8 Years Ago

There is a quiet kind of love that never fades, even when Mom is no longer here. It lives in the small moments: a phrase she used to say that suddenly slips out of my mouth, a recipe I still make the way she taught me, or a piece of advice that echoes in my mind just when I need it most. Repeating my mantra "What would Mom do?"

Losing Mom left an absence that words can’t fully describe. Yet, her love doesn’t disappear with her passing. It becomes woven into who I am. It shapes how I care for others, how I face challenges, and how I love. In many ways, she continues to guide me, not through presence, but through memory.

Grief changes over time, but love remains constant. Some days it feels heavy, and other days it feels warm and comforting. Remembering her is not about holding onto sadness, but about honoring the bond that still exists. 

RIP Uncle Johnny

He was the last. The last of that generation. He's now gone. My mom's brother, Johnny passed Oct 11, 2025. His passing was quicker than we expected, but he's at peace now and that's what he needed. 

Uncle Johnny was my favorite uncle. I don’t have a ton of memories of him—partly because I was so young when we lived near him, and partly because we didn’t spend much time around Mom’s side of the family in later years. But every memory I do have of him makes me smile.

He was such a goofball—always cracking jokes, laughing, or doing something silly just to make everyone else laugh. He was that kind of person who could light up a room with his humor.

My fondest memory of him is from the summers we spent at Grandma and Grandpa Spaid’s house in Azusa. He worked a late shift and wouldn’t get home until after 10 p.m., but my sister Melanie and I would always stay up waiting for him. As soon as we heard his car pull up, we’d race into the living room—he slept on the pull-out sofa when we were there—and jump on his bed to wait for him.

Without fail, he’d come in carrying a bag from In-N-Out Burger. We’d sit cross-legged on the bed, sharing his dinner and watching The Three Stooges—his favorite. He could impersonate them perfectly, and before long we’d be in tears from laughing so hard.

Most of my other memories of him are with my mom. The two of them together were pure chaos—in the best way. They’d get each other going, laughing nonstop, and you couldn’t help but join in.

When mom was dying, he and his family were there to support and say their goodbyes. Even in a sad time, he tried to lighten the mood. I was in Mom's room with him as he was retelling her stories of their childhood. And apologizing to her for all the "grief" he caused as a little brother. 

He struggled later in life. After he retired, I think he just got lost and had demons he was dealing with. He and my aunt split and he just seemed really unhappy. He'll be missed regardless. 

Here's his obituary my Aunt posted. 

Johnny Gordon Spaid, Born November 28, 1952, to Louise M. Spaid and Ward. A Spaid in Grants Pass Oregon. His older sister, JoEllen Spaid, also welcomed the new arrival. They did not stay in Oregon for very long, around 6 years or so, because Johnny was allergic to the saw dust from the lumber mills.

Ward, Louise, JoEllen and Johnny headed down south to Azusa California. He was surrounded mostly by his Mother's family the Emery's. His childhood was filled with sports, music, laughter and friendships. Johnny attended local schools graduating from Gladstone High School in 1970.

The Vietnam War was in full scale and Johnny decided to voluntarily enlist into the United States Air Force in December of 1970. He was headed to Lackland Air Force Base in Texas. After completing basic training he was assigned to a unit of the Strategic Air Command at Seymour Johnson Air force Base in North Carolina. From there, Johnny was headed to Hahn Air Force Base in Germany. Boy did he love Germany!!!

One year, while stationed at Hahn, he picked grapes at a local vineyard. He saved a bottle of wine, from that vineyard, for a special occasion, we opened it on our honeymoon. He traveled, while in the service, to Morocco and Greece, picking up a few mementos. He and I talked about returning to Germany, Morocco and Greece while looking at pictures and slides of his adventures.

He was released from active duty on August 19, 1975. While attending Citrus College, he and I met in September of 1976 in an Economics class. We began dating in December of 1976, were engaged by March of 1977 and were married on August 27, 1977.

The next four years we dedicated ourselves to each other and getting acquainted, lots of fun and hard work setting up our home and continuing our education. Our first child, Steven Emery Spaid was born on October 27, 1981, followed by Taryn Brittany Spaid, born November 15, 1984 and last, but not least, Michael Justin Spaid, born April 1, 1987.

John worked for Monrovia Nursery for approximately 4 years as one of their Sales Representatives. He even met Gregory Peck while working at Monrovia Nursery, it was special.

We purchased our first home, a townhouse, in San Dimas. This is where we started our little family. We lived in San Dimas 3 years and purchased our first home in Glendora. The family continued to grow, we both changed jobs and ended up working for Kaiser Permanente. He worked as a Radiology Clerk until he retired at age 65.

