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Now the boys are off to Missoula, Julia and I decided it was time for a makeover of my ancient flat. This building is around 134 years old -- twice as old as I am -- and it often shows signs of its age. Lately the landlady has paid for a bunch of work to shore up the back, which was filled with dry rot, but inside, things were pretty shabby too.

So I took my daughter on a shopping spree today. She and I have both been missing her brothers, and 1,142 miles northeast of here, they are missing us.

First we bought her a new mattress, a futon that must be a foot and a half thick. It is so comfortable she picked it out of a dozen alternatives the minute she sat down on it.

Then we went to Ross and she picked out a comforter, sheets, pillow cases, a new pillow, a new lamp and one of the fuzzy blankets she loves.

And oh yes a new top.

As for me I bought a box of Meyer Lemon tea. Those are the large sweet lemons native to this area. If you've never tasted one, you've missed a treat.

In the spirit of finding small ways to reorient life at a time of transition, I have found a cup of tea can do wonders.

Finally, we went to the grocery market and filled our cart with the foods that Julia loves, which in some cases are quite different from those her brothers prefer. My refrigerator looks a bit different tonight and this is the way it will continue to look until the boys come home for the holidays in December.

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Postcards From Missoula

The kids in their rooms at the University of Montana.

Off to Their New Lives

Here are Aidan, Dylan and Zaira way before dawn today, as I saw them off to Missoula, Montana. You can see my youngest son is signaling thumbs-up. They had so much nervous energy, on so little sleep, that it was bound to be an emotional moment.

Not to mention their parents.

At SFO, Zaira's Mom was a mess, crying uncontrollably. Her Dad, who I had not met before, was stoic.

As I approached him, and shook his hand, here is what I said:

"Lo siento mucho, pero no hablo Espanol muy bien."

He smiled and said, "That's okay, I don't speak English very well."

Everyone hugged, and her parents left.

I went inside the terminal, to be there in case there were any problems with their luggage. Then, when there weren't any problems (thanks to Zaira) I saw them to the security gate.

When I lost it was when I hugged Aidan , Dylan and Zaira good-bye. Too many tears.

On my way home, driving the 101, I thought about what those tears were about. Part of it is pride -- you work so hard to raise good kids and when they turn out the way these ones have, and all six of kids have, you are proud uncontrollably, from an emotional perspective.

But part of it also is selfish. I will miss having them them around. They are among the best friends I have ever had.

But to be a good parent you have to let your kids go. It's up to me to fill the huge holes their leaving have created.

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Endings = Beginnings

Today was finally time for the kids to pack up the belongings they want to take with them to their new homes in Missoula, MT.

It was on my radar, of course, to take off from work once they were up and packing and the message came from their mother not long after noon: "It's chaos here."

Leaving everything to the last minute may be a universal human trait or maybe it just runs rampant in my particular family.

The scene that greeted me up in the boys' room in the little bungalow on Bernal Heights did indeed resemble chaos.

Clothes, books, electronic devices were strewn everywhere, as were the bags and suitcases meant to comport them all from this large west-coast city to a small college town in the mountains.

The boys and their mother seemed confused and distracted -- no doubt overwhelmed by the enormity of this transitional moment.

I was little help, standing there observing this scene but unable to effect any meaningful help, other than to point out that they weren't even close to finishing any one task before being distracted by another one.

The saving grace? Zaira. Aidan's girlfriend. Once she showed up and took command, all of the disorder started taking an orderliness.

She told them what to do and in what order. It turns out she is a packing expert, based on her own family's many trips back to their native Mexico.

We were all amazed as she got the vacuum to suck the air out of pre-packaged bedding, shrinking them to half their original size or less.

Plus she instructed them about something they didn't know -- "You have to fold every shirt and every piece of clothing to make them fit."

Hours later, the packing was done and we were good to go.

Tonight, their last in this city before college, we will get their favorite Mexican food from El Matate, maybe order a movie, and try to get to bed early.

My alarm is set for 3:30. That's when I have to get up to drive my young sons off to the beginning of their new life. Their mother is going with them to help them settle in. Somehow I suspect that Zaira, who herself has long been packed and ready to go as she also starts her college career there with them, will be the point person on that task.

They are nervous about such simple things -- washing clothes, cooking, finding their way around -- it is a flashback to my own freshman year in Ann Arbor.

Somehow I think they are far better prepared than I was. But my freshman year was hell until I discovered The Michigan Daily, journalism, and my calling in life.

Meanwhile, their little sister and I will occupy our newly empty nest with their two cats for the next few nights.

Let's hope the cats will be happier than during their last visit. So far, so good, because Julia is here this time...

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Stories for My Grandchildren.2

Raccoon Story

Your uncles, Aidan and Dylan, are about to go off to college. Last night, we all had dinner together at their favorite Chinese restaurant, which is called Alice’s.

Over dinner, they told me about something that happened recently at their Mom’s house.

They have two cats, Pumpkin and Ghoasty. Pumpkin is fat and stays inside all the time but Ghoasty likes to roam around outside. When Uncle Aidan was a young boy, about six years old, we were all at a school picnic in Golden Gate Park, when he heard a kitten crying in the bushes.

He crawled under the bushes and brought back little Ghoasty, who had been abandoned in the park. Since then she has always been part of our family.

In their Mom’s house there is a “cat door,” which allows Ghoasty to come and go as she pleases.

Recently a raccoon family showed up in the backyard – a father, mother and two little raccoons. The baby raccoons were very cute, Aidan said.

One of them squeezed inside the cat door and was trying to eat the cats’ food. Uncle Aidan saw them and started to scare them away. The raccoons didn’t act very scared at all but Uncle Aidan kept urging them to go away.

Finally the raccoon that was inside went back out and he closed the cat door.

Pumpkin and Ghoasty were nowhere to be seen! They don’t want to mess around with raccoons.

End of story.

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Stories for My Grandchildren

I've started to write short stories from everyday life for the grandkids. Here is the first:

The Mystery Coin

The other day, at the corner store, I got some coins back from my purchase. One of them was clearly a quarter, but it was so blackened and rusted that I could not make out George Washington’s face, let alone what year it had been minted.

Every coin has a date. You can think of it as its birthdate. So I wondered – when was this old blackened coin born? What happened to make it look this way?

Back home I decided to try and clean it up. I tried dish soap, bleach, and all kinds of cleaning supplies that your mothers and I use to clean our kitchens and bathrooms. Some of these are pretty powerful chemicals that you have to be careful with.

But nothing seemed to work on this mystery coin.

My idea was that this little coin deserved to have its own story told -- to at least be able to tell us its birthday.

Finally I got out an old screwdriver and I started gently rubbing the quarter, cleaning it bit by bit.

After a while, I had my answer.

This quarter was minted in 1998!*

So that solved one part of the mystery.

But I still wonder about all the places it has been, all the people who have touched it, where it has gone and what it has been through. I know a coin cannot think or feel, but if it could, do you think it would be happy I cleaned it up, finally?

I’d like to know what you think.

End of story.

*1998 is the year Aunt JuJu was born.

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