Many years ago, my friend Megan told me that she was going to go camping by herself for a week in the mountains of Utah.

“You’re going to do what?” I asked, incredulously. “I think that’s a very bad idea, what with bears and mountain lions and rapists and all.”

She was not to be dissuaded. We compromised with Megan agreeing to call me whenever possible throughout that week to check in and let me know she was alive, unmauled, and unraped. The thing is, while I would never describe Megan as fearless, I would say that she never let fear get in her way.

Megan passed away this past week, succumbing finally to the cancer that she battled for over three years. Cancer is a word that puts the fear of God into everyone, but pancreatic cancer practically paralyzes. Except it didn’t paralyze Megan. In her matter-of-fact way, she researched, she studied, and she fought. She fought hard. People aren’t generally victorious over pancreatic cancer, but she convinced me she could win, primarily because she never thought beating it was out of the realm of possibilities. I can’t say that she wasn’t afraid; I can, however, say that once again she didn’t let fear get in her way.

I never understood why we were friends. We couldn’t have been more different. She was ever-so-much smarter than I. We were thrown together in the capacity of our respective jobs. She was a research analyst for the Colorado Housing and Finance Authority, and I was a writer. Not long after Megan began working at CHFA, the two of us were asked by the powers-that-be to write an application for an award by a national housing organization. We immediately found that we worked well together as a team. We had mutual respect and — perhaps more important — we liked to laugh, though my puns fell flat next to hers. And we found each other to be quite hilarious, thank you very much. CHFA won the award, and we were asked to write more applications.

Literally, the day before she died, we laughed (for about the millionth time) about one error we nearly made on an application that we worked on well into the night. CHFA’s mission in part was to provide affordable housing to those in need. In our application, instead of saying CHFA houses the under-served, we inadvertently put CHFA hoses the undeserved. I’m happy to say we caught that error before anyone important saw it, and managed to keep our jobs. We also forged a solid friendship.

Megan collected friends. She had lots of them, from all different times of her life. Unlike many people (cough, me), she held on to friends mightily, because to Megan, friends were more than friends; they were family. She also was close to her siblings, and though life with her parents was not always smooth-sailing, she had a strong relationship with her father until he died, and with her mother, who will outlive Megan.

Some might be surprised to hear that during the past couple of years, one of the things we often did together was attend the noon Mass at the Cathedral downtown. I don’t know as I would say that Megan was devoutly religious. She was much too practical to rely on faith alone without proof of the existence of God. Still, there was a yearning for something beyond herself. She would say to me, “I wish I could just believe in God like you.” But she was ALWAYS the one to initiate going to Mass. I was more concerned about the lunch we would have after. Often that was the Imperial Restaurant where we had — every single time — the sesame chicken. They will miss us!

And I will miss Megan. This past December, she sent me this email the day after my birthday…..

Scott and Megan and Bill and I following dinner at one of Megan’s favorite steak houses, Bastien’s.

This was taken not too long after she was first diagnosed with cancer. We were celebrating because her cancer marker numbers were improving. Thus, the champagne. And we were at, where else?, Imperial.

I couldn’t possibly love this photo more. It was taken not long after her initial diagnosis.

One day we took a field trip on the A Line to the airport since neither of us had ridden that rail line. We had lunch at the expensive Westin Hotel. I love this photo because her glasses were crooked, which they almost always were!

Thursday was a day that filled Bill and I with much joy. Maggie Faith had her continuation ceremony at her elementary school, and she will move into middle school in the fall. She was one of the selected speakers…..

Thursday night, her brother Alastair had his continuation ceremony, signifying that he moves from middle school into high school. Alastair (below) is the one in the back who is taller than his dad, but not quite as tall as his papa, at least not yet…..

Kaiya also is continuing on to middle school next year, but there was no ceremony. I”m proud of them all, and they made me smile.

Are You Kit-ing Me?
The other day I met my son Court downtown for lunch. As we made out way back to his workplace after lunch, we walked by an empty lot. What we saw came as kind of a surprise…..

There was a very large number of pigeons dining on what looked to be hunks of bread. As we pondered the odd sight, Court spotted a hot dog vender at the corner. We reckoned that the vender had some leftover hot dog buns that he was reluctant to waste. His thriftiness led to a fine dining experience for a kit of pigeons. And, by the way, I had to look up what a collective group of these urban birds are called: kits.

You Could Call the Dog Sniff
My sister Jen came to visit last weekend for Memorial Day, and brought along her puppy Winston. He is a Yorkiepoo, and very sweet and quite adorable. All of our grandkids like dogs. Unfortunately, Kaiya and Mylee are both allergic to dogs. We thought we would be safe because Yorkiepoos are quite hypoallergenic. Besides, we knew we would be outside much of the time. It’s true that the kids did enjoy visiting with Winston. It’s also true that while Kaiya did fine, Mylee was red-faced and sniffling by time they left. I asked Court the next day if she had allergies that night. Some, he admitted, but not too bad. We are all hoping they outgrow their allergies, because…..

Growing Up
Today is a busy day for us. This morning, our sweet Maggie Faith celebrates her continuation from elementary school to middle school. We have had someone at that elementary school for 11 years, so it will be funny to drive by and know that I don’t know a single child in the school. Later this evening, Alastair celebrates his continuation from middle school to high school, where he will be joining his sister Addie. As I’ve watched the growth of all of my grandkids, for some reason, the fact that Alastair is going into high school is hitting me the hardest. I remember like it was yesterday the day he was born, and it is almost unbelievable that it was nine years ago or so that he started school. Kaiya is also moving from elementary school to middle school. For some reason, her school chose not to have a continuation ceremony.

