This past weekend I spent a wonderful day with my parents, sisters and their families. It had snowed the night before and it was a bit gloomy outside. The long car ride to their place in the world always gives me the opportunity for my generally scattered mind to wander a little farther than normal. A bit scary given that I am driving a car but I seem to be able to do these two things at once. I was enjoying wonderful holiday music by Mannheim Steamroller and thinking about the season, when I passed a huge sign that simply said… “What’s Your Christmas Wish?”
To almost everyone who either knows me or follows this blog, my answer is seemingly obvious. As quickly as I thought of my wish, I thought about why maybe that wasn’t really what my wish would or should be. I’ve wished for many things in my life. I have been blessed with the granting of many of those wishes. But what was granted wasn’t always what I thought I had wished for. Sometimes it was better. Sometimes it was very different but turned out to be what I should have wished for in the first place. And sometimes I received what I needed more, when the wish wasn’t granted.
As a kid, it was a fabulous day, that day, every December; when the mailman brought the big Sears “Wish Book”. My brother and sisters and I would get a pen or marker and start circling anything and everything we thought was wanted or needed from the back of the big catalog. The life sized dolls. The doll houses, the roller skates and on and on. There were fights about whose turn it was to view the book, who had it too long. My poor parents. As I think back, I never really remember ever getting anything from those wish books. I don’t know that my parents ever even went through the motions of pretending to take note of the items circled… but on Christmas morning, it didn’t matter. The gifts we were given were always more than we expected and in their own way, the gift we should have wished for. All my childhood Christmas morning memories are wonderful and cherished.
One year, I wished for a Dance-a-rina doll. I wished harder than I had ever wished before for the 3 foot, ballet dancing, toe shoe wearing, big bad hair like a 1st runner up in a Miss Alabama beauty pageant, doll. If you manipulated the plastic crown on her head, after inserting 12 D cell batteries in her back, she could twirl around on her toes. Very cool. She was the hot item that year, a sure sign I wasn’t getting her. I hinted, cut out magazine ads, annoyingly sang the jingle at every opportunity but knew my parents well enough to know the chances of that 3 foot blond bombshell being my gift were slim to none. But like Ralphie and his Red Ryder Carbine Action BB Gun, I just had to keep wishing. As the day got closer, nothing even remotely sized or shaped like Dance-a-rina had been brought into the house. I don’t remember if my excitement began to fade or my stress level rose as time began to run out. One evening, my mom asked me to run out to the car and get her cigarettes. Ok, it was the early 70’s, you sent your kids to get stuff like that and, hold on... kids were sent to get the parent’s drinks as well. I do owe the fact that I make one hell of a fine martini (3 olives please) to the misguidance of parents that didn’t believe asking an 8 year old to mix a cocktail may not be the best developmental or age appropriate task. Anyway, as I pushed open the screen door, Mom yelled that they were in the back seat… who the heck leaves their cigarettes in the back seat? Weirdo. As I looked in to the back, all I saw was a pile of dry cleaning, no cigarettes. I knew if I went back in to that house without those darn cigarettes, my mom would be very upset. So I jumped in the back and dove into the pile of dry cleaning. As I crashed in to the pile… I lost my breath. Could it, no wait, yes... This was it!!! My wish, it had come true! But wait, was I supposed to find this or was this cruel trick? For many years my parents hid a neighbor’s kid’s Hanukah gifts at our house… oh God please don’t let this be one of those years… but I’ll admit, I didn’t know if I should scoop up the box and run gleefully in or if I should wipe the smile off my face and casually saunter back in the house like my world had not just collided with a parallel universe in the back seat of a Ford Fairlane…. So I grabbed the box and although it looked different than the box on TV, it was my Dance-a-rina and she belonged in the house. My mom and dad were standing at the door as I brought her in. Funny but they didn’t have the look I had come to expect. Usually when they had busted their bottoms to get one of us something special, they had a glow, an excitement to their face. So why did they look downright scared? No time to worry about them. My Dance-a-rina needed to be unpacked, batteries inserted and she needed to dance. As I began the slow tender process of getting her out of the box, it dawned on me… why wasn’t anyone offering to help me? Why was everyone watching so intently as I struggled with the box? Once I got the box open, I understood. I understood the look on my parent’s face, the need for my brother and sisters to stand aside and the reason why the box was somewhat different than the one on the Saturday morning commercials. This Dance-a-rina was, as we said back then…. Black. The room was so very still as everyone watch for my reaction. Would I accept this as the Dance-a-rina I was meant to have or would some terrible prejudice enter in to my 10 year old world? As I yelled “she’s so beautiful” a collective sigh of relief went through the entire house. The back story is that my parents literally went to every conceivable store to get this doll. At one point they relied on information from a fellow Dance-a-rina hunter who had heard about a truck load of the doll coming to a certain store. My parents made the trek and once got there were thrilled to learn that yes they had the doll. Yes they had the doll but only in the African American version. I’m pretty proud that my parents had enough faith in me and wanted so desperately to fulfill my wish that while I’m sure they were nervous, they took the leap of faith and made the purchase.
When my late husband and I had our children, we did, as my parents had, try to do all possible to make their wishes come true. We worked more than one job, worked opposite shifts, went without. Was all this hard, you bet. But it was so worth all the long hours, sore feet, sleep deprivation and the lack of extra funds to produce the great people I proudly call my kids. My kids didn’t get all they wished for, I don’t think anyone should. But the wishes that were granted and those they weren’t, helped make them who they are today.
The holidays have always been a time of giving back for my family. As a kid we always worked on projects that had us helping our community. As an adult I have been blessed to take part in some amazingly huge wish granting programs. My previous career was with a major corporation and every year the company would grant wishes for children who were part of the DCFS system. I always dreaded the day when we received the lists from thousand of kids along with their wishes. We had to do some organizing of lists and set up how they would be distributed throughout the company. Employees would come and grab a stack of wish letters and read through them until they found the one they wanted to grant. I believe there was a two week turn time between getting the wish and returning the item or items for distribution. In all the years I was involved, we were so fortunate to grant an average of 5000 wishes each and every year. The wishes were for everything from underwear to bikes. How sad to make your one shot at a really big wish, be for underwear. Think of all the times your parents got you socks for Christmas, how did you feel? Did you ever really have to wish for a pair of tightie-whities? Sadly many kids wished for items for their mom or dad. Some even wished for food. I always loved that my kids actively participated in this event. I still get goose bumps thinking about the huge trucks being loaded with the mass quantities of gifts, wishes now fulfilled. DCFS never anticipated the care and compassion of my fellow employees. The generosity was overwhelming. If a kid asked for a bike… he got the Cadillac of bikes. We were always allotted one 18 wheeler… most years we had to hire an additional 3 or 4 trucks to take everything to the agency. The sense of pride that comes along with giving back is indescribable. In many ways, my family was not the norm in our wish granting or our desire to give back. We also gave of our time and talents as well. I always wondered why some believe that you can only give items or money to make a difference in this world. Your time has an amazing value, as do your talents. Until we moved back to this area we had always participated in a huge day of service held every June. Thousands of folks gathered together to join in and paint the schools in this major Midwest town. Some years our kids joined us, but most years it was just my husband and I. I’ll always remember quite fondly the year we realized this event would take place on our 25th wedding anniversary. We never considered not attending. What better way to celebrate our accomplishment then by assisting in the painting of over 200 schools. We agreed that this was our way of, together giving back. As I write this, I’m so fondly reminded of walking in to the classroom he was painting, I had been painting the hall. On the far wall in the most obnoxious pink paint was written… “I love you more this minute than ever before… I can’t wait to see how I feel in an hour, 25 years… piece of cake! Let’s go for 25 more”. I couldn’t wish for anything more…
So, what is my Christmas wish? Of course I wish you all whatever your heart most desires. I wish all the babies recently born into my world or those just about to introduce themselves, all the love they need, all the happiness they can hold and all the best of everything. My wish for the new parents is simple, breath, trust, love and laugh. I wish for my family and friends to know all that they mean to me. I wish them to know my love for them deepens every day. I wish for my wonderful son and daughter, peace in your heart and head. I wish that they know the depths of love that brought them into this world and I wish it sustains them going forward. I wish the world would understand the closeness of a wish and a prayer… I believe God answers prayers and that God uses people to grant wishes... I pray that God answers my prayers and will help me understand why I can’t have what I truly wish for… I believe when the time is right he will…
I hope so…
Merry Christmas…
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Friday, December 11, 2009
Friday 12/11/2009 snow
This week my little neck of the woods saw its first measureable snow. Well at least I think we did. I left work much later than normal and as I walked to my car big fluffy flakes began to fall. It was crisp and cold and just the kind of night you would much rather be in front of a fireplace, snuggled up with someone special. I was getting into a cold car with only the prospect of snuggling up to my getting-bigger-every-second puppy. Ok I’ll admit she’s soft and warm and a pretty good snuggler but some of her ill timed nips really catch me off guard and yowza they hurt. Because she’s been in her crate for a few hours she needs to be played with as soon as I get home in order for her to be ready to climb in bed with me when I get sleepy. So the cuddle in front of the fireplace isn’t gonna happen anytime soon. Anyway, as I drove home the snow was getting ridiculously thick and it looked as if it had been snowing for hours. The roads were a mess and I was getting scared. I couldn’t see any ruts in the snow that I could follow and the snow was falling and blowing at me making it very hard to drive. Once I got off the main highway, it seemed to let up just a bit to ease many of my fears. Given how tired I was and I guess I would add stressed, both from the long day at work and the drive… my thoughts began to turn to snow storms in the past.
I've always loved a snow storm. I grew up in the Great Lakes region and learned 2 very important weather terms very early in life: Lake effect snow and wind chill factor. I lived where both terms could be jubilation or sorrow. Jubilation as the lake effect snow dumped and extra 6, 8 or 10 inches of snow causing schools to close and sorrow as it wasn’t until I think I was in high school that the powers that be understood that kids should not stand outside waiting for a school bus when it’s -70 wind chill. I can still feel that spine snapping, throat tightening zap of cold, those mornings brought. I was most fortunate to have survived the blizzards of 1979. I had planned to graduate a semester early from High School. Nope, not that I was a wiz kid or anything like that… it was pure self preservation. I loved high school… not the classes, not the learning; nope I loved the socializing… I knew that if I had a reduced schedule for the 2nd semester, more free time during the school day, I would really mess it up and possibly not graduate. So I’d love to say at this point that I buckled down and worked my ass off but, not so much. As the holidays approached, I somehow kept forgetting to go to class. I don’t really remember why but suddenly there was a letter home saying that because I ditched class I was being given 3 days of in-school suspension. Ok so what sense does that make? I hated Ms. Ienichner’s class so I ditched and then as punishment... I don’t “get” to go to her class for the 3 days before Thanksgiving. Oh darn! That really hurt. The cool thing was I had 6 hours each day to catch up on all the stuff I was falling behind in. I kept the pace up until the Christmas holiday break. I knew if I could skate through the 3 weeks after the holidays, I’d make it and graduate. We were slated to go back to school the first Monday of the New Year. However on Sunday we had the first of 2 or 3 major snow storms. Some crazy number of inches fell in record time. It was the wet heavy snow that causes all types of problem. The cleanup was slow, schools was closed for Monday and Tuesday. By Tuesday evening we were being hit with round 2 and schools were closed for the week. Friday the cleanup was progressing nicely until the next storm dumped 20 new inches of snow on top of the already dangerous amount on the ground. School was closed for a second week. But lightning didn’t strike a 3rd time and we went back to school for what should have been finals week. We were supposed to take our finals and then graduate the following Sunday. It was decided that finals for the general students were delayed 2 weeks. But they could not delay graduation. Some kids were registered for collage classes beginning the next week. So we were told to go discuss with our teachers our grades or what had to be completed to get a final grade. Bonus!!! I could so talk my way to graduation... and in some cases I did. Then came the wrinkle… I had never actually finished Freshman Biology and it had slipped through the cracks. I met with Mr. Oak… Mr. Oak was one of those guys that wanted you to think he was a jerk but in truth was a great guy who loved his wife, his kids and teaching. He told me I had to take the final the next morning and in order to pass the class; I basically had to get an A. I studied so hard but knew the odds were stacked against me. But I showed up bright and early. Mr. Oak approached me with a huge stack of papers. The room was set up with stations of slides and fetal pigs and other never needed in my lifetime before or since biology crap. I took my seat; Mr. Oak actually offered me a cup of coffee. It was meant as a reassuring gesture but it scared the heck out of me… He handed me the test packet and said to only turn it over when I was told to and he left the room. My head was spinning. I was supposed to give the benediction at graduation. I hadn’t started writing it and now I thought that might be a sign. I thought it was a sign that maybe I couldn’t write it because I knew deep down I wouldn’t be there to present it. After an eternity, Mr. Oak came back in the room. Turn the test over he said in his quirky voice…. Shaking, I turned it over… in big bold letters it said… Spell the word BIOLOGY. There was a #1 and a line for my answer. I wrote B-I-O-L-O-G-Y and turned the page. Nothing... not on that page or any of the other 15 pages. On the 16th page in Mr. Oak’s block penmanship it said... “You got an A... now go out and do the best you can to have a fabulous life”. I so clearly remember he walked over to me, kissed my cheek and said “good luck”. My heart was bursting, not because I had passed but because for one of the first times in my life I understood what it meant to truly enjoy, the joy of others. I knew how good he felt and that made me want to have that feeling too. In that moment I also knew just what I was going to say for the benediction. It took me about 15 minutes to write and a second to get the approval from Dr. Hoffman the Administrator. I’ve had this happen again recently. I had decided to do my husband’s eulogy. I felt I was the one who knew him best and it was my duty. I decided this very early Saturday morning after he had died just hours before. I had no idea if this was the proper thing to do or what I should say. I called the folks at the Pastoral care office at the hospital. They had been so kind. They gave great tips and provided some pointers that came in handy. But I still didn’t know what to write. I thought about it all day Saturday and Sunday… I couldn’t come up with anything. This was a rich, full and wonderful life my husband had shared with me and I couldn’t get a thought together to honor him. The service was scheduled for Tuesday. By Monday evening I was drained and couldn’t think clearly. I was so tired and sad and if I’m being honest, lost. I was about to let many people down, least of all was myself. I was feeling overwhelmed and decided I needed air. My house was so full of people who loved him and I needed to breathe and not talk about the past 4 days or the past 30 years. As I stood at the front door, the police officer who was with me as they tried to save my husband came around the garage. I was so relieved that he was there. I didn’t know why until later but for having just met this young man a few days before, I felt deeply connected to him. He was the only person in the world I didn’t have to explain to what had happened. As he came in I hugged him and felt myself exhale. We chatted and he met some of my family. I thanked him again and I will continue to thanks him as time goes on. He said something to me about me being awesome and if there was anything I needed, I actually don’t remember. What I do remember was that I got the same feeling I had years before on that most snowy day, with Mr. Oak. I had the feeling that this young cop knew he had made a difference when he was with me that terrible morning and he was proud to do it. As we said good bye with the promise of talking again I knew what I had to do… I had to honor the man I loved so deeply for so long by telling the world all the wonderful things about him they may not know. The journey we had taken together would be the cornerstone of his eulogy. I knew then that like Mr. Oak, my husband had taught me to bring out the joy in those around me. Like the young officer, my husband showed me how to care for someone I really didn’t even know but immediately connected with. What I had agonized over for 4 days… took about 20 minutes to write. I was proud of what I was able to express. I was able to open up avenues for others at the service to piggyback on and say what was in their hearts to say about him.
So I arrived home on that snowy night earlier this week and let my puppy out. She looked back at me as she stepped into the wet snow, possibly looking for some explanation. The she got excited and started jumping and playing and sliding. At one point she slid off the end of the deck and looked up at me as if I had done something to cause her to end up on her back. We played for a bit and went to bed. Very early the next morning she needed to go back outside, nature calls. As I opened the door… no snow? It was 43 degrees and there was no trace of the snow we had played in just a few hours before. For a moment I thought I was dreaming. But as the weather is here, I should not have been surprised. My pup was a bit disappointed. But she will learn that there will be storms of all kind that come in to and out of her life. Just as I have learned so completely that there are people who come into and go out of our lives. Some hang out for awhile… some leave before you are ready. I hope I give joy to those I meet and I take joy from our meeting. I think if I can do that more than not… I’ll be just fine.