We were married for 42 years, raised three beautiful children. Johnny began to decline rapidly and we eventually lost him on October 11, 2025. We will miss him dearly, but have very fond memories which can never be taken away. Rest in Peace my Love.

Salty's has Crabs

WAY....BACK...WHEN...Mom and I used to go to Salty's when she'd be in town. She loved their Sunday brunch buffet. They had raw oysters, and Mom would eat her weight in oysters. It made her happy. 

The Mother's Day before mom passed away she and I did our last Sunday Brunch at Salty's. Neither of us knew it then, but it would be our last one. 

Somewhere in the following years, I thought it'd be fun to go to Salty's in memory of mom. We'd go in January around the day she passed. We'd bring her photo and we'd get one oyster for her. It would sit uneaten because none of us liked them. 

Then Covid happened and Salty's stopped their buffet. We went one of the following years for lunch, but it wasn't the same. So we kinda stopped. 

Then on a whim I thought I'd check to see if it was back...and it was! They brought it back in November. So, the usual suspects and I went to celebrate Mom again. 

Their brunch is massive and you really can have just about anything you want for breakfast. 

Mom joined us again as did the crab hats. I can't believe we never thought to bring the crab hats before. This time, for some reason, we thought it'd be fun. So...Salty's had crabs for a morning. 

We're not sure who that man in the weird hat is. No not the main with the crab headband...we know him. 

The buffet is more expensive now than it was. I hope we can do this annually again, but I can understand why people may not want to. I'd go for sure. It somehow brings me closer to Mom. 

Happy Mother's Day

Photo: Mother's day 2001, Redmon WA

 

"I haven’t heard your voice in years, but my heart still has conversations with you every day. Grief hurts and nothing or no one can replace a loved one who’s gone. It’s an emptiness that doesn’t go away."

Happy Mother's Day Mom. I miss you.

Crabby Girl Weekend 2024

I think we have a new annual tradition. Last year we went for the first time to Kathy (and Rowland's) cabin. We talked about doing it every year, but you know how life can get in the way? So I wasn't sure we'd actually do it again. 

Yet, we did. Lather. Rinse. Repeat. 

We left Friday and headed over.  It's not a "cabin" in the sense of "log cabin". It's a small, homey house that is in a nice community around Elk Heights outside Cle Elum. 

Our road trip had us stopping in Cle Elum to get groceries and have lunch. This year we organized our dinners a bit different. Kathy and Janet were responsible for Friday night. And Sherrie and I were responsible for Saturday. But I'll get to that. 

Groceries in hand and full bellies ( we ate at the Cottage Cafe again) we got to the cabin. Such a lovely little house. I really do love it. Small, cozy and just right for us crabs.

Friday night we just hung out and did a lot of jibber-jabbering. We all spent times on our phones and then discussed nothing important. It's fun to just hang out. Kathy and Janet made tacos that were delicious. We had cheese and crackers for an appetizer and ice cream for dessert. Really a great evening. 

On Saturday we all got up whenever we wanted. I actually slept in to 7:30 ish. After breakfast we headed to Roslyn for a walk around the cute little town. Roslyn became a coal-mining town in 1886. It played a big role in Wa State history too. 

And if you don't know, Roslyn is where they taped Northern Exposure in the 1990s. The show has quite the cult following and Roslyn still hangs on to that popularity. 

We at lunch at The Brick, which is a tavern that originally opened in 1889 and then rebuilt in 1898 using 45,000 bricks - thus the name. 

The actual bar (as in belly up to the...) is 100 years old and is from England. This beautiful and unique 23 foot bar also has an operating running water spittoon. Who knew we'd have lunch and a history lesson.

And the food? Oh goodness the food was delicious. You really should eat there if you're in Roslyn.

After that, we drove up the road a bit to see the old cemetery. Well, we drove up several roads. Kathy wasn't really sure which road led there. We got a great tour of Roslyn and we did eventually find it. 

Lots of cool headstones there. The historic cemetery is quite unique. Because Roslyn was a mining town there was a healthy blend of immigrants before the turn of the century. The cemetery is separated by 26 distinct ethnic groups. We didn't really get out, just admired from the car. 

Then we headed to Lake Cle Elum to just see it. Lovely lake and beautiful drive. 

But Saturday wasn't just a weekend day. It was much more important. It was Kathy's birthday. And we did it up Crab style. 

