Category Archives: Family

Whitewater Rafting with the Grandparents

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This is a shorter post that will precede a longer post. There’s just too much to talk about – Rib Country restaurant with BBQ pulled pork, ribs, roast beef, BBQ chicken and the two ten year old boys who were so fat they needed their own table, Cora and Grampy’s log house in the mountains, Contra dancing at the Folk School (yes, Jock participated!), driving to Tennessee, Georgia and North Carolina in a matter of twenty minutes.

But the pressing story is the one where my grandparents took us on a non-guided white water rafting trip with “8 Miles of Fun on the Nantahala River” with the Rolling Thunder River Company Since 1977! with Grade III rapids.

When the guides did a roll call before the rafts took off, I noticed that we were the only ones without a guide – out of the 85 people there. I looked around at our group – Grampy (78), Cora (a few years younger than Grampy) – not that age really has anything to do with this, but bones do become slightly more fragile at a certain point (apparently, not where Cora’s concerned though)- Jock (had done one guided tour in Africa on Grade VII rapids where he got thrown out of his raft 9 out of the 15 rapids they went through, trudging water) and me (had one experience in Aspen, CO – again, with a guide). Let’s put it this way – none of us were qualified to steer the raft.

However, we were assured that we’d be fine and once we got our brief lesson and decided that Jock would be our captain, we began to feel more confident. Within the first five minutes, Cora and my head nearly got knocked off by a large branch jutting out into the river, but besides that and getting stuck on a rock for a few minutes, we sailed clear for a good two hours, through many rapids and passing many other boats. Jock proved to be a stable and commanding leader and although there were times when his British quietness rang deaf on older ears, the other raft guides complimented our seemingly learned expertise.

Then, the group leaders pulled every raft to the side of the bank. It was the last five minutes of the trip. This was the big one, the big rapid, kahuna, so we were instructed exactly how to go forward – keep raft facing straight ahead, secure feet under seats in front and if we happen to fall out in the 48 degree F water, look immediately for a rope and keep your nose and toes above water.

Surely we wouldn’t need that!

We follow closely behind the raft that we’ve been following the entire trip before a blue boat sneaks in front of us. They aren’t with our company and I quickly point out that they don’t have a guide on their boat either. I instruct our leader – whether he wanted it or not – to watch out for that boat, they seemed to be all over the show, and the guy steering in the back doesn’t have the patented steering motion down at all.

 The first big bump approaches and we pass over it with flying colors, except Jock nearly gets thrown overboard (but I didn’t feel a thing) - this is NOTHING!

 The second part comes up, we watch as three rafts go over roughly, but intact. Then, the fourth one – the blue one – starts to go over. And they STOP. They don’t go over the rapids, but get stuck on one of the rocks directly over where we’re headed. I look back at Jock, he shrugs his shoulders indicating there’s no where for us to go. I look forward and that’s the last thing I remember seeing.

The boat tips, I get flung off and submerge headfirst into the freezing water. The only thought of mine that I remember is: Of course. Of course I am the one who gets flung out of the boat. Here we go. 

The cold knocks the wind out of me, my head bumps the boat and it seems like hours before I come up for air. The water is swirling and pushing me fastly forward. I can’t regain my composure. Finally, I hear “ROPE! ROPE!! GET HER THE ROPE!!” I fling my arms around, forgetting about the toes up part of it and splash around like butter on a frying pan until I feel a rope, then the rope goes taut, and I hear “GET OFF THE ROPE!! YOU’RE IN A BOAT! WHAT ARE YOU DOING? GET THE F*&% OFF THE ROPE!!!”

Apparently, the blue boat that we were able to push off the rock, grabbed the rope intended for me…or CORA. I suddenly see Jock and Grampy pass by me in the boat and no sign of Cora. I feel like crying. I’m fine being thrown out, but CORA? Finally, I grab a rope intended for me, get pulled to the shore. One of the guides says to me in her southern drawl, “M’aam, please move to the side of the shore.” But I can’t move. I am frozen and in shock. “M’aam, it doesn’t do you any good standing there, please move on over to the side.” My legs aren’t moving, and I notice Cora is still floating down the river – she remembered her nose and toes!

