Tag Archives: Dee Molenaar

Serendipity on the Fourth of July

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‘You have to love a nation that celebrates its independence every July 4th, not with a parade of guns, tanks, and soldiers who file by the White House in a show of strength and muscle, but with family picnics where kids throw Frisbees, the potato salad gets iffy, and the flies die from happiness. You may think you have overeaten, but it is patriotism.’
~Erma Bombeck

We parked near the wood-carving lot when we got to Sedro-Woolley for the Fourth of July footrace. I wandered through the lot, looking at the art, and when I came out the other side of the lot I was facing the Woolley Market. I’d never been in there before, but I hadn’t had breakfast, yet, and this seemed like a good time to check it out and try to rustle myself up something to eat.

When I walked in I glanced up at the wall and saw one of Dad’s paintings hanging in there! Then I knew I was in the place that a former colleague had been telling me about – I could smell mountain climbing gear and clothing in there (I’m thinking my fellow mountain people will understand what I mean by that). Above Dad’s painting, I could see a loft of some kind. I went up there to investigate and found three or four folks getting ready for a climb of Mount Baker. I managed to track down Craig, the man who runs the guiding operation out of the loft, and… long story a little shorter – it turns out Craig and my dad are old friends!  Craig hails from Gig Harbor – near where my parents USED to live – but now they both live in Skagit County – about two and half hours to the north. Craig has been in Skagit County awhile, but Dad and Mom just moved here two months ago. I told Craig that I thought my Dad would really like to see him, and I’d try to bring him over before the day was out.

Later, when I asked Dad (who just turned 98) if he remembered Craig, his whole face lit up. Yes, he said, he would really like to see Craig again.

And so he did.

It was an AWESOME Fourth of July.

Dad Karen Craig Van Hooy

Sedro-Woolley
The Woolley Market
Dad’s painting on the wall

Dad Turns 98 Today!

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Live! Live the wonderful life that is in you. Be afraid of nothing. There is so little time that your youth will last – such a little time.
– Richard Halliburton

God expresses in man the infinite idea forever developing itself, broadening and rising higher and higher from a boundless basis.
– Mary Baker Eddy

Dad turns 98 today. A couple months ago he thought he’d be turning 100 today. A month ago he thought he’d be turning 97. We finally got it all sorted out when I reminded him that he was born in 1918 and that it is now 2016. I saw him do the calculations in his head. A few minutes later we were sitting at the dining room table with my mom and husband, when Dad announced, kind of shocked, “I’m going to be 98 in a month! I never thought I’d make it to 98.” Later he told me that 98 sounds a lot older than 100. Apparently he just skipped over 98 and 99 and went right from 97 to 100 when he’d been trying to figure out his age.

Think about this: When Dad was born women didn’t have the right to vote, yet. Radios, telephones, and cars had just been invented. There were no CDs, televisions, cellphones, or computers. There was no internet. There was no Google. There was no Wikipedia. To find information people often went to the library and did research in these things called books – and sometimes the research might take days or even weeks! (Today if you want to find out more about Dad, all you’ve got to do is go to his Wikipedia page – et voila! There he is!)

People also read those things called books just for fun. The book that Dad has said most influenced him was a book called The Rolling Road to Romance by an adventurer named Richard Halliburton. Halliburton exonerated his readers to “Live! Live the wonderful life that is in you. Be afraid of nothing. There is so little time that your youth will last – such a little time.”

Dad took those words to heart.

Dad was born at the end of World War I. He survived The Great Depression with his family, served in World War II, has climbed on the highest mountains on earth, went to the South Pole, and close to the North Pole, has been on six of the seven continents, has moved easily among world leaders, and traveled the world with a close group of fellow adventurers and explorers. At various times he’s worked as a photographer, cartographer, geologist, hydrologist, artist, mountain guide, ski instructor, and author. He’s moved through life with no sense of limitation about what he might accomplish or where he might go or who he might meet, and that – what I guess some might call “naïve” – sense of freedom has served him well in his life.

And today he turns 98. He’s still engaged in his life – still enjoys exploring the nooks and crannies of Life’s highways and by-ways. He continues to live “the wonderful life” that is in him.

SAMSUNG CAMERA PICTURES

Dee Molenaar

 

An Unremarkable and Sweet Exchange

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Okay, to be honest, I debated whether I should share this moment or not. In a way, it seems almost silly for me to share it – because it SHOULD be just a matter-of-fact thing – a “no big deal” thing, really – but… after some other news I’ve heard tonight, I’m feeling impelled to put this out there…

So I’d helped my dad out of the car, and was helping my mom out, when I heard Dad say, “Thank you!” to someone who was opening the door to the apartment building for him. I looked to see what was going on back there, and saw that these two young black men with Seahawks hoodies were holding the door for Dad so he could maneuver his walker into the building. Dad nodded to the young men, and smiled, and thanked them again as I watched him go through the doors, and the young men smiled back and said, “You’re welcome!” and then went on their way. It was a small, insignificant moment, really. But… and I can’t even explain why… I find myself getting teary-eyed as I sit here recalling that simple, unremarkable, sweet exchange between a 97 year-old white man, and those two young men in the hoodies.

You know, there are a lot of really good people in this world who want to do right by each other. There is hope for us.

