Commencement

Robert graduated from college this past weekend. Jim and I, along with Robert’s godmother, Gerry, attended the commencement ceremonies at the University of Texas down in Austin. What a weekend! Robert’s college had its ceremony Friday afternoon at the enormous Frank Erwin Center on the UT campus. Afterward we had a cookout at his apartment complex with several of his Grapevine friends who have been together since elementary school. Saturday night was the campus-wide ceremony at the foot of the famous UT tower, with all the colleges represented. The tower was lit for Robert one last time, with the year ’09. Immediately afterward the school put on a spectacular fire works show for the grads and their families.

There were several moments when I had to fight back a few tears, and I had anticipated I would cry more than I did. There were times when I had a lump in my throat and tears threatened just behind my eyes. Of course I was as proud as a parent can be, but then Robert has always made Jim and me proud and joyful parents. The oddest sensation I experienced was sadness at the realization of the end of all our little traditions and habits we’ve established during Robert’s four years in Austin.

We’ve stayed at the same hotels, eaten at the same restaurants, and shopped at the same stores for four years. I suppose the familiarity of those habits helped to keep that old empty nest thing in check. We drove down for parents’ weekends (only the first two, I swear), Mother’s Days, and award ceremonies. Robert even volunteered us to act as judges at the business fair in which he participated. We’ve become rabid Longhorn football fans, even turning our backs on our beloved Michigan and Illinois teams.

While I won’t miss the college tuition bills and the dorm and apartment expenses, I will miss the rituals and traditions we built. The weekend was also a commencement for Jim and me. The folks at Webster say that commence means “to have or make a beginning; to begin to be or act as;” thus, commencement is “the act or time of beginning.” There are plenty of old saws about the irony of calling the end of school by the term for “the beginning,” so I won’t go on about that. I suppose it must be time for me to “begin to be or act as” the parent of an independent, grown-up young man. Ouch. Now I’ve got that lump in my throat and those tears threatening again.

Donna

The Graduate

Last weekend I was in Austin celebrating Mother’s Day and a friend’s college graduation from St. Edward’s University. It was a whirlwind of a weekend, starting with a reunion Friday night with a high school classmate whom I had not seen since 1966, and culminating with a lovely brunch at a grand old hotel in downtown Austin on Sunday. In between we had the graduation, a flat tire on my old SUV, lunch on the cliffs over Lake Travis, and a trip to a popular Texas barbeque joint Saturday night. Other than the flat tire incident, it was a wonderful weekend.

It was David at Goliath.

The graduation took place in the Frank Erwin Center on the University of Texas (UT) campus. St. Edward’s is a Catholic liberal arts university with a student population of around five thousand. Add a zero to that number and you get the student population of the University of Texas, literally just up the road. The Frank Erwin Center seats between seventeen and eighteen thousand spectators. This is more than the Ft. Worth Convention Center arena seats and almost as many as the Dallas Stars hockey team arena seats.

St. Edward’s, a tiny little 125 year-old hilltop University, sits like a watchtower above Interstate 35, as if to say, “We see you wild and lawless students down there on the UT campus." The valedictorian made it quite clear that he was tired of the comparisons to the University of Texas and that St. Edwards is not UT. In fact he compared UT to "some George Orwellian nightmare."

In my opinion, his style was rather mocking and he had a chip on his shoulder, but the young people in the audience loved the valedictorian’s speech. He worked goals, gratitude, and humility elements into it between jokes and wisecracks. What I did find most remarkable about his speech was his rant about being sick and tired of people asking him: “What are you going to do now?” Isn’t that ironic?

“There is no shame in not knowing; the shame lies in not finding out.” Russian proverb.

His speech suggested that he wasn’t certain about his future plans. He spoke at length about the difference between not knowing and knowing nothing. “Don’t be afraid to say, ‘I don’t know,’” he advised. The young man had a list of accomplishments that went on and on—I thought the nun who introduced him was talking about someone who had lived much longer as she rattled off his achievements and honors. And yet here was this brash young man with a Thanksgiving platter of life ahead of him, frustrated by the same question that I am: “What are you going to do next?”

It would seem we'll never have all the answers, but for me the lesson is clear. We may not know what we’re supposed to be doing next; but no matter how great or small our beginnings, or how much we’ve done, we must always be learning and doing something more.

“You are never too old to set another goal or to dream a new dream.” C.S. Lewis

Donna

Pam's Mom

When I was twelve our family moved from Kent, Ohio to Roselle, Illinois—in March. At the time we were a family of four kids; I was the oldest, with another on the way. Eventually the kids would total seven in all. My brothers moved into our new neighborhood and didn't skip a beat, had new friends and were out riding bikes and playing baseball within hours of our arrival.

It was more difficult for me; there were no kids my age in the neighborhood, and entering a new school with three quarters of the year gone can be daunting for anyone. Finding acceptance among your new group of peers is not easy, especially at the junior high age.

The girls at St. Walter's were never mean to me, but I was always on the fringes looking in. Never really accepted. Seventh grade completed, summer gone, and eighth grade was much the same.

I used to iron (willingly?!?) to pass the time on the weekends. One day my mom came down to the family room to find me crying. She asked what was wrong, and I said nobody liked me. I said I didn't fit in. She asked why I didn't fit in. I told her they wore different clothes than me, specifically coats and shoes stuff "in style" (I didn't have to worry about other clothes we were all in identical uniforms).