When she finally got pulled out and we are reunited, all we can do is look at each other soaked from head to toe and laugh. We laugh and laugh and laugh. We might shake a little still, but we laugh. Poor Grampy and Jock – they lose their birds to the white waters and here we are just peeling over in laughter. Cora is definitely a tough lady!

Here are some pictures to better describe or click here for a slide show

Interview with the Fam Series – Charlie O’Shea

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Charlie O’Shea is my “Father of the West Coast.” When I moved to California for college at 18, I didn’t know anyone 3,000 miles from my home. I vaguely remembered Charlie being around when I was a child, on the family ski trips and out in Baltimore, but it wasn’t until I moved to Los Angeles that I truly got to know him. He took me in and helped me out, gave me a shoulder to lean on, offered me a home away from home in Long Beach and was always there to listen when I was having problems – and being 18 in Los Angeles, I had many of those!

I’ve always been so grateful for him because I’m not sure how I would have survived for so long in California had it not been for him, and so humbled by his willingness to take in a friend’s daughter as his own. That’s how I feel, like he views me just as he would had I been his own daughter.

Without further ado, I present to you – Charlie O’Shea. Read up. He has a lot of great stories to offer (I love how he met his wife, how he overcame fatness and cancer…)

1. You own your own IT business. What are the best things about working for yourself? Worst?

The best thing about working for myself is setting my own hours. The worst thing about working for myself is remembering to stop working. As we work from home it is easy to get distracted with what I’m doing and not realize what time it has gotten to.

2. I know that O’Shea doesn’t come from your biological father. Can you tell us where it comes from?

This is one of the answers I warned you about. It isn’t to complicated but can be longwinded. My mother who bore me and my sister Dina was married to Phil Poland, a dentist in Limewood, NJ. So my name at birth was Charles J. Poland. My mother met my stepfather while in a TB sanatorium in about 1954 in Colorado. When my mother was released from the sanatorium she returned to NJ for several months until the school year was over. She then left NJ to be with my stepdad Jerry (Malcolm Jerome) O’Shea.

They were married at the end of the year – December 4 to be exact which is why Eileen and I got married on December 4. Until I was about 10 I went by Charles Poland. That summer my parents and almost everyone in the neighborhood joined a new swimming pool that had membership cards and mine and my sister’s both had O’Shea as the last name – that’s when I started using O’Shea. When I turned 16 and wanted a driver’s license it became a bigger official deal, so both my sister and I had our last name legally changed to O’Shea.

3. Although we’re not related, we have a very strong bond. How did you meet my mom and come to be a part of our lives? (Obviously I know this, but for the reader’s)


OK, for the readers. In about 1980 I had been hired by a company called Display Data. They built and sold computers to auto dealers and beverage producers/suppliers like Coke of San Antonio and Huston Distributing who sell Miller beer. Very soon after I was hired in Denver I was transferred to the training department in Huntsville Maryland. I was having lunch on day when I noticed this REALLY good looking women in the restaurant in the building. We ended up having lunch together. I found out that she grew up in the Towson area and had just recently moved back to Maryland from Florida and she was separated and had two daughters. We hit it off right away and dated for a short time. The one thing we both learned while dating was that we really LIKED each other but there wasn’t anything more going on and we became really good friends. Oh, and I absolutely loved her daughters.

4. You and Eileen’s love story is a bit of a fairy tale. Tell my lovely readers all about how it happened and make it gushy!

I don’t think I’m a very gushy guy, but here goes. We first met in Griffith Park located in Los Angeles. A mutual friend had invited Eileen to come to the park for our weekly Tuesday evening run. She was getting ready for a bike trip in Montana and Canada and wanted to get in better shape. When I was first introduced I thought she was a nice looking woman but way too young for me. I was 55 at the time and I figured her for no more than 35 and maybe younger. (I’d already tried that route once and was not about to go down that path).

