Category Archives: Family History

180 Day Countdown!!!..Fundraising Update and more….

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Today was the 180 day away mark for my RunDisney Walt Disney World Marathon Weekend and the Dopey Challenge! I know this because you can make Disney dining reservations up to 180 days in advance of your resort arrival—-so guess what I did at 5 am Mountain time…?!??

After going back to sleep at 5:17 am, i woke up groggy at 10:30 am. Had my coffee, and did my morning ritual of going on Facebook, Twitter and Buzzfeed. Below is a link that @TheHSF put up on Twitter today. It is a great link of positive research findings and thoughts from the Heart & Stroke Foundation in Canada:

The Good News About “Bad Genes”

You can donate to the Heart & Stroke Foundation or to the American Heart Association by following the Charities tab up above. I have set up personal fundraisers with both organizations, so the money collected goes towards my fundraising total.

I am very close to my goals of $1000 to each organization!

American Heart Association: $885

Heart & Stroke Foundation: $805

I wanted to reach this goal by the time I run the Dopey Challenge in Walt Disney World in January 2014, but I am positive I can reach this goal before summers’ end, and then shoot for possibly $1500 or more for each!

Thank you everyone! Have a magical day!

Ten Years of Ink—How it began, and what it has become.

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Everything below I wrote first, and now I am just writing this intro. The paragraphs below flow chronologically, as I am trying to talk about my tattoo story, but it does get kind of long-winded. There isn’t really a nicer or “neater way” to put this story into written form. So, I am just giving a heads up that this is a bit all over the place, but in the end, I hope you get what I am trying to convey.

My dad had a tattoo. On his left bicep. What was it? Well, it was supposed to be a snake and an eagle. But it ended up looking like an eel and a weird polygon. He got this tattoo while he was enlisted in the Marines. My mom thinks he had to be 19 or 20 when he got it, as he was born in 1952, graduated in 1971, and then was off to boot camp. He was stationed on a boat in the Philippines for some time, and it was at a sketchy island tattoo shop that he got this done. In theory, I think he was going to go back and have it finished. But, even though my dad looked like someone who could handle any level of pain, he really had a pain tolerance of zero!
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My dad obviously had this tattoo on his arm for all to see my whole life. He never hid it or said he regretted it. I grew up seeing it was acceptable to have a tattoo, albeit an unfinished one. I honestly don’t remember when I first started thinking about getting a tattoo, but I knew I wanted one. I got my first tattoo about a month after my 18th birthday. I was dead set on getting a Snoopy on my lower back—but, my mom had an opinion about that. Her worry was not that I would be old and wrinkly and not want a tattoo there, but that I would someday be old and wrinkly and regret having a Snoopy. Her wise suggestion?—a butterfly. OK MOM, HOW CLICHE DO YOU WANT THIS TO BE?!? Anyway, my dad was fine with me getting a Snoopy, because it was my body and that was something I have always loved, so I made an appointment and all was said and done.

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Yes, there’s the warning people with tattoos give out that you “won’t end up with just 1. They are addicting!” In my first year at college, I got two more pieces inked for life—-Another Snoopy, on my right lower hip, and a set of flowers on top of my foot. I will touch back on those flowers later, as that is the one tattoo I had gotten that really didn’t have a meaning:

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When my dad passed away in April 2004, shortly after the flower tattoo, I began to think about a way to ink his memory. This was done in the fall of 2004, during my sophomore year at University of Wisconsin-La Crosse. I found a document at my mom’s house with his signature, so it could be replicated on the lower right side of my back. Angel wings were added, along with a Canadian maple leaf, since he was from Canada (Ironic how now I live in Canada, eh?)

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My final Peanuts tattoo (for now) was added a short time later. I had a tiny Woodstock flying around under my left ankle bone added.

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I started to step it up a notch in Spring 2007. This was my senior year at UWL, and I wanted to do something more with honoring my dad. Even though it had been three years since his passing, I was still not really dealing with his death that well. I was angry, confused, mad…it was unfair. I still didn’t deal with it properly and talk about it, but I booked an appointment and had three stars inked on my right rib cage—-1 for me, 1 for my mom, and 1 for my dad.