I hope so…
I've always loved a snow storm. I grew up in the Great Lakes region and learned 2 very important weather terms very early in life: Lake effect snow and wind chill factor. I lived where both terms could be jubilation or sorrow. Jubilation as the lake effect snow dumped and extra 6, 8 or 10 inches of snow causing schools to close and sorrow as it wasn’t until I think I was in high school that the powers that be understood that kids should not stand outside waiting for a school bus when it’s -70 wind chill. I can still feel that spine snapping, throat tightening zap of cold, those mornings brought. I was most fortunate to have survived the blizzards of 1979. I had planned to graduate a semester early from High School. Nope, not that I was a wiz kid or anything like that… it was pure self preservation. I loved high school… not the classes, not the learning; nope I loved the socializing… I knew that if I had a reduced schedule for the 2nd semester, more free time during the school day, I would really mess it up and possibly not graduate. So I’d love to say at this point that I buckled down and worked my ass off but, not so much. As the holidays approached, I somehow kept forgetting to go to class. I don’t really remember why but suddenly there was a letter home saying that because I ditched class I was being given 3 days of in-school suspension. Ok so what sense does that make? I hated Ms. Ienichner’s class so I ditched and then as punishment... I don’t “get” to go to her class for the 3 days before Thanksgiving. Oh darn! That really hurt. The cool thing was I had 6 hours each day to catch up on all the stuff I was falling behind in. I kept the pace up until the Christmas holiday break. I knew if I could skate through the 3 weeks after the holidays, I’d make it and graduate. We were slated to go back to school the first Monday of the New Year. However on Sunday we had the first of 2 or 3 major snow storms. Some crazy number of inches fell in record time. It was the wet heavy snow that causes all types of problem. The cleanup was slow, schools was closed for Monday and Tuesday. By Tuesday evening we were being hit with round 2 and schools were closed for the week. Friday the cleanup was progressing nicely until the next storm dumped 20 new inches of snow on top of the already dangerous amount on the ground. School was closed for a second week. But lightning didn’t strike a 3rd time and we went back to school for what should have been finals week. We were supposed to take our finals and then graduate the following Sunday. It was decided that finals for the general students were delayed 2 weeks. But they could not delay graduation. Some kids were registered for collage classes beginning the next week. So we were told to go discuss with our teachers our grades or what had to be completed to get a final grade. Bonus!!! I could so talk my way to graduation... and in some cases I did. Then came the wrinkle… I had never actually finished Freshman Biology and it had slipped through the cracks. I met with Mr. Oak… Mr. Oak was one of those guys that wanted you to think he was a jerk but in truth was a great guy who loved his wife, his kids and teaching. He told me I had to take the final the next morning and in order to pass the class; I basically had to get an A. I studied so hard but knew the odds were stacked against me. But I showed up bright and early. Mr. Oak approached me with a huge stack of papers. The room was set up with stations of slides and fetal pigs and other never needed in my lifetime before or since biology crap. I took my seat; Mr. Oak actually offered me a cup of coffee. It was meant as a reassuring gesture but it scared the heck out of me… He handed me the test packet and said to only turn it over when I was told to and he left the room. My head was spinning. I was supposed to give the benediction at graduation. I hadn’t started writing it and now I thought that might be a sign. I thought it was a sign that maybe I couldn’t write it because I knew deep down I wouldn’t be there to present it. After an eternity, Mr. Oak came back in the room. Turn the test over he said in his quirky voice…. Shaking, I turned it over… in big bold letters it said… Spell the word BIOLOGY. There was a #1 and a line for my answer. I wrote B-I-O-L-O-G-Y and turned the page. Nothing... not on that page or any of the other 15 pages. On the 16th page in Mr. Oak’s block penmanship it said... “You got an A... now go out and do the best you can to have a fabulous life”. I so clearly remember he walked over to me, kissed my cheek and said “good luck”. My heart was bursting, not because I had passed but because for one of the first times in my life I understood what it meant to truly enjoy, the joy of others. I knew how good he felt and that made me want to have that feeling too. In that moment I also knew just what I was going to say for the benediction. It took me about 15 minutes to write and a second to get the approval from Dr. Hoffman the Administrator. I’ve had this happen again recently. I had decided to do my husband’s eulogy. I felt I was the one who knew him best and it was my duty. I decided this very early Saturday morning after he had died just hours before. I had no idea if this was the proper thing to do or what I should say. I called the folks at the Pastoral care office at the hospital. They had been so kind. They gave great tips and provided some pointers that came in handy. But I still didn’t know what to write. I thought about it all day Saturday and Sunday… I couldn’t come up with anything. This was a rich, full and wonderful life my husband had shared with me and I couldn’t get a thought together to honor him. The service was scheduled for Tuesday. By Monday evening I was drained and couldn’t think clearly. I was so tired and sad and if I’m being honest, lost. I was about to let many people down, least of all was myself. I was feeling overwhelmed and decided I needed air. My house was so full of people who loved him and I needed to breathe and not talk about the past 4 days or the past 30 years. As I stood at the front door, the police officer who was with me as they tried to save my husband came around the garage. I was so relieved that he was there. I didn’t know why until later but for having just met this young man a few days before, I felt deeply connected to him. He was the only person in the world I didn’t have to explain to what had happened. As he came in I hugged him and felt myself exhale. We chatted and he met some of my family. I thanked him again and I will continue to thanks him as time goes on. He said something to me about me being awesome and if there was anything I needed, I actually don’t remember. What I do remember was that I got the same feeling I had years before on that most snowy day, with Mr. Oak. I had the feeling that this young cop knew he had made a difference when he was with me that terrible morning and he was proud to do it. As we said good bye with the promise of talking again I knew what I had to do… I had to honor the man I loved so deeply for so long by telling the world all the wonderful things about him they may not know. The journey we had taken together would be the cornerstone of his eulogy. I knew then that like Mr. Oak, my husband had taught me to bring out the joy in those around me. Like the young officer, my husband showed me how to care for someone I really didn’t even know but immediately connected with. What I had agonized over for 4 days… took about 20 minutes to write. I was proud of what I was able to express. I was able to open up avenues for others at the service to piggyback on and say what was in their hearts to say about him.
So I arrived home on that snowy night earlier this week and let my puppy out. She looked back at me as she stepped into the wet snow, possibly looking for some explanation. The she got excited and started jumping and playing and sliding. At one point she slid off the end of the deck and looked up at me as if I had done something to cause her to end up on her back. We played for a bit and went to bed. Very early the next morning she needed to go back outside, nature calls. As I opened the door… no snow? It was 43 degrees and there was no trace of the snow we had played in just a few hours before. For a moment I thought I was dreaming. But as the weather is here, I should not have been surprised. My pup was a bit disappointed. But she will learn that there will be storms of all kind that come in to and out of her life. Just as I have learned so completely that there are people who come into and go out of our lives. Some hang out for awhile… some leave before you are ready. I hope I give joy to those I meet and I take joy from our meeting. I think if I can do that more than not… I’ll be just fine.
I hope so…
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Wednesday 12/2/2009 Edna
Every day I am, as anyone in my situation is I believe, faced with things or people, maybe music or even a scent that reminds me so deeply of how my life has changed. But we are all in this same predicament. We, no matter our level of loss, have things around us that stir memories. This time of year for me is especially rich with memories. My friends, the professionals as I have called them before have talked with me about the power and the curse of memories. Emotions surfacing because of the holidays or the first snow fall or any number of things can be both joyous and devastating at the time.
This past weekend my incredible and wonderful middle sister came to play. We had no plans. We decided to do some shopping. We braved IKEA and enjoyed lunch at Chilies’. As we entered one of my favorite stores, Hobby Lobby, we walked down the Christmas tree aisle. Out of the corner of my eye I saw it. The tree was 7 feet tall with pinecones, snow, berries and lights. As I stood staring, my sister commented on how beautiful it was. In the back of my mind I kept hearing a voice asking me what I was planning to do this year for a tree. There was the old artificial tree down in the basement. But could I go back to that old thing after lobbying so hard for years to go back to a real tree? Then again… a real tree… the memories…
Our first real tree was specially selected by my husband up at the family hunting camp. Our trees for many years were carefully sought out and hand cut at the end of the week at camp. He would walk around the land looking for the perfect tree. He would spot the one he thought was, the one. If it was early in the week he would call me and tell me he thought he had found the best tree ever but he wasn’t 100% sure. I knew by the excitement in his voice that he was giddy with anticipation. He was always so proud of the tree he had presented to us. We switched to artificial trees during the years we were ensconced in travel hockey. I think we had traveled on more Christmases than should be allowed. Having the fake tree made it so much easier to not have to worry about taking it down before we left. Remember, I’m a firefighter’s daughter, always concerned about the Christmas tree fire. When we moved to my current home, we once again enjoyed the luster of a real tree. Although he no longer brought our tree home from up north, we would spend a day searching our local tree farms for the tree that touched our hearts.
So there I stood. Wondering if this was what I wanted to have in my home for the holidays. My first thought was of him balking at the price. Just a small surge of power went through me. Just as quickly, the feeling of being powerless flowed. Shouldn’t I do what we had always done? I’ve heard that the more you try to make something the same as it was, before your loved one died, the more it is obviously not the same. I thank God my sister was there. I don’t know if she saw how many times I tried to walk away from the tree. How many times my eyes filled with tears. My grown up mind was telling me it was just a tree. My heart was breaking at the thought of choosing a Christmas tree by myself for the first time in my entire life. I don’t know how long I stood there but I know that my sister was kind and patient and all a big sister should be. I bought the tree. We went home and rearranged the family room to accommodate the most beautiful tree in my world. I know she would never say anything but I wonder how awkward the silence was for her. We didn’t say much as we put the tree up. Oh we talked as we moved the couch here and the table there… but when we were doing the actual tree… it was quiet. I was so afraid that if I opened my mouth to speak I would loose control. To better explain what I was feeling and thinking about... my husband and I usually did not exchange gifts at Christmas. It began years ago when money was tight. So we designed our own celebration. Late Christmas eve, after the kids were in bed, we’d finish wrapping the gifts for the kids and stuff the stockings. When everything was complete, we’d turn off all the lights, except the tree and open a bottle of Asti. We would snuggle up close by the tree and then share our gifts with each other. Our gift was to fulfill one wish, just one for each other for the entire year. I remember one year, my wish was to not be reminded about how often I stayed at work way past the end of my shift. For the next year, he worked so hard not to call me out for working too hard. I remember the year he wished that I never question his love for me. He had had a stressful year and had at times brought those stresses home. So for the next year, I stepped back during conflicts just to be sure I remembered how much I knew he loved me. We continued this tradition until just last year.
So I’ve experience another “first”. I can’t determine how I feel having crossed yet another threshold. This week will be most interesting as I have a fairly major “first” about to happen. It will be the first time in 30 years he is not here on a special day. But I’ll get up on that day and go to work. I’ll remember how special I was always made to feel on this most special day. I will be celebrating my birthday without him for the first time since I was 19. I’ve had more birthdays with him… then not. I can’t help but look back on all the fun birthdays over the years. The surprises, the quiet evenings, the dinners out and all the other ways my husband helped me celebrate. A few years ago he told me one morning that he needed to borrow my car for the day. Odd as we had exactly the same vehicles, one just one year older than the other. But I took the bait and gave him the car. I mentioned the car trade at work that day and a colleague said something like wouldn’t it be terrible if he took it to have something like an automatic car starter installed? She went on to lament about how that was the worst gift and if a guy ever gave her something like that….blah, blah, blah. I kept thinking that would be a really cool gift. Lucky me, that is exactly what he had installed on my car as a birthday gift. I was thrilled and I to this day love that he thought that much about my comfort. I also every year, on my birthday and Mother’s Day received some form of the perfume I had been wearing since I turned 21. I feel so sad thinking about this past spring. He had so recently past and I was just about out of perfume. I went to Macy’s and as I stood there it hit me. I had never purchased my own perfume. My original scent was a gift from him. I know it sounds silly to say but this was his job, not mine. He would scour the newspapers for the Estee Lauder “freebie” and then make his purchases. I can almost picture him now, charming the sales girls. But he was always so excited about giving me something we both enjoyed. I’m not sure why this just popped in to my head but years ago, when I was just about to turn 16 or 17, my mom and I were having some common variety conflicts. A few days before my birthday she kept asking me what I wanted my cake to say… I think she was trying to make conversation but I was completely annoyed. Had she not been around for the past 16 or 17 years to see what previous cakes had said? Anyway, in an effort to be a smart ass and frankly shut her up, I said, “how about happy birthday Edna”? She gave me the mother of all killer mom looks and I very quickly left the room. As we celebrated that birthday, the cake was brought to the table as those around me half heartedly sang. As I looked at the cake I saw it… “Happy Birthday Edna”. In that moment, I clicked with my mom as I never had before. To this day, she often will call me Edna. I’m sure it’s her way of re-attaching our connection. I told that story to my late husband years ago. Every year, there would be three birthday cards from him. There was the funny card, the loving card and the card addressed to Edna that would be, how can I say it…the passionate card.
I’m flooded with the warmth of these memories. I’m proud that the bitter sweet in my heart is beginning to lean more to the sweet as the bitter begins to fade ever so slightly. I plan to enjoy the day and enjoy the tree. As I’ve said before, it won’t be the same but it can be just as good. I plan not to even try to make things as they were for either my birthday or the holidays. I believe if I did and I failed either myself or my families, it would hurt even more. So I’ll channel my inner Edna and enjoy the day.
I hope so…
This past weekend my incredible and wonderful middle sister came to play. We had no plans. We decided to do some shopping. We braved IKEA and enjoyed lunch at Chilies’. As we entered one of my favorite stores, Hobby Lobby, we walked down the Christmas tree aisle. Out of the corner of my eye I saw it. The tree was 7 feet tall with pinecones, snow, berries and lights. As I stood staring, my sister commented on how beautiful it was. In the back of my mind I kept hearing a voice asking me what I was planning to do this year for a tree. There was the old artificial tree down in the basement. But could I go back to that old thing after lobbying so hard for years to go back to a real tree? Then again… a real tree… the memories…
Our first real tree was specially selected by my husband up at the family hunting camp. Our trees for many years were carefully sought out and hand cut at the end of the week at camp. He would walk around the land looking for the perfect tree. He would spot the one he thought was, the one. If it was early in the week he would call me and tell me he thought he had found the best tree ever but he wasn’t 100% sure. I knew by the excitement in his voice that he was giddy with anticipation. He was always so proud of the tree he had presented to us. We switched to artificial trees during the years we were ensconced in travel hockey. I think we had traveled on more Christmases than should be allowed. Having the fake tree made it so much easier to not have to worry about taking it down before we left. Remember, I’m a firefighter’s daughter, always concerned about the Christmas tree fire. When we moved to my current home, we once again enjoyed the luster of a real tree. Although he no longer brought our tree home from up north, we would spend a day searching our local tree farms for the tree that touched our hearts.
So there I stood. Wondering if this was what I wanted to have in my home for the holidays. My first thought was of him balking at the price. Just a small surge of power went through me. Just as quickly, the feeling of being powerless flowed. Shouldn’t I do what we had always done? I’ve heard that the more you try to make something the same as it was, before your loved one died, the more it is obviously not the same. I thank God my sister was there. I don’t know if she saw how many times I tried to walk away from the tree. How many times my eyes filled with tears. My grown up mind was telling me it was just a tree. My heart was breaking at the thought of choosing a Christmas tree by myself for the first time in my entire life. I don’t know how long I stood there but I know that my sister was kind and patient and all a big sister should be. I bought the tree. We went home and rearranged the family room to accommodate the most beautiful tree in my world. I know she would never say anything but I wonder how awkward the silence was for her. We didn’t say much as we put the tree up. Oh we talked as we moved the couch here and the table there… but when we were doing the actual tree… it was quiet. I was so afraid that if I opened my mouth to speak I would loose control. To better explain what I was feeling and thinking about... my husband and I usually did not exchange gifts at Christmas. It began years ago when money was tight. So we designed our own celebration. Late Christmas eve, after the kids were in bed, we’d finish wrapping the gifts for the kids and stuff the stockings. When everything was complete, we’d turn off all the lights, except the tree and open a bottle of Asti. We would snuggle up close by the tree and then share our gifts with each other. Our gift was to fulfill one wish, just one for each other for the entire year. I remember one year, my wish was to not be reminded about how often I stayed at work way past the end of my shift. For the next year, he worked so hard not to call me out for working too hard. I remember the year he wished that I never question his love for me. He had had a stressful year and had at times brought those stresses home. So for the next year, I stepped back during conflicts just to be sure I remembered how much I knew he loved me. We continued this tradition until just last year.
So I’ve experience another “first”. I can’t determine how I feel having crossed yet another threshold. This week will be most interesting as I have a fairly major “first” about to happen. It will be the first time in 30 years he is not here on a special day. But I’ll get up on that day and go to work. I’ll remember how special I was always made to feel on this most special day. I will be celebrating my birthday without him for the first time since I was 19. I’ve had more birthdays with him… then not. I can’t help but look back on all the fun birthdays over the years. The surprises, the quiet evenings, the dinners out and all the other ways my husband helped me celebrate. A few years ago he told me one morning that he needed to borrow my car for the day. Odd as we had exactly the same vehicles, one just one year older than the other. But I took the bait and gave him the car. I mentioned the car trade at work that day and a colleague said something like wouldn’t it be terrible if he took it to have something like an automatic car starter installed? She went on to lament about how that was the worst gift and if a guy ever gave her something like that….blah, blah, blah. I kept thinking that would be a really cool gift. Lucky me, that is exactly what he had installed on my car as a birthday gift. I was thrilled and I to this day love that he thought that much about my comfort. I also every year, on my birthday and Mother’s Day received some form of the perfume I had been wearing since I turned 21. I feel so sad thinking about this past spring. He had so recently past and I was just about out of perfume. I went to Macy’s and as I stood there it hit me. I had never purchased my own perfume. My original scent was a gift from him. I know it sounds silly to say but this was his job, not mine. He would scour the newspapers for the Estee Lauder “freebie” and then make his purchases. I can almost picture him now, charming the sales girls. But he was always so excited about giving me something we both enjoyed. I’m not sure why this just popped in to my head but years ago, when I was just about to turn 16 or 17, my mom and I were having some common variety conflicts. A few days before my birthday she kept asking me what I wanted my cake to say… I think she was trying to make conversation but I was completely annoyed. Had she not been around for the past 16 or 17 years to see what previous cakes had said? Anyway, in an effort to be a smart ass and frankly shut her up, I said, “how about happy birthday Edna”? She gave me the mother of all killer mom looks and I very quickly left the room. As we celebrated that birthday, the cake was brought to the table as those around me half heartedly sang. As I looked at the cake I saw it… “Happy Birthday Edna”. In that moment, I clicked with my mom as I never had before. To this day, she often will call me Edna. I’m sure it’s her way of re-attaching our connection. I told that story to my late husband years ago. Every year, there would be three birthday cards from him. There was the funny card, the loving card and the card addressed to Edna that would be, how can I say it…the passionate card.
