What's the Matter With Saturdays?

The last two Saturdays, Peter has been down in the dumps, very nostalgic, missing the family we once had. I felt that way, too, Saturday before last. Didn't even want to get out of bed. I'm glad that feeling of sadness didn't last pervasively for me, and I wonder what was the trigger. Why Saturdays? After all, we are retired and Saturday really isn't much different than any other day of the week for us.

I think after a couple of weeks, I may have figured it out, or at least what came to make some sense to me. In those years when we were raising our boys, Saturday was often a day we did something special together, some kind of outing we all enjoyed. Peter and I weren't working on Saturday, so it was family time. What we did depended on where we were living at the time. In Germany, it was Volksmarching, six mile hikes in towns all over southern Germany.

In Japan, it was the Saturday bus trips to some interesting destination in Japan, or soccer games at Camp Zama (the boys playing; one year, Peter W. coaching), or a train trip to somewhere like Machida for shopping, Tokyo, or Kamakura.

In Hawaii, it was likely to be either beach day, going to Bellows Beach and then to Bueno Nalo for quesadillas and Dave's Ice Cream for the marvelous coconut macadamia nut ice cream, or down to Waikiki for dinner, a movie, and playing games at the video game parlor.

In Chicago, we might have gone to a museum, or something like a car show, or walked down to Lake Michigan, or many other things we did there. And in Puerto Rico, going to Old San Juan, the beach, or trips around the island.

Even after the boys were grown, it was Sunday evening that Leif was likely to be at our house for dinner, so that was associated with the weekend, too.

None of those things happen now, but I think there's a nostalgia for it, for those times we were together. I think we are both finding time, in a way, to think about this more now that we aren't traveling as much and having company. The distractions aren't there. We are refocusing inward.

I do miss that family we had when the boys were young and their problems were small, when they were beautiful, handsome children who made us see the world through new eyes.

My Leif was always the climber. If there was something to climb on, he'd climb it. Rocks, stumps, trees, walls, hills, anything he could go UP. Always up. He could skip around on things like a billy goat with no fear.

This photo of him on a huge stump was taken in Scheffau, Austria in August 1979 when Leif was four-and-a-half years old. He was glorying in having gotten up there and was surveying the world from above our heads. Of course, being "mom" I was worried he'd get hurt, but he wasn't worried in the least, and he got safely down without any assistance. How I wish the other things in his life had been so easy to "get down" from.

Leif in Scheffau, Austria - March 1978 - Age 3

When we lived in Germany the second time, from the summer of 1977 to the summer of 1978, we made two or three trips to Scheffau, Austria. Scheffau is a lovely Tirolian village in the shadow of the Wilder Kaiser Mountain which in the winter is a terrific place to ski and in the summer is a wonderful place to hike.

Peter W. and Peter A. skied and Leif and I hiked around in the snow. We stayed at the Gasthof zum Wilden Kaiser, a lovely place with cozy rooms and superb food.

One of the highlights our our stays was the swimming pool complex in the nearby town of Söll. It had indoor and outdoor pools and one of the outdoor pools was heated to a toasty temperature in the winter. You could swim from the indoor to the outdoor pool through a passageway and literally swim surrounded by snow and ice. We spent one magical evening there swimming in the moonlight and watching the skiers on the mountain where they had lighted downhill runs.

There was another outdoor pool that wasn't heated, and it was so cold that ice was floating in it. If I remember correctly, some German or Austrian guy got out of the nice warm pool and walked (his body steaming in the light as the outdoor temperature was below freezing) and jumped into that icy pool.

Then Peter Anthony dared his dad to do it. I was not in favor of this experiment because I thought it was way too much of a shock to the body to go from a pool that was probably at least 95 degrees to one that was probably just above freezing, but what do wives and mothers know when there's a masculine dare afoot.

Peter W. climbed out of the warm pool, body steaming, and did jump into that freezing pool. To go the other guy one better, I think he even swam across the icy pool before climbing out and jumping back into the hot water.

He said the cold pool was bad, but going from that back into the hot one was much worse. He said it felt like a million needles jabbed into him.

Luckily, he was young and strong and survived this ordeal without any harm, and it became a favorite family story to tell. Unfortunately, we have no photos of it as we had no camera out there in the pool.

I don't know whether Leif remembered anything about our trips to Scheffau or not, but the likelihood is that he had at least some memories of it. He had an astoundingly good memory for things from his childhood and beyond. Even if he didn't remember it, he surely heard the story many times.

He was only three years old when we took the trip that is shown in these pictures, and although he was very tall for a three-year-old, it's hard to believe that my "gentle giant" was ever that small.

We were so fortunate to have the chance to live in so many fascinating places and be able to travel and enjoy them. I have warm memories of our Scheffau trips, and of walking in the woods with Leif and snuggling up with him and reading stories.