After a few weeks of Eileen showing up on Tuesday evenings I was becoming intrigued. She was nice, smart, attractive: all things I liked. Then there came an evening where she was doing something else. Another mutual friend was there who worked with Eileen. I asked her how old Eileen really was and she didn’t know either and guessed about the same as I did. I also asked if Eileen was serious about anyone. She didn’t know the answer to that either but said she would find out, and she did. She told me Eileen was not seeing anyone and the age thing was not an issue, at least for Eileen. This was in the fall of 2000.

We started emailing and would bike or run on the weekends with other friends. In December I finally asked her out to my office Christmas party. On the day of the party she called and said she was sick. As this was our first official date I did wonder if she was just looking for an easy way out, but she followed up with some really nice emails and a sincere apology. So I asked her out again.

Due to complicated family issues in Eileen’s life (buying a house, family illnesses and deaths) it was mid-summer of 2001 before we really hooked up, going to movies, dinner, and generally getting serious and I was really liking this relationship even though I eventually found out she was 10 years younger and had never been married (I had been through two, the last one being almost 20 years behind me). She was happy just dating me but we finally had “the talk” where I explained I had a lot of “friends” and didn’t need any more, and I wanted something that might lead to marriage. We talked about moving in together and made plans to do so.

Now call me old-fashioned but I’ve never “lived” with anyone. I’ve had roommates but that was exactly what they were. So on February 14 of 2002 I took Eileen out to dinner in Santa Monica and went for a walk on the bluffs overlooking the Pacific Ocean and I asked her to marry me. Her response (this is debated to this day) was, “I’ll think about it”. She thinks she said, “Eventually.” Unless there is a tape we will never know. With as much commitment as I could get out of Eileen we moved in together in March. Then in early summer Eileen out of the blue said, “Okay.” When I asked “Okay what?” she said, “I’ll marry you.”

(Side Note from Meagan: I love this story, and it’s even funnier when they tell it together. Eileen normally gets embarrassed, but they both laugh at her unsure answer. I think we all know that she is definitely sure now.)

5. You’re a marathon runner. What keeps you motivated to keep going back for more? What made you start in the first place?

What made me start in the first place is a more interesting question. It goes back to marriage number two. Actually the end of the marriage.

On her last day in our apartment we were having a big argument and she up and said she was leaving. But before she left she had a few parting shots. She said, “You have gotten fat and lazy. All you do is sit around and watch TV. You haven’t read a book in years and you couldn’t run around the block if you had to!”

So the next morning, I went out to run around the block and didn’t make it. When I got back I turned off the TV (unplugged it) and went to work. Every morning I got up before work and ran as far as I could. In a couple of weeks I did make it around the block. Then I started on two blocks and just kept going. By May I decided to enter my first race, the Constellation 10K. The first 3 miles were uphill and then 3 miles back down. I figured I could run the first 3 and walk the second three. As it turned out I felt so good at the top of the hill I ran to the finish.

What keeps me motived after 28 years of running is the feeling it gives me. I feel in control of my life. There are some great side effects too: you meet some really great people who like to exercise, it is a healthy lifestyle, and you get to eat more.

6. Even after fighting cancer, you went on to run the Paris Marathon. How much harder was it to get started running after chemo? What is the biggest thing you realized after cancer, would you say? (If that’s even possible to summarize at all!)

While fighting cancer, as I said in the last answer, when I run I feel I have some control. Cancer was shit. I don’t recommend it for anyone. And you can definitely say the cure is worse the disease.

So the last thing I did before starting chemo was to run a half marathon. My chemo sessions were every three weeks. After the first session I thought this will be a piece of cake. What I didn’t understand then was chemo is cumulative. By the third session I was toast. Running was out of the question. But I made myself get up and walk everyday. At a minimum 3 miles. They were very slow miles.