I’m flooded with the warmth of these memories. I’m proud that the bitter sweet in my heart is beginning to lean more to the sweet as the bitter begins to fade ever so slightly. I plan to enjoy the day and enjoy the tree. As I’ve said before, it won’t be the same but it can be just as good. I plan not to even try to make things as they were for either my birthday or the holidays. I believe if I did and I failed either myself or my families, it would hurt even more. So I’ll channel my inner Edna and enjoy the day.
I hope so…
Friday, November 27, 2009
Friday 11/27/2009 Thanksgiving
I would suspect that most of you are expecting some type of Thanksgiving piece from me. Actually, I am expecting it from myself. I expect it, but have no idea what it should be about. I guess I could write about all the things I’m thankful for and believe me there is so much... But I’m not sure I’m at the place yet where it doesn’t sound contrite or self serving. I’ve thanked many people in these blogs and I do understand that I need to continue to thank them again and again. That is the right thing to do but it is also what I feel deep in my heart I must do.
So we all know the Thanksgiving stories… the Indians, oops… Native Americans and the Pilgrims, sorry …displaced illegal residents, turkeys, friendship and football all gathering together to express their thanks for all they have. Gosh I hope people don’t wait until this particular day to tell those they love about all the wonderful things they are thankful for. It would be as sad as waiting until Valentine’s Day to tell the people you love how very much you love them.
Growing up we usually went to my aunt’s house for Thanksgiving dinner. It was ridiculous. My parents are both from good catholic stock and many of their siblings really took the “be fruitful and multiply” thing to the extreme. If my dad’s whole side of the family attended this wonderful dinner, there would be 47 people. That breaks down as the original parents, my dad and his siblings, spouse’s and then all those kids… 30 if I’m counting right. We had the required kid’s table and I’m not sure I ever graduated from there. Actually, now that I think about it, I was more towards the end of the mass procreation cycle. I always found it funny that my aunt finally had that much needed addition put on her house, after the big holiday meals were disseminated to smaller individual family gatherings. But those were great times filled with so much love and laughter. For as silly and goofy as we all were and for how different our families functioned in private, these celebrations were golden moments. Whether I was oblivious or in fact it never happened, there never seemed to be family squabbles or fights at the holidays. I’m thinking today about recent news items that have families having issues during this time of year and taking matters to the extreme. If we ever did have this type of conflict, I think my family’s best revenge was making everyone attend the Christmas meal together and then Easter and so on. That’ll teach ‘em! The food was always great, abundant and really bad for our hearts. Then again, there weren’t heart health warning posted on every food item and we all have seemed to survive. There were the years we were given a little wine with dinner, yep kids too. Was it because they wanted us to feel grown up and sophisticated? Was it so we could appreciate the blessings and toasts more completely? Or was it simply their way of mellowing out the kids so we didn’t fuss and fight? I’m pretty sure I’ll never get a completely honest answer, but it’s a very fond memory. When I was a senior in high school, we had a wild Thanksgiving weekend. My oldest sister was getting married on December 23rd. She was living on the east coast, training for her new grown-up job. Given the practice in those days, she didn’t hop on a plane every weekend to take care of the planning and the festivities. The long Thanksgiving weekend was set aside to not only wrap up the planning, mail the invitations, find bridesmaids dresses for my other sister and I, but we were to also attend 2 wedding showers. One was Friday night, the other a luncheon on Saturday. It was hectic and crazy but in my memory, fun and fabulous. I just so clearly remember thinking I couldn’t wait to get married… all the fuss, all the gifts… my kind of fun! I also remember thinking how far that was in the future. I was dating a guy, well 2; actually I think it was 3 but, whatever. There was no way I would be in this situation for years. In fact, just a year later, give or take a few weeks, I was engaged. How funny is life I ask you? I find it so ironic that my middle sister was probably thinking the same thing… and she was married roughly 8 months later. Hey when the girls in my family know they’ve found what makes them happy, loved and complete, they jump in and grab with both hands. We tend to hold on for the long haul. There was a bit of friction that weekend, just brother/sister sister/sister stuff and nothing to cause concern. We were just all growing up so fast, wanting to be heard and validated. Our little family world was changing faster than we expected. Most importantly we each wanted to be valued. But we were no longer little kids you could hand a coloring book to or give a new board game to and ask that they sit quietly and play. We were the children of 2 really wonderful and unique parents. They say that as each child is brought in to the world, then brought in to the family, they have a different set of parents than the child before or after. I thought this to be a really stupid thing to say. But it’s so true. I think of myself with my daughter. What did I know about being a mom? Who was I kidding? Certainly not her. But when my son came along, I was just that little bit more grown up, more comfortable with myself that I know I mothered him differently and maybe for the first few months, better. So as with me, my parents were the same way. My brother was born when my mom was a relatively young wife. By the time I came along, 3 kids later, she had more knowledge, was a few years older, and knew herself more completely. I would say the same for my dad. He had by then understood more about what he needed to bring to the table to not only meet the needs of his wife and children, but to meet his own needs. I treasure the fact that my husband learned from his own life growing up what he wanted for himself and his children. I didn’t include myself in that statement because that took some time for him to understand what I needed from him. Some of it was because I didn’t tell him but much was because he had a different dynamic in his home. His father passed away when he was a young boy. My mother in law, as the sole breadwinner, worked harder than almost any woman I have ever known. She didn’t have a mate to hold her at the end of the long day. No one at that time was concerned about what made her happy or sad or frightened. She, to my understanding didn’t let her kids know that she needed any of these things either. Back then, a mom didn’t discuss things like that with her children. My husband grew up thinking she was fine, just because she was the mom. I feel so blessed that I was able to spend really good time with her before she died years ago. The stories she told were fabulous and some so out of the character my husband believed her to be, that I never shared them with him. I certainly miss her. I feel so very fortunate that I have both my parents still here to tell their stories. But the Thanksgiving of 1978 was the last Thanksgiving we were all together in the house we all grew up in. Many moves, marriages, babies, divorces and deaths have happened since that weekend. All making us stronger in both mind and spirit.
So now it’s the weekend of Thanksgiving, again. So much has changed. So much is the same. I am still loved by a wild, wonderful Mom and an equally incredible Dad, an amazing brother and 2 indescribable sisters. My circle of love has continued to grown in both membership and substance. I pray that I love more than I am loved. My kids and I jumped though some major obstacles to be together for the holiday. I think we just needed to be close, allowing the ability for a hug or smile, maybe just the brush of a hand, a touch on the back. Flights were canceled, missed, rescheduled in order to get them home to me. I feel selfish wanting them near. As I saw my son walking toward me yesterday when we met up at Ford Field, he was his dad. The same semi crooked smile I fell so deeply in love with was walking toward me. I was caught a bit off guard. The hug was the same as the great hugs his dad gave too. What other wonderful qualities will I come to discover he has from his dad that I may have over looked? Only time will tell. As my daughter came bouncing down the steps to our seats for the Lion’s game, the stadium felt like all the air had been sucked up and the lighting brightened just a bit more… just like her father, she brightens the space she comes into while she takes up all the oxygen in the room. Her joy or angst is proudly worn on her sleeve, just like her dad. I have always been keenly aware of the millions of ways she is like her dad. I know as a mom I should be proud, yet I am over the moon with pride. I love these 2 creatures much more than life itself. We sat down last evening for a meal and had a chat. We talked about what we needed from each other, what we could give each other. We talked about how we miss him. I believe this will be a discussion we have many, many times throughout our lives.
So, what am I thankful for? I could go on and on. But I’m thankful that there are people in my life who love me. People in my life who love my kids. People who loved my husband and still wish to love me even though he is gone. I’m thankful for my husband and all that that allows. I’m thankful for old friends. I’m thankful for new friends. I’m thankful for friends who comfort me but ask that I comfort them as well. I am deeply thankful for unlikely friendships. I am so thankful for my family, all my family. I am thankful to God for allowing me to have 2 amazing kids. I am thankful to my kids, for all they have done and continue to do for me every minute of every day. And finally, I am thankful to all of you who have enriched my life in such an amazing variety of ways this year. I am truly humbled by your love and I thank you. Someday, when the time is right, I hope you can say the same about me.
I hope so…
So we all know the Thanksgiving stories… the Indians, oops… Native Americans and the Pilgrims, sorry …displaced illegal residents, turkeys, friendship and football all gathering together to express their thanks for all they have. Gosh I hope people don’t wait until this particular day to tell those they love about all the wonderful things they are thankful for. It would be as sad as waiting until Valentine’s Day to tell the people you love how very much you love them.
Growing up we usually went to my aunt’s house for Thanksgiving dinner. It was ridiculous. My parents are both from good catholic stock and many of their siblings really took the “be fruitful and multiply” thing to the extreme. If my dad’s whole side of the family attended this wonderful dinner, there would be 47 people. That breaks down as the original parents, my dad and his siblings, spouse’s and then all those kids… 30 if I’m counting right. We had the required kid’s table and I’m not sure I ever graduated from there. Actually, now that I think about it, I was more towards the end of the mass procreation cycle. I always found it funny that my aunt finally had that much needed addition put on her house, after the big holiday meals were disseminated to smaller individual family gatherings. But those were great times filled with so much love and laughter. For as silly and goofy as we all were and for how different our families functioned in private, these celebrations were golden moments. Whether I was oblivious or in fact it never happened, there never seemed to be family squabbles or fights at the holidays. I’m thinking today about recent news items that have families having issues during this time of year and taking matters to the extreme. If we ever did have this type of conflict, I think my family’s best revenge was making everyone attend the Christmas meal together and then Easter and so on. That’ll teach ‘em! The food was always great, abundant and really bad for our hearts. Then again, there weren’t heart health warning posted on every food item and we all have seemed to survive. There were the years we were given a little wine with dinner, yep kids too. Was it because they wanted us to feel grown up and sophisticated? Was it so we could appreciate the blessings and toasts more completely? Or was it simply their way of mellowing out the kids so we didn’t fuss and fight? I’m pretty sure I’ll never get a completely honest answer, but it’s a very fond memory. When I was a senior in high school, we had a wild Thanksgiving weekend. My oldest sister was getting married on December 23rd. She was living on the east coast, training for her new grown-up job. Given the practice in those days, she didn’t hop on a plane every weekend to take care of the planning and the festivities. The long Thanksgiving weekend was set aside to not only wrap up the planning, mail the invitations, find bridesmaids dresses for my other sister and I, but we were to also attend 2 wedding showers. One was Friday night, the other a luncheon on Saturday. It was hectic and crazy but in my memory, fun and fabulous. I just so clearly remember thinking I couldn’t wait to get married… all the fuss, all the gifts… my kind of fun! I also remember thinking how far that was in the future. I was dating a guy, well 2; actually I think it was 3 but, whatever. There was no way I would be in this situation for years. In fact, just a year later, give or take a few weeks, I was engaged. How funny is life I ask you? I find it so ironic that my middle sister was probably thinking the same thing… and she was married roughly 8 months later. Hey when the girls in my family know they’ve found what makes them happy, loved and complete, they jump in and grab with both hands. We tend to hold on for the long haul. There was a bit of friction that weekend, just brother/sister sister/sister stuff and nothing to cause concern. We were just all growing up so fast, wanting to be heard and validated. Our little family world was changing faster than we expected. Most importantly we each wanted to be valued. But we were no longer little kids you could hand a coloring book to or give a new board game to and ask that they sit quietly and play. We were the children of 2 really wonderful and unique parents. They say that as each child is brought in to the world, then brought in to the family, they have a different set of parents than the child before or after. I thought this to be a really stupid thing to say. But it’s so true. I think of myself with my daughter. What did I know about being a mom? Who was I kidding? Certainly not her. But when my son came along, I was just that little bit more grown up, more comfortable with myself that I know I mothered him differently and maybe for the first few months, better. So as with me, my parents were the same way. My brother was born when my mom was a relatively young wife. By the time I came along, 3 kids later, she had more knowledge, was a few years older, and knew herself more completely. I would say the same for my dad. He had by then understood more about what he needed to bring to the table to not only meet the needs of his wife and children, but to meet his own needs. I treasure the fact that my husband learned from his own life growing up what he wanted for himself and his children. I didn’t include myself in that statement because that took some time for him to understand what I needed from him. Some of it was because I didn’t tell him but much was because he had a different dynamic in his home. His father passed away when he was a young boy. My mother in law, as the sole breadwinner, worked harder than almost any woman I have ever known. She didn’t have a mate to hold her at the end of the long day. No one at that time was concerned about what made her happy or sad or frightened. She, to my understanding didn’t let her kids know that she needed any of these things either. Back then, a mom didn’t discuss things like that with her children. My husband grew up thinking she was fine, just because she was the mom. I feel so blessed that I was able to spend really good time with her before she died years ago. The stories she told were fabulous and some so out of the character my husband believed her to be, that I never shared them with him. I certainly miss her. I feel so very fortunate that I have both my parents still here to tell their stories. But the Thanksgiving of 1978 was the last Thanksgiving we were all together in the house we all grew up in. Many moves, marriages, babies, divorces and deaths have happened since that weekend. All making us stronger in both mind and spirit.
So now it’s the weekend of Thanksgiving, again. So much has changed. So much is the same. I am still loved by a wild, wonderful Mom and an equally incredible Dad, an amazing brother and 2 indescribable sisters. My circle of love has continued to grown in both membership and substance. I pray that I love more than I am loved. My kids and I jumped though some major obstacles to be together for the holiday. I think we just needed to be close, allowing the ability for a hug or smile, maybe just the brush of a hand, a touch on the back. Flights were canceled, missed, rescheduled in order to get them home to me. I feel selfish wanting them near. As I saw my son walking toward me yesterday when we met up at Ford Field, he was his dad. The same semi crooked smile I fell so deeply in love with was walking toward me. I was caught a bit off guard. The hug was the same as the great hugs his dad gave too. What other wonderful qualities will I come to discover he has from his dad that I may have over looked? Only time will tell. As my daughter came bouncing down the steps to our seats for the Lion’s game, the stadium felt like all the air had been sucked up and the lighting brightened just a bit more… just like her father, she brightens the space she comes into while she takes up all the oxygen in the room. Her joy or angst is proudly worn on her sleeve, just like her dad. I have always been keenly aware of the millions of ways she is like her dad. I know as a mom I should be proud, yet I am over the moon with pride. I love these 2 creatures much more than life itself. We sat down last evening for a meal and had a chat. We talked about what we needed from each other, what we could give each other. We talked about how we miss him. I believe this will be a discussion we have many, many times throughout our lives.
So, what am I thankful for? I could go on and on. But I’m thankful that there are people in my life who love me. People in my life who love my kids. People who loved my husband and still wish to love me even though he is gone. I’m thankful for my husband and all that that allows. I’m thankful for old friends. I’m thankful for new friends. I’m thankful for friends who comfort me but ask that I comfort them as well. I am deeply thankful for unlikely friendships. I am so thankful for my family, all my family. I am thankful to God for allowing me to have 2 amazing kids. I am thankful to my kids, for all they have done and continue to do for me every minute of every day. And finally, I am thankful to all of you who have enriched my life in such an amazing variety of ways this year. I am truly humbled by your love and I thank you. Someday, when the time is right, I hope you can say the same about me.
I hope so…
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Tuesday 11/24/2009 PITA
Some of you are already thinking this is about food…. But nope, it’s not.
I enjoy having great banter with just about everyone. I love to tease and be teased. I have such a strange sense of humor that sometimes I hear or see things so differently than others that it gets me in trouble. I am a glass half full girl and generally assume everyone is telling me the truth at all times. So having spilled all that, I have to say that I can also be a huge pain in the ass. My late husband used to call me, as a term of endearment, a PITA.
I’m not good with surprises. At least when the surprise is on me… Oh, I love to surprise people and have done so very successfully many times. When my husband and I were in our commuter marriage years, I’d surprise him by flying in during the day, cleaning up his place, making dinner and being there when he came home. We would have a great unexpected night and I’d fly back in time to get to my office the next morning. Every so often my husband would call me in the early evening and sound sad. He would tell me how he had hoped all day that I was secretly planning a “pop-in” but was so sad to come home to an empty house, an empty tummy and an empty bed. A few years back my husband and sisters planned a surprise birthday brunch for me. The plan was to have my mom and sisters come in to town and hide out at the restaurant we had already planned to visit for brunch. I would walk in and “surprise”! But the day before, my husband was offering to dust, vacuum and wipe down the powder room. The more I suggested we wait until the next day, the more he protested that he needed to take care of the tasks right then and there. Something was up. I dogged him. I started asking questions in an effort to get to the bottom of his sudden domestic insistence. Based on his answers, I began to put the pieces together. I knew something was up and I wanted to be sure. I came out and asked him... who or what was being planned for my birthday? Of course he said no one but there was just the slightest hesitation in his voice so I wouldn’t let it go. I kept on him until he had no option but to tell me. While I was relieved, I was disappointed in myself for being a… PITA and ruining his surprise. I did run around like a mad woman to get my house in order for the next day.
I tend to be the same in business. I’ll grab on to a problem or project and throw myself in to it at all costs. My biggest issue is that I assume everyone is the same as I am… but they are not. I end up picking up the slack or taking over the whole project in an effort to achieve. So my drive, enthusiasm or passion is mistaken for me being a pain in the ass. Maybe I am ,but there is no malice or ill will implied.
