Transition

Transition.  Just the word implies effort and uncertainty.  I hadn't thought that at 61-almost-62 that I would be making a move - a transition - to a whole new part of the country.  Yet, I can't say that it was wholly unexpected.  

I remember standing near my butcher block peninsula in my Yorba Linda kitchen, vocally expressing to Craig my interest in moving.  I was tired of our house, tired of the expenses associated with it, tired of never getting it quite "done."  "Talk to your friend, Jim Argabrite.  Ask him how things are going in Texas.  See if he has a place for you."  Craig had tentatively broached the conversation with Jim, but nothing had come of it.

Of course, I loved living near my family and dear friends.  My sister, Cindy, and I had always lived in the same city, a situation I took for granted.  My brother, Rob, and I lived in the same ward and our families took up an entire church bench.  Again, a routine situation that I took for granted.  I could drive past my childhood home, my children's first home, or my husband's first home with me any day or time I wanted - they were all in the same area.  I had lived in that area for 50 years.  I knew where everything was, where to go to get a certain thing, and how long it would take to get there.  I was never lost.  I owned it all.

During the summer of 2012, I had a serious health scare.  I had pneumonia, but had been misdiagnosed.  As a result of a sinus infection, my heart had gone into atrial fibrillation, and the doctors treated me for that, somehow missing the fact that I couldn't speak in complete sentences without pausing to breathe.  I couldn't walk from my family room to the front door by the living room without stopping to catch my breath.  Finally I listed the symptoms to a PA, who had missed all of them before, and I was back in the hospital.  This time, I was in Intensive Care.  During a few scary days, my family wasn't sure that I'd pull through.  They considered, probably for the first time, how their lives would change if I died.

Thinking about that kind of transition was difficult for some of them.  And, I think, very healthy.  No one lives forever.  Both of my parents have transitioned to the Afterlife, and while I miss each of them every day, somehow my life continues.  I knew my kids would be fine, no matter where I was or what I was doing.  That was an important piece of information for me.

The following summer proved to be eventful as well.  One son graduated with a Master's Degree from USC, one son married the love of his life, one son decided to wait for a missionary to see if she was the love of his life, and our daughter had transitioned out of college and into her first real job in Austin, TX.  The weekend of Mother's Day in 2013 was the most wonderful weekend of my life.  My husband and I had all four of our kids in the temple with us at the same time on the same day.  What a joy.  Indescribable.  That was followed by a beautiful wedding reception at the church where I had grown up.  The next day was Mother's Day, and I had all of my kids in the living room of our home that morning.  I will treasure those hours always.  They are my most favorite hours of my whole life.  I had no idea that a major transition was coming.  I was immersed in the moment.

A few months later, Craig got a call from Jim Argabrite.  Jim had been Craig's boss several times before, at various companies.  They had been friends for more than 30 years.  Jim was with an Internet security company called Entrust, and they had a position that would be perfect for Craig.  In Texas…

Our home was in California.  I was teaching at Cal State Fullerton.  The dean was a bonafide narcissist, who was intent on breaking my refusal to satisfy his excessive need for admiration.  He was a zoologist who insisted on directing a language acquisition program.  He had never acquired a foreign language, yet needed to be an expert in that field to satisfy his ego.  I did not respect him.  He knew it.  He was angry.  I was his target.  I refused to pander to him, as others did.  He made my work life as miserable as he possibly could, without crossing any legal lines.  Suffice it to say, I was not happy. 

If we moved – transitioned – to Texas, several possibilities opened to us: we could own a home free and clear, I could retire, and Craig could have a secure career.  If we stayed in California, we would probably downsize but stay in Orange County, still have a mortgage, I’d still have to work, and face the possibility of Craig’s being laid-off (again).  The choice became clear.  We began the process of transition.

Last the Best of All the Game!

 

“First the Worst!

Second the Same!

Last the Best of all the game!”

We learned this chant when we were kids.  I think my mom taught it to us so we wouldn’t fight to be first – first in line, first to eat, first to get whatever…  But I think it rightly applies to our youngest sibling – Spencer Ralph Brady.

As you can see, Spencer was the last born in our Brady family.  And, I think the previous five might agree that perhaps he really is the best of all the game.

 

That’s a picture of the six of us in the autumn of 1963.  From left to right:  Squinty, smiley face Rob, tall, placid Cindy, strong, baby-holding Jim, baby Spence, four-eyed, poufy-hair Lorrie, and confident, happy Dave.  Spencer’s birth completed our family, but not the way Cindy and I would have preferred.  We wanted a baby sister.  Fair is fair.  There were already three boys, and only two girls.  We wanted things to be even-steven.  We wailed when we found out that the baby was another boy.  But, he was so darn cute that pretty soon we didn’t care that we had another brother.  We adored that baby.

Cindy claimed Spence the same way I had claimed Rob.  She fed him, bathed him, rocked him to sleep, played with him, read to him, sang to him, and protected him from the rest of us – most of the time.

This is not my favorite picture of Spence.  In fact, I’ve been looking for that favorite picture for some time and have finally given up.  This one was taken at about the same age – 3 years old.  The picture I love shows Spence dressed up in an Indian costume that my mom had made for Jim, full feathered headress, and a real (REAL) Bowie knife tucked ito his belt.  Cuz that’s how we rolled… or at least my brothers did.  I know that there were times when Spence got left out of things when Dad took “the boys” because he was the youngest.  He probably hated being left with “the girls,” but we loved it.  Eventually, he got old enough to go with Dad, and Cindy and I turned to teenage interests.

Spence was a great kid.  He was a fun baby, a happy toddler, a willing and obedient child, a smart student, a creative teen, who became a strong and insightful man.  He loved music, and would sing with the rest of us whether in the car or with Mom and Dad around the piano.  He put up with a lot from us – and could have been a very angry child – but, that wasn’t his nature.  He loved to cook, read, and play – and still does.

Spence thought about being a singer – putting his guitar and dog in a truck and touring the country singing wherever he could get a gig.  I encouraged him to record his music – even to the point that I booked the recording studio.  My favorite song that he wrote was called “Mannequin Women.”  She was a mannequin woman – they don’t get fat!  A mannequin woman – they don’t talk back!”  I would go into gales of laughter every time I heard it – everyone knows that both men and women get fat and talk back.  It cracked me up that there might be a remedy for that.

After deciding that a life on the road might not be for him, Spence went to law school.  He is a Deputy District Attorney – and an excellent one.  He uses that keen insight to put the bad guys in jail, and all that musical talent to put his kids to bed.  Cindy and I have long been glad that he is our brother.