Everyone Deserves an Aunt Ruthie...

...and now there's one more who's achieved it.

Welcome to the world, Matthew Paul "Sparkie" Gero,

We've been waiting for you for a long time.

Love,

Aunt Ruthie.

Vacation

We're away at our favorite cozy cottage at the beach for a week. But, have no fear, we brought 3 computers with us and the cottage has free wifi. The only thing missing is my mom who has come with us for all our trips for the past several years. This year, she gets to go see the other ocean and help while my brother and sister-in-law welcome another niece or nephew. How cool is it that they don't know whether it's a boy or a girl? Retro-cool. I wish I'd had that sort of restraint!

It's still the same beach, but I sure do miss Mom.

Well, Sure, Doesn't Everybody Fly Their Photographer Out for the Weekend to Take Engagement Photos?

My brother, as you may recall, is an awesome professional photographer. His latest post is a photo essay of an engaged couple who will be getting married in California in a little while, but who live in New York City. What's a couple to do?? Fly your shutter guy to you and snap a few frames for a nice engagement portrait.

Doesn't everybody have a panoramic view of them in Central Park? Doesn't everybody have a stolen kiss at Grand Central Station? How about that recreation of the approach to Ellis Island with Lady Liberty framed perfectly between you? If you don't, you'll surely want that after you've seen these pics.

Triptych from our Trip

Over at Paul's blog, he's posting some photos of the children.

Blogger Meet-Up

I know many bloggers. Some I knew as college friends. Some were my professors at law school. Some are related to me. But Sunday was the first time I ever met someone in person who I'd only known through blogging. I can tell you I was nervous. First impressions and one chance and all that. And then, being a little AR, I was concerned about the logistics. And then I was concerned about my family making a good impression, too.

When we travel, I like to stop at restaurants that are kid-friendly, but which have waitresses. [I'm on vacation. Why should I fetch the food?] That limits us to Cracker Barrels, Friendly's, and Bob Evanses mostly.

Annie and Jacques arrived as our food did. The first thing J did was point to his cheek, where I dutifully planted a big kiss. J, even in a wheelchair, is a big hulking bear of a man. Annie is lithe and trim and moves like a woman 30 years her junior. She is sunny and upbeat and delightful. We ran through conversation so quickly it amazed me. Perhaps there's something in a blogger's personality that borders on A.D.D. We never really finished a topic, but a new one would emerge. Dave quietly evaporated with the three wee ones to the van where an onboard DVD player and classic Looney Tunes were playing. We continued our conversation. Dave called me on the cell phone encouraging me to return to the vehicle for the last small push home. It had been over an hour. I swear it felt like 5 minutes. [I had a similar experience when I was on the phone with Sippican, ostensibly ordering my children's table and chair set.]

We lingered in the parking lot with pictures and what have you. Annie showed her prowess at putting J back in the vanishing iVan. He had to cooperate by leaning back in his chair at just the right time and she had to balance everything just right. It was a perfectly choreographed ballet.

And then we drove off, my mind whirling at the joy of meeting someone whose work I so admire, both on and off her blog.

Time Warp

When did this little boy....



become this little boy?


Both photos copyrighted to Paul F. Gero, uncle/godfather/photographer extraordinaire.

Vacationing from the Neck Up

I returned to work today, but still have vacation on my mind.

Joey and Annie [wearing Mr. Tony on the beach for the first time] playing in this really cool sandbox.


My brother, doing what he does best while his daughter Kate directs traffic.


Zeke with the unfettered exuberance of five-year-old-boyness.


Mary Kay Ash once said, "Leisure is a beautiful garment, but it will not do for constant wear." It was good to go; it is good to be back.

My Big, Fat, Muslim Wedding...

...photographed by my brother.

I'm often amazed at the places he's gone because of his skill with a camera. His talent with the camera is augmented by his ability to be around anybody comfortably. They relax with him and the images are amazing.

And, even though some of the traditions look a little different from the typical Western "white wedding," to proclaim unity in front of God and everyone, is the seed of marriage.

Pun o' the Day

Have you heard about the new corduroy pillowcases?