I have found that in the past 8 months my PITA ranking has slipped. Am I letting more roll off my back these days? I’m really not sure. I know what bothered or upset me before is of almost no consequences to me these days. But what didn’t bother me before in some cases makes me crazy now. Is it because I have no one to be a pain to? No that can’t be it. I know I have people in my life who think of me as a pain. I push people and prod people and ask a lot of questions. I guess I do that to learn and understand. But I also understand that to some it’s just me being a pain. I think that now I step back a bit from what I used to gravitate towards. I have found myself closing my circle and selecting just a very few people to remain inside. I know that to my sisters especially, I may be reaching an elevated PITA status. I have a few friends who may soon hit the panic button as I make their lives difficult. I hope they do... I might need the wake up call. My husband would occasionally wake me up. I need that. I think we all do. We need someone in our corner who can tell us when we are crossing the line in the sand.
A few weeks after my late husband and I started dating, he turned to me at a bowling alley and asked me if I wanted to get married, that night, right then... Long story short we opted for dinner instead. The next day we were at the mall shopping for a Christmas gift for his Mother when we went into a jewelry store. He asked the clerk to show us engagement rings. I was sure he was just kidding so I went along with it. I kept telling the sales girl that he was kidding and that she shouldn’t get too excited. I picked out a beautiful set and he began talking about financing and I dragged him out of the store. The following day I came home to find Mrs. Fields cookies and a note from him. I panicked… the only place he could have purchased the cookies was at the mall. What business did he have at the mall? We had found the gift for his mom… Did he go back and get the rings? Was he serious in his proposal? We had been dating only 2 weeks! As I walked into his apartment later that day I heard him on the phone telling someone he was getting married. Again I panicked. You see, this was December and he had broken up with the girl he had lived with for 3 plus years only 2 months before. Was he getting married to her? OMG! He tried to play it cool but I had to know. I peppered him with questions, but none of them were direct questions. About an hour after I began my interrogation, he called me a PITA for the first of many, many times. I asked about the girl. What had happened to her? Had he seen her? Was she still living in the area? He wouldn’t give me a straight answer. I switched tactics. Tell me about the Mrs. Fields cookies. I asked. I poked and prodded until he had no excuse but to pull my engagement ring out of his pocket and kind of toss it to me in frustration. I had my answer, but had ruined his moment. I called myself a pain in the ass.
We laughed many times over the years at the events of that night. I suppose I’ll always be a pain to those that don’t know me or my passion and drive. I really think this may be a problem when it comes to meeting and beginning a relationship with another man. While my husband thought this was quirky and funny… not so sure it will translate the same way to someone else. Now I’m thinking I shouldn’t have to worry about what a potential mate thinks, but I know I will when the time comes. I just a bit taken a back that as I write this I am tearing up and feeling the loss of having someone to be a pain to. Good God, will this ever stop sneaking up on me? I'm fearful that I may overcompensate to someone new in order to see if they pick up my PITA vibe. That could be both dangerous and awkward. I tend to be the same with my kids but at this point, they have their own well defined coping mechanisms, allowing them to deal with me. I guess a key insight to me and how I tick is that I will generally not be a PITA to things, people or situations I don’t care or have feelings for. So please, if you think I’m a PITA, know I care about you. Also know that if I become too much to deal with, you have my permission to tell me. I’ll always appreciate the wake up.
I hope so…
I enjoy having great banter with just about everyone. I love to tease and be teased. I have such a strange sense of humor that sometimes I hear or see things so differently than others that it gets me in trouble. I am a glass half full girl and generally assume everyone is telling me the truth at all times. So having spilled all that, I have to say that I can also be a huge pain in the ass. My late husband used to call me, as a term of endearment, a PITA.
I’m not good with surprises. At least when the surprise is on me… Oh, I love to surprise people and have done so very successfully many times. When my husband and I were in our commuter marriage years, I’d surprise him by flying in during the day, cleaning up his place, making dinner and being there when he came home. We would have a great unexpected night and I’d fly back in time to get to my office the next morning. Every so often my husband would call me in the early evening and sound sad. He would tell me how he had hoped all day that I was secretly planning a “pop-in” but was so sad to come home to an empty house, an empty tummy and an empty bed. A few years back my husband and sisters planned a surprise birthday brunch for me. The plan was to have my mom and sisters come in to town and hide out at the restaurant we had already planned to visit for brunch. I would walk in and “surprise”! But the day before, my husband was offering to dust, vacuum and wipe down the powder room. The more I suggested we wait until the next day, the more he protested that he needed to take care of the tasks right then and there. Something was up. I dogged him. I started asking questions in an effort to get to the bottom of his sudden domestic insistence. Based on his answers, I began to put the pieces together. I knew something was up and I wanted to be sure. I came out and asked him... who or what was being planned for my birthday? Of course he said no one but there was just the slightest hesitation in his voice so I wouldn’t let it go. I kept on him until he had no option but to tell me. While I was relieved, I was disappointed in myself for being a… PITA and ruining his surprise. I did run around like a mad woman to get my house in order for the next day.
I tend to be the same in business. I’ll grab on to a problem or project and throw myself in to it at all costs. My biggest issue is that I assume everyone is the same as I am… but they are not. I end up picking up the slack or taking over the whole project in an effort to achieve. So my drive, enthusiasm or passion is mistaken for me being a pain in the ass. Maybe I am ,but there is no malice or ill will implied.
I have found that in the past 8 months my PITA ranking has slipped. Am I letting more roll off my back these days? I’m really not sure. I know what bothered or upset me before is of almost no consequences to me these days. But what didn’t bother me before in some cases makes me crazy now. Is it because I have no one to be a pain to? No that can’t be it. I know I have people in my life who think of me as a pain. I push people and prod people and ask a lot of questions. I guess I do that to learn and understand. But I also understand that to some it’s just me being a pain. I think that now I step back a bit from what I used to gravitate towards. I have found myself closing my circle and selecting just a very few people to remain inside. I know that to my sisters especially, I may be reaching an elevated PITA status. I have a few friends who may soon hit the panic button as I make their lives difficult. I hope they do... I might need the wake up call. My husband would occasionally wake me up. I need that. I think we all do. We need someone in our corner who can tell us when we are crossing the line in the sand.
A few weeks after my late husband and I started dating, he turned to me at a bowling alley and asked me if I wanted to get married, that night, right then... Long story short we opted for dinner instead. The next day we were at the mall shopping for a Christmas gift for his Mother when we went into a jewelry store. He asked the clerk to show us engagement rings. I was sure he was just kidding so I went along with it. I kept telling the sales girl that he was kidding and that she shouldn’t get too excited. I picked out a beautiful set and he began talking about financing and I dragged him out of the store. The following day I came home to find Mrs. Fields cookies and a note from him. I panicked… the only place he could have purchased the cookies was at the mall. What business did he have at the mall? We had found the gift for his mom… Did he go back and get the rings? Was he serious in his proposal? We had been dating only 2 weeks! As I walked into his apartment later that day I heard him on the phone telling someone he was getting married. Again I panicked. You see, this was December and he had broken up with the girl he had lived with for 3 plus years only 2 months before. Was he getting married to her? OMG! He tried to play it cool but I had to know. I peppered him with questions, but none of them were direct questions. About an hour after I began my interrogation, he called me a PITA for the first of many, many times. I asked about the girl. What had happened to her? Had he seen her? Was she still living in the area? He wouldn’t give me a straight answer. I switched tactics. Tell me about the Mrs. Fields cookies. I asked. I poked and prodded until he had no excuse but to pull my engagement ring out of his pocket and kind of toss it to me in frustration. I had my answer, but had ruined his moment. I called myself a pain in the ass.
We laughed many times over the years at the events of that night. I suppose I’ll always be a pain to those that don’t know me or my passion and drive. I really think this may be a problem when it comes to meeting and beginning a relationship with another man. While my husband thought this was quirky and funny… not so sure it will translate the same way to someone else. Now I’m thinking I shouldn’t have to worry about what a potential mate thinks, but I know I will when the time comes. I just a bit taken a back that as I write this I am tearing up and feeling the loss of having someone to be a pain to. Good God, will this ever stop sneaking up on me? I'm fearful that I may overcompensate to someone new in order to see if they pick up my PITA vibe. That could be both dangerous and awkward. I tend to be the same with my kids but at this point, they have their own well defined coping mechanisms, allowing them to deal with me. I guess a key insight to me and how I tick is that I will generally not be a PITA to things, people or situations I don’t care or have feelings for. So please, if you think I’m a PITA, know I care about you. Also know that if I become too much to deal with, you have my permission to tell me. I’ll always appreciate the wake up.
I hope so…
Friday, November 20, 2009
Friday 11/20/2009 Unconditional love
I’m in love. It’s silly and ridicules and oh so fun. The new love in my life has the goofiest face and ears that are too big. The subject of my affections has doesn’t listen to me and I am sure, while undiagnosed has ADD. My baby has horrible eating habits and the noises made during a simple drink of water are disgusting. I am often left feeling both exhausted and invigorated by the actions of this one. Alright, I’ll let you in on the secret. My new love is an 18 week old Aussie Sheppard/Lab mix. I’ve written about Bauer in a couple of blogs before. I have fallen head over heels with the first dog I’ve ever had that seems to want me to believe she could take me or leave me. My little girl is all about the hugs and kisses when I come home. She looks to me for comfort when something scares or startles her. At night she sleeps so that some part of her is touching me. Her head may be on my shoulder, her back aligned to my side or even just her paw on my arm. During the bulk of the day, she gives me the impression that I am just here as a chew toy. I’m smitten. I say all this but know that Bauer Jett knows when I need her to be my comfort. This has been a particularly difficult week. For many reasons and no reason at all. Each time my emotions back up, I have seen a subtle change in her… she bounces from demanding my attention, thereby forcing me to focus on her rather than whatever has triggered the back up or she just simply snuggles up to me or leans into my side. I believe she has just begun figure me out while I still struggle to know how to be all she needs me to be.
I’ve had many pets over the years. Most fabulous, loving and well behaved pets with unique personalities. These pets have brought spice, joy, angst, comfort and balance to me over the years. I’d like to think I gave them all they needed for a wonderful life. I know the journey of my pets as never been dull.
As a very small child we had a huge cat named Bop-Oh. I take no blame for that name; I was only a few years old. While I have fuzzy memories of the cat, legend has it that I was terrible to her. Stories of me walking past the cat, sleeping deeply on the top of the big old console television, grabbing her tail and sharply yanking her to the ground are retold to this day. Maybe the fact that I choose to perform temperature checks on the poor feline with a pencil has something to do with why I am not in the medical field. Nope, I won’t elaborate. I’ll assume Bop-Oh went to cat heaven when it was her time but have no memory of any sadness at the loss. I do believe that my relationship with the cat is why I am not a big fan of cats.
We had a succession of wonderful dogs as I grew up. Dogs that were like siblings. Jill was a pure breed lab we had for a very long time. She was the best of what a dog in the family can be. She is what I have always wanted for the dogs in my kid’s life to be. Jill could be anywhere and stay with us without being on a leash. She loved everyone we loved and protected us against all evil-doers. Jill taught me about unconditional love. She loved me without exception. I was heartbroken when it was time to say good bye to the old girl. What a treasure. After Jill, we didn’t have a dog for a short while. We had gerbils, worthless large mice in my opinion. You can’t snuggle a gerbil and gerbils are terrible with a tennis ball out in the yard. At one point we had Tadpoles. They were wonderful to watch as they slowly morphed to frogs. My mom would beg to differ. I would be neglecting my duties as a story teller if I didn’t share the …Saga of the Tadpoles. My mom loves to talk. Most of you are smiling right now, like mother, like daughter… exactly and I love her for all the ways I am like her. Anyway, we had a cord on our telephone that allowed my mom to go to almost any room in the house as she talked. I remember the day clearly. Mom was walking around cleaning; talking on the phone I had just been admiring the tadpole growth progress. As I headed outside I heard a scream like I have never heard before or since. Seems one of the Tadpoles, a touch more advanced than the others, flexed his new legs and jumped out of the bowl and down on to the tile floor of the kitchen… as mom paced and talked, barefooted I will add, she.. stepped back and squished the adventurous Tadpole between her toes. With a string of profanity that I am sure is still hanging over the house on Dell Road, she took the bowl of Tadpoles and ceremoniously dumped the contents in to the toilet and firmly flushed. There were no tears for the loss because there was no love for the reptiles.
We once took in a stray my dad had encountered. The dog was bruised and battered and seemed to have a tragic life. Her tail had been repeatedly broken and was covered with scabs. She was terribly underweight. I named her Patsy and our bond was immediate and exceptional. Patsy thrived under our care and fell deeply in love with us and we, with her. Imagining all the horrors that had happened to this Lab mix brought the angst of the world I to my own home. I learned quickly that not everyone embraces the unconditional love a dog can give. While we were thrilled with her weight gain, her tail was an issue. As she began to understand our love for her had no strings and that we would do anything possible to care for her, she felt free to express her love for us. My girl would wag that broken tail with abandon. Unfortunately her tail would connect with the wall or the door frame of whatever she was standing near, causing it to split open and blood to spray all over us. I’m certain there was a great deal of pain involved but she was so very happy that her tail just wagged uncontrollably. I’ll never forget the day, soon after my parents again commented on Patsy” weight gain and general good health that she delivered 13 very healthy puppies. All makes and models…many fathers. Seems my girl Patsy was a very popular young lady. Next came Gimlet or Gimmie for short. Gimmie was a French Canadian stray my uncle found and ultimately gave to me. Gimmie was so kind and gentle. Gimmie love me and I her. Gimmie was the first one I told I was in love with my husband. She was also the only one that didn’t either object to my decision to marry or give me a rough time about my age or the short amount of time I had known him before we became engaged. Gimmie stayed with my parents when I moved out to begin my adult life. Just after my second child was born, she came to live with us. My big black beauty forced me to make adult decision regarding her health and when to end her days on earth. My kids remember her although they were very small when she left. We remained dog-less until the kids were in grade school. We then were blessed with Kate. Kate was again a black lab and just the perfect dog for our kids. Lessons about life and loss were learned by all four of us from dear Kate. We had Kate for many years. I’ll never forget the time we were at a forest, walking round a large pond. Kate jumped in and sank… I looked at my husband, frankly stunned that he was not shedding clothing to jump in and rescue her. Once she surface, he as was his great style, calmly walked toward an area where she could walk out of the water herself. Another disaster diverted. We tragically lost Kate to a hit and run driver. While my heart broke at the loss, it broke more because my son witnessed the accident and I believe somehow blames himself. As I have learned so vividly, you should never tell someone what to feel or not feel. I do know that the events around this accident were not in our control. I hope in his life my wonderful, loving son learns to let go of what he cannot control. Maybe good advice for me as well. You’ve heard the stories of my Max, who was with us for 11 years. I never wanted a male dog and Max was all boy. He proved all my misconceptions about male dogs to be wrong. That big boy knew many of my secrets and he loved me regardless. He loved me when I was happy, sad, sick, ugly and at absolutely every second of our time together. The feelings were mutual.
As these dogs have given me unconditional love for my lifetime, I pray that I have given them what they need to be happy to have been with me. My new pup, Bauer is still trying to figure me out. While I would love to have her at the place where anything and everything I ask of her is accepted immediately, I love this time of learning we are currently working through. We ventured out to a local park yesterday. Bauer discovered bridges and fast moving streams. She had her first squirrel encounter. Both of us came dangerously close to spending quality time in the river as Bauer attempted to swim with the ducks. Thankfully I caught us at the last possible second. I trust that as we move through our time together she understands my love for her. She will most likely be a very different relationship than I have ever had with a dog. This is the first dog I have raised solely on my own. This is the first dog I will raise with such a different understanding of the fragility of life. What is causing a lump in my throat is that Bauer never knew my husband but every day when she does something funny or wonderful I have to stop myself from reaching for the phone to tell him all about it. I know this will pass. I hope I learn to be a bit more unconditional in my love for not only those in my life but for myself.
I hope so...
I’ve had many pets over the years. Most fabulous, loving and well behaved pets with unique personalities. These pets have brought spice, joy, angst, comfort and balance to me over the years. I’d like to think I gave them all they needed for a wonderful life. I know the journey of my pets as never been dull.
As a very small child we had a huge cat named Bop-Oh. I take no blame for that name; I was only a few years old. While I have fuzzy memories of the cat, legend has it that I was terrible to her. Stories of me walking past the cat, sleeping deeply on the top of the big old console television, grabbing her tail and sharply yanking her to the ground are retold to this day. Maybe the fact that I choose to perform temperature checks on the poor feline with a pencil has something to do with why I am not in the medical field. Nope, I won’t elaborate. I’ll assume Bop-Oh went to cat heaven when it was her time but have no memory of any sadness at the loss. I do believe that my relationship with the cat is why I am not a big fan of cats.
We had a succession of wonderful dogs as I grew up. Dogs that were like siblings. Jill was a pure breed lab we had for a very long time. She was the best of what a dog in the family can be. She is what I have always wanted for the dogs in my kid’s life to be. Jill could be anywhere and stay with us without being on a leash. She loved everyone we loved and protected us against all evil-doers. Jill taught me about unconditional love. She loved me without exception. I was heartbroken when it was time to say good bye to the old girl. What a treasure. After Jill, we didn’t have a dog for a short while. We had gerbils, worthless large mice in my opinion. You can’t snuggle a gerbil and gerbils are terrible with a tennis ball out in the yard. At one point we had Tadpoles. They were wonderful to watch as they slowly morphed to frogs. My mom would beg to differ. I would be neglecting my duties as a story teller if I didn’t share the …Saga of the Tadpoles. My mom loves to talk. Most of you are smiling right now, like mother, like daughter… exactly and I love her for all the ways I am like her. Anyway, we had a cord on our telephone that allowed my mom to go to almost any room in the house as she talked. I remember the day clearly. Mom was walking around cleaning; talking on the phone I had just been admiring the tadpole growth progress. As I headed outside I heard a scream like I have never heard before or since. Seems one of the Tadpoles, a touch more advanced than the others, flexed his new legs and jumped out of the bowl and down on to the tile floor of the kitchen… as mom paced and talked, barefooted I will add, she.. stepped back and squished the adventurous Tadpole between her toes. With a string of profanity that I am sure is still hanging over the house on Dell Road, she took the bowl of Tadpoles and ceremoniously dumped the contents in to the toilet and firmly flushed. There were no tears for the loss because there was no love for the reptiles.
