A Mother's Memories to Her Child: My Father

My father's full name
Ralph Abraham (R. A.) Ambuehl

When and where he was born
April 6, 1947
Washington state

My father grew up in
Washington state; Cuba; Miami, FL.

My father's best story about growing up
Whenever he was naughty, his mom sent him to his room, which was, unbeknownst to her, not really a punishment because then he could read his books in peace.

Growing up in Cuba, he saw public executions on T.V. He, his brother, and sister were quite the novelty because they were blonde-haired and blue-eyed. The Cuban children would stare at them unabashedly.

His father sold books, so they traveled a lot. I have a number of the children's books his father sold. They have been bequeathed to my daughter, and she cherishes them as much as I do.

His dad once got so mad at my dad's brother because he wouldn't get in the car that he caught his sleeve in the car door and dragged him down the driveway.

His Nana and Baba's house in Miami with all the cats.

Screaming for my mom to get a broom so he could swipe the spiders from the ceiling. He was asleep. There were no spiders. He nearly gave her a heart attack.

My favorite memory of my father
He would carry me from the car to my room when I fell asleep on long drives. Sometimes, I just pretended to be asleep so he would carry me to my bed. I felt safe and loved in his arms.

One evening, he was out working in the yard. I panicked for some inexplicable reason. I felt so alone and frightened. My sister didn't know what to do with me (she's younger by two years), so she finally opened the front door and shouted, "Dawn! He's out here!" He rushed to me and gave me a huge hug.

The sad look in his eyes when I told him I wanted to change my name to dawn marie and drop the last name. You'll notice I hyphenated my name when I got married. I guess I changed my mind.

The time I told him that I never wanted to have children (by giving birth) and that I wanted to adopt when I was 30 - you know - OLD. He asked me how I was going to do that without a husband. I didn't agree with him, and I disagree even now because I believe many women are up to the task. Even though he may not have used the right words, he was trying to help me understand the important role of a father in a child's life.

When I was 15, I wrote a sort of suicide note at school, which my teacher gave to the counselor, the counselor to my mom, and my mom to my dad. He took me to lunch one afternoon while we were out shopping for psychiatric help, and he looked at me accusingly and asked, "What right do you have to take your own life? Do you know what you are putting us through?" I felt very ashamed of myself, but, by his saying that, I realized the depth of his and my mom's love for me. It gave me the push I needed to at least try to get better.

La Vie Peut-Etre Belle: Life Could Be Beautiful

Is there a place - a physical location - in the world where we can truly be everything we are?

In this Utopia, I would not rely on money to determine the direction my life takes.

In this Utopia, I would use my true talents in exchange for goods and services for people, not corporations, bureaucracies, hierarchies.

I would be able to clearly see my connection to all life, and this knowledge would give my life meaning and purpose.

Source: https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidtSpUqpGxX47c-BaucKMgUug6l4VWbdGasTyox3FdE-9lRf9eQvtRfmh3sBfiSWss9R9Zl3jwQJKRsENN0ymuCPuR-ynTX9J4FlpFRbvXlhrUbvL1eZg2ZE3zHw9VuHfGpaTr-hubJCHK/s400/collective-consciousness.jpg

I would not be perfect because that is unrealistic. I would be aware of all my flaws, mistakes, and I would know how to analyze, understand, and correct them so I would live more fully. I would be satisfied - content - in this knowledge so that I may live unencumbered by doubt or judgement in the fullness of the present moment.

I would not allow this lifestyle for everyone else. I don't have the right to allow it. It is an obligation  to respect individual members of our Utopia as well as to all the lives they touch. It is inherently understood. We all see and know these principles to be true, and we know the depth of our universal connection. 

If this place does exist, even on the smallest level, please give me the maps and instruction on the proper method of travel I need to make my way there. 

Make room for at least three people on the trip: My daughter, my husband, me. 

Make room in the Utopia's collective conscience for all the memories of the minds and souls we have touched. They are as much a part of us, and we could not leave them behind. It would not be right to do so.