Crab Table Cloth...duh

Sherrie and I had dinner for Saturday. I made a low carb appetizer that didn't turn out quite as I planned. Which is fine since we had more than enough food for dinner. Sherrie and I made Asian Beef Salad and roasted potatoes. 

It was quite yummy and one of my favorite salads. 

For dessert, I got us Nothing Bundt Cakes. They are also my favorite and I thought they'd travel well. But I couldn't just give her a cake...I had to make it a Crab cake.

I also got Kathy this beautiful Crab shirt. It says "Birthday Crab" on it. I figured we could share the shirt and each one of us wear it for our birthdays. It's not going to fit all of us the same, but it'll be fun. 

I think she had a fun day. We enjoyed celebrating her birthday and I'm glad she let us. 

We headed home Sunday, but not before we stopped at the fruit stand just down the hill. We did last year as well and took photos not that different from these. Such goofballs. 

So I really hope this is an annual event. Stay tuned for more Crabby tales.

What were your parents like?

Welcome to another installment of "My Life Story". The card today asks what I assume would be an easy question for most, but may be a bit complicated for me. 

The question "What were your parents like?"

You see I've had two sets of parents with Mom as the common denominator. 

Let's start with the early years. Mom and my original father, Don, were married young. Mom was just 17 when they married. That was back in 1964 - they did that then. Don was her high school sweetheart and they seemed quite happy. 

Then Don got sent to Vietnam. While there my mom gave birth to my sister, Melanie. Then he came home and then he went back again. When returned I was born 9 months after. 

The point of telling you about Vietnam is that his tours changed him. Mom used to say that he left part of his soul there and she thought it was the nice part of his soul. 

He wasn't a great father to me. He flirted with every female he came in contact with and I remember as a kid that embarrassed me. I can't even imagine how mom felt about it. He was not a nice man at times either. We were disciplined with a heavy hand. By today's standards you might call it abuse. We were certainly mentally abused. I don't really remember him having nice things to say to us. We used to get the belt for the oddest, and most insignificant things. I remember this one time Melanie and I both got it because we folded a kitchen towel wrong. 

He tried and I think he did the best he could with what he had with him. I often wonder what he would have been like if Vietnam hadn't happened. 

Mom and him divorced in 1979/80 and that's when the next dad comes into play. 

Mom went out on a set up date with Al Wraspir sometime in 1980. I don't remember who set them up, but it was a double date and they hit it off. They married in Sept 1982. Dad adopted me right after that. I officially went from Jennifer Miller to Jennifer Wraspir. 

Dad was an amazing dad. He had his issues too, like he was stubborn and was pretty opinionated at times. But he was also kind, he loved his family, he worked hard, he had a strong will, and treated me as if I was his. He never treated me like a step daughter and instead took the time to help make me a person who can be a valuable part of society. He worked for Boeing for 47 years and I think wished I followed in those footsteps. While I worked at Boeing, I wasn't meant to be there for that long. 

He always had a ton of friends around him. Many were his hunting buddies. We spent many nights at other friends' houses having dinners and such. 

He taught me to love cooking. Mom did too for that matter. But dad had the curiosity to try and cook different things. He LOVED food. Tomatoes were among his favorite foods. I don't have enough space in the blog to list all his favorites. 

He was a wonderful dad and I consider myself very lucky. 

Mom - what can I say about her that I haven't already said in this blog. She was my best friend. Not always, but definitely as an adult. As a teenager, like most, I wasn't a fan of her. She enforced rules and followed through with consequences. I'm grateful now, but 14 year old me was not. 

She was kind, she too loved her family. She LOVED dogs and her grandkids. Hell, she loved all my friends and adopted them to be "her kids". She too worked at Boeing and was there for 37 years (or something like that). She had a tougher time there trying to progress because, well, she was a woman in a man's world. 

She loved to travel and cook like Dad. They both, together, taught me about how important seeing the world is to better understand, and tolerate, other cultures. "Tolerate" was dad's word and I don't think he meant it as it came out the same way it sounds today. 

Overall, I consider myself very lucky to have had such great parents. They were strict but they loved me. They helped me become the person I am today. 

I miss them both every day. 

Missing Stories

Not long ago I stumbled onto a hard drive that belonged to mom. On it I found folders and folders of photos. Amongst those folders were so many of my baby pictures I've never seen. 

Being the second child, I have long since come to grips with having fewer baby photos than my older sister. I get it. The first on is exciting. The second is - well - the second. And, to be fair, we didn't take photos in the late 1960s like we do today. Far from it. 

So having found these photos I knew immediately I wanted to scrapbook them. I wanted to begin at the beginning and work my way through the 70's and 80's of my life. 