We once took in a stray my dad had encountered. The dog was bruised and battered and seemed to have a tragic life. Her tail had been repeatedly broken and was covered with scabs. She was terribly underweight. I named her Patsy and our bond was immediate and exceptional. Patsy thrived under our care and fell deeply in love with us and we, with her. Imagining all the horrors that had happened to this Lab mix brought the angst of the world I to my own home. I learned quickly that not everyone embraces the unconditional love a dog can give. While we were thrilled with her weight gain, her tail was an issue. As she began to understand our love for her had no strings and that we would do anything possible to care for her, she felt free to express her love for us. My girl would wag that broken tail with abandon. Unfortunately her tail would connect with the wall or the door frame of whatever she was standing near, causing it to split open and blood to spray all over us. I’m certain there was a great deal of pain involved but she was so very happy that her tail just wagged uncontrollably. I’ll never forget the day, soon after my parents again commented on Patsy” weight gain and general good health that she delivered 13 very healthy puppies. All makes and models…many fathers. Seems my girl Patsy was a very popular young lady. Next came Gimlet or Gimmie for short. Gimmie was a French Canadian stray my uncle found and ultimately gave to me. Gimmie was so kind and gentle. Gimmie love me and I her. Gimmie was the first one I told I was in love with my husband. She was also the only one that didn’t either object to my decision to marry or give me a rough time about my age or the short amount of time I had known him before we became engaged. Gimmie stayed with my parents when I moved out to begin my adult life. Just after my second child was born, she came to live with us. My big black beauty forced me to make adult decision regarding her health and when to end her days on earth. My kids remember her although they were very small when she left. We remained dog-less until the kids were in grade school. We then were blessed with Kate. Kate was again a black lab and just the perfect dog for our kids. Lessons about life and loss were learned by all four of us from dear Kate. We had Kate for many years. I’ll never forget the time we were at a forest, walking round a large pond. Kate jumped in and sank… I looked at my husband, frankly stunned that he was not shedding clothing to jump in and rescue her. Once she surface, he as was his great style, calmly walked toward an area where she could walk out of the water herself. Another disaster diverted. We tragically lost Kate to a hit and run driver. While my heart broke at the loss, it broke more because my son witnessed the accident and I believe somehow blames himself. As I have learned so vividly, you should never tell someone what to feel or not feel. I do know that the events around this accident were not in our control. I hope in his life my wonderful, loving son learns to let go of what he cannot control. Maybe good advice for me as well. You’ve heard the stories of my Max, who was with us for 11 years. I never wanted a male dog and Max was all boy. He proved all my misconceptions about male dogs to be wrong. That big boy knew many of my secrets and he loved me regardless. He loved me when I was happy, sad, sick, ugly and at absolutely every second of our time together. The feelings were mutual.
As these dogs have given me unconditional love for my lifetime, I pray that I have given them what they need to be happy to have been with me. My new pup, Bauer is still trying to figure me out. While I would love to have her at the place where anything and everything I ask of her is accepted immediately, I love this time of learning we are currently working through. We ventured out to a local park yesterday. Bauer discovered bridges and fast moving streams. She had her first squirrel encounter. Both of us came dangerously close to spending quality time in the river as Bauer attempted to swim with the ducks. Thankfully I caught us at the last possible second. I trust that as we move through our time together she understands my love for her. She will most likely be a very different relationship than I have ever had with a dog. This is the first dog I have raised solely on my own. This is the first dog I will raise with such a different understanding of the fragility of life. What is causing a lump in my throat is that Bauer never knew my husband but every day when she does something funny or wonderful I have to stop myself from reaching for the phone to tell him all about it. I know this will pass. I hope I learn to be a bit more unconditional in my love for not only those in my life but for myself.
I hope so...
Monday, November 16, 2009
Monday 11/16/2009 Truth be told
I’ve never found men with long hair attractive but a nice shaved head or close cut is looking kind of hot lately.
I owe the fact that I actually graduated from High School, to the Blizzards of ’79.
I can be easily persuaded to do almost anything, by food.
I took part in a major prank in High School and didn’t get caught
My energy level is either 125% or zero
Part of why I got married at 19, spite
I can watch Law and Order over and over again
There is something wrong with a biker dude in biker dude clothes, pushing a grocery cart full of bags up to his bike and standing there looking confused.
If you’re over the age of 5, you really shouldn’t wear a fake fuzzy tail at anytime, for any reason.
You have every right to hang your outside Christmas light up, on the last few warm days of November. But they should never, ever be turned on before Thanksgiving. Just as importantly, they must come down in January.
To my knowledge and I'll admit I'm not an expert... but Frosty the Snowman, Santa and Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer were not invited to the birth of baby Jesus... They should not be portrayed as guests at the occasion by their placement next to the Nativity scene in your yard.
Everyone should have at least one “adult” encounter in life that is wild, crazy and out of character.
If you donate money to a cause you believe in, just once ask that your name be listed as anonymous… it’s fun to hear the speculation about who the generous person is and believe it or not, it really makes you feel great!
Keep people guessing. I once took one of those fake cats that looks like someone’s dead stuffed cat and placed it on a blanket, set it in my cart at Petsmart… I walked around talking to it… when people came to pet it…OMG I loved the look on the faces when they went to pet the kitty… my husband almost had to sit down he was laughing so hard.
At the store, I’ve been in the 10 items or less line, with 15 items, sorry.
I was at a party where adult toys were the prizes. I’m not a prude, I applaud the innovation, but really should electrical cords be involved? Just imagine if there was a power surge…or god forbid… a blackout!
I’m the only person I know who actually drinks 8 glasses of water a day.
I’ve never smoked a cigarette.
I’ve found some of my best friends from the most unlikely situations and strangest moments of my life. I thank God I was paying attention.
I really have trouble asking for help. While I feel like that’s all I do, I’ve been told I need to do it more.
I’ve discovered it’s a sad day when you realize you’re not the super woman you’d like to think you are.
I’m beginning to hate the emotional sneak attack that happens many, many times a day. I may be allowing it to surface more these days but to find yourself at your desk with big drippy tears in your eyes does not portray the image of a calm cool professional person I pretend to be 5 days a week.
You will never know why people love each other. Be careful of your comments when or if they hit a rough patch. Your friendship could be jeopardized.
I’ve learned that the truth cannot always be told. Feelings will be hurt and miss-understandings will happen. Just be a genuinely nice person.
I owe the fact that I actually graduated from High School, to the Blizzards of ’79.
I can be easily persuaded to do almost anything, by food.
I took part in a major prank in High School and didn’t get caught
My energy level is either 125% or zero
Part of why I got married at 19, spite
I can watch Law and Order over and over again
There is something wrong with a biker dude in biker dude clothes, pushing a grocery cart full of bags up to his bike and standing there looking confused.
If you’re over the age of 5, you really shouldn’t wear a fake fuzzy tail at anytime, for any reason.
You have every right to hang your outside Christmas light up, on the last few warm days of November. But they should never, ever be turned on before Thanksgiving. Just as importantly, they must come down in January.
To my knowledge and I'll admit I'm not an expert... but Frosty the Snowman, Santa and Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer were not invited to the birth of baby Jesus... They should not be portrayed as guests at the occasion by their placement next to the Nativity scene in your yard.
Everyone should have at least one “adult” encounter in life that is wild, crazy and out of character.
If you donate money to a cause you believe in, just once ask that your name be listed as anonymous… it’s fun to hear the speculation about who the generous person is and believe it or not, it really makes you feel great!
Keep people guessing. I once took one of those fake cats that looks like someone’s dead stuffed cat and placed it on a blanket, set it in my cart at Petsmart… I walked around talking to it… when people came to pet it…OMG I loved the look on the faces when they went to pet the kitty… my husband almost had to sit down he was laughing so hard.
At the store, I’ve been in the 10 items or less line, with 15 items, sorry.
I was at a party where adult toys were the prizes. I’m not a prude, I applaud the innovation, but really should electrical cords be involved? Just imagine if there was a power surge…or god forbid… a blackout!
I’m the only person I know who actually drinks 8 glasses of water a day.
I’ve never smoked a cigarette.
I’ve found some of my best friends from the most unlikely situations and strangest moments of my life. I thank God I was paying attention.
I really have trouble asking for help. While I feel like that’s all I do, I’ve been told I need to do it more.
I’ve discovered it’s a sad day when you realize you’re not the super woman you’d like to think you are.
I’m beginning to hate the emotional sneak attack that happens many, many times a day. I may be allowing it to surface more these days but to find yourself at your desk with big drippy tears in your eyes does not portray the image of a calm cool professional person I pretend to be 5 days a week.
You will never know why people love each other. Be careful of your comments when or if they hit a rough patch. Your friendship could be jeopardized.
I’ve learned that the truth cannot always be told. Feelings will be hurt and miss-understandings will happen. Just be a genuinely nice person.
Friday, November 13, 2009
Friday 11/13/2009 Camp
I was talking to a friend today and he seemed distracted. He appeared to want to pay attention to what I was saying but didn’t really seem to be connecting everything. I of course assumed it was just because I tend to ramble on but no it was much more than that. He finally disclosed that he was getting ready, ready for camp. Now some of you are thinking that you know what I mean, but do you? I’m talking about HUNTING CAMP. The Grand Poo-bah of all male bonding experiences. A huge right of passage in life for many fathers and sons. Now please, I’m a woman of the current decade and I do know women hunt and go to camp but my experiences are that they do not go through the rituals or to the extreme that guys I’ve known and loved have and do, year after year. There is the prepping and packing and the preparing and purchasing and pilgrimage... up north. Given where I live, up north could be 10 mile up the road. For many it is a long overly anticipated drive to a remote location most times with limited bathroom facilities. Then there is the unpacking and the unloading and the re-purchasing of things forgotten. If you have planned it all with great strategy and finesse, you’ve saved vacation days, timed the drive properly, you settle in to camp the night before the most magical day of the year for a hunter…opening day. And then, just as the hunter’s father and grandfather and great grandfather and so on for the generations before has done... it’s the pre-dawn race to the blind. Know that special attention has been paid to wear the best in camo... first time hunters in my family are spotted by the overindulgence in orange clothing. The new hunter wearing the most orange is likely to win the yearly pumpkin award. Trust me when I say this is not an honor bestowed out of admiration. So the hunter settles in the blind, gun at the ready and eagerly awaits the deer. And waits, and waits and waits…
My late husband took me to camp a few times. I loved him but camp, not so much. He had no issues with my choice to stay with relatives in a well heated, water running, electricity working, actual walls and a roof, home rather than camp. Back then the family camp was actually an old chicken coop. Now mind you a new chicken coop smells like chicken... droppings. I still reel at the thought of that place… but the hunters loved it. Many years later camp was moved in to a house of a deceased relative. Every few years my husband would trek up to camp, off season and do work around the old house. Oh he moaned and groaned about this or that breaking but I knew he loved being there, tinkering on the water heater or whatever needed the most urgent repair. I remember my first visit to camp. I really did try to be a trooper and get into the camp spirit. My camp experience was… interesting. I shot a gun for the first time in my life. I loved the care and tenderness that he used in showing me his gun, explaining what was what and trying to teach me the ways of the hunter. I know he knew as well as I did that there was absolutely no way in this lifetime that I would ever be hanging out in the next blind during that or any other hunting season. But, that was fine. I believe one of our strengths as a couple was the appreciation for hobbies or activities we enjoyed, separately. So there I was a 19 year old newlywed holding a gun that seemed so long, so heavy. I tried to remember everything he said, watch the scope, hold the gun lovingly not rigidly, don’t lock my knee, and aim for the target... breath. I pulled the trigger… I’m not sure which one of us started laughing first, I think it was me. I was text book… pulled the trigger and landed flat on my butt. I’d never seen reaction time as quick as I did when he lunged forward as I felt myself going down. Oh it wasn’t me he was reaching out to catch… it was the gun. The only saving grace was that we were alone at camp and no one else saw my gun slinging debut. Almost every year as he prepared for camp… we would re-visit that day and laugh all over again. The next trip to camp for me was when I was 6 or 7 months pregnant with our daughter. We had decided that it would be best if I went up north and stayed with his wonderful aunt rather than be alone for the week. That week has gone down in family history as the week I learned to make Potato Sausage… I understand this was an event… get the young “city girl” to manage the business end of the grinder. If you have never has this experience, the end of the grinder is where the casing is attached. Whatever is becoming sausage shoots out of a tube into the casing and is at intervals tied off… frankly it’s disgusting. But yet again, I was a trooper. I took my place at the casing end and began my task. It never occurred to me to say no or ask for assistance. To this day I am always cautious about sausage. Later that night, I took a big pan of sausage out to camp. He was so proud of me. I have no idea if it was any good but he would have eaten it if the casing had been filled with mud. I miss seeing his face and the look that passed between us whenever one did something solely to please the other.
For years the main objective of camp was to bring home a deer. I learned early in my life with him how to cook venison and cook it well. Many years we didn’t purchase beef during the winter, we used the fruits of the hunt. Most years the meat came to my house already processed, by the hunters themselves. I loved that everyone seemed to remember how each family liked their meat packed. Great care was taken to have the right amount of steaks, chops or ground packed and marked, ready for the freezer. I proudly say that there were a few years he didn’t get his deer early enough to process at camp and I help process at home. My first reaction was... gross! But as I was taught the art of hand butchering, I found it fascinating.
In the past few years, camp became something more. It wasn’t about the kill or the meat. It was about the time, the land, the fresh air and the peace. Last season, we had taught my husband how to text. It was at the time my favorite hunting season ever and it will remain one of my favorite memories of him. He sent texts all day from his blind. Mini love letters, photos and random thoughts poured into my cell phone. I loved the relaxed, renewed and well rested husband that returned each year after…camp. To see his beautiful, tanned, well rested, relaxed and newly bearded face come through the door after the annual 10 day pilgrimage to camp, is both a loving lasting memory and something that brings tears to my eyes.
I’ve heard from some family members who have expressed concerns about camp this year. Some feel camp will not be the same without him. For many it will be a very difficult season. He was the Pied Piper at camp and in life. He rallied the troops, planned the party and took care of everyone. I’m not sure who is either willing or able to fill those shoes at camp. I know there will be angst about his ashes as well. His wish was to be cremated with his ashes spread out at camp. When he died I told every one of my plans to come to camp in the summer and... leave him there. There was much anticipation by many of the hunters to join me in this task. But I didn’t go to camp this summer. I can’t. I’m sorry that I put a time frame on this. I am not yet ready to make that final step. If I let the hunters down I am sorry. I hope you understand and I pray that my actions or lack of do not put further pain in your hearts.
At some point, I will take him to camp. He will be where he felt renewed. I will be happy to leave him there when the time is right. I trust that my heart and head will tell me when I’m ready…
I hope so…
My late husband took me to camp a few times. I loved him but camp, not so much. He had no issues with my choice to stay with relatives in a well heated, water running, electricity working, actual walls and a roof, home rather than camp. Back then the family camp was actually an old chicken coop. Now mind you a new chicken coop smells like chicken... droppings. I still reel at the thought of that place… but the hunters loved it. Many years later camp was moved in to a house of a deceased relative. Every few years my husband would trek up to camp, off season and do work around the old house. Oh he moaned and groaned about this or that breaking but I knew he loved being there, tinkering on the water heater or whatever needed the most urgent repair. I remember my first visit to camp. I really did try to be a trooper and get into the camp spirit. My camp experience was… interesting. I shot a gun for the first time in my life. I loved the care and tenderness that he used in showing me his gun, explaining what was what and trying to teach me the ways of the hunter. I know he knew as well as I did that there was absolutely no way in this lifetime that I would ever be hanging out in the next blind during that or any other hunting season. But, that was fine. I believe one of our strengths as a couple was the appreciation for hobbies or activities we enjoyed, separately. So there I was a 19 year old newlywed holding a gun that seemed so long, so heavy. I tried to remember everything he said, watch the scope, hold the gun lovingly not rigidly, don’t lock my knee, and aim for the target... breath. I pulled the trigger… I’m not sure which one of us started laughing first, I think it was me. I was text book… pulled the trigger and landed flat on my butt. I’d never seen reaction time as quick as I did when he lunged forward as I felt myself going down. Oh it wasn’t me he was reaching out to catch… it was the gun. The only saving grace was that we were alone at camp and no one else saw my gun slinging debut. Almost every year as he prepared for camp… we would re-visit that day and laugh all over again. The next trip to camp for me was when I was 6 or 7 months pregnant with our daughter. We had decided that it would be best if I went up north and stayed with his wonderful aunt rather than be alone for the week. That week has gone down in family history as the week I learned to make Potato Sausage… I understand this was an event… get the young “city girl” to manage the business end of the grinder. If you have never has this experience, the end of the grinder is where the casing is attached. Whatever is becoming sausage shoots out of a tube into the casing and is at intervals tied off… frankly it’s disgusting. But yet again, I was a trooper. I took my place at the casing end and began my task. It never occurred to me to say no or ask for assistance. To this day I am always cautious about sausage. Later that night, I took a big pan of sausage out to camp. He was so proud of me. I have no idea if it was any good but he would have eaten it if the casing had been filled with mud. I miss seeing his face and the look that passed between us whenever one did something solely to please the other.