They're making headlines!




Hat tip: Eldest Sis, Peggy

Happy Blogiversary, Siblings!

I can hardly believe it's been a year since my brother, Paul, began his photo-laden blog. That became the tipping point as shortly thereafter, sisters Mary and Peggy began theirs. They've all kept up with it for these past twelve months and I love them all. Their blogs are a way of being connected without intrusion, and informed without inquisitioning.

Of course, this time of year is also a reminder of two years ago, when Annie began her orthopedic journey that still continues, and a year ago, when my father quietly departed for bluer skies.

I may never have the traffic or readership of the bigger blogs. But this little journal is a cyber-tether to my loved ones, our memories, our shared history. It is sufficient.

High Steffin'

I got the call tonight that my niece Stefanie, a sophomore in high school in Wisconsin, just qualified for the State Track competition. She raced today in three events and is going on in the 300 meter hurdles. She's always been a speedy kid. She's been gifted by the genes from her hurdler mother and her basketball-playing father. Add into that mix that her mom was a physical education teacher and that she was a figure skater since age eight and you have the makings for a talented athlete.

She's awesome. Do well, Niecey!

UPDATE: My brother is vacationing in Wisconsin and photographed Steffi at the rainy meet. As I look on her intent face, I notice two things: a Michael Jordan tongue and my sister's face from a quarter century ago.

Pat Tillman: Athlete, Soldier, Hero

My brother had the privilege of photographing Pat Tillman 10 years ago. He wrote this reminiscence today for his regular feature called "The Vault." I am impressed with Tillman's respect for his elders [calling my brother "Mr. Gero"], and for his integrity. Paul had an idea of the type of photo he wanted to shoot, but Tillman politely and honestly suggested something more authentic. Take a look at the photo that Paul got by climbing the towers of the lights over the Arizona football stadium along with Tillman, who used to climb the lights "to sit and think."

I'm proud of my brother and often amazed at his talent. I'm humbled by Tillman's ultimate sacrifice.

Idle, Idol Thoughts

It's Tuesday and my thoughts turn to "American Idol." But first, see what my brother and sister-in-law have humorously done to their daughter's hair. It's a Kate version of Sanjaya's faux-hawk, pony-hawk, or banana-clip update. I'm completely biased, but that is cute.

Hacked Off All Day

Days like today are reminders that I need to get to Confession. When a whole bunch of little nuisances pile up and serve to get me really angry, then I know I need a good soul cleansing. Any one of them would have been manageable, but they piled up and served to make me livid, nail-spittin', mad-at-the-world hacked off.

I fully agree with Sippican that the closer one gets to a government agency, the less responsive that company gets to the customer. And the longer I wait on hold while my kids are knocking at the door, the more I seethe when I actually get a live voice. My sister always reminds me to not kick the cat when I'm really mad at the boss, but sometimes, I do a little feline football because that's who's in my zone. That's what happened with the 30 minutes I spent on the phone company.

Annie had another really good session of PT. I remained occupied trying to unknot the basket of Mardi Gras beads. It was actually therapeutic for me, except that I had to leave the job undone when Annie's session ended.

Then off to work.

As I was leaving work, the sweet little lady who cleans the toilets exchanged the usual pleasantries with me. Then she stopped me to let me know that her 57 year old younger sister passed away today after a couple weeks in the hospital with spinal meningitis. She's from a very large family. The last time a sister died, it was 47 years ago while in childbirth with her sixth child. I listened to the way she worked through her grief, being consoled by the siblings who remain, the chance she had to say good-bye last weekend, the therapeutic benefits of returning to work that involved physical labor.

Thinking of her loss made me less hacked off at things in general. And more appreciative of my sisters in particular.

Lookey Here

Today was the usual Tuesday around here. Kids went to the Y, Annie wore her Mr. Tony leg to the Y and did pretty well with it, I felt like I was running a half hour behind for everything today. You know, the usual.

But here's something unusual and worth a look. My brother, Paul, is a blogger, but he rarely posts twice in a day. He's archiving his photographs and I got to see some wonderful shots of his that I had never seen before: Three presidents in front of the Twin Towers and Three shots of Harry Ford. Enjoy.