My mother immediately went upstairs and brought down the Penney's catalog. She told me to pick out what I needed to "fit in." With five kids, money was not flowing, but she never told me what I could or could not spend.

I picked out a green corduroy coat and a pair of purple and white checked tennis shoes (quite a fashion statement!). I wore my new treasures immediately after they arrived. All the girls commented on my coat and my shoes, and suddenly I was a part of everything, no longer on the fringes looking in.

At the time, I was sure that the coat and shoes had been the catalyst for my being accepted. However, as I became older and wiser, I realized that what my mother had given me was the confidence to feel like I truly fit in. These St. Walters' girls are still my friends today, many, many years later.

My mom has done innumerable wonderful things for me, but this is what I always remember first.

Pam

Thanks again to Pam View for a tribute to Mother’s Day and a story about her wise and loving mom. Pam is the owner and resident chocolatier of Chocolate Inspirations, Inc. She’s a culinary artist with fifteen years of practical experience and teaches chocolate making. I’m here to tell you she makes the best English toffee on this planet, and they ship! Her daughter Marcy works with her in their family business. Check Pam’s web site for information about Chocolate Inspirations, Inc.

Happy Mother’s Day! To all who have lost their mom, as have I, Happy Memories Day!

Donna

The Perfect Breakfast

When my kids were little - Marcy, eight, and Mike, five - they decided they would make me breakfast in bed for Mother's Day. They were used to me cooking all the time and they decided they would cook for me.

They gave their dad the job of making sure I stayed in bed while I waited for "their surprise." As I lay in bed I heard lots of noise from the kitchen; it didn't take much to figure out that my surprise was going to be breakfast in bed. I lay there contemplating what culinary feast my children could possibly be preparing.

I was sure their dad was lending a hand, to make sure the kids were having no trouble. To his credit, he did not lend them a hand at all. He watched them work, and helped them carry the tray to the bedroom, but that was the end of his involvement.

As the tray was set down - imagine my delight as I looked at the soggiest bowl of cereal you have ever seen. There wasn't a crisp piece to be found. You see, in their minds, that was the first thing they needed to do: put the cereal in the bowl, pour the milk on it, and then proceed to prepare the toast. Now the toast was a sight to behold, ice cold, and the butter congealed and not melted. But, of course you couldn't butter the toast as soon as it came out of the toaster; it was too hot for their young hands. You had to wait until it cooled off, then you spread it with butter.

The feast was like none I had ever eaten. But nothing can ever match listening to the two of them, whispering, plotting, and laughing as they prepared their surprise. And their delight and pride they had when they presented me with their surprise Mother's Day breakfast. Conclusion - there couldn't have been a more perfect breakfast.

Pam

Thanks to Lake Park 66er, Pam Vieau, for this lovely Mother's Day Story. It was Marcy's wedding I had so much fun at in Chicago with the LP66er's. Mike is an actor who often plays bad guys in TV and film. He was in the last Batman movie, The Dark Knight, and is in the upcoming Public Enemies with Johnny Depp. More about Pam and Marcy with the next post.

Donna

Jean

Funny thing, Donna, I remember that same Mom. Where in the world does one begin when describing my mom? Known to her friends as Jean, (short for Imogene), my mother was a very unique lady in many ways. One thing was for sure: you did not mess with Imogene and I mean that with the utmost sincerity. I didn't have a lot of warm, cuddly moments with my mom; that’s just how things were way back then. Now don't get me wrong. Mom did a lot for us four kids, you know—roof over our heads and food in our bellies, if you get my drift.

Well, enough of the introduction to my mom. As you can imagine, the warm moments I do have with her will be forever cherished. One such memory was around 1960. It was right about Mother’s Day on one of those beautiful spring Portage Lake, Michigan days. I was heading out in the row boat over to Mud Bay to do some fishing; Mom was sunning on the dock and asked if she could go along. I said, "Sure, Mom." Mom climbed in the back of the boat and off we rowed.

I was looking forward to showing off my fishing skills and making sure my mom knew that all my past fishing trips had not been wasted. Well, guess what? Not one darn fish—not even a minnow. On the trip back Mom assured me that the trip had not been a waste and that she had enjoyed the little excursion. As you can imagine my pride had been severely tested.

We were close to home and Mom, always the observant one, had noticed some weeds in about 12 foot of water, and she suggested that I wet a line and try my luck. I reluctantly baited my hook with a crawdad and got down to business, cause as we all knew when Mom suggested something, well. . .by now you get the point. Can you imagine my delight when I quickly caught two smallmouth (keepers) bass? She never brought that fishing trip up again; it remained a private moment between Mom and me, and I thought this would be a nice time in my life to share it with all of you. For all you avid bass fishermen, that spot became one of the Klave boys’ favorites; and to get to it you row straight out from the Bartlett’s yellow house. If you want more detail you'll have to ask Donna.

By the way Mom, point well taken and I didn't give up.

Happy Mothers Day, Mom!
Lv. John

Note: I found this damaged old promotional photo in a cardboard box with other old pics and memoirs. Mom was a "chanteuse" and sang with my dad's dance band. She was quite glamorous in her day. Thanks to my brother, John, for sharing this personal memory about a very talented, complex, and truly original woman: Our Mom.

Donna