By the end of chemo I was tired of the whole thing and really ready for it to end. This was the end of March 2009. I was out of shape and completely exhausted and beaten down. My sister and her husband were coming out to California to visit and there was a half marathon up in Solvang. Eileen, my sister, and her husband were all going to run. So I signed up and planned on walking the first 7 miles and then get a ride to the finish. But I got to 7 miles and there was this woman in front of me, bent over, walking/running her heart out and she kept going so I did too.

Eileen called me on the cell I was carrying, as they expected me to be at the finish before them. When I said I was at mile 10 and thought it would take me another 45 minutes to finish. When I came down the final stretch, running the best I could, Eileen, my sister, her husband, and I all had tears in our eyes. It was one of the most inspirational runs for me in my whole life. So after that run (about 3 weeks post chemo) Eileen decided I needed a carrot to kickstart my training again and suggested we run the Paris Marathon. It wasn’t my fastest run ever, but it was a lot of fun!

As to the biggest thing I learned, I think it is what everyone with a life threatening illness learns: life is precious, don’t waste time on things you cannot control. Obviously you have to look to the future but don’t forget to live in the present.

7. Where do you see yourself in five years? Ten years?

In five years I hope to be even more semi retired than I already am. Spend more time doing things I want like vacation, running, taking photos, and reading. I’ve had a dream about starting a company that records people’s memories. The older I get the more interesting I find everyone. It seems to me everyone has a story to share and I think it is a shame when we die and the story goes silent.

In ten years, hopefully more of the same and by then I should start placing in my age group at races ;-)

8. Biggest life lesson?

The way I see it, it is be the very best person I can be. We’ve all heard variations of this, like “do unto others,” or Bill and Ted’s, “Be excellent to each other”. And even better to “pay it forward,” just do something for someone with no expectation of anything in return. What a great idea!

9. Anything else you’d like to add?

As if I haven’t said enough already! But I will say thanks for giving me a chance to add to your collection of tales.

THANK YOU, CHARLIE!

The Barge

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Waking up on Saturday morning to the cold, cold rain was dismal. Even if we were on a boat.

The dry air of the heater blasted on our feet as we sat and drank our cups of tea.

One brother strummed on his newly-bought guitar trying to work out a verse of a song he was in the midst of writing. The youngest brother stood next to his father at the wheel; his father carefully maneuvering this large, vintage vessel across the eastern-most part of England.

The mother bustled around tidying the tiny kitchen, making us tea on a gas-powered stove and straightening the 1970′s curtains. I ignored my latest lactose-free diet and gratefully drank the black tea with milk, watching the swans, the reeds and the rain smattering on the deck.

Jock read the map, working out the best route, the amount of time it would take us to glide 10 miles.

I worried for the swans. They sat there in the middle of the river, not deterred in the slightest about the ginormous boat that was about to squash them to smithereens. I quickly learned they had lived on this river far longer than I. It was impossible to kill them.

By the end, I wished this wasn’t the case. Evil creatures those swans. Beautiful, but evil – snipping at Jock’s feet, rattling on our boatroom window, biting the necks of baby chick’s who dared to eat their morsels of bread.

The sky was glaring down at us, ensuring that we didn’t retreat outside the boat until we had enough practice driving four miles per hour on its river.

Sunday was another story. The sky agreed we were ready to take on narrower, curvier waters even with the distraction of the bright blue sky and hot sun.

The sky was wrong.

We weren’t ready.

Reaching the end of a narrow river, with no warning, it was time to turn around. I drove like I so eagerly wanted to. I didn’t turn quickly enough. I headed directly for the corner of the dock.

Jock grabbed the throttle and banged it in reverse. The boat revved its engine and became more powerful than it had ever let on before. Tricky, darn boat.

BANG. RATTLE.

The boat was longer than it appeared. It hit the back hard and loud. Tricky, darn boat.

Jock’s father flew across the living room, landing on the soft cushion of middle brother’s lap. The mother kept away from any windows, piddling about until the chaos had been handled.