Robert P. Ashley, R.I.P.

A beloved college professor of mine died in November, 2006. Today, at Ripon College, they held a memorial service in his honor. I knew him well, having him as a professor and then as a landlord for a summer and my final semester of college. His daughter asked me to deliver a tribute to him. Because of travel and family obligations, I declined to be there in person, but I wrote the following tribute to Dr. Ashley which my sister Peggy delivered.

Dr. Ashley's reputation preceded him when I entered Ripon College in the fall of 1981. I'm the fourth of four children, all of whom attended Ripon College. All three of the Gero girls graduated from this esteemed institution; brother Paul enjoyed three years here and figured out that his degree would be in journalism from Marquette. My sister Mary had freshman English with Dr. Ashley just one year prior, in 1980, and that was the year that he became a widower. She spoke of him with respect and she spoke of Mrs. Ashley's passing in hushed tones. I believe that was the year that Dr. Ashley became Emeritus. And it was the year he began taking in roomers. Oh, not the whispered tales, but the students who would live at his home rent-free. The price of their keep was to clean his Watson Street home each week.

I knew of Dr. Ashley but only had the privilege of being his student once. I took his English novel course as a sophomore. For my money, that was the best bargain in all the curriculum----one night a week for three hours, earning 4 credits. My science friends would lament their several hours in lab for a measly credit and I knew we had it sweet. In that course, we learned of Dr. Ashley's love of the written word and also film. He was the authority on the novelist Wilkie Collins. As a consequence, I don't miss those Collins questions on Jeopardy.

I loved Ripon so much I stayed here year round. The library crew hired a few of us to work full-time during the summer, and if you could find a cheap place to stay, you could maximize the profit. My first summer, I lived in what was then called Hughes House. The next summer, I stayed with Dr. Ashley. You can learn a lot about a man by cleaning his house. Treasures of all kinds are hanging on the walls, or needing dusting on the shelves, or chilling in his freezer, or wagging their happy golden retriever tails. That was the summer that Dr. Ashley became known to me as "Da",the name his children called him. I once asked its origin and it was a shortening of "Dad." As I already had a father whom I loved, in my mind, "Da" became an acronym--D A--Dr. Ashley. I, too, took on a nickname with Da that summer. After taking a phone message for him and signing it with my initials---R A G-- from thenceforward, I was to him "Rag"....or my full official title: "Rag, the charwoman."

That summer I met most of his family as they visited and learned that he bestowed nicknames on darn near everyone from the Romans [Junie's bunch], to Arpy and Squish [Robert P. the Third and Jacqueline]. He would spend many an evening in that front study, reading books he'd read dozens of times before or enjoying new crime fiction and filling the home with the heavenly aroma of his pipe tobacco, petting Katie-dog and possibly plunking out a note or two on his ancient typewriter. He usually had a stash of ice cream in his freezer and I learned that he loved Sealtest Heavenly Hash ice cream. He never even offered to share that and in fact made sure my fridge was in the basement so I wouldn't be tempted.

He would stroll to the cinema once a week and often I would accompany him. He played tennis year round and made it a point to play mixed doubles with the best [and prettiest] young woman on the college team. He and Jerry Thompson played doubles and were dubbed "The Sexigenerians." Da turned 70 in April of '85 and I knew he hated losing that clever moniker. For his birthday present, I had a t-shirt made for him which read "Septuagenarian" on the front, and "But Still Sexy" on the back. I continued rooming at 504 Watson my senior year. He took on me as well as my mostly English major pals. We called ourselves his harem and he took us all out to dinner at graduation. I got to shovel show and walk the dog and paint my room. More than the free rent, however, I got to spend time with this wonderful man. He was a scholar who was always reading. He was the well educated Easterner who was no snob around us unassuming Midwesterners. He was the widower who loved his family. He was wry and funny and always had an opinion. You had to ask for it, but he always had it. He was, to me, the joy of wisdom and maturity.

