boxes and the linen closets were tidy and organized. Even Mom's "junk"drawer was tidy. If you are old enough to remember the TV show "The Odd Couple", my mom was the female version of Felix Unger. I realized she may have a slight 'problem' (what we now call OCD) when she started removing the screen from the kitchen faucet, soaking it in ammonia and scouring it with a tooth brush.



Mom could remove spots from just about any fabric and had the BEST smelling laundry in the world. There was nothing like taking a shower at my Mom's house and pulling out one of her bright white towels which were fluffy and soft and always smelled of Downy. When people ask what the washing instructions were on a new piece of clothing, I replied "Take home to my Mom for washing". Frankly, being raised in such a sterile environment was just too much pressure for me, so I never tried to keep a home like hers. I was never going to be like her, so I never tried. Mom was one step away from the plastic sofa covers. Her solution was to purchase leather and never let my dad or the kids lay on it!! Playing with kids, relaxing and sleep were far more important to me than clean faucet screens.

Make no mistake, however, I know how to clean. She taught me well. She once bought the kids a present--miniature cleaning tools....a broom, rake, mop, and a stand up plastic vacuum. The kids were probably 7, 5 and 2 years old. She said they must be taught the importance of a clean house. The first thing that Matthew did with the broom was to run down the hallway and knock down all the pictures which hung on the wall. They, too, know the merits of a good dose of Pine-Sol because they remember cleaning day at Granny's.

By the time she married my father, Mom was afforded the luxury of hiring someone to help with the cleaning. That's right, help. Mom worked right along side the housekeeper making sure things were done her way. The hallway was scrubbed down with Pine-Sol weekly to remove kid fingerprints. She said her house was the only one in the world that had foot and fingerprints on the ceiling. Really? At Casa Clementino, ammonia was a staple and she always had two vacuums....one for the bare/wood floors and furniture (always a Rainbow, with a cap full of Pine-Sol in the water reservoir) and an upright for the carpets. Nothing gives me a memory rush of home like a stiff whiff of Pine-Sol. For some, the smell of warm cookies or rosemary chicken baking in the oven will give you the warm fuzzy feelings of home. Not me. It's Pine-Sol or Lemon Pledge. Although Mom was a fabulous cook, she cleaned way more than she cooked. When I miss my Mom all I have to do is bring out the Pine-Sol, scrub the toilet and it's as though I've had tea and scones with her.

The new millennium has brought many things to the world of housekeeping which have made things easier--especially for the woman who works outside the home. I must admit I'm always suckered into buying the latest cleaning product which claims to clean your shower without scrubbing. Frankly, I've never found anything which cleans my shower better than good old Comet and me, naked in the shower scrubbing the tile first, then finishing myself off with a shower. It just doesn't work any other way. I've also discovered that Pine-Sol really doesn't clean....not like 409, Comet or Oxy Clean. But, Pine-Sol tells the nose of everyone who enters the house that you ARE cleaning. It's a lot like garlic hitting a hot saute pan, your brain knows something great is about to happen merely by the smell.


When the Swiffer products hit the market, I wasn't quite ready to drink the Kool Aid. I caved about a year after they were introduced and was pleased how the dry Swiffer cleaned my hardwood floors. I have to admit that I would Swiffer the floor with my dust buster in one hand to suck up the "big dust". Not a bad system and it was much easier than dragging out the vacuum. Moreover, we all know that a broom just doesn't do the trick when you are sweeping dust bunnies and dog hair.

My life was changed when I was introduced to the Swiffer Sweep and Vac. It is a rechargeable Swiffer dry mop, with a dust buster type vacuum attached at the middle. Essentially, you put the disposable cloth on the bottom of the Swiffer and what the cloth doesn't pick up, the dust buster does. This puppy weighs maybe 2 pounds and is the most amazing thing I've ever used for my floors. It sucks up hair, dust, gum wrappers, lint, granulated sugar, foil off of Hershey's Kisses, glitter, flour, rubber bands, twist ties from the bread, and of course, dirt. It is awesome to use on the bathroom floors; dry cloth gets hairs and powders, and the vacuum gets the rest. Pushing this little puppy around the house makes me feel like Samantha on the old show, "Bewitched". I always loved it when she could make the vacuum clean by itself. She and Jeannie had the same techniques, but I have my Swiffer!

Now, I have to admit I'm not a big fan of the wet/mopping Swiffer system. The cloth just gets dirty too fast and you can't clean a floor with a dirty sponge. My Mom mopped the floors twice, once to clean, once to rinse. I'm happy to report that the Swiffer Sweep and Vac is so great that my broom now lives in the garage. My trusty little green Sweep and Vac is always plugged in and at the ready. It is important that you clean the reservoir and the filter regularly.


I would have never purchased a 40 dollar floor sweeper, had it not been for Kate's mother-in-law, Jami. Jami shares her home with three dogs and she loved her Swiffer and we all know that word of mouth is the best advertising. Once I purchased my own Sweep and Vac, I was a convert. I love this product so much that when I see someone in the store considering the purchase, I walk up to them and give them my personal testimony. I've sold three systems to complete strangers telling them that they will not be disappointed by this gem. I gave one to my friend as a 'hostess' gift during one of my visits. I wasn't the least bit afraid that I would offend her by giving her a vacuum/sweeper, because this product was just too good and I had to share it with her. She, too, is now a member of the Church of Swiffer. Praise the Lord and pass the Pine Sol!! We have long discussions about how the Swiffer has changed our lives. She will call me after cleaning her floors and tell me how great thou art! I love to purchase the Swiffer Sweep and Vac as a shower gift for a new bride. After all, you only use a crock pot once a month, you'll use this puppy everyday and will feel like someone turned water into wine when you are done.

I often wonder what my Mom would think about this amazing new system. I believe her cleaning was a form of personal suffering because she was never one to use short cuts. She was old school and you couldn't have clean without elbow grease, pain and Pine Sol. Cross your legs Mary Frances, we only have three nails! Alleluia and Amen!