There was silence. Where there was a lot of shouting before we hit the dock was now replaced with silence. After approximately eight to twelve turns, the boat was aiming at the other direction. It was badly injured.

I jumped off the wheel and refrained from steering the rest of the trip. Audible gasps were let out when we safely steered away from the end of the river.

The swans still appeared to get in out way.

The next stop was a small town named Horning. A beautiful, picturesque Norfolk Broads town. We moored at the longest space we could find, out of the way of other boats, animals, corners, houses, debris, people, anything that could be damaged.

We tied the boat to a lamp post and a tree and crossed our fingers that the tree wouldn’t fall down and the lamp post wouldn’t lose its screws.

The empty, dilapidated pub opposite the boat was a sign of the bad times. Another victim of the recession from last year.

The days since that day blended together. The sun was constant, whenever the puffy, cotton-ball clouds would let it be. My forehead is burnt. The swans were pesky, but dazzling to watch dash across the river. Many pints of beer drunk, hamburgers eaten and sceneries taken in. My belly is slightly swollen.

“Ahoy, shipmates,” – the phrase uttered each morning that never ceased to cause a ripple of laughter amongst everyone. Simplistic, beautiful joke.

Unfortunately, the only sailor quip I knew was lost on the English crowd – “Have you seen the latest pirate movie?” “It’s rated arrrrrrrr.” Their movies aren’t rated R.

My favorite thing to do other than watch the animals interact, mate and fly about was observing the brothers’ relationships. Clear, strong dynamics exist between them rooted in a lifetime of growing up next to each other, placement of birth, sharing beds, dinner tables, holidays and playing football; but amazingly, there is little competition between them and a boat-load of love.

Literally for hours we sat in a pub, on the boat, taking walks and talked. I was in awe of their patience with each other, their ability to listen to what they all had to say and the lack of fighting. How could a family get along this well?

“Lots of booze,” his brother joked. And, although that is true…there is more to it than that.

If it were my family, I think we would feel a bit antsy after the first day on a boat, anxious after the second, shaking by the third and just plain fuming by the last. There is bound to be coalitions that break down, alliances that are formed and groups that complain about the next one. Finding faults with everyone else is something we have aced, gotten down to a T.

No good showers, slow speed, nothing to do but talk to the other…

A living hell on water.

I’m now starting to wonder if we’ve had it all wrong. I wonder if secluding ourselves in a place where there is no phone reception, no internet, no way of escaping could do us good.

What if we just let it all go?

What if we were the strongest connection?

What if?

My pace is slower, my body is still swaying and I can’t wait to plan my next boat-trip…or perhaps a cabin in North Carolina? What do you say Grampy?

Happy Birthday Mom and Dad!

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Yes, my mom and dad have the same birthdays.

Days like these are when its hard to be away from home. My mom and I aren’t just mom and daughter – we’re much closer to best friends nowadays. She likes to say that me, my sister and she all lived in different lifetimes together which is where our close bond comes from. We just happened to be reincarnated as a family this time around. We are all eerily in tune with each other, and I am so grateful to have such an amazing group of women.

A couple of weeks ago, my mom was heading to her car after getting a pedicure and she was hit by a car. She laughed it off as if it were nothing, her first thought being “Oh, God, I hope I haven’t ruined my pedicure.” (An obvious first thought for any woman who just got a pedicure, and there is fear of it being smudged.) She went home, propped her feet up and went on with her day. However, further tests prove that its worse than she originally thought.  There are fractures and torn ligaments, and she has to take, at the least, a month off work.

It could be worse. And, for that, we are grateful. However, it’s just another reminder that we can’t take any day for granted for it can all change in an instant. I love her to death, and wish I could be there to celebrate her – ah hem – <insert year here> birthday. Love you Momma, and can’t wait to see you soon!.

My Dad and I have never lived together – not even in the same city. I had the opportunity to go to high school in Mexico City, like my sister did, to get an International Bac from their British school system, and live with my dad. However, I had just gotten into Baltimore School for the Arts as a Theatre Major, and Theatre was my number one priority. (Sorry, Dad!). Mexico City’s high school didn’t have a theatre class, so I wasn’t moving.