This held as my sixth tattoo for five years. I had said I was done. But a lot changes in five years. For instance, I had moved to Alberta. It is funny how things work that I meet a guy, my husband, on vacation while in the Bahamas, and he lives in Canada. So then I move to Canada, and the move was easier than it should have been, since I could get Canadian Citizenship, since my dad was born in Quebec. So thank you Dad for being born in Canada! Also, I finally started to confront the fact my dad was gone, and while it wasn’t fair, I had to deal with it appropriately. I started talking—not yelling or crying, but talking with people who are well-versed in this area.

In August 2012, I got the largest piece put onto my body—a fleur de lis with the inscription “je me souviens.” I have clung to this quote once finding out it is the motto for the province of Quebec. It translates to “I Remember.” The motto has helped inspire me to do this site, among other things. This piece was so large that we linked it with the stars already in place and the signature. In a way, it mad three individual pieces work together as one.

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In December 2012, I had the simple words “Blackbird Fly” placed on my left wrist, as a reminder to shed away all the negativity and unhappiness. I had had my friend Melissa sing the song “Blackbird” at our wedding as I walked down the aisle in December 2010. I was flying away from the wings of my mom and dad, to my new life as a “mrs.” The song can take on all sorts of personal meanings, depending on your interpretation, but I saw it as a symbol of living the next chapter of my life proudly, full of love, full of appreciation for the past, and full of happiness.

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Now lets go back to that flower tattoo on my foot. All my other tattoos have deep meaning—-sure, Snoopy images may not seem deep, but it is of personal value and importance. I had images on my body either related to Snoopy and the gang, or for the memory and love of my dad and my family. But I had nothing to do with running, a passion I took to the next level of road racing back in Spring 2004, shortly after my dad passed away and ironically shortly after this flower tattoo.

I decided I wanted this tattoo to be “enhanced.” It had faded over 9 years and need to be brought back to life. I also wanted more vines to be added and some shading to make it look more embedded onto my foot, rather than a stamp. But most importantly, I wanted a simple 13.1 and 26.2 hidden somehow within the vines, to signify the race distances in miles of a half and full marathon.

I planned this tattoo around a Septoplasty surgery I was going to have done. On June 17th, I went in for a day surgery to have a deviated septum taken care of, and I will now hopefully breathe easier out of my right nostril when I run and do day to day activities. (I have had a scab on that side for 7 damn years….it bleeds and forms again and makes breathing a pain. This was a possible solution that will hopefully work!). This surgery was set after my last half marathon of Spring, and since I can’t run for about 5 weeks from the surgery, I thought having my foot touched up during the time would be smart, as flip flops are a must as it heals. So, in celebration of my running (and the two month break I will be having from running!) I went to Peppermint Hippo Tattoo in Lethbridge, Alberta, on June 21st.

Carla was my tattoo artist, and she drew right on my foot her ideas. She decided to hide the numerals in the vines! She would re outline the whole old tattoo, along with the new additions, and then starting shading and coloring. The finished product is more than I could have hoped for! You can see from a onlookers view how my foot looks now—-the 13.1 is hidden near the bottom by my toes, while the 26.2 is a little trickier to see near my ankle (tilt your head sideways and turn it a bit and you’ll see it weaving.)

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So that is my tattoo story. Yes, it doesn’t really flow linearly, and it kind of goes all over the place. And I know there are people out there who do not understand why people get tattoos. But they are all important to me, and I am proud of every single one. And I realize I will become old and wrinkly at some point, yes, but at least I will have some beautiful art to look at on my body! If you are considering getting a tattoo for the first time, make sure it is something you have always loved or has a special meaning to you. and don’t worry about what others think—you aren’t forcing them to get it on their own body!

I May Be a Runner, but Maybe I Always Have Been a Fish Out of Water?…

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I am the first to admit—I am not a swimmer. Not even close. I can swim to save my life, but if I swim a length of a pool now, I feel like an athletic pile of crap. So triathlons are sadly not in my near future. But growing up, I was often oddly enough around water. The very first trip my family ever went on was to Perdido Key, Florida, in the Gulf Coast. I was a beach baby at a young age! (my mom also thinks my ridiculous accent comes from the fact that I learned to speak when we would be down in Alabama during this time at Grandpa and Grandma Lammers’ house. I have the weirdest Milwaukee accent ever—must have a bit of ‘Bama twang in it!)

