Ok. For the 8 of you that still visit me, it has probably not escaped your notice that I’m sporadic at best with posting here. Well…because I’ve been blogging elsewhere and now it’s time to come out of the closet.

You can find me at http://calamityhome.com 

At Calamity Home, you’ll find most of the stuff that you’d find on Befrazzled mixed in with extra neuroses and helpful tips about homemaking and parenting when it’s pretty clear the world is about to end.

Come on over and stay awhile!

I promise I haven’t dropped off the face of the Earth. There are big blog changes coming and I’m getting ready for those. So, in a few days, I’ll share the Big News. Until then…

Keep those Christmas feet moving!

We’ve just returned from Higgins Lake. It’s just north of Houghton Lake. My husband used to camp there with his family 25+ years ago and he wanted to go back (but in a cabin with lights and plumbing…Robin doesn’t do camping…but that’s a blog post for another day).

Let me just say, if you have little kids with any sort of water phobia (or are a parent with little kids who don’t have a water phobia but you are pone to water/kid related panick attacks…ahem…like me) Higgins Lake is the place to go.  No seaweed. Crystal clear water with a white sand bottom as far as you can see. At our particular cabin, the water was no more than 3 feet deep for nearly 1/2 mile from shore. Mahvelous!

I’m standing in waist-deep water here.

Our friend visited with his son for part of the week. Jim posed them for this one (after he and I got in a debate about how to line ‘em up…it’s see evil, hear no evil, speak no evil right???)

A rare moment of sibling tranquility.

And here’s one for your Monday Morning Mental Health Break. Ahhhhhh.

Hopefully, we’ll make it back there someday

Robin

Okay…fine so far. Then you open it.

No truer words have ever been spoken. Yay me for knowing who I am at 17

Last week I posted a tribute to my Grandfather. To complete it, I broke in to my parents home while they were on vacation and stole a picture of said Grandfather. Though lovingly framed, the thing was in pretty bad shape. 60+ years can do that to a photograph. It was badly creased, washed out and covered in old tape glue.

Here’s what I started with:

Here’s the finished product.

Ta da! I live to impress/amuse myself

P.S. Er…um…you don’t want to know how much time I wasted spent doing this. Heh heh.

I found him like this. He watched for 20 minutes. There you go.

In honor of the Texas/Ohio primaries, I thought I’d find out if I’d fit in in the lonestar state. Apparently not. That is…unless Texans like having skunks at lawn parties.

2008 Michigan Team Wrestling RUNNERS UP!!!

Click for Results Summaries
DIVISION 1

Great work guys!

As for me? Not much has changed in 20 years, as it turns out Crikey, my hair is even pretty much the same!

Let me just say, I LOOOOOOOOVE Battlestar Galactica. Probably more than is healthy. It’s coming back in April. If you’ve never watched, enjoy sci fi and are looking for something during the long summer of repeats (or writer’s strike draught), do get the season 1 dvd and start from there.

Just a few years after Stanley’s birth, Roman was dead of a heart attack. I don’t think he’d even reached his 40th birthday. In the midst of the Great Depression, he left behind a wife who was still learning English and five young children of whom Stanley was the first. But…Rosalia was strong (her fashion sense, not so much, see below) and her son learned well from her. By the age of seven, Stanley was working to help provide for his family, his mother, his younger brother and three sisters. He grew up proud and loved with a strong work ethic and unwavering sense of duty. Stanley was a survivor. He was unbelievably stubborn, just like his mother.  Neither of them had a choice. He took advantage of Roosevelt’s New Deal and went to work for the Civilian Conservation Corps. He’d later count that among one of the best times of his life. He got paid. He got to see different parts of the country. He learned. He probably also enjoyed being away from a house full of women

When war broke out again, he joined the Navy with his brother, Chet. 

As did many, he saw the world and unspeakable horrors serving on the U.S.S. Colorado. He provided naval support at the Battle of Tarawa. One day, from the deck of the Colorado, he watched another Navy ship take a devastating torpedo blast. It was most certainly not the first time he’d ever seen such a thing, but this time, on this ship, his baby brother was on board.

For months, in the fog of war, Stanley had no idea whether Chet had lived or died.  He must have agonized over what he would eventually have to tell their mother. Then later, while on leave in a bar, he ran into Chet. He was alive and well though recovering from serious wounds. Again, Stan and his brother survived. They would later return home safely to their families.

In 1944, Stanley married the love of his life, Cecelia Minor. She was from the right side of town, beautiful, vibrant, and the catch of the county (a real tomato!). I will tell her story another day, but they had 3 children together and continued their life in Toledo.

Stanley worked for Chrysler as a tool and die maker. His pride, faith and work ethic never left him and he expected nothing less from his own family. He could build anything with his hands and taught all of it to his own son. (That contraption project my sister wrote about? Next Generation Kordowski ingenuity right there!)

Until I grew up, I knew very little of those things about him. He was Grandpa Kordowski. He was quick and funny, proud and neat. He was a terrible driver.  He would let me sit on his lap for hours watching mostly wildlife documentaries. He would snore and laugh heartily whenever I teased him about his big nose. It was a strong Polish nose and one that later sprouted on my own face (karma). I have less hair in mine than he did, so at least there’s that. He gave crushing bear hugs and wouldn’t stop until I laughed (or peed). We took walks to the ice cream shop and the library a few blocks from their house (in Trenton, MI by then). On the way there, he took me to a playground that will always be Grandpa’s Park to me.  He loved to dance with his wife. He taught me to sing songs in Polish. I never understood why he would laugh so hard when I repeated what he told me. I was sixteen before my grandmother finally threw a roll at him and told me I was singing something about a cow having large breasts.

He came to my school plays, my recitals, later the wrestling meets where all I did was cheer. It didn’t matter, he came. He was there the day I graduated from college in 1993. I only wish I’d known how little time we had left after that. Less than a year. He gave my future husband a ringing endorsement that day, after watching him eat nearly his entire weight in crablegs at a celebratory seafood buffet. “You’re all right kid,” he whispered, his eyes twinkling.

You were all right too Grandpa. We all turned out okay and it’s in large part because of the lessons you taught us about hard work, integrity and family. Busia and Dzia Dzia Kordowski made the right choice (ok, maybe not about the pink shower cap).

 I love you and miss you everyday.

This is how I most remember my grandparents.