My daughter, Kathleen Mita - Summer Stories at 27 Metcalf Rd. in Tolland. CT,.

Kathleen, ca. 2010.  Photo by Dan McGann

     Kathleen Linnea Mita was born on Aug. 2, 1986.  She is the only daughter of June Sundgren Mita and Michael A. Mita.  We are proud to say she graduated from Eastern Connecticut University in 2008, and is a manager for the Gamestop Corp of which Barnes and Noble is one of their subsidiaries.  She currently manages a Gamestop in Tolland, CT.  We cannot say enough how proud we are to have her as our daughter.  She is bright, humorous and we love her dearly.
     Life growing up with Kathleen was always a treat.  We never knew how her mercurial nature would be on any given day.  For our first family installment regarding the life and times of Kathleen, I am adding 3 summer stories from letters I kept for her to give her one day.  Once again, I hope I inspire parents to write letters to their children as things happen, or as they have especially memorable vacations or family gatherings.  If I had not kept these letters, I would have lost these three lovely and sweet events that I can read now with great fondness.

                

                                  The Monarch ca. 1994           

Kathleen ca. 1994.  Photo by June Mita

  The clear chrysalis had come to the Wheelers on a Saturday.  Inside, it held a Monarch butterfly.  By a thin string they hung it from their maple tree.  On Tuesday a storm worth writing about came.  The thunder and lightning crashed louder than fireworks.  The rain was so strong that in five minutes we had five inches of water in the wheelbarrow.  How the chrysalis continued to hang without injury is a miracle.

     The monarch began to stir on Wednesday, turning to a bright blue.  All night the butterfly swung its cocoon back and forth, its visible birthing sac waiting to be breached.  Thursday dawned with bright sun and there was much excitement as Jamie dashed over here to tell Kathleen the butterfly had broken the sac.  Two flushed faces peered with intense concentration as they witnessed the mystery of a butterfly leaving its cocoon.  At last the monarch cleared the sac.   His wings rolled in a tight spiral they dried and opened up while  Kathleen and Jamie watched.

     A new monarch is more beautiful than anything I've ever seen.  The colors are so new and bright.  His under wing had a dull orange color but when he opened them, the brilliant orange vibrated and breathed, etched in the blackest black.  The body had some white spotting.  His legs and antennae looked like black velvet.  They were soft looking with a fuzzy nap to them.

     As he hung from a twig holding on with dear life, he flexed his wings to get used to their feel.  A new monarch does not know right away what to do with the wings.  He rested so long, but Jamie and Kathleen grew anxious and picked him off the twig.  The monarch had wrinkles like veins forming as he continued to dry and flex his wings.

     As time went on, four hours had passed and he still had not flown.  We placed him on a butterfly weed but he seemed too tired and weak to move much.  As morning turned to late afternoon the monarch had still not taken a single flight.  Jamie kept throwing him in the air and like a rocket he dropped to the ground.  I was sick with grief as I began to suspect the butterfly had been injured and would never fly.

Photo by June Mita, ca. 2011

     I did not want the children to touch him but they kept holding him and irritating his wings by rubbing them.  All of us adults lost hope, believing that the butterfly would die in the maple tree where Jamie had put him several hours after plucking him from the butterfly weed.  Such a beautiful creature did not deserve to die.

     With the enthusiasm and undying hope all children have, Jamie and Kathleen would not believe the monarch would never fly.  They kept saying "He will fly.  You'll see."  As dusk came, Jamie and Kathleen went for a bike ride.  When they returned, the monarch was gone.  He had finally learned how to use his wings and flew to the nearest flower.  They were so happy and I said a prayer of thanks that the butterfly persevered and did not give up.

     According to Kathleen, he has visited both our butterfly weed and our beebalm to have the nectar.  I have not seen him in flight, but I shall hope they did indeed see this butterfly and that he is not in some grassy shady place flexing his wings no more.

                                The Night of the Meteor shower. ca. 1995

     August 13, 1995  we spent looking at shooting stars. It was the night of the Perseid meteor shower.  Up on the backyard hill we lay on a blanket, our heads comfortably nestled on pillows.

Kathleen and Jamie, ca. 1988.  Photo by June Mita

     Jamie Wheeler was with us too.  Ah, Jamie.  Her and Kathleen had been together since they were born.  Luz always noted how blond Kathleen's hair was in contrast to Jamies dark brown hair.  Fair be Kathleen and full of laughter, dark and exotic be Jamie and at times sullen.  Still, their friendship to each other worked well.

     We all peered into the blue black of the sky and we picked out the Big Dipper patterned obviously amongst the many stars.  We picked out the north star at the handle of the little dipper, and found Orion.  Then we waited for our first shooting star.