For years the main objective of camp was to bring home a deer. I learned early in my life with him how to cook venison and cook it well. Many years we didn’t purchase beef during the winter, we used the fruits of the hunt. Most years the meat came to my house already processed, by the hunters themselves. I loved that everyone seemed to remember how each family liked their meat packed. Great care was taken to have the right amount of steaks, chops or ground packed and marked, ready for the freezer. I proudly say that there were a few years he didn’t get his deer early enough to process at camp and I help process at home. My first reaction was... gross! But as I was taught the art of hand butchering, I found it fascinating.
In the past few years, camp became something more. It wasn’t about the kill or the meat. It was about the time, the land, the fresh air and the peace. Last season, we had taught my husband how to text. It was at the time my favorite hunting season ever and it will remain one of my favorite memories of him. He sent texts all day from his blind. Mini love letters, photos and random thoughts poured into my cell phone. I loved the relaxed, renewed and well rested husband that returned each year after…camp. To see his beautiful, tanned, well rested, relaxed and newly bearded face come through the door after the annual 10 day pilgrimage to camp, is both a loving lasting memory and something that brings tears to my eyes.
I’ve heard from some family members who have expressed concerns about camp this year. Some feel camp will not be the same without him. For many it will be a very difficult season. He was the Pied Piper at camp and in life. He rallied the troops, planned the party and took care of everyone. I’m not sure who is either willing or able to fill those shoes at camp. I know there will be angst about his ashes as well. His wish was to be cremated with his ashes spread out at camp. When he died I told every one of my plans to come to camp in the summer and... leave him there. There was much anticipation by many of the hunters to join me in this task. But I didn’t go to camp this summer. I can’t. I’m sorry that I put a time frame on this. I am not yet ready to make that final step. If I let the hunters down I am sorry. I hope you understand and I pray that my actions or lack of do not put further pain in your hearts.
At some point, I will take him to camp. He will be where he felt renewed. I will be happy to leave him there when the time is right. I trust that my heart and head will tell me when I’m ready…
I hope so…
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Wednesday 11/11/2009 Veterans
Today is the day we set aside to honor those who have fought for our freedom. I wish this day was more celebrated and offered more recognition for our veterans.
My dad was in Korea. I’m not sure if it’s appropriate to say he fought in Korea. He worked on Aircraft and was in a dangerous area. My dad has not shared many “war” stories with me. Is it because he can’t? Are there things he shouldn’t share with his youngest child? Or is it simply that I have never asked or give any indication that I am interested? I do know there are the infamous Korea slides… holy moley! My dad took pictures of everything… some are so beautiful and belong in a gallery. The old Kodacrome slide colors are a sight to behold. Many of the photos are of the countryside and its people. As a kid, the slides were boring and almost punishment. My dad would talk about each slide and give detail about the day the picture was taken. As an adult, I was the keeper of the slides for a number of years and wish with all my heart I had paid attention and could re-tell those stories. There is one photo of a mother with her children. They appear in clothing of workers. The mother is beautiful but shows all the struggles of the time in her face. She is holding a baby. The baby is naked. There are 2 children standing at her side. On its face, the photo is a masterpiece. Ahh but that’s to the normal mind. I however do not possess a normal mind. When I first noticed it, it may have been the 20th time I saw that slide. We were at my grandparent’s home. I was sitting near my grandma. Grandma has suffered many mini-strokes and was no longer verbal but she was oh so mentally sharp. The slide came up on the screen. At first I thought I was crazy. But no. This beautiful Korea woman held her naked child with one arm. In essence the baby was sitting with its bottom in her palm, tucked up against the inside of her arm. Most unfortunately for my strange mind, the woman’s middle finger was protruding out between the baby’s legs giving the unintended image of a well endowed, highly…excited male. As terrible as it is for me to admit, I was hysterical laughing. No one else understood what I was laughing at...except my non-verbal grandmother. She saw it too and was laughing so hard tears were rolling down her cheeks. I relish this memory of her and it is amazingly special. I remember taking her hand and asking her if she was laughing at the “finger”. She looked deep in my eyes and very slightly raised an eyebrow and I knew. I often dream of that moment when we last connected. I feel so blessed to have had that fabulous laugh and moment with her. So that is how I view my dad’s military service. I know I am short changing the great work I am sure he did and the contribution to the… conflict that he made.
I have cousins, friends and colleagues who have served in various capacities in the military. I would love to hear their stories. I’d love to know just how to support them when they are active or retired. Is it appropriate to ask questions about their deployment or service? If not, why not? I think it would be hard to share the stories. But have learned that sharing stories is very freeing.
I remember a family friend being sent to Viet Nam. I must have been in 3rd or 4th grade. I just remember thinking that I would never see him again. Unlike any war or conflict before, we watched all the devastation every night on the news. I heard but didn’t clearly understand what it all meant but I knew it meant great people were dying every day. Oh my, too many great people were dying every day. My generation was the first to have the war in our living rooms every evening. So I was conditioned to think young men, boys really didn’t come home. On the slim chance they came home… they came home very different than when they left. I cannot adequately describe the jubilation I felt walking in to my house to find our family friend sitting on the couch. He was alive and physically whole. I cannot say how the experience affected his mental state. I didn’t ask. I remember going to bed that night and crying. I don’t remember if it was out of happiness or sadness. Happy because he came back, sad because in the new era of television it was all too clear to me as a child, that many, many families would not be welcoming their friend home from Viet Nam.
I’ve been so fortunate to have met so many wonderful men and women who have served our country. Some have served in active combat, some as peripheral soldiers. All deserve the utmost respect and our unwavering admiration. I can be reasonably sure that I will never be in active combat in a war. I thank God for that. I could not do what the millions of soldiers throughout the history of our great nation have done. But I know with all my heart that I could not do all the wonderful things I have been able to do in my life without the contribution of every single person who has served. A thank you seems so small. Small but many times, not offered as it should.
So to you who have served, thank you. I am an American and proud of my country. My country, that is as free as it can be, because of the hard work, dedication, passion, love and lives of those who have served. May God richly bless you. May I learn in my lifetime how to honor you and fully cherished all you have done for me. I know if I can make just one veteran understand my gratitude it will be a small but powerful gesture.
I hope so…
My dad was in Korea. I’m not sure if it’s appropriate to say he fought in Korea. He worked on Aircraft and was in a dangerous area. My dad has not shared many “war” stories with me. Is it because he can’t? Are there things he shouldn’t share with his youngest child? Or is it simply that I have never asked or give any indication that I am interested? I do know there are the infamous Korea slides… holy moley! My dad took pictures of everything… some are so beautiful and belong in a gallery. The old Kodacrome slide colors are a sight to behold. Many of the photos are of the countryside and its people. As a kid, the slides were boring and almost punishment. My dad would talk about each slide and give detail about the day the picture was taken. As an adult, I was the keeper of the slides for a number of years and wish with all my heart I had paid attention and could re-tell those stories. There is one photo of a mother with her children. They appear in clothing of workers. The mother is beautiful but shows all the struggles of the time in her face. She is holding a baby. The baby is naked. There are 2 children standing at her side. On its face, the photo is a masterpiece. Ahh but that’s to the normal mind. I however do not possess a normal mind. When I first noticed it, it may have been the 20th time I saw that slide. We were at my grandparent’s home. I was sitting near my grandma. Grandma has suffered many mini-strokes and was no longer verbal but she was oh so mentally sharp. The slide came up on the screen. At first I thought I was crazy. But no. This beautiful Korea woman held her naked child with one arm. In essence the baby was sitting with its bottom in her palm, tucked up against the inside of her arm. Most unfortunately for my strange mind, the woman’s middle finger was protruding out between the baby’s legs giving the unintended image of a well endowed, highly…excited male. As terrible as it is for me to admit, I was hysterical laughing. No one else understood what I was laughing at...except my non-verbal grandmother. She saw it too and was laughing so hard tears were rolling down her cheeks. I relish this memory of her and it is amazingly special. I remember taking her hand and asking her if she was laughing at the “finger”. She looked deep in my eyes and very slightly raised an eyebrow and I knew. I often dream of that moment when we last connected. I feel so blessed to have had that fabulous laugh and moment with her. So that is how I view my dad’s military service. I know I am short changing the great work I am sure he did and the contribution to the… conflict that he made.
I have cousins, friends and colleagues who have served in various capacities in the military. I would love to hear their stories. I’d love to know just how to support them when they are active or retired. Is it appropriate to ask questions about their deployment or service? If not, why not? I think it would be hard to share the stories. But have learned that sharing stories is very freeing.
I remember a family friend being sent to Viet Nam. I must have been in 3rd or 4th grade. I just remember thinking that I would never see him again. Unlike any war or conflict before, we watched all the devastation every night on the news. I heard but didn’t clearly understand what it all meant but I knew it meant great people were dying every day. Oh my, too many great people were dying every day. My generation was the first to have the war in our living rooms every evening. So I was conditioned to think young men, boys really didn’t come home. On the slim chance they came home… they came home very different than when they left. I cannot adequately describe the jubilation I felt walking in to my house to find our family friend sitting on the couch. He was alive and physically whole. I cannot say how the experience affected his mental state. I didn’t ask. I remember going to bed that night and crying. I don’t remember if it was out of happiness or sadness. Happy because he came back, sad because in the new era of television it was all too clear to me as a child, that many, many families would not be welcoming their friend home from Viet Nam.
I’ve been so fortunate to have met so many wonderful men and women who have served our country. Some have served in active combat, some as peripheral soldiers. All deserve the utmost respect and our unwavering admiration. I can be reasonably sure that I will never be in active combat in a war. I thank God for that. I could not do what the millions of soldiers throughout the history of our great nation have done. But I know with all my heart that I could not do all the wonderful things I have been able to do in my life without the contribution of every single person who has served. A thank you seems so small. Small but many times, not offered as it should.
So to you who have served, thank you. I am an American and proud of my country. My country, that is as free as it can be, because of the hard work, dedication, passion, love and lives of those who have served. May God richly bless you. May I learn in my lifetime how to honor you and fully cherished all you have done for me. I know if I can make just one veteran understand my gratitude it will be a small but powerful gesture.
I hope so…
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Tuesday 11/03/2009 A letter to my Husband
Honey,
It’s been almost 8 months since you left. I’ve missed you.
I wanted to tell you something and didn’t know how before today. I wanted to tell you that I lied to you. I’m sorry. The night you died, I held you so tight. I said to you that it was ok if you had to leave. I lied. It wasn’t. I said we would be ok… I want to take everything I said back. I want you back. Please don’t think I’m sitting at home wallowing in self pity and self doubt. I’m not, well most days I’m not. But I’m sorry I lied when I said it was ok if you had to leave. I thought I meant it and maybe at the time I did. But really, I was kidding myself.
So much has happened since you left. How’s Max? I’m sure you weren’t surprised that I had to make the decision to send him your way. Let’s talk about decisions… You left me with so much to decide. It isn’t fair that I have to make absolutely every decision that has to be made. Quite frankly it sucks and I blame you. I also thank you. During our lives together, you challenged me to think things through, weigh out the good or bad of a situation and make decisions based on my head as well as my heart. Learning that has helped me tremendously.
Our kids are doing ok. They miss you. We are at the point now where we can talk about you with both good and bad memories and thoughts. I like that they both seem to have a clear understanding of the man you were and weren’t. You’d get a kick out of the perfect man you have become to some people. I’ll admit it pisses me off sometime to hear people say how wonderful you were. You were and I’m the first to sing your praises. But you know as well as anyone you had your faults and issues. You’d also be one to jump on how many people have said that I was so lucky that you loved me. Weren’t we always saying how lucky we both were?
Many believe that you are watching over me. Most days I believe that too. But I’m not sure I believe that you now have a hand in everything that happens to me. Please don’t forget our pact. You’re supposed to find someone just as amazing as you are, for me to continue my life journey with... you didn’t forget that did you? You promised. Ok, and let’s talk about the promises you made me… I have to admit, you promised me a lifetime of love. I should have read the fine print. You must have meant your lifetime, not mine. So I guess you kept that promise. You never promised to grow old with me and long ago I thought that was strange. Now I’m glad you didn’t. It’s one less thing for me to be mad about. I am mad at you. I’m not mad that you died. I’m just mad that you can’t hold my hand or sing me one of your silly little made up songs. I’m mad that I have to go through all the crap we went through 30 years ago. I’m mad that I have to explain to someone new all the strange things about me. I’m mad that no one will ever tease me about the way I put on a shirt or understand my issue with pajamas. I’m mad that I’m terrified about being intimate with someone…new. But aside from being mad, I’m scared. I’m too young for this crap and too old to accept it all with grace and oh God, charm?
Having just blasted you with how mad I am at you, I need to say that you should be proud. You should be proud of who I have become since you left. I get sad and blue sometimes and I ache to feel the touch of your hand. But I’m stronger now than before. I think I listen to people more intently. I know I listen to myself like I never have before. I’m much more cautious now and that may not be a good thing. I’ve done something’s to keep your spirit alive. I think you would be proud. I’d give almost anything to hear you say that to me. I’ve started writing. I kept hearing you say “write it, do it” as you had been saying to me for years when I would tell you about a story that was clunking around in my head. I know the few thing I wrote when you were here made you laugh and you gave great tips on changes or editing. You’ve provided me with an amazing array of stories and I thank you. It been a great outlet for me and helped a few folks along the way as well.
Well, I think I’ve said all I can for now. There’s a line from a Michael Buble song that goes, “I feel just like I’m living someone else life… it’s like I just stepped outside when everything was going right”. That sums up how I feel these days. It’s not sad but not 100% happy. I’m optimistic for the future but would gladly go back to the past. Thank you for allowing me to love you. Thank you for loving me. Thank you for the laughter, the tears, the secrets and the millions of kisses. I remember what you used to put on card you gave me when we first started this journey… yesterday, today and forever. I’ve learned that our forever isn’t measured on a calendar, it’s held gently in my heart.
I will always love you,
It’s been almost 8 months since you left. I’ve missed you.
I wanted to tell you something and didn’t know how before today. I wanted to tell you that I lied to you. I’m sorry. The night you died, I held you so tight. I said to you that it was ok if you had to leave. I lied. It wasn’t. I said we would be ok… I want to take everything I said back. I want you back. Please don’t think I’m sitting at home wallowing in self pity and self doubt. I’m not, well most days I’m not. But I’m sorry I lied when I said it was ok if you had to leave. I thought I meant it and maybe at the time I did. But really, I was kidding myself.
So much has happened since you left. How’s Max? I’m sure you weren’t surprised that I had to make the decision to send him your way. Let’s talk about decisions… You left me with so much to decide. It isn’t fair that I have to make absolutely every decision that has to be made. Quite frankly it sucks and I blame you. I also thank you. During our lives together, you challenged me to think things through, weigh out the good or bad of a situation and make decisions based on my head as well as my heart. Learning that has helped me tremendously.
Our kids are doing ok. They miss you. We are at the point now where we can talk about you with both good and bad memories and thoughts. I like that they both seem to have a clear understanding of the man you were and weren’t. You’d get a kick out of the perfect man you have become to some people. I’ll admit it pisses me off sometime to hear people say how wonderful you were. You were and I’m the first to sing your praises. But you know as well as anyone you had your faults and issues. You’d also be one to jump on how many people have said that I was so lucky that you loved me. Weren’t we always saying how lucky we both were?
Many believe that you are watching over me. Most days I believe that too. But I’m not sure I believe that you now have a hand in everything that happens to me. Please don’t forget our pact. You’re supposed to find someone just as amazing as you are, for me to continue my life journey with... you didn’t forget that did you? You promised. Ok, and let’s talk about the promises you made me… I have to admit, you promised me a lifetime of love. I should have read the fine print. You must have meant your lifetime, not mine. So I guess you kept that promise. You never promised to grow old with me and long ago I thought that was strange. Now I’m glad you didn’t. It’s one less thing for me to be mad about. I am mad at you. I’m not mad that you died. I’m just mad that you can’t hold my hand or sing me one of your silly little made up songs. I’m mad that I have to go through all the crap we went through 30 years ago. I’m mad that I have to explain to someone new all the strange things about me. I’m mad that no one will ever tease me about the way I put on a shirt or understand my issue with pajamas. I’m mad that I’m terrified about being intimate with someone…new. But aside from being mad, I’m scared. I’m too young for this crap and too old to accept it all with grace and oh God, charm?
Having just blasted you with how mad I am at you, I need to say that you should be proud. You should be proud of who I have become since you left. I get sad and blue sometimes and I ache to feel the touch of your hand. But I’m stronger now than before. I think I listen to people more intently. I know I listen to myself like I never have before. I’m much more cautious now and that may not be a good thing. I’ve done something’s to keep your spirit alive. I think you would be proud. I’d give almost anything to hear you say that to me. I’ve started writing. I kept hearing you say “write it, do it” as you had been saying to me for years when I would tell you about a story that was clunking around in my head. I know the few thing I wrote when you were here made you laugh and you gave great tips on changes or editing. You’ve provided me with an amazing array of stories and I thank you. It been a great outlet for me and helped a few folks along the way as well.