Buzziness
Almost since we moved into this house, we have battled wasps. I hang up wasp catchers and make sure the kids wear shoes outside. But finally, this year, I have hired a pest control company who promises they will put an end to the wasps. I don’t know if they will be successful or not. According to the pest control person who sold me his services, wasps emit a pheromone that makes it difficult to get rid of them. Even if you remove the hive, the pheromone calls them right back again. He claims that his services include a pheromone blocker. Once the wasps are gone, they won’t find their way back. We’ll see. It would sure be nice to have a relatively wasp-free summer.

Ciao.

Often I will hear the parent of a school-aged child or children say they eagerly await the time when their young one turns 18 and they no longer have to worry about them. My brother Dave and I share a laugh when we hear that, as we — along with anyone with grown children — understand that there is no magical age when you stop worrying about your kids.

“When they’re little,” my brother has often said, “you just have to worry about keeping them alive.” He’s right. Make sure they look both ways before crossing the street, refrain from putting keys into the electric sockets, stay away from unfamiliar medicine bottles, don’t run with scissors, and finally, understand that if they cross their eyes, they might stay that way.

What keeps a parent awake when it comes to their adult children are worries about their job security, concern that they are making good decisions for themselves and their families, confusion about what our limits as parents should be when it comes to money or advice. Oh, and wondering if they remember that if they cross their eyes, they might stay that way.

That being said, I must admit that children between the ages of 10 and 18 are about the most stressful responsibility when it comes to parenting. You want your children to become independent, but are just hoping and, yes, praying that all of the lessons you have been teaching them — or trying to, anyway — have been heard and learned. Because let’s face it, for the most part, they are on their own. They will tell you the truth or not. They alone will face the peer pressure and the temptations. They will learn that it often seems lots more fun to be naughty than it is to be nice, no matter what Santa Claus says.

When my siblings and I reared our children, it was tough enough. But that was before social media reared its ugly head. Our children might have faced teasing by some kids in their class. There might have been a class bully who picked on our little darling. But the harassment was a lot — A LOT — more limited. Nowadays, if a little brat want to bully your little darling, they can do so on a mass scale using any number of social media platforms. And a picture is worth a thousand words, even if the picture is untrue or misleading.

What’s more, social media provides total anonymity along with allowing nearly limitless access to what your child sees or posts from their own cell phone. Just about anyone can reach your child via social media, and your child can reach nearly anyone right back.

Yikes. I’m scaring myself.

At the end of the day, I’m confident that our children are teaching their children to be wise about social media, to have confidence in themselves so as to ignore peer pressure, and to understand that they all have lots of people who care about them and are watching out for their welfare.

Remember kids, we’re always watching you!

No more pencils no more books
No more teacher’s dirty looks yeah.
Well we got no class
And we got no principals
And we got no innocence.
We can’t even think of a word that rhymes.
School’s out for summer.
School’s out forever. – Alice Cooper

When I was a kid (back when dinosaurs roamed the earth), our school year started the week following Labor Day. Come the Friday before Memorial Day, we were saying goodbye to our teachers and bidding our friends a tearful farewell, despite the fact that we would probably see them in a day or two. After all, most lived right in our ‘hood.

Nowadays, I can’t keep track of when anyone is starting school or getting out for the summer. There’s year-round school, modified year-round school, and super-duper modified year-round school with a cherry on top. (I made that one up.) There’s Teacher Planning Days and spring breaks and fall breaks and student non-contact days. Of course, there are also the unanticipated (but much-loved by teachers and students alike) snow days. You need a graphing calculator to figure out when Junior will be done with third grade.

I never liked school. I was a good-enough student and I always did my homework. I studied for tests and generally got passing grades. (We’ll just forget about college Geology 101. Suffice it to say all rocks looked the same to me then, and still do.) I went to college long enough to eventually earn a Master’s degree. All the while, however, I disliked school.

For the most part, I think all of my grands like school. Some years are better than others, what with various teachers and which friends remained in your class. I’m very happy about that. But even when you like school, you can’t help but be excited about the prospect of a couple of months of freedom. A couple of weeks ago, 12-year-old Dagny told me happily, “Nana, I only have two more Mondays before school is out.” Apparently Mondays are the worse day for this pre-teen, and probably many others.

Despite the fact that it has been a good 40 years since I attended school, I can remember as though it was last week just the way it feels on that last day of school. Or should I call it that first day of summer vacation. Because it feels like it’s going to last forever.

Frankly, I feel about the same way as my grands. I am excited to see school coming to an end because I want to spend plenty of time with them. Swim meets and dive meets. Cook-outs and lunchtime sushi. Movies and visits to the zoo. I hope we do lots of geocaching and get lots of pedicures and bake lots of cookies. I will happily clean up slime and wash off chalk cities drawn on our backyard patio after they leave to go back to their moms and dads.

So, while Alice Cooper’s famous song School’s Out takes a couple dark turns in its lyrics, I simply glom onto the ones that stick in my mind: School’s out for summer!

My great nephew Austin was excited to start 2nd grade, but much more excited to be done!

Thank you to all of those who gave their lives so that we could be free. Happy Memorial Day.