To Be Outside on a Warm April Day

I’d forgotten what it was like to go for a walk on a warm, sunny day.  That’s exactly what I did this Sunday past.  My new friend Aran and I drove up to her stomping grounds in Lake Geneva for a walk along the lake and through Big Foot Beach State Park.  It was the first day of the year that actually felt like Spring.

It was slightly overcast, but very warm considering how frigid it has been the past three months.  It felt so good to go without a coat.  The park was a bit muddy, but that only added to my enthusiasm.  There was a definate air of nostalgia from Aran and I.  The day tasted of ripe memories; it was as though there was this deep calmness that allowed forgotten images to resurface.  Thoughts of childhood, family, old highschool girlfriends.  It felt like I was pulling a dusty book off the shelf for the first time in countless years.  A book where I had forgotten the story and was all the more glad for it.

That day gave me a lot of perspective on my life I’ve been longing for for a long, long while.  Ideas for change.  Refocusing of attention.  I learned that I have no regrets regarding the course my life has taken, and great hopes for where it may go.

Most of all, I learned that I am happy with who I have become.

Somewhat crappy pictures to come when I get home from work.  I really need to get used to my D50 again; it’s been so long since I went photo hunting…

-Russ

Edit: As promised, here are some (highly stylized) pictures :)

My Grandma Emmer

My Grandma Ethel Emmer, born January 21, 1922, died on February 24, 2008.  She was 86 years old.  It took me a long while to come up with the courage and motivation to post this.

Grandma was everything to everyone.  My parents divorced when I was very young.  Since my mom was pretty much a housewife at that point in her life, she had to go back to school to put herself in a position to take care of me.  My Grandpa and Grandma Emmer took care of me in the interim.  In many ways, they raised me.

I was a troubled child, which is probably to be expected when your parents divorce at such a young age.  I threw temper tantrums; I always had to get my way.  Despite this, Grandma was always there.  Granted, it might have been her “being there” with a meter stick in her hand because us kids got into trouble (and we probably deserved it!).

I remember all of her quirks.  Like calling the couch a “davenport”.  How her house was filled with–and surrounded by–plants of all shapes and sizes.  We used to spend long hours pulling weeds in the garden, planting strawberries and carrots and cabbages and potatoes and tomatoes.  She loved to garden, and she was good at it.  I remember most the marigolds and snapdragons.  Us kids (kids = myself and my cousins David and Daniel) would munch on fresh chives from the garden.

When I was little we planted trees out in the back yard.  They were saplings, then.  What a surprise I had when I visited that little shack last year and saw how huge they had become.

She also loved to play video games, which is probably my fault.  I would come for summer break and bring my Nintendo (and, later, my SNES).  She never could beat Super Mario Brothers, but she sure did try.  I can’t really say Grandpa approved, either, which is probably another reason she liked to play.

We would stay up late at night watching M.A.S.H. reruns while playing King’s Corners, or Yahtzee, or Crazy Eights.  She used to give me little cough syrup caps of beer.  We would go for walks in the Waupun cemetary in the summer.  We caught bullheads in the Rock River.

All these memories, these nuggets of nostalgia–they glow like freshly blown glass in a dark room.  She was a nexus, a focal point, the keystone that held us all together.  She gave us everything she had, every day, and never asked for a shred in return.

I miss her.  We all do.

-Russ