Well, I think I’ve said all I can for now. There’s a line from a Michael Buble song that goes, “I feel just like I’m living someone else life… it’s like I just stepped outside when everything was going right”. That sums up how I feel these days. It’s not sad but not 100% happy. I’m optimistic for the future but would gladly go back to the past. Thank you for allowing me to love you. Thank you for loving me. Thank you for the laughter, the tears, the secrets and the millions of kisses. I remember what you used to put on card you gave me when we first started this journey… yesterday, today and forever. I’ve learned that our forever isn’t measured on a calendar, it’s held gently in my heart.
I will always love you,
Monday, October 26, 2009
Monday 10/26/2009 Marriage
I was married for just under 29 years. I learned a thing or two. If I had to impart wisdom on staying married for the long haul and enjoying it, it might look something like this:
TALK
Talking is key. The person you are with should want to share everything with you. You should be able to talk about your hopes, fears, joys and passions. I’m a talker… shocking to many of you I know.
It took a long time to get my husband to open up about many aspects of his life. I remember before we were even married we started having “tell all” nights. Truth be told they did involve some amount of risk but it really laid the groundwork for what was an amazing journey of conversations over the next 29 years. We would sit facing each other, no TV, music or anything…. you were allowed to ask a question, any question and the other person had to give you an honest answer. Ok some of you are thinking that this is garbage and you would just say anything, but we really did attempt to be as honest as possible. Over the next years we would have versions of the “tell all” nights when we would find ourselves losing our connection. We had rules about what could and couldn’t be repeated or re-questioned. Some of my best memories of my husband are lying in bed next to him talking about our day, our hopes and our future. It’s not a matter of needing a solution from your partner. When you talk to your beloved about a problem or concern, you are basically giving half of it way. I loved when he would share a problem or concern with me. It made me feel valued. We talked all day, all the time. We texted, e-mailed and even faxed. I miss our talks and I still will reach for the phone to share something from my day with him. While we talked about the important stuff of life we also took the time to say the little things. I was told I was beautiful more often than I actually felt it. I told him how handsome I thought him to be. If we were going out to someplace special and I would ask how I looked he always responded… well what he said leads me to the next section…
SEX/MAKING LOVE
First and foremost understand the difference between sex and making love. Also know that need and want are two very different things. Frankly sometimes you just need sex. There is a stronger word but I’ll let you figure it out. Sex is a physical need being fulfilled… Making love is both emotional and physical. If you’re grown up enough to be sexually active, be grown up enough to tell your partner what you want and/or need. If one of you is a morning person and the other is fond of the night time, work it out. Feel free enough to get what you need but be generous enough to give what is wanted or needed. Don’t be afraid to shake things up. Do something unexpected, but nice. Ladies, there is no rule that says your partner is the only one who can initiate a rendezvous. I’ve been told it’s a welcome change for some guys. Now for you men, please…change up the repertoire every so often. Your partner shouldn’t be able to tell time by where you are on her body or what you are doing to her. If you’re doing it right she shouldn’t be able to think at all. Never be afraid to ask questions. But be careful what you ask for, you may get it or some variation of it. Always remember that passion makes almost everything better. I’ve always been a fan of the slow burn, flirty passion that can take hours to reach its peak. But a quick passion filled moment can be just as satisfying. Never, ever fake it. It will come back to bite you in the butt, someday.
HUMOR
I don’t have any idea where I would be today if I wasn’t blessed with both a quirky sense of humor and a partner who both appreciated and encouraged my craziness. Life has thrown way too many punches in my direction to not appreciate the humor that is always in every situation. It’s important to find what makes your partner’s giggle. There is definite value in a well timed full body laugh shared by two people who genuinely care for each other. Inside jokes are a must. I will always treasure the time my late husband made me burst out laughing at a funeral for his uncle. He turned to me and whispered something about his cousin’s striking resemblance to a duck. Of course I looked over and yep… she looked exactly like a duck. I let out a laugh so loud it was embarrassing. On the other hand it was so satisfying and a huge tension release. To complete the image you have to know that my husband never even cracked a smile… his lips didn’t curl. Nothing. I think I may never live down that moment with that side of the family. I purposely made sure to have humor in his eulogy, because it was such a part of our lives together. When out with friends we could look at each other and know that something we had heard was wildly funny, even when it wasn’t intended to be funny and would actually have to turn away for fear we might offend someone by laughing. Find a person you…get and who gets you. Find and hold on to the person who can know when to laugh with you and of course know when to and how to cry with you.
FAITH
Ok, this gets tricky. While faith in a higher being is a wonderful thing and I’m all for it, I’m not talking about that kind of faith. I’m talking about believing in someone when there is no earthly reason to believe in them. Blind faith is dangerous. But a deep faith is a must. Have faith that you chose the right partner. Have faith in yourself. Make decisions together, the big ones and the little ones. Ask each other’s advice and opinions. Have each other’s very best interests in mind at all times. Always trust that the decisions your partner makes are from the heart. Assume best intentions. Remember just because someone is louder, doesn’t make them right-er.
LOVE/LIKE & LUST
You need all three of these to keep it all together. I believe you should always love the person you’re married to, but in all honesty you will probably not always like each other. Believe it or not, it’s ok. You should never marry someone you just love but do not like or lust after. You should never marry a person you just like, but do not love or feel lust for. My guess is that you know lust alone is a tough sad state. Danger zone! All three of these are fluid. We feel them coming in and going out of our hearts minds and spirits at speeds that can make you dizzy. To me love either is or isn’t there… Like and lust can and should be cultivated and cared for tenderly and consistently.
I will never claim to have all the answers or to have had the perfect marriage. But I know some things to be true. I know what my heart told me at the time was right. Given how I feel now that the love of my life is gone, I know this all to be true in my head as well. So my parting thought is to lead with your head, but listen with your heart. Maybe at some point I’ll take my own advice.
I hope so…
TALK
Talking is key. The person you are with should want to share everything with you. You should be able to talk about your hopes, fears, joys and passions. I’m a talker… shocking to many of you I know.
It took a long time to get my husband to open up about many aspects of his life. I remember before we were even married we started having “tell all” nights. Truth be told they did involve some amount of risk but it really laid the groundwork for what was an amazing journey of conversations over the next 29 years. We would sit facing each other, no TV, music or anything…. you were allowed to ask a question, any question and the other person had to give you an honest answer. Ok some of you are thinking that this is garbage and you would just say anything, but we really did attempt to be as honest as possible. Over the next years we would have versions of the “tell all” nights when we would find ourselves losing our connection. We had rules about what could and couldn’t be repeated or re-questioned. Some of my best memories of my husband are lying in bed next to him talking about our day, our hopes and our future. It’s not a matter of needing a solution from your partner. When you talk to your beloved about a problem or concern, you are basically giving half of it way. I loved when he would share a problem or concern with me. It made me feel valued. We talked all day, all the time. We texted, e-mailed and even faxed. I miss our talks and I still will reach for the phone to share something from my day with him. While we talked about the important stuff of life we also took the time to say the little things. I was told I was beautiful more often than I actually felt it. I told him how handsome I thought him to be. If we were going out to someplace special and I would ask how I looked he always responded… well what he said leads me to the next section…
SEX/MAKING LOVE
First and foremost understand the difference between sex and making love. Also know that need and want are two very different things. Frankly sometimes you just need sex. There is a stronger word but I’ll let you figure it out. Sex is a physical need being fulfilled… Making love is both emotional and physical. If you’re grown up enough to be sexually active, be grown up enough to tell your partner what you want and/or need. If one of you is a morning person and the other is fond of the night time, work it out. Feel free enough to get what you need but be generous enough to give what is wanted or needed. Don’t be afraid to shake things up. Do something unexpected, but nice. Ladies, there is no rule that says your partner is the only one who can initiate a rendezvous. I’ve been told it’s a welcome change for some guys. Now for you men, please…change up the repertoire every so often. Your partner shouldn’t be able to tell time by where you are on her body or what you are doing to her. If you’re doing it right she shouldn’t be able to think at all. Never be afraid to ask questions. But be careful what you ask for, you may get it or some variation of it. Always remember that passion makes almost everything better. I’ve always been a fan of the slow burn, flirty passion that can take hours to reach its peak. But a quick passion filled moment can be just as satisfying. Never, ever fake it. It will come back to bite you in the butt, someday.
HUMOR
I don’t have any idea where I would be today if I wasn’t blessed with both a quirky sense of humor and a partner who both appreciated and encouraged my craziness. Life has thrown way too many punches in my direction to not appreciate the humor that is always in every situation. It’s important to find what makes your partner’s giggle. There is definite value in a well timed full body laugh shared by two people who genuinely care for each other. Inside jokes are a must. I will always treasure the time my late husband made me burst out laughing at a funeral for his uncle. He turned to me and whispered something about his cousin’s striking resemblance to a duck. Of course I looked over and yep… she looked exactly like a duck. I let out a laugh so loud it was embarrassing. On the other hand it was so satisfying and a huge tension release. To complete the image you have to know that my husband never even cracked a smile… his lips didn’t curl. Nothing. I think I may never live down that moment with that side of the family. I purposely made sure to have humor in his eulogy, because it was such a part of our lives together. When out with friends we could look at each other and know that something we had heard was wildly funny, even when it wasn’t intended to be funny and would actually have to turn away for fear we might offend someone by laughing. Find a person you…get and who gets you. Find and hold on to the person who can know when to laugh with you and of course know when to and how to cry with you.
FAITH
Ok, this gets tricky. While faith in a higher being is a wonderful thing and I’m all for it, I’m not talking about that kind of faith. I’m talking about believing in someone when there is no earthly reason to believe in them. Blind faith is dangerous. But a deep faith is a must. Have faith that you chose the right partner. Have faith in yourself. Make decisions together, the big ones and the little ones. Ask each other’s advice and opinions. Have each other’s very best interests in mind at all times. Always trust that the decisions your partner makes are from the heart. Assume best intentions. Remember just because someone is louder, doesn’t make them right-er.
LOVE/LIKE & LUST
You need all three of these to keep it all together. I believe you should always love the person you’re married to, but in all honesty you will probably not always like each other. Believe it or not, it’s ok. You should never marry someone you just love but do not like or lust after. You should never marry a person you just like, but do not love or feel lust for. My guess is that you know lust alone is a tough sad state. Danger zone! All three of these are fluid. We feel them coming in and going out of our hearts minds and spirits at speeds that can make you dizzy. To me love either is or isn’t there… Like and lust can and should be cultivated and cared for tenderly and consistently.
I will never claim to have all the answers or to have had the perfect marriage. But I know some things to be true. I know what my heart told me at the time was right. Given how I feel now that the love of my life is gone, I know this all to be true in my head as well. So my parting thought is to lead with your head, but listen with your heart. Maybe at some point I’ll take my own advice.
I hope so…
Friday, October 23, 2009
Friday 10/23/2008 Wishes
I’m rambling again but…
I wish…
• telephone etiquette was still taught in grade school.
• I understood more about what’s happening in the Middle East and could then understand why we are at war.
• fitted sheets were as easy to fold as flat sheets
• ladybugs went back to their own homes in the fall, not into mine
• the weather forecasters were right at least some of the time.
• the lighting in the rest of the world made me look as good as the lighting in the powder room at my house does.
• my puppy would figure out the difference between a kiss and a bite, sooner rather than later.
• people would clean up after their dogs
• commercials weren’t louder than the show you are watching, causing you to leap for the remote to reduce the volume.
• I could tell everyone how much they mean to me.
• I understood that forever isn’t measured on a calendar, but in your heart
• I could fund all the causes that are important to me
• all those that want babies could have babies and those that don’t…don’t.
• I could play the piano
• I worked for the NHL
• we all were given time off work to volunteer at schools or in programs with children
• I paid more attention to Mrs. Kuhl in 4th grade, I’m sure I’d have better penmanship
• someone could figure out how to stop gym shoes from making that squeaky noise on the floor, and then I might like basketball
• it wasn’t so sadistically funny to give your dog peanut butter and watch them try to get it off the roof of their mouth.
• I understood why I am offended when some people call me Ma’am and charmed when others call me the same thing.
• I knew how to shut off the smart-ass in me sometimes.
• I was adventurous enough to take a piece of Godiva chocolate without looking at the guide.
• I was as confident as people think I am.
• I had a job that made a difference in people’s lives.
• sleeping in on the weekend meant 8 or 9 am not 6:30 am.
• we all routinely performed random acts of kindness.
• for world peace, duh.
• Gas prices were the same for gas with cash, credit or that silly car wash option.
• I didn’t crack up when I see someone driving this time of year, in a costume.
• people had the respect for small town police and fire fighters that they did when I was a kid.
• I could sing as well as I have fooled myself in to thinking I can… I’d be a rock star.
• I knew how to pick a ripe melon.
• I had someone warm and snuggly in my bed at night. Oh wait I do… a 14 week old, 13lbs puppy.
I should be careful what I wish for…
I wish…
• telephone etiquette was still taught in grade school.
• I understood more about what’s happening in the Middle East and could then understand why we are at war.
• fitted sheets were as easy to fold as flat sheets
• ladybugs went back to their own homes in the fall, not into mine
• the weather forecasters were right at least some of the time.
• the lighting in the rest of the world made me look as good as the lighting in the powder room at my house does.
• my puppy would figure out the difference between a kiss and a bite, sooner rather than later.
• people would clean up after their dogs
• commercials weren’t louder than the show you are watching, causing you to leap for the remote to reduce the volume.
• I could tell everyone how much they mean to me.
• I understood that forever isn’t measured on a calendar, but in your heart
• I could fund all the causes that are important to me
• all those that want babies could have babies and those that don’t…don’t.
• I could play the piano
• I worked for the NHL
• we all were given time off work to volunteer at schools or in programs with children
• I paid more attention to Mrs. Kuhl in 4th grade, I’m sure I’d have better penmanship
• someone could figure out how to stop gym shoes from making that squeaky noise on the floor, and then I might like basketball
• it wasn’t so sadistically funny to give your dog peanut butter and watch them try to get it off the roof of their mouth.
• I understood why I am offended when some people call me Ma’am and charmed when others call me the same thing.
• I knew how to shut off the smart-ass in me sometimes.
• I was adventurous enough to take a piece of Godiva chocolate without looking at the guide.
• I was as confident as people think I am.
• I had a job that made a difference in people’s lives.
• sleeping in on the weekend meant 8 or 9 am not 6:30 am.
• we all routinely performed random acts of kindness.
• for world peace, duh.
• Gas prices were the same for gas with cash, credit or that silly car wash option.
• I didn’t crack up when I see someone driving this time of year, in a costume.
• people had the respect for small town police and fire fighters that they did when I was a kid.
• I could sing as well as I have fooled myself in to thinking I can… I’d be a rock star.
• I knew how to pick a ripe melon.
• I had someone warm and snuggly in my bed at night. Oh wait I do… a 14 week old, 13lbs puppy.
I should be careful what I wish for…
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Wednesday 10/21/2009 Girlfriends
This past weekend I had the unique pleasure of spending time with some fabulous women. As I have mentioned before, my late husband kept in contact with a group of women we affectionately called “the girlfriends” Friday was dinner out with a few of the GFs and a couple of boys from my husband’s high school clique. It was nice but where I had always been brought in to the conversation and up to speed by him, I was on my own. We did some wonderful dancing around the elephant in the room. Having said that, it was never intended to be a night all about my husband or me, but I would have enjoyed hearing more of the boy stories from the past. I did the smile and chat as I have become so good at. I did enjoy myself and there was plenty of laughter, but it’s a hard thing to feel so lonely with so many people right there with you. I found I missed the car talk. You know, the ride home from a nice evening where you recap what was said, how everyone looked and so on. It had turned cold in my area and the chill felt somewhat more profound as I took the dog out once I returned home. Sleeping that night I had the dream I have every night when my stress level is too high. I see my late husband out somewhere in public. He looks fabulous and from across the room or store or wherever that night’s dream is set, he sees me. He smiles at me, waves and turns and walks away. I yell to him but he doesn’t acknowledge me. Each time I’ve had this dream, there is someone standing next to me… I tell the person that the man is my husband. The person always says “Yes, he was allowed to come back, it wasn’t his time”. I’m overwhelmed with joy, happiness love and lust. The person sees my reaction and says, “well he was allowed to come back, but he decided he didn’t want to come back… to you”. So yet again a good restorative sleep eluded me.
Saturday dawned as a cold and raining day. We opted to stay in jammies until late in the afternoon. At one point we sat out in the cold drizzle wrapped in blankets, just talking. The need to hit the grocery store and the apple orchard caused us to shower and change. Saturday night had been set aside for a girl’s only slumber party. Jammies were required as was the understanding that we would laugh and cry freely. As each lovely lady arrived they were given a tiara and thanks to the great thinking of one of the GF’s we had boas and toe rings. We ate well, drank much and laughed and cried. This was a great time for these ladies to catch up with each other. Many times during the evening I found myself getting wrapped up in emotion. Because I was conscious of the fragility of some of my guests, I would just disappear for a few moments. Sometimes during the past 7 months my emotions are out of whack. I laugh when others are crying. I cry at the drop of a hat. Many things have gotten better as time begins the healing process but this seems to be not worse, but hyped. So I left my little party and dealt with my fears, tears and all the rest, alone. I know that my emotions would have been welcomed by these women. But the night and in fact weekend was not about me. It was about them and their connection to him. My husband kept all the school pictures these and some other girls gave him. They were the headshot schools take every year, these ranged from 7th grade to senior year. Most had something written on the back. Toward the end of the evening, I gave the photos back to their original owners. They are not mine. They are something between him and the girlfriends. The pictures belong back with the girl who, for whatever reason gave it to my husband. Now some may believe this to be a strange thing to do but I felt it would give them a sense of how much they meant to him and that their connection, lasted a lifetime. It may help them as they make their journey through the grief process.
