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…
Friday, November 27, 2009
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,
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