It has been so much fun looking at these photos. There's only one problem. I have no stories to go with them. And the main story telling, Mom, isn't with me to tell me. 

I'll admit this thought made me sad. I have so many questions about some of the photos I've found. Like this one? Why? What is the story with the McDonald's hat? I know it's 1969 but I haven't a clue why my sister and I are wearing these hats. 

I've scrapped a handful of the photos. And without having stories it makes it very hard to journal on them. I could say on every page, "I don't know the story here but..." 

And that got me thinking about making up my own stories. I could, technically, rewrite my whole childhood and no one would know. That poses an interesting question about rewriting your history and whether it's the right thing to do. Truth be told, I'm not creative of a storyteller so doubt I'd come up with anything overly interesting. 

I decided today that without the stories, that's going to have to be ok. Scrapping the photos has to be enough. My family who will look at these pages won't care that there's no story (I hope). Then once I'm gone from this world, no one will care either so having a story isn't as important as I want it to be. 

But dammit...I want the stories. I want to sit with mom and look at each photo and ask her to tell me what was going on. It hurts deeply that I can't. It will be my one big regret in my life that I didn't ask more questions about her stories and mine. 

Some stories I know, or do I? I see photos like this one of me sitting on a desk at my grandparents house. I have fond memories of playing on that desk. I have not so fond memories of having "time outs" on that desk too. I wonder, frequently, if the memories I have are real, or are the one's I've created BECAUSE of this photo? I'll never know for sure. 

So if you're reading this, and your mom and dad are still her, sit with them and get the stories. Take the time to ask questions about the stories of your childhood and theirs. Write those stories down. Because one day, you won't have them there to ask. 

Twenty Years Later

This weekend I spent some time with my BFF getting caught up. She'd been off at a conference for a week and we hadn't really seen each other before she left. 

As we sat chatting about nonsense, she says, "It's been 20 years this Wednesday."

I didn't even have to ask what she meant. I was immediately sent back 20 years to the day she called to tell me she had cancer. My heart sinks just thinking about that day. 

She'd been diagnosed with breast cancer! How? We're in our 30s? How could this be happening? 

What followed that diagnosis in April of 2003 was months of treatment that included multiple appointments, side-effect so horrible they were unimaginable, sadness, anger, more appointments, more side effects, etc? 

Sherrie and her brother the night she had to shave her head. 
He shaved his with her.

I knew immediately that she was going to need some significant support. We had a pretty good friend / family base, but something had to be organized. I knew I couldn't be the person to help "clean" her wounds or be able to take her to every appt, so I got to work organizing. That I can do.

 

I had people lined up to take her to appoints, to bring food, to sit with her, to help in any way we could. I kept myself at arms length to what was really going on. I couldn't deal with it. 

I knew it was about her and should be all about her. But I also knew I had to keep myself "healthy" to be able to help in any way I could. It wasn't until years later, and a lot of reflection, that I realized I was actually pretty (and irrationally, pissed at her. How dare she almost die on me? It was dark times for her and for me. She felt me pulling away, but didn't have the strength to deal with it. 

We've since talked about all of that. I'm not sure she fully understands where I was coming from, but at least we've communicated. 

Anyhow, back to 20 years later! If I'm being honest, I wasn't convinced we'd be here. For years after I worried that each doctor appt would result in bad news. She was holding her breath after each follow up and only after a positive phone call would she breath normal again. It was hard to watch. 

Eventually, that fear dissipated. It never went away for her (or for me). It got easier and less anxiety, but I think once you've gone through that type of trauma, there's always something there. 

She's celebrating in her own way this huge milestone and I'm here to cheer her on for another 20 years. 

Happy Father's Day

These are the days that my brain perks up and floods me with memories. It's a special day for many to share their love for their Dad and show him how much he means to you. 

When you're a "fatherless" daughter on this day, all you have are memories. 

"Death leaves a heartache no one can heal, love leaves a memory no one can steal." - Richard Puz

I've really noticed that with the passing of loved ones, you really do only have memories. And your brain seems to only dish up the good ones. I'm well aware there are bad ones in there, but thankfully my brain is protecting me, I suppose, from the bad ones and giving me the opportunity to remember the strong, positive, loving memories. 

I miss Dad a lot. I miss what he represented in my life - a strong, firm, fair, loving hand guiding me to become a value to the world. He did this by tough love, support, providing advice - whether asked for or not, living by example, sharing his knowledge, sharing his love for food, and sharing his curiosity about the world that gave me the desire to travel. He was so much more than all these things, but these are the qualities and values I remember the most. 

