Delivery Days

Mom, relaxing with the little cherub on day one.

Under the Bright Light

Simone at her most alert, shocked to be out of the womb, yet happy to be in the radiating warmth of the incubator.

Daddy's Girl

Dad, proudly holding the newborn.

The Big Reward

Happy mother holding Simone right after the delievery.

The Night Before

Hard to believe that this was taken only one day before the baby was born.
A lot has changed....

Some tid bits...

She loves to sleep with her hands above her ears.

She has long brown hair with blond highlights.

Her eyelashes are also very long, just like her

Dad's. Some of the nurses called her "Cheeks"

for apparent reasons.

Good Memories

Just after Thanksgiving, I returned to Minnesota for my Grandma Bea’s funeral. She was well loved by everyone in the family and, as I learned at the funeral, by many people in the community too. Over 200 people attended the funeral, so many that they ran out of sandwiches at the luncheon. We all felt that Grandma would have been terribly embarrassed that there wasn’t enough food, but pleased that so many people came.

People told stories about Grandma, remembering her ready smile, kindness, and good humor. Many of my aunts’ and uncles’ friends remembered the DuBord house as a stopping point on the way home from school where they were always welcomed with a smile and a cookie. Stories were shared about her generosity, how she took in foster children when she had many of her own to look after, the countless patients she and my Grandfather visited at the hospital, and the charity work they did at St. Vincent de Paul’s.

I will always remember Grandma Bea for her French meat pie and Saturday soup. The French meat pie appeared at every Christmas and Thanksgiving. Originally made on the farm to provide enough energy for the men to perform their winter chores, this half pork, half beef mixture is smoothed out with grated potatoes, carrots, onions, and celery that meld into a soupy mixture, which is then spiced with salt, pepper, cinnamon, cloves and allspice and baked in a double crust. It might not sound like a culinary masterpiece, but one taste, and you will be a convert. The key to all of her great cooking was chopping the vegetables so small that they melted into whatever they were being cooked in, a quality much appreciated by finicky, young palettes. When Elise and I were little we would often go over to Grandma and Grandpa’s for Saturday soup. The soup was really a mix of all of the leftovers in the fridge that was served in big, brown ceramic boils that had circular thumbholes. I still remember these soups as some of my favorites.

But she wasn’t just a great cook, she was also a mean whist player. Whist, a distant cousin to the English card game bridge, was very popular with my Grandma and her contemporaries. Grandma continued to play whist, counting cards and stacking up victories into her 89th year. I can’t help but wonder if the card playing kept her mind sharp. Elise and I took on my Grandma and Dad about a year ago. It was one of those strange days where all of the good cards landed in the hands of the novices, that is Elise and me. We skunked the old pros and Grandma, the consummate competitor, tisked that “without the cards, you can’t do anything.” We were lucky to win that day, but more than that, lucky to know our Grandma so well and have her as a part of our lives for so many years.

We will always remember you Grandma, rest in peace.