When I have the maps and the instruction, I will liquidate my assets, renounce my earthly possessions, donate all that is unnecessary to make this trip to charity because I will not be coming back. 

When my journey is done; I will not be coming back. Only my spirit, thoughts, and memories will remain.   My body and my soul stay with me, until my body returns to the earth, and my soul is set free to choose its next incarnation.

• For more information about the psychological and sociological theory of collective conscience, go to http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Collective_consciousness.
• For more information about the movie Life is Beautiful, go to http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0118799/. 

Dedication to My Favorite Uncle

Edward Howard Colson, Jr., a.k.a. Howie, a.k.a. Uncle Ed, was my favorite uncle. He was 58 years old. Two days from now, he would have turned 59. But, now, he will not live to see another birthday. He died last night.

My favorite uncle lived in Alameda, California just outside of San Francisco. Some would have called him a screw up, at least back in the 70's. His family thought he was dead after he ran off and found himself in a gutter in San Fran many years ago. He called his dad, my grandpa, and cleaned up his act.

But I don't remember any of that. I wasn't born, yet.

What I remember is the man who walked so fast, it was just below a run, so I had to run to keep up with him, even as an adult. Was he walking so fast to greet his future, or was he walking to avoid something? I don't know. I just knew I had to stay close, or I would miss all the fun.

He took me antiquing and picked out the most beautiful china, which he then placed tenderly on shelves you would think could not survive California earthquakes. But he knew better. He ushered me through the streets of San Francisco educating me about all the sights - talking as fast as he walked. He took me to his favorite hot spots, gorged me on Ghiradelli chocolate and clam chowder in a bread bowl. We strolled through Berkeley, The Castro, Haight Ashbury - all the while he's pointing out sites like a proper tour guide. We rode the trolley and trekked up Lombard Street. We walked the Golden Gate Bridge together and looked out over the edge of the world. We rode the ferry to Alcatraz and took the guided tour, joking around inside the cells and taking pictures.

Like most kids, I thought he was not just awesome, but indestructible. He survived a drive by shooting in Montrose in Houston many years ago. He survived the Bay Bridge collapse during the earthquake in 1989. The man always seemed to walk away unscathed.

That was his personality. He didn't let life get him down. There was too much life to be lived to worry about what could have happened.

From the time he was a small child, my Uncle Ed knew he was gay. In a letter to my grandmother, he "told it like it was." My mom still has the letter. She and the rest of his family thought even more highly of him because of his courage and bravery. Families don't always do what's right by each other as many, many, many of my uncle's friends can tell you.

The fact is, when my parents revealed this "family secret" to me, I was absolutely unsurprised. I looked at my mom and said, "Duh. He's gay. He took me antiquing for crying out loud."

He is, was, and always will be my favorite uncle.

He took us to Great America in California, and took me on a roller coaster that went upside down on the ceiling. I was a big girl, but my sister wasn't, so I got to go without her. Unfortunately, I was still too little for the buckle and almost fell out when we raced skyward, but he grabbed me tight and held on. What a rush that was! Of course, he made me promise not to tell my mom.

I remember his Beanie Baby collection from which he allowed my sister and me to choose just one each - the ones "born" on our birthdays.

His Nightmare Before Christmas collection.

His duplex.

His prize-winning poodles.

Deva, his pet cockatoo. She would stay on his shoulder even when he took her outside, and she ate from his own plate while he had his morning coffee.

His Halloween costumes. I have a picture of one of them. He wore a French maid's costume complete with mustache and feather duster.

Uncle Ed sent us Christmas presents every year until we were 18. He bought us the things my parents couldn't afford. When I was 15, we visited for Christmas, and he bought me a Union Bay jacket I'd been mooning over. An honest-to-goodness brand-name, brand new coat. Then we went to Sanrio AND FAO Schwartz! Toys! Brand, spanking new toys. With a twinkle in his eye, he would watch us as we browsed our favorite characters and surprise us later with a gift he knew we wanted.