He traveled a lot when we were children to various countries, cities, and I would wait eagerly by the mailbox for his letters. They came often and, in those days, were handwritten or sometimes typed on a typewriter! Emails didn’t exist and a computer was hard to come by, so real mail was the only way to go. He would send keepsakes as well – like a doll with wooden shoes from Holland or a bracelet he bought when he was in Germany. I still have most of the letters and keepsakes – packed away in a trunk in Baltimore or Charlie’s house in Long Beach. I have boxes with my memories scattered all over the country.

I still look forward to his emails. He now lives in Guadalajara. Dad, I hope you’re having a fantastic OLD man’s birthday. Cause let’s face it, you’re getting pretty old. ;) Love you.

Love to both my parents! Wish I could be there!!

Passionate Debates

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Last week Lindsey was in town. For those of you know Courtney, Lindsey is her older sister (therefore my oldest sister by default).

She was in the UK because she was the leader of a high school field trip from Connecticut. We snuck away where we could. First time was Saturday night in London.

Drinks along the waterfront of Canary Wharf. Chilly breezes, cold wheat beers, two years of catch up to do. Twenty two years of knowing each other makes the catch ups much shorter.

Cut straight to the business and we’re able to move on from our daily activities quite quickly to debating our views on politics, life lessons, feminist values, social constructs, astrological signs and our sisters. That’s generally the genres that we discuss, but the order is up for grabs. On average, we are able to dissect the world and all its problems in under three hours – the same was true on Saturday.

After a good twenty minutes of passionately debating the state of marriage today and its place in our society (more specifically the fact that there isn’t a conversation happening regarding women losing their identity in changing their name to the man’s), I felt refreshed. Frankly, we disagreed on many points – that’s not true. We didn’t disagree, but we challenged the other in their own viewpoints. Let’s be honest, Lindsey is firm in her views, and she challenged me. Nevertheless, it got heated at times, and to the average onlooker, it may have appeared that we were fighting. No, to the English, it would have appeared that we were full-on arguing.

But then, Lindsey had to go to the bathroom. She got up, left for a couple of minutes, came back, and sat down. We looked at each other and started cracking up. We laughed, and then moved on to something else, I don’t remember what- perhaps fashion in London.

It got me thinking about the last time I really was able to openly debate something. I learned quite quickly in my own relationship with Jock that he didn’t view disagreeing, debating or challenging someone on their views in the same way that I did. It happened one day when he said, “God, I can’t believe how often we argue. I’ve never argued with anyone else in my life.” I looked at him perplexed, and said “What are you talking about? I don’t think we argue much at all!”

It was as if we were having two separate relationships. You see, I get a kick out of those spirited disputes and always have done. I find I learn something about myself from them, about the world and usually just like the banter and sense of theatricality. He views it as a personal attack on him and sees it as muddying the waters for no reason. Now that I’ve lived in England for over a year, I get why he does. It’s not kosher to vehemently disagree with someone to their face – even if you just want to hear their reasons for it.

And, of course there are ways to go about it this debate. I like to think I’m not obnoxious in my approach.

Lindsey and I were able to look at each other and laugh because we both knew it wasn’t personal, that it wasn’t attacking the other. It simply felt good to get it off our chests. It was a sense of achievement when we finished the conversation with no outcome.

Perhaps as Americans we clear our minds through these debates? It helps us to figure out what we really think on the topic and by hearing it out loud, it sheds light on our true feelings? Or is it a woman thing?  Or am I simplifying it completely and it varies on the person?

I know in the South of the USA, politically correctness and politeness is more the norm, but I’ve never met a Southern woman who didn’t stand up for what she believed in.

Either way, I miss those fiery tête-à-têtes. And, I don’t get why we can’t talk about religion, politics, etc – doesn’t that just make for a more interesting conversation?

I’ve learned to temper them, but be warned – when I come back to America – it’s on!