Alaksa here we come!
The decision to drive North to Prince Rupert, BC and ferry to Juneau, rather than fly to Alaska, was based on three things; we needed a car(surviving another year in Hoonah without a car was not an option), the cost of ferrying from Prince Rupert was hundreds of dollars less than taking a three day ferry from Bellingham, WA, and the once in a lifetime chance to take a road trip with Mom, Andrew and my Cannon 50D was too good to pass up.
After an intense two weeks of packing, putting the finishing touches on the house (I even planted pansies), forwarding mail, surrendering my house plants to my mom’s neighbor, coaching the children in Children’s Musical Theater of Oregon, taking voice lessons, eating at the Ashland food co-op as often as possible, taking Andrew “rock climbing,” having his friends of over and trying to self medicate my imminent departure with iTunes downloads – we began our great Oregon to Alaska road trip adventure.
We hit the road Thursday late morning after singing a funeral service for a friend of my Mom’s. The truck roared up I-5, loaded down with all our Alaska bound stuff; the covered canopy could barely shut its hatch. When we reached our first stop -- my sister’s house in Jefferson, Oregon – I released the latch to retrieve our luggage and the last items in were the first to come tumbling out.
During our travels, Andrew sat nestled in the back seat positioned between a sleeping bag, pillow, a large box full of snacks, play toys and books. For the nine days on the road Andrew never complained about his cozy hangout, although the running commentary from Mom was a different story. Outfitted in her velvet leisure suit and silver high heels, she was quite challenged by our Ford 150 arrangement. She likes to travel in style and our rugged, high set 4x4 wasn’t her cup of tea. Getting out of the truck meant sliding slowly down and out of the seat… never quite sure where her glamour feet would land. It became such a point of contention that after a mere 28 hours on the road, Mom’s (now in Charbonneu) friend Jackie Johnson gave her step stool to relieve her uncertainty. The accessory made the decent less staggering… although, much more dramatic.
On day number one, we were all very happy and relieved to make it out of Medford and to my sister’s home. We dumped our over night bags at the front door and prepared to kick-back for the rest of the evening. Loree always makes us feel right at home and this time was no exception. Loree, her daughters MaryAnn and Jessica, along with Jessica’s family, prepared a homemade feast. We dined and chatted. We were brought up to date on all seven grandchildren and nine great-grandchildren. Andrew had a great time reconnecting with his cousin James. He and Andrew never take more than a few seconds to pick up right were they left off. The kids played tether ball and Lincoln Log war. After dinner, I snuck out back and took a few pictures of the farmland behind Loree’s house. I even made it in time to catch the sunset.
(Pictured above- Back Row:, Dorothy Bush-Orth, Shirley Wizer, Ann Marie Zenner-HarringtonFront Row: Katie Joseph, Patty O’Donold and Mom)
We slowly drove out of the cemetery commenting on the impressive old tombstones, statues and family mausoleums; a time representative of different cares and concerns; lives that have seen horrific wars, debilitating diseases, extreme economic conditions; lives that have seen astounding inventions and advancements; lives that were in many ways more simplistic, respectful and abundant.
We crossed from one end of Portland to the other via Burnside Avenue to Willamette National Cemetery where my father is buried. Visiting my father’s grave site was an interesting experience for me. It has been only four years since he died and I find, even now, the events surrounding his passing are so close in my recollection that it feels as if the emotions, events and memories live softly behind my eyes, where images are clear and tears are waiting.
When speaking with Romie at lunch, she mentioned that Grandma and Grandpa Leines, my dad’s parents, were buried right across the street from Willamette National. To our surprise Lincoln Memorial Cemetery was literally across the street. It felt strange to have never been there before. 
On this day of family connection and strong memories, it was comforting to locate the place where my grandparents were buried. It made me feel closer to my father. I thought of him as young man, so much younger than I am now, standing in that same place decades before, surrounded by his four sisters, mourning the untimely loss of his mother and then later, still younger than I, he, as a husband and a father – grieving for his earthly father, this time, turning to his wife for comfort.
That evening we made our way to Seattle Midtown and fell quickly asleep, the first day of our Seattle adventure was just a few hours away.
For my siblings' benefit, I am going to list the other family members that are buried at Mt. Calvary and their relationship to Grandma Weller and Mom.
Earl J. and Lyla M. Gallagher: Lyla Maloney Gallagher is Grandma’s older half-sister.
Buried across the street are Dr. Wilfred and Mary Weller, Lenore’s grandparents and Albert Weller’s parents. Dr. Weller had three boys; Albert, Howard and Kavanaugh. Kavanaugh Weller died when he was a young child.