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If there was a hotel pool on our family getaways, my dad and I loved to dork around in it. We never swam, per say (he would do some laps), but he would throw me in the air, let me ride on his back like he was a dolphin, and we would play games where I would dive for various random found objects at the bottom of the pool. My enjoyment of “pool-foolery” also may have stemmed from the fact that Wisconsin happens to have this gem we call Wisconsin Dells. This ridiculous tourist stop two hours from Milwaukee has every tourist junket you could possibly imagine, but has boasted having America’s Largest Waterpark, Noah’s Ark. Any real Wisconsin family has spent numerous weekend getaways up in the Dells, playing mini golf, going go-karting, buying crappy souvenirs, and going to the water parks.

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When our family started going to Disney World in 1991, having a hotel with a proper pool was a necessity. My mom often says in the early years of our Disney vacations she would often get ticked off at my dad and I because we would want to leave the parks rather early in the morning and go back to the pool. My mom is even less than a swimmer than me…she just sits on a chair poolside or floats in a tube! At our first WDW resort, Disney’s Polynesian Resort, we had what I thought to be (at the time) one of the coolest water areas ever!

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The next two trips to WDW brought us to Disney’s Port Orleans Resort. This resort is now formally referred to as the French Quarter section of Port Orleans. It was brand new in 1993 when we first stayed here, and I loved the Mardi Gras theme of the pool!

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In our early WDW trips, we also would frequent the Disney Waterparks. These were not like Noah’s Ark in Wisconsin Dells at all! The theming was impeccable and the slides were a bit more tame—-my dad could enjoy most of them with me! (He was a thrill seeker wuss). We use to go to only Typhoon Lagoon, but once Blizzard Brach was built, we would visit both.

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Our last family WDW trips brought us to Disney’s Yacht & Beach Resort. We first fell in love with this resort because of the pool area, Stormalong Bay. In 1995, we had gone to Beach Club for a character breakfast—-when my dad saw the “pool” he immediately knew we had to stay here. Use this term pool loosely, as Stormalong Bay is over an acre of winding waterways, complete with a sand bottom!

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This resort had the perfect pool combination for our family, because as I got older, the playing in the water started to slow. I became the poolside lounger like my mom, and we opted to stay in the parks longer than come back for pool time. We came back for pool time more so because my dad still longed for it. I now rarely play in the water like I use to, and when I am at a pool, I am usually in a lounge chair with a margarita. But, whenever I see a waterfall at a resort pool, I think of my dad, and I remember all the years I spent being a non-swimmer with him on vacation.

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A Cultured Childhood—-My Dad’s Life in Zurich in the 1960s

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Since I did not have a race this weekend and would have no race recap to do, I decided to continue a post I started previously. Back on January 27th, 2013, I posted about my dad’s early years and spoke about his leaving the orphanage in Quebec, becoming a US citizen, and growing up in Beloit, Wisconsin. That entry can be found by following this link:
You Have to Take a Look Back in order to Take a Look Forward…

Today, I am going to talk about my dad’s middle childhood years, when his family moved overseas to Zurich, Switzerland. The experiences he had there were always fascinating to me, but when I was growing up and would ask my dad about life over there, he didn’t really have much he remembered. There were limited photos and some of my dad’s stories I assumed to be exaggerated. Since my dad passed away, my husband and I have spent two vacations visiting my dad’s brother and his wife, Uncle Ed and Aunt Dorothy, at their summer home in Longville, Minnesota (the ‘Turtle Race Capitol of the World’. No joke!). Uncle Ed has been an excellent source for accurate stories and memories, as he seems to have a memory vault as a brain! So this entry would not have been fully possible if it wasn’t for those late nights up in Longville talking with Uncle Ed, or the email he sent me a few weeks back giving me more details about their time overseas that I didn’t even know about!

My dad and his family lived in Beloit, Wisconsin, up until my dad was 8 and a half. My grandpa worked for Beloit Corporation (Later called Beloit Iron Works) and they established their headquarters in Zurich, Switzerland, in 1961. My grandpa was transferred out there as Chief Financial Officer. My grandma, dad, and Uncle Ed went out to meet my grandpa in Zurich in May 1961. They travelled by boat, leaving from the port in New York, with their final destination being LeHarve, France. My dad is fine on the boat, but apparently my Uncle Ed was very sick the whole time! They arrived in Zurich 10 days layer, where they stayed downtown at the Carlton Elite until they could move into Klus Strasse 46, and later moving to 173 Witikonerstrasse.