Leif & Peter Anthony in the snow - March 1978, Sheffau, Austria - Age 3

While we were stationed in Germany the second time, from the summer of 1977 to the summer of 1980, we took ski vacations every winter, and one of our favorite places to go was Scheffau, a village in the Austrian Tyrol. We stayed at a Pension am Wilden Kaiser, a lovely place with great food. Leif was too young to ski, so he and I went for walks in the lovely, snowy woods, and sometimes it was the three of us, Leif, Peter A. and me. In the spring, it's often a wonderful time to ski, warm enough to ski without a jacket, even, with the sun reflecting blazingly off the snow. Leif loved tramping around in the snow with us. Snow is magic to children, and as long as they are dressed warm enough, it's great fun.

This photo was taken in March 1978 when Leif was just three years old.

Leif with his Brother, Peter, April 1980 in Austria

Oh, Leif, if I could only talk to you, tell you how hard this is! I do. I talk, out loud, as though you could hear me, but only silence replies.

Tomorrow your brother and his family are arriving. I love them so, just as I love you. I should be happy and excited that they are coming, my beloved and accomplished first son and grandchildren, but instead I am crying because you will not be with us. Not be there to play chess with Madeleine. Not be there to take silly videos of Aly. Not be there to see Marcus try to play one of your guitars. Not be there to talk technology with your brother and argue politics with all of us. Not be there to hug me, leaning down from your six foot two height. Not be there.

Oh, how I miss you, Leif.

This is one of the most beautiful photos I have of you and your brother. Look at you, snuggled up together. This was taken in Scheffau, Austria, in April 1980 when you were 5 years old, probably on that trip where you threw the fit about wanting the James Bond Lotus car toy. We stayed in the Pension Wilder Kaiser and had a wonderful vacation. I wish I could take you there now.

You and Peter Anthony were close once, and I think you both forgot that once he went away to the Air Force Academy. Somehow, you both forgot all you shared, the affection, the fun, the play. You grew apart.

You were always someone who needed physical closeness to keep a relationship going. Long distance communication wasn't enough. Peter, six years older, left you behind and went out into the world. We thought you were glad, because when he was at home, you were quiet and he was talkative . . . but when he left, it was as though the floodgates had opened. You talked and talked and talked, as though all the thoughts you had were pent up over the years, now that the dominant older brother was gone, you could finally let them out.

But I wonder now, whether you felt deserted, as though a treasured companion had left you, and pushed him away as I had seen you push others away when they were geographically far from you. Did you fell the loss? Did you worry about how you could keep up with him, soaring off at the Air Force Academy, while you were finding out that your eyes wouldn't pass the flight physical, you, who desperately wanted to fly?

Oh, Leif, what a beautiful and brilliant child you were. Why couldn't you find your place to shine?

Just one year ago, before you had your motorcycle accident, you still had hope. You still had dreams. You were still looking forward to a promotion at work. You were searching for love.

And then it all fell apart. I can see the progression, beginning with the accident and injury, the pain and disillusionment.

How I wish I could have made your life happier, luckier. How I wish I could have helped you LIVE!

The name is Bond, Leif Bond

From the time he was tiny, Leif loved cars. He was particularly fascinated with the Lotus Esprit he saw in the James Bond movie, Moonraker,in 1979 when he was four-and-a-half years old.

We were in Innsbruck, Austria, and decided to take the boys to the movie as a treat. We all enjoyed it! Then we made the mistake of going into a department store and heading for the toy department, which was up on the third or fourth floor. He spotted a toy version of the famous car that went underwater, and he wanted it! The toy was one we could have gotten for less than half the price back at the army base where we lived. It was really an exorbitant amount, and Leif had no money he had saved for things he wanted on the trip, so we refused to get it for him.

Well, he wasn't going without it, even if it did cost $13 for the small metal car. Leif was usually a fairly even tempered child, but he did have a temper that raised it's ugly head now and then. He threw the biggest screaming fit I had ever seen him throw, and it was mighty embarrassing! Since we were the only Americans around, and the only people speaking English, it was even worse.

We tried to get him calmed down, and thought we had, but as we walked toward the stairway, he saw a big round column, about the size of a telephone pole, and wrapped himself around it. Leif was always strong, and he was amazingly strong for a kid who wasn't even five years old yet! It took both Peter and I to peel him off that pillar, and even then it was a big struggle. We were sure people must have thought we were terrible parents, with a child fighting that hard to stay there and not come with us, but at last we thought we had him calmed down and started down the stairs.

The stairs weren't such a big problem. There wasn't anything interesting on them, and we got down a floor. Then he ran for another round pillar! Back to square one.

By a series of grab-the-pillar and drag the feet maneuvers, Leif managed to make it very difficult to move him out of and away from the store! I was mortified. Eventually, though, he gave up and we finally made it to the car. It's tough being a "mean" mom who sticks by what she says!

Eventually, and not too long after this, Leif did get the precious Lotus Esprit. I found it at his apartment after he died. That was one really special toy!