I discovered this week that I am fine; actually enjoying talking about my husband and even his death with people who knew us. Knew us as a couple or individually. My issue comes when I have to share the events of our lives and his eventual death with strangers. I really hit a wall earlier this week just after a presentation of a check to the city council of my little town. I had decided to donate the starter funds for a new K9 unit. To make the donation official, I had to do a formal presentation. It went well I guess but I didn’t have the great feeling I thought I would. Why was there such an emotional let down? Was it the look in the council’s faces? The faces didn’t convay what I thought they would. But frankly I’m not sure what I expected. I have to remember that while this loss affected many, many people it really only affects me every second of the day. I had a rough few days, trapped a bit in a swirl of sadness. Thanks to a really great friend, I’m much better. I appreciate that this friend let me whine and bitch but didn’t let me wallow. Will this happen again, I’m sure of it. Are these stepping stones of this process? You bet. Will this get better with time?
I hope so…
Saturday dawned as a cold and raining day. We opted to stay in jammies until late in the afternoon. At one point we sat out in the cold drizzle wrapped in blankets, just talking. The need to hit the grocery store and the apple orchard caused us to shower and change. Saturday night had been set aside for a girl’s only slumber party. Jammies were required as was the understanding that we would laugh and cry freely. As each lovely lady arrived they were given a tiara and thanks to the great thinking of one of the GF’s we had boas and toe rings. We ate well, drank much and laughed and cried. This was a great time for these ladies to catch up with each other. Many times during the evening I found myself getting wrapped up in emotion. Because I was conscious of the fragility of some of my guests, I would just disappear for a few moments. Sometimes during the past 7 months my emotions are out of whack. I laugh when others are crying. I cry at the drop of a hat. Many things have gotten better as time begins the healing process but this seems to be not worse, but hyped. So I left my little party and dealt with my fears, tears and all the rest, alone. I know that my emotions would have been welcomed by these women. But the night and in fact weekend was not about me. It was about them and their connection to him. My husband kept all the school pictures these and some other girls gave him. They were the headshot schools take every year, these ranged from 7th grade to senior year. Most had something written on the back. Toward the end of the evening, I gave the photos back to their original owners. They are not mine. They are something between him and the girlfriends. The pictures belong back with the girl who, for whatever reason gave it to my husband. Now some may believe this to be a strange thing to do but I felt it would give them a sense of how much they meant to him and that their connection, lasted a lifetime. It may help them as they make their journey through the grief process.
I discovered this week that I am fine; actually enjoying talking about my husband and even his death with people who knew us. Knew us as a couple or individually. My issue comes when I have to share the events of our lives and his eventual death with strangers. I really hit a wall earlier this week just after a presentation of a check to the city council of my little town. I had decided to donate the starter funds for a new K9 unit. To make the donation official, I had to do a formal presentation. It went well I guess but I didn’t have the great feeling I thought I would. Why was there such an emotional let down? Was it the look in the council’s faces? The faces didn’t convay what I thought they would. But frankly I’m not sure what I expected. I have to remember that while this loss affected many, many people it really only affects me every second of the day. I had a rough few days, trapped a bit in a swirl of sadness. Thanks to a really great friend, I’m much better. I appreciate that this friend let me whine and bitch but didn’t let me wallow. Will this happen again, I’m sure of it. Are these stepping stones of this process? You bet. Will this get better with time?
I hope so…
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Tuesday - 10/13/2009 Fall
It’s cold and raining at my house tonight. Leaves are turning to their beautiful colors and falling from the trees. Our area orchards are bursting at the seams with a huge variety of ripe and wonderful apples. This is my favorite time of year, I think. The reason for my waffling is the same reason I have gone from being a pretty terrific, semi well adjusted wife and mother to …the current me.
My late husband lived all year for this season. He loved to hunt in the fall. He would start bringing out his equipment, checking his tools and supplies to be sure they were ready. We would make the annual trip to Cabela’s in order to replace any items that had been lost or damaged the season prior. I always did this kind of fake protest when he would bring everything up from the basement. He would leave things in little piles all over the house. Truth be told, I loved it. I loved it because of the excitement I saw in his eyes. He would begin this process about this time in October for a trip that usually took place the week of Thanksgiving. I loved the smell of his hunting gear, the order he kept everything. For many, the order is a surprise. But his uncle taught him well when it came to hunting and caring for the tools of the sport. We had only a few actual Thanksgiving dinners together and that was fine. I knew from the moment we met that his life included going up to the family hunting camp for the opening week of hunting. Most years the opening week was the same week as Thanksgiving. Autumn also began our “deer drives”. We live near a group of beautiful Metro parks. We would drive through the parks at dusk to look for deer. My husband was like a little kid. He would actually giggle when we saw deer and be so disappointed when we didn’t.
The fall also fed my husband’s love of sports. He was a huge fan of Michigan football and Red Wings hockey. Saturday’s were filled with the anticipation of the big game. Some of you know my husband always felt that I had the ability to sway a Michigan football game just by my presence. He believed that if U of M was ahead and I was out of the house, they could loose if I came home. Actually it proved to be true more times than not. The start of the hockey season brought out an excited anticipation of another Stanley Cup being awarded to the Wings. The schedules of everyday life were altered in the fall to accommodate these… traditions.
Also working to keep him forever young, was Halloween. The trip to the farm stand to get pumpkins, bales of hay, mums and cornstalks was an all day event. He would hitch his trailer to his SUV and we would spend hours finding just the right pumpkins, mums, and the biggest stalks of corn and deciding if we needed 2 or 3 or maybe even more bales of hay. He took great pride in turning our front yard into a cornucopia of fall colors, shapes and sights. He threaded electrical cord through bushes and underground to illuminate gigantic jack-o-lanterns. The corn stakes were staked deep into the ground, scarecrows, a man and woman would be placed on the bales of hay, their arms around each other... On Halloween he would bring our fire pit to the end of the driveway. Lawn chairs and the big bowl of candy along with a stack of firewood would be placed lovingly near the fire. After getting our fire started he would help the neighbors get their fire going. He loved to greet the kids and ask them about their costumes. We always had candy for the kids and wine for the kids over 21. We always enjoy this time of year, together.
So this past weekend, I went to the farm stand. All I could manage to get were the mums. I don’t have a hook up for the trailer on my car so I couldn’t get the corn stalks. At least that was my reasoning. Truth be told we only had the trailer for a couple of years. Before that they seemed to fit just fine in the back of my SUV, but not now. I stood staring at the vast array of pumpkins. Did we get 8 big and 10 little ones or was it the other way around? I was overwhelmed with making yet again another decision on my own. So I left the farm stand with my mums. I’ve taken out the stands for the jack-o-lanterns but cannot seem to go in the basement to actually bring the huge orange globes up. I think I’m supposed to check the lights in the lanterns and where are the little spare orange bulbs should one be out? Is all this decorating really worth all the trouble? As I write this I’m discovering that yes, it is. As with everything else for me now, I can have what I had before. It will never be exactly the same, but it can be just as wonderful. Will the kids in the neighborhood remember where the pumpkins were placed last year or the year before or if there were 8 big ones and 10 little ones? Probably not. But they will remember that there were pumpkins and mums and corns stalks and giant light up jack-o-lanterns. Will they notice that the female scarecrow is holding on just a little tighter to the male scarecrow this year? Probably not. But she will be holding on tight. Because this year, I believe we both understand how much can really happen from one season to the next. Next year will there be a lump in my throat as I go through these rituals again? I hope not. Maybe there will be a new scarecrow to sit on the bale of hay and hold the old girl. Maybe, maybe not but…
I hope so…
My late husband lived all year for this season. He loved to hunt in the fall. He would start bringing out his equipment, checking his tools and supplies to be sure they were ready. We would make the annual trip to Cabela’s in order to replace any items that had been lost or damaged the season prior. I always did this kind of fake protest when he would bring everything up from the basement. He would leave things in little piles all over the house. Truth be told, I loved it. I loved it because of the excitement I saw in his eyes. He would begin this process about this time in October for a trip that usually took place the week of Thanksgiving. I loved the smell of his hunting gear, the order he kept everything. For many, the order is a surprise. But his uncle taught him well when it came to hunting and caring for the tools of the sport. We had only a few actual Thanksgiving dinners together and that was fine. I knew from the moment we met that his life included going up to the family hunting camp for the opening week of hunting. Most years the opening week was the same week as Thanksgiving. Autumn also began our “deer drives”. We live near a group of beautiful Metro parks. We would drive through the parks at dusk to look for deer. My husband was like a little kid. He would actually giggle when we saw deer and be so disappointed when we didn’t.
The fall also fed my husband’s love of sports. He was a huge fan of Michigan football and Red Wings hockey. Saturday’s were filled with the anticipation of the big game. Some of you know my husband always felt that I had the ability to sway a Michigan football game just by my presence. He believed that if U of M was ahead and I was out of the house, they could loose if I came home. Actually it proved to be true more times than not. The start of the hockey season brought out an excited anticipation of another Stanley Cup being awarded to the Wings. The schedules of everyday life were altered in the fall to accommodate these… traditions.
Also working to keep him forever young, was Halloween. The trip to the farm stand to get pumpkins, bales of hay, mums and cornstalks was an all day event. He would hitch his trailer to his SUV and we would spend hours finding just the right pumpkins, mums, and the biggest stalks of corn and deciding if we needed 2 or 3 or maybe even more bales of hay. He took great pride in turning our front yard into a cornucopia of fall colors, shapes and sights. He threaded electrical cord through bushes and underground to illuminate gigantic jack-o-lanterns. The corn stakes were staked deep into the ground, scarecrows, a man and woman would be placed on the bales of hay, their arms around each other... On Halloween he would bring our fire pit to the end of the driveway. Lawn chairs and the big bowl of candy along with a stack of firewood would be placed lovingly near the fire. After getting our fire started he would help the neighbors get their fire going. He loved to greet the kids and ask them about their costumes. We always had candy for the kids and wine for the kids over 21. We always enjoy this time of year, together.
So this past weekend, I went to the farm stand. All I could manage to get were the mums. I don’t have a hook up for the trailer on my car so I couldn’t get the corn stalks. At least that was my reasoning. Truth be told we only had the trailer for a couple of years. Before that they seemed to fit just fine in the back of my SUV, but not now. I stood staring at the vast array of pumpkins. Did we get 8 big and 10 little ones or was it the other way around? I was overwhelmed with making yet again another decision on my own. So I left the farm stand with my mums. I’ve taken out the stands for the jack-o-lanterns but cannot seem to go in the basement to actually bring the huge orange globes up. I think I’m supposed to check the lights in the lanterns and where are the little spare orange bulbs should one be out? Is all this decorating really worth all the trouble? As I write this I’m discovering that yes, it is. As with everything else for me now, I can have what I had before. It will never be exactly the same, but it can be just as wonderful. Will the kids in the neighborhood remember where the pumpkins were placed last year or the year before or if there were 8 big ones and 10 little ones? Probably not. But they will remember that there were pumpkins and mums and corns stalks and giant light up jack-o-lanterns. Will they notice that the female scarecrow is holding on just a little tighter to the male scarecrow this year? Probably not. But she will be holding on tight. Because this year, I believe we both understand how much can really happen from one season to the next. Next year will there be a lump in my throat as I go through these rituals again? I hope not. Maybe there will be a new scarecrow to sit on the bale of hay and hold the old girl. Maybe, maybe not but…
I hope so…
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Wednesday - 10/7/2009 Food
From my earliest memory, food was a major focus in my life. I learned to cook at a very young age. At one point in my childhood I cooked almost every night. My parents both worked outside the home and since I arrived home first, it was assumed that I would make dinner. There were times when my mom would leave a check made out to the grocery store on the kitchen counter. I would ride my bike the 2 miles to the store, shop for dinner, ride back and have it ready when my mom and dad came home. I learned to cook almost anything; turkey with stuffing, Coho Salmon on the grill, Firehouse Chili and everything in between. Some of my best culinary education came from the firehouse and the firemen who worked with my dad. My mom gave me the freedom to experiment in the kitchen. She was kind and gave all us kids a bit of a wide berth when it came to cooking. If you ever meet my mom and want to see a great older lady go pale in a heartbeat… ask her about the year we kids prepared green scrambled eggs, green butter, green home fried and green orange juice for her and our dad for St. Patrick’s Day brunch. Little did I know of the green beer consumption the night before. Just imagine the conflict… your children’s beaming faces, a tray of …green, everything. A raging hang-over, head, stomach… do you eat it? My poor parents. As an adult, I still get a warm, calm feeling when I am outside in the winter, cold and tired and I can smell pot roast or meatloaf wafting through the evening air. We’ve all stepped out of our cars on one of these evenings and had the aroma swirl up in to our nose and we start to pray… please God, let that smell be coming from my house. The summertime BBQ can cause the same desire in me.
The first time my late husband invited me to his apartment for dinner was in a word, interesting. He told me he was cooking and we were having steak and salad. I love a good steak, medium rare. I was really excited when I arrived at his very sparsely furnished apartment. He didn’t have a dining table nor did he have a sofa. He had one dilapidated, old, ripped leather recliner. The chair stayed with us for a few years, affectionate named the “whipcliner”. You could recline but to recover from being stretched out could cause whiplash. So that night we sat on the floor and had our dinner. Now I like to think I’m an adventurous eater. I’ll try new things and usually have an open mind. But I like to know before the unique foodstuff is actually in my mouth. I thought about having a really good steak all day. When I arrived at his home I was met with a glass of wine and a wonderful aroma of grilled onions, garlic and pepper. The salad was like no salad I had ever seen before. It was based in cottage cheese. It has become one of my favorite foods of all time. He took a carton of large curd cottage cheese. Chopped up green peppers, red peppers and yellow peppers. He also chopped up onion, tomato and celery. Mix this all with a few tablespoons of Miracle Whip, salt and pepper to taste. Fabulous! Good to know that it is better the 2nd day but not as great the 3rd or 4th day. So my expectation of a nice lettuce and tomato salad was way off but delightfully so. Next came the steak. It looked a little different but it smelled good so I made the first crucial cut, stab and dip in to A1. Once in my mouth, I knew something was, not wrong but unexpected. All I could think of was what did he do to this steak? But I went with the flow and ate the steak. As we were cleaning up, he mentioned that he was surprised that I liked venison. I like venison? Over the course of the next few years, I did learn to like venison. I became a very good venison chef. Fajitas, stroganoff and chili became my signature dishes in the winter months. My husband was an excellent cook. I will miss his “Soup Sundays” this winter. I used to work on Sunday and would arrive home to wonderful smells and delicious soups during the cold winter months. He would always accompany his soup creation with homemade rolls or bread. I especially loved the nights when I arrived to find not only the soup but a crackling fire in the fireplace. I really do miss my Sunday evenings with my husband. As it gets colder, I’m sure I’ll miss them even more.
I have cooked for the same people for the past 30 years. I knew who liked what and with what. I knew who would need catsup or pepper. I knew who like a big breakfast and who preferred yogurt and granola. So now what? Will I have the opportunity to learn these things about someone special again? Is there a chance that there is someone out there who is just waiting to have my famous homemade ultra rich Cheesecake made especially for them on their birthday? Will I be smart enough to know him when I find him?
I hope so…
The first time my late husband invited me to his apartment for dinner was in a word, interesting. He told me he was cooking and we were having steak and salad. I love a good steak, medium rare. I was really excited when I arrived at his very sparsely furnished apartment. He didn’t have a dining table nor did he have a sofa. He had one dilapidated, old, ripped leather recliner. The chair stayed with us for a few years, affectionate named the “whipcliner”. You could recline but to recover from being stretched out could cause whiplash. So that night we sat on the floor and had our dinner. Now I like to think I’m an adventurous eater. I’ll try new things and usually have an open mind. But I like to know before the unique foodstuff is actually in my mouth. I thought about having a really good steak all day. When I arrived at his home I was met with a glass of wine and a wonderful aroma of grilled onions, garlic and pepper. The salad was like no salad I had ever seen before. It was based in cottage cheese. It has become one of my favorite foods of all time. He took a carton of large curd cottage cheese. Chopped up green peppers, red peppers and yellow peppers. He also chopped up onion, tomato and celery. Mix this all with a few tablespoons of Miracle Whip, salt and pepper to taste. Fabulous! Good to know that it is better the 2nd day but not as great the 3rd or 4th day. So my expectation of a nice lettuce and tomato salad was way off but delightfully so. Next came the steak. It looked a little different but it smelled good so I made the first crucial cut, stab and dip in to A1. Once in my mouth, I knew something was, not wrong but unexpected. All I could think of was what did he do to this steak? But I went with the flow and ate the steak. As we were cleaning up, he mentioned that he was surprised that I liked venison. I like venison? Over the course of the next few years, I did learn to like venison. I became a very good venison chef. Fajitas, stroganoff and chili became my signature dishes in the winter months. My husband was an excellent cook. I will miss his “Soup Sundays” this winter. I used to work on Sunday and would arrive home to wonderful smells and delicious soups during the cold winter months. He would always accompany his soup creation with homemade rolls or bread. I especially loved the nights when I arrived to find not only the soup but a crackling fire in the fireplace. I really do miss my Sunday evenings with my husband. As it gets colder, I’m sure I’ll miss them even more.
I have cooked for the same people for the past 30 years. I knew who liked what and with what. I knew who would need catsup or pepper. I knew who like a big breakfast and who preferred yogurt and granola. So now what? Will I have the opportunity to learn these things about someone special again? Is there a chance that there is someone out there who is just waiting to have my famous homemade ultra rich Cheesecake made especially for them on their birthday? Will I be smart enough to know him when I find him?
I hope so…
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