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The schooling my dad and his brother received over there is what I find most intriguing. My dad and his brother were three grades apart, which for some time meant they were at different school. My dad started in 3rd grade at an American school in Zurich in August 1961, as my uncle went to a British day school for 6th grade. It was the following year that things started to really change. My Uncle Ed began boarding school in Zugerberg at the Institut Montana, which at that time was an all-boys boarding school. The school is on a mountain and my uncle tells me they had fabulous skiing, and at that time, they had a 2 1/2 kilometer road that they closed in the winter for a sled run! My dad loved skiing and anything to do with winter sports! The school is still in existence to this date, but now accepts both sexes. I hope to someday travel overseas and actually visit Institut Montana! (There is a link at the bottom of this entry to the school’s website)

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Uncle Ed says the reason he was switched to boarding school was because of the better education. During the time while Ed was at boarding school, my dad continued school in Zurich and stayed at home with their parents. Ed only saw my dad on holidays during those years. My dad began school in Zugerberg in 1965, when he was in 6th grade. He was in the Juventus building. My dad apparently had no adjustment issues and had actually gone to the Zurich school with 2 of his new classmates. While my dad and uncle were now at the same school, they did not see each other much. They had different classrooms, different living quarters. They wold briefly see one another while waiting to enter the dining room, but did not sit together. They were seated by class with their teachers while in the dining room.

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My dad did not go home too many weekends, as there was much more to do at school than at home. Also, they went to school on Saturdays, so there wasn’t much time to even get back to Zurich! My uncle tells me that while he was an obnoxious, challenging teenager, my dad was nice and well-liked, but a loud kid. He was always watched out for by his brother, but rarely needed intervention! I personally enjoy the yearbook entries and comments they included about the students. Below are a snapshot of some of the real gems!

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The culture and worldly experiences my dad and his brother got to experience by being at boarding school in Zugerberg is amazing, and I’m immensely jealous! When my dad was in 6th grade (1965), they both went on a 3 week Easter trip to Greece and the Greek Islands. They went along with about 30 other students from Zugerberg. For Easter 1966, they both went on another 3 week school trip, but this time to Syria, Lebanon, Eqypt, Jordan, and Israel. My uncle tells me this one was simply an incredible experience, but that the political tensions were high-the Six Day War occurred the following year.

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I really value the stories and information Uncle Ed has shared with me recently, as my dad just would talk about general things from his experiences. Oh, and trust me, Uncle Ed has some wicked stories from their youth overseas, including but not limited to seeing The Beatles at some outdoor concert in Germany with a little-known-band called The Rolling Stones opening for them! I am sure if my dad was still alive and I asked more about these trips, he would divulge more stories, but he never just openly shared. I really enjoy finding out more about my dad’s past, because as I have eluded to before—-you need to know about where you came from, in order to enjoy where you are going.

links of interest in relation to entry
Beloit Historical Soceity
Institut Montana

Memory Quilt

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Happy Easter everyone! I am back home in Wisconsin visiting my mom for the week, so I decided to take some photos on the memory quilt we have at her house. After my dad passed away in 2004, my auntie Susie took a bunch of shirts from my mom and made this quilt. It now sits on the back of my mom’s sofa in the family room.

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Each section has shirts that were important to my dad and each shirt tells a story. In the top left and middle right, we have the two Senior Olympic shirts from when my dad competed. As soon as he met the age requirements, he made sure to sign up. He ran the 100, 200, and 400 meter races. I will be sharing information about this in the future.

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His love for Disney comes out in the park shirts and silly character shirts. It was always amusing seeing my dad wear these. He somehow managed to make Disney muscle shirts look cool!

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Really, you could buy him any character shirt, whether it was Disney, Looney Tunes or Peanuts, and he would wear it! Evidence is below:

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The center piece is very unique. It is his wedding shirt and part of his tie he wore for that day.

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I really don’t want to write much more, as the quilt speaks for itself. I love coming home and seeing this on the couch-the memories of the times he wore these shirts is something my mom and I will always have.