When I was an adult, I finally got to accompany my Uncle Ed on night time adventures. We walked the beach in Florida and talked, or mostly, he talked. You couldn't get a word in edgewise when he was talking. But he always spoke the truth. The cold, hard, blunt truth. We went clubbing in Montrose and he told me about bear bars and drag queens.

At my wedding, he was one of two men who danced with me properly, expertly spinning me around in my wedding gown like he was born to do it.

My favorite uncle.

A year and four months ago, he found out he had cancer of the esophagus. After surgery and chemo earlier this year, his cancer came back, and it metasticized. It was in his bone marrow. I found out just two short weeks ago. My mom called this morning, and I knew as soon as I picked up the phone and heard her shaky voice that he was gone. All I could muster was an eloquent string of "No. No. No. No." I knew it was coming, and I knew he wanted to die on his own terms, and I knew he had already given up the fight, but I was stunned nonetheless.

When I talked to him two weeks ago, he said, "I don't like long check outs. When it's my time, I just want to go - no tubes, no machines, no drugs, nothing."

Yesterday, his family and friends celebrated his birthday. He stayed up reminiscing, telling silly stories, reading his cards, and opening his presents. He laid down on the couch to rest. My dad said he seemed delirious, but he was on a lot of medication, so that didn't seem amiss. My dad laid on the floor next to the couch, while my mom went upstairs to sleep. My uncle died there last night, on his couch in his home, surrounded by his beloved pets, family, and friends.

He died on his own terms; the same way he lived his life.

A Mother's Memories to Her Child: My Mother

My mother's full maiden name
Joyce Marie Colson

When and where she was born
May 23, 1947
St. Petersburg, Florida

My mother grew up in
St. Petersburg, Florida

My mother's best story about growing up
Playing bongos on the roof with her cousin Butch.

Sinking a canoe with her cousins.

Her brother throwing a frog with a firecracker in its mouth at her, and it exploded all over her. She fears frogs to this day.

Whipping a boy with her daddy's bullwhip when he tried to beat up her little brother.

Dancing the Jitterbug with her baby brother.

All the boys in high school hanging out with her and asking her details about the girls they liked (because she was a tomboy). She always wondered why they didn't ask her out since she was the one they talked to.

Taking care of her grandmother when she was ill and came to live with them. My mom's mom was too depressed to deal with her mother dying, so my mom had to grow up pretty quickly.

Her daddy.

A favorite memory of my mother
When she would show me her dolls she played up with as she grew up. She has them still - all wrapped up snugly in a Rubbermaid tub. Her mother and her grandmother gave her those dolls. They looked so funny to me as a child because they were so different from my dolls.

Singing "Que Sera" in the living room.

Comforting me when I had bad dreams.

Craft projects. We did tie dye, etching, gluing, painting...the works!

I always think of my mother whenever
I hear the song "Que Sera."

I have a bad dream. Only God and my momma make me feel safe.

I see my grey hairs.

From my mother, I learned
God made you the way you are. You are beautiful and intelligent, so don't worry what others think of you. Be yourself.

Be honest. Be kind. Be fair.

Don't judge others. Don't hold any prejudice. Don't be racist. Love everyone even if they don't agree with you.

Get your education. It is the best gift you can give yourself and no one can take it from you. Learn your whole life through. Read voraciously.

My mother's greatest gift to me
Accepting me for who I am no matter what.

My mother taught me that God
Loves you  no matter what.
Is perfect.
Loves you like a parent loves her child.

My favorite recipe of my mother's 
Her dirty rice she learned from her mother. She serves it at every major Catholic holiday. I finally learned how to make it when I got married, but it never comes out like hers. I'll have to keep trying!

Her Christmas breakfast casserole. It's a Jimmy Dean recipe she got off a package of breakfast sausage many years ago. It is delish!

Nachos. Chips, cheese, and pepperoni heated up in the microwave. Yes, I know. Very healthy. ;-)

Frozen fruit salad. Strawberries, whipped cream, and cream cheese blended and frozen. Nuff said.

Sweet potato souffle. Borrowed this recipe from my Aunt and never looked back.

Thinking about all this food excites me for Thanksgiving!