     We all saw it at the same time.  A streak of light which was bright and long, a panther in the sky, as it sped fast across many miles.  Kathleen was so excited.  She yelled out "OH MOMMY!' and hugged me deliciously.  I will always remember that thrill she received from her first shooting star sighting with me and the hug, unhindered, clinging, and oh so strong. 

     Kathleen was strong.  Much stronger than I ever was.  When she was just past a year I took her down to visit Mrs. Thorpe's new house on Tolland Marsh.  She had cannonballs decorating her fireplace and as small as Kathleen was, she picked up those cannonballs and carried them over to Mrs. Thorpe.  One ball must have been at least 10 pounds.  I'll never forget that first real show of how strong she would grow to be. 

     The shooting star search lasted for about 40 minutes with many squeals of delights and oohs and aahs as either Kathleen or Jamie spotted another meteor.  Between all of us we spotted about 15 of them streaking across the sky.  Finally the mosquito bites sent us all indoors to enjoy some lemonade and sugar cookies.

     I will always be grateful that I could enjoy the wonders of the earth together with my daughter and her friends.  Kathleen always was good company for those treks into the mysteries of our being.  Her wonder and joy  would seep into me and I'd feel the complete abandon and joy she did.  Our star experience was just one of many delights we shared together as she grew into the woman she became, responsible, loving, and caring.  That is the best I could ask.

                                                   The Cricket Incident ca. 1990

    It began as an annoying "chirp, chirp" which reverberated off the cement walls of the basement.  Another cricket had breached the solid cement foundation through their ability to defy all explanation.  Crickets seemed to go with basements.  Ever since I was a little girl I remembered our annual cricket hunt to track down and release the producer of the high-pitched harping which would awaken us in the dead of the night  Often the offender eluded capture and sometime in December the serenade ended.

     To a pre-schooler a cricket in the basement is not something to raise eyebrows and say curses under the breath.  A cricket in the basement becomes a conquest.

     It started in the usual way.  During some very hot, sticky weather at the end of July, I was downstairs doing some laundry when the chirping began, in the same room.  I searched the area where I thought it was coming from, but the elusive creature was not to be found.

Kathleen, Jamie and friends.  Photo by June Mita ca. 1990

     It did not take long for Kathleen, just shy of 4, and her friends to discover there was a coveted prize somewhere in the basement if they could only catch it.  Once again, the cricket led them on a chase, goading them to follow its chirps but staying well hidden.                                                                                                                   Kathleen, Jamie Wheeler, and Erin Beale decided to set traps.

     They went out and pulled up some grass and set about to make little nests all over the carpeted cellar floor.  There was one put under the play sink, another placed beside the freezer, two or three placed in the rec area, and a few other traps placed in places I probably still have not located.  Their reasoning was crickets live in grass so the cricket would find a grass nest and stay in it until they could gather him up and jail the poor creature in a glass home.

     The traps did not work.  They did sight the cricket several times but in the scramble to procure a container, the cricket disappeared under a loose floor tile or behind a register, or where ever crickets go to hide. 

     They never did find the cricket and it stopped chirping a few weeks later.   A month later, Kathleen and Jamie began screaming in the basement.  "Mommy there is a horrible black animal crawling on our toys.  HELP!  It's awful."

     I ran down expecting to see a mouse, but instead it was our elusive cricket laboriously navigating the rug.  He was obviously waning.  When I said, "Why, it's the cricket," Kathleen leaped off the couch and began skipping a dance of triumph.  She then began chanting, "The cricket, the cricket, we've finally caught the cricket." 

     I went into the back room for a canning jar while Kathleen pounced on it and let him climb her arm.  I felt the hair standing up on the back of my neck as I rounded the corner and imagined all those squiggly legs crawling on my arm. 

     Safely in its jar, the cricket was dubbed Hopper.  We layered the jar with some dirt, some grass, some bark, some moss and a rock.  Then I threw in a piece of leftover spinach which Hopper devoured.  He seemed happier in his new home.

     The cricket still didn't chirp, even after condensation began forming in the jar.  I wondered what crickets really ate, so we called a pet store that sold crickets for food to iguanas and I asked what they fed them.  Apparently crickets like gold fish food, so we bought some, and Kathleen and Jamie fed that cricket so much food, that within 3 days he doubled in size.  He then began to chirp.  Kathleen sat for hours watching the cricket, and she would add new things to his jar that she picked up from the yard or the woods.  Each addition just seemed to make him even happier and more chirpier. 

     Though the seasons changed from summer to fall, then winter, and all the crickets outside had long been silenced, we kept a little piece of summer by keeping a happy cricket in our midst.  

Outdoor Kathleen, Michael Mita, and Twinkie, ca. 1990.  Photo by June Mita.