Race Reflections-My first full marathon…what was I thinking?

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Mad City Marathon
May 29th, 2005
Madison, Wisconsin
Time-4 hours 27 minutes 38 seconds

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My first full marathon. I can’t clearly remember the moment I decided I would train for a full, though, I know it was sometime halfway into my sophomore year at UW-La Crosse. My roommate Katie and I became best friends with Matt and Nick up on the second floor of Angell Hall. The four of us, and a circulating group of others, would always hang out-play video games, drink, and the like. Matt was a former high school track athlete at neighboring Whitnall High School, and we most likely saw each other at track meets during high school. We grew up ten minutes away from each other and didn’t know we’d become friends during University. Matt got the idea in my head that I could do a full marathon-he made us a training calendar, I signed up for the Mad City Marathon, and there was no turning back.

Training for a marathon obviously requires more mileage than a half. Matt and I would occasionally go on runs together, but we never stuck together, as he was always blocks ahead. We got really good at winding our way through the beautiful city of La Crosse….university trails, the bluffs, down by the Mississippi…I’d even run to Minnesota! (Because I could!) Training for marathons in university worked well because of the class schedules. I remember during this second semester I had three classes on Tuesday and Thursday, all in a row, starting at 1:00 pm. I had more than enough time to get up in the morning and do my running. One thing to note is that I didn’t have any fancy running gear. Probably the same Nike shorts I had in high school. A crappy sports watch from Wal-Mart. Socks with holes in the toes. Crappy cotton tank tops and white beaters. And shoes that I thought were good running shoes, but were really just labelled as running shoes in Kohls Department store.

The race weekend came. My ex-boyfriend Mike and I headed up to Madison the night before and stayed with a friend. I remember not being able to fall asleep that night. I probably slept four hours and got up at sunrise. I met Matt and his dad Steve down by the Capitol in the morning-this was the starting line. I didn’t know what the hell I was getting myself into!
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The Mad City marathon course changes slightly year to year, but the basics are always there. You start at the Capitol, run through downtown, out down through some very nice neighborhoods….but the real bitch part occurs when you enter the nature reserve. You can hear crickets. Not just because you are in a nature park, but because there are no people there cheering you on. It is empty. You just wanna scream and be done! This particular year, they also had the nerve to make you run up a swirly cement incline after exiting the nature reserve. You know. One of those cement slides the goes up to an overpass….then we ran over it, to just go down the slide again. Pain. You circle part of the circumference of Lake Mendota and also run by some people having more fun than you trying to hand out beer as a water station.

The race was so quintessential Wisconsin that you ended at Brat Fest. I have now done this race 4 times and never have I ever gotten a bratwurst after, though I always think I will.  I finished with a time of 4:27. Really respectable considering that while I trained, I was clueless. I remember walking around feeling like a rock star after. But then, on the way to the car, I became a drama queen and crashed. I sat on the sidewalk and made mike go get the car to pick me up because I couldn’t walk anymore…..when I took a shower later, I could barely lift my legs over the tub to get in. I felt 100 years old.
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Two days ago, my husband Dan and I went on a 4 mile run. He’s starting to get into running, but just shorter distances. 4 miles is his max right now. Anyways, when we were running I made a comment to him that when we were done today, he would have completed the distance he will be doing at the Moonlight Run in Lethbridge on March 9th. His response-“And I’m paying to do that, why?!?”

I bring this up because after he said that, I thought of all the races I’ve paid to do. All the money I’ve paid to run these crazy distances. I paid to run that 26.2 miles in Madison. I felt like glorious garbage after. And I have kept on paying to run more and to feel like even more garbage after. But feeling like garbage after these races can never feel better.

What does heart disease look like?

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You can be a man or a woman. Short or tall. Old or young. Fit or out of shape. It may sneak out of no where, to surprise you when you least expect it. It cannot be vanished, just diminished. It does not get cured, just healed. The scar hides the internal pain-on the surface, you may not be able to recognize there is an issue.

You may be in shape, you may watch your diet, you may follow the rules. But you still may be at risk. Know your risk factors including family history. You owe it to your self.
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Five months after triple bypass surgery….43 years old…the surgery gave him 9 more years. Made every moment count.

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