He had his moments though. Don't we all? He could be so very stubborn (a quality he didn't appreciate in me). His argumentative side came out once in a while and there was no "winning" or even having an adult conversation when he was in that state (usually after several drinks). It was frustrating, at times, to try to get him to see the world the way it is and not have him demand it stay the was. He loved the old way of life and wasn't interested in change. 

Still, those "qualities" taught me a lot about myself. I often wonder if those traits annoyed me so much because I might have had/have some of them. That's a post for another time I suppose. 

Still, all the good and bad, I miss this man a lot. Every time I light up the BBQ or travel the world he's there with me. All the glorious memories I was able to make with him remain with me. And while life took him away from me, nothing can take these memories. 

Taken in 1978 in Iran. This photo was taken before he was my dad.
The smile was likely because he didn't have a teenage daughter to deal with yet. 

Sunday Dinners H1

I didn't do so well this year so far tracking Sunday dinners here on the blog. My intent was to post one a month as they happened. And, well, life. 

I started out strong in January. Then nothing. So let me catch you up. 

February - Italian

February was a wroaming Sunday dinner. We all gathered at Chez Levi out in West Seattle. She's got a beautiful house that has a killer view. It's always weird for me to have Sunday dinner some place else. I both love and hate it. Love it because we get to change it up and I don't have to do dishes. Hate it because I love hosting. 

Dinner was stuffed shells. So delicious. We also had Italian Salad, Deconstructed Tiramasu, and appetizers. It was a small group that was the Braspirs, Claudia/Bob, Janet and I. I like small groups sometimes. 

The view from Chez Pantry Goat

That's not one of my cats, that's Frey.

March - Burger Bar

Mmm burgers. I do love a good burger. I blame my mom for that. She LOVED cheeseburgers. The drippier the better. Homemade burgers are one of my favorite things to make. So easy, so inexpensive and so yummy. 

I did the burgers and cheese. Claudia brought all the veggies, including amazing grilled onions. The Braspirs brought baked beans, Janet brought a beautiful lemon cake, Rose and Graeme brough arancini (risotto balls). So much food. I also provided the condiments that included BBQ sauce and fried onions. 

Poor Graeme. Lucy only wanted to sit on his lap. Poor guy is allergic to cats, and that stinkin' cat kept coming back for more. 

This cake was amazing.

April - Thai

Thai themed is officially not my favorite theme. I like Thai food, but I like Thai food in a restaurant. It's a tricky theme because it requires ingredients most of us don't use (kinda like Indian last year). Still everyone played along. 

I made Thai Beef curry in the crock pot. Mark and Jo made spring rolls. Kathy did Chicken Satay. And Janet did Thai Lettuce Wraps. 

I discovered too late that no one signed up to bring dessert. So I brought out some Cresta bars, and Nutella cookies. Worked like a charm. 

Spring Rolls. It took a couple to get the hang of the rolling.

May - Burrito Bowls

I love me a good burrito bowl. And this dinner was spot on. I made carne asada and Charro beans (so good). Mark and Jo brought guac. Graeme and Rose brough Mexican corn. Janet brought sides for the burrito bowls (sour cream, cheese, onions, salsa, etc). The Braspirs brought Flan. 

We had way too much food again, but we were happy and full. As we always are on Sunday dinner nights.

Kathy made flan.

June - Spanish / Portuguese

Oh boy! What a Sunday dinner. Mark and Jo hosted it at their new house in Gig Harbor. We moved this Sunday dinner to Saturday to make it a little easier to get to Gig Harbor and home again without Monday looming. 

Mark made Paella. He and Jo had taken a class and so they knew the right way to make it. Plus he has this massive Paella pan - so it seemed like we had to break it in. 

We started with appetizers, of course. Rose and Graeme brought jamon and cheese; there was smoked salmon; marinated olives, and I made Garlic Shrimp. 

Making Paella is a process, but it's not difficult. There's a lot of components, but if you're an organized chef, this part is easy. Mark did an excellent job and the Paella was some of the best I've had. 

Best part of the night was when Mark was going to take the Paella pan into the house and we'd serve ourselves from there, only the pan wouldn't fit through the back door. That's one large pan. We ate our paella with a yummy El Senior Caesar Salado (it was just a Caesar salad, but we had to make it Spanish.)

We finished the night with a chocolate tort brought by Janet. 

Our next two Sunday dinners will also be wroaming ones. Next month is our annual Low Country Boil at Janet's. Then August is being hosted by the Pantry Goat.