 

earth 2

Head for the Rainbows

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Another lesson from a visit with the folks’: I take Moz and Dad to a little bar and grill on Pearl Street – great food, but maybe not the best ambiance. Dad is sitting across from me, and he is not pleased. He whispers, “Why would we eat here when we can go down the hill a couple blocks and eat lunch on the waterfront?” This is a good question. So we gather up the cane and walker, get back in the car, and head down past the Point Defiance ferry to Anthony’s Restaurant. When we arrive we see a rainbow arching over the Puget Sound – a rainbow we’d have missed if we’d stayed in the other place. As soon as we sit down at our table a torrential downpour falls from the sky. We are sitting all cozy and comfortable and warm inside, while the deluge pounds against the deck outside. And when the rain stops – a DOUBLE rainbow appears over the Sound. Yup, Dad was right. Again. 🙂

If you’re going to take the trouble to go out for lunch, you might as well head for the rainbows, right?

Double Rainbows at Point Defiance

Double Rainbows at Point Defiance

“I need to paint again.”

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Every good painter paints what he is. – Jackson Pollock

Dad turned 97 at the end of June, and he and Mom (87) moved into a new home in a retirement community the next week. I’ve been so proud of the way they’ve forged ahead into this new adventure.

Last weekend I helped them unpack and unbox things in their new apartment – hung up pictures on the wall, cleared off the desk so Mom has a place to get organized, and cleared off the dining room table for Dad – showed him the box I’d packed for him full of watercolor paints, brushes, pencils. He said, “I need to paint again.” And then he filled up a cup with water, picked the brush he wanted, and THIS happened… 🙂

 

Dad’s Backpack

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Tomorrow will not only be Father’s Day, it will be my dad’s 97th birthday. My dad, Dee Molenaar, has lived a most amazing 97 years. He was born at the end of World War I, was alive when women got the right to vote, lived through the Great Depression, fought in World War II, saw men walk on the moon, and teared-up with pride for his country the night the first African-American was elected President. He has traveled on six of the seven continents (the only continent he somehow missed was Africa),  climbed on the highest mountains in the world (and, with his climbing team, almost made the first summit of the second tallest one), painted paintings, written books, created maps, had his photos published in National Geographic, and hobnobbed with presidential candidates.

He and Mom are currently in the process of moving out of their home of 48 years. This has involved some down-sizing. Last weekend when I was at their place to help them pack up, Dad gave me the little backpack he’d bought in 1973 for his journey to Europe to climb in the Alps. I cannot tell you how much it meant to me to be able to bring that familiar little pack home with me. I always knew I was safe when I was climbing with the man who wore this pack. This is the pack Dad wore to the summit of Rainier when we’d climbed it together in 1977, and the same pack I’d followed up to the top of Mount Baker ten years later. This is the pack Dad wore when he’d taken hikes with my young sons and myself. There are a lot of fond memories attached to that pack.

For now, it is hanging from a hook in our family room. I know it doesn’t have any special magical powers or anything, but somehow just looking at it makes me feel safe.

Dee Molenaar's pack

Dad’s pack

Preface to Memoirs of a Dinosaur Mountaineer

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Preface to Dee Molenaar’s book, Memoirs of a Dinosaur Mountaineer

A light breeze came up the canyon and through the pine boughs overhead, and soon isolated white specks began descending. The snowflakes increased and soon we were encompassed in a flurry that blotted out the semi-arid valley far below, and the trail penetrating the pines below the granite walls high above. In our present light apparel and on a short, leg-stretching hike after motoring from Death Valley 80 miles in the east, our “Old Cronies Expedition” took another prolonged look around, and turned back to the trailhead at Whitney Portal.

It was then that my brother K and I and our friends, George Senner and Bob Johnson, found we were not alone among these rugged mountains.

Coming down through the mists was a lone hiker.

The heavily-bearded, long-haired chap was traveling beneath a bulky backpack that suggested he’d been out for some time. However, the big coil of fiberglass rope tucked beneath a hatchet, a large cast-iron skillet, and soft-toed boots indicated this was no modern-day mountaineer with a fetish for the latest in lightweight travel.

He stopped briefly and we questioned him about his travels. He was originally from Coeur d’Alene, Idaho, and more recently from the Stockton area across the mountains. Tiring of the Bay Area drug scene, he was aiming for a change of pace and was now returning from a trip into the mountains. He talked confidently of his climbing experiences and we enjoyed his free-spirited philosophy before we parted. At a distance through the mist we followed his burdened figure down the trail.

Meeting this hairy 40-ish fellow on the Mount Whitney trail rekindled my thoughts of a half-century earlier – in 1937, a late-summer trip into the Sierras Nevada with my brother K, similarly clad in jeans and carrying unwieldy loads. In that day we also had the trail and the mountain pretty much to ourselves. But in today’s world, had we passed here a couple months later, during the summer’s climbing season, we would have been part of the mountain’s allowable 75 hikers registered daily for the 20-mile roundtrip to the top of Mount Whitney.

How times have changed since those youthful days of the 1930s, during the Great Depression and prior to World War II.

Yet my life since has been a succession of fortuitous circumstances – in many cases being in the right place at the right time and meeting the right person. And though the breaks never made me rich, they provided a bounty of fond memories of fascinating places and events, people and good friends.

– Dee Molenaar