I found my replacement and trained her as I went off to law school in Madison. Da used to tease me that Dianna got into and did much better at a tougher law school. He consoled me, however, with the observation that no one could clean his toilets like me. One summer, I clerked in Appleton and he was an "Attic Angel" at their theatre. He came for a visit and we had dinner and a show. There were several times he took me out to dinner in Madison, including one Valentine's Day when "the professor I lived with" was the better prospect to anything the law school had to offer. And he joined my family and dearest friends at my graduation party.

When I went off and joined the Army and met my husband, I felt it was important for my southern gentleman to see my haunts and lurks. Da was no stranger to the military, having been a colonel in the reserves and having taught at West Point. So he and my Citadel man got on famously---mostly making jokes at my expense. My life moved South and my visits with Da grew rare. But every Tax Day triggers a memory of his birthday. Most Christmases brought a letter and card from him. My mother often sent a package of fudge his way. My memories of Ripon are inextricably tied to Dr. Ashley. He was the rarest of adults. He could listen without judgment. He could disagree with great civility. He laughed often. He never stopped learning. He will be remembered fondly and sorely missed.

I learned of his passing near Christmas. To console myself, I found one of his books online and bought it, ostensibly for my young son to read in a few years. It's a juvenile novel all about a Civil War train caper and based on an actual event. It was even made into a Walt Disney movie. When the out-of-print treasure arrived from the used bookseller in the northeast, its yellowing pages crackled with a familiar smell. The dedication was simply "To Arpy." I held in my hands the tangible proof of his life well-lived--a book he wrote and dedicated to his only son.

Thank you, Da. Thanks for everything.

I am very grateful to Peggy for giving the tribute. Mom called on Peg's cell phone from the audience and I could hear that they laughed at all the right places. She did a great job and it was a fitting final time to recall a wonderful man.

51

Photo by Paul F. Gero, all rights reserved.



Today is the wedding anniversary of my parents. They were married 51 years ago. Last year, the whole family gathered to celebrate 50 years. This year, we are all in different places. Dad died July 3rd after a long illness. Mom spent the last 7 years of their married life providing care for him. She lived her vows "in sickness and in health." And she fulfilled her vow of "til death do us part." She hasn't stopped loving him.

Last year's gathering was bittersweet because we knew Dad was ill. But it was sweet to see them celebrate a milestone that is too rare these days. On the front porch of my girlhood home, Mom and Dad toasted their day from the family heirloom goblets--the same ones they toasted from on their wedding day in 1955. The same goblets that my husband and I toasted from at our wedding in 1990 [and all my siblings did, too, at their weddings.] These goblets were crafted for my great grandparents on the occasion of their 50th wedding anniversary. They are the family emblem of longevity in married life.

Fifty-one is also important because it is the year my father graduated from Rutgers University. He was a proud Joe College. He wore his college ring [emblazoned with Tau Kappa Epsilon on the stone] until the end. I believe my brother owns it now. When we were sassy, Dad would ask us if we wanted TKE written backwards on our forehead. It was an empty threat, but it usually stopped all the shenanigans. Dad always wore two gold rings for as long as I can ever remember.

So I recall these shiny things,
silver goblets, and golden rings.
Promises made. Promises kept.
Love was shared. Tears were wept.

Zeke, Cub Reporter

In the midst of the girls' haircut extravaganza, we let Zeke use our camera. He might have some talent. It does run in the family, after all. He's four years old and the camera is a little unwieldy.

Zeke contemplates his toes [camera neck strap as well]:


Zeke photographs Oliver North's lawyer:


A study of Mama's hand:


Ah, that's more like it. Truly, a man to look up to [Daddy]:

Blending In

Over at my brother's blog, he posted this picture of my niece, Kate:


Which immediately made me think of this picture of Zack Braff in the movie "Garden State."


Such is the way my mind works.

First and Last

In blogging, the last thing posted in a month is the first thing you come to in the archives. Let me close out this July 2006 with a picture of my father, Robert B. Gero, who died on July 3rd, 2006. My brother took the picture in September 2005, on Dad and Mom's 50th wedding anniversary. He was watching the sunset from the front porch of the house where I spent my childhood.

I miss him.