Another's Day at the Beach

Super storm Sandy has left a lot of us with a lot of time on our hands.  Cancellations, dreary, rainy days.  Time to do some organizing.  Time to do some thinking.  By the grace of God, we were spared and the storm that was looking right at us took a turn and missed her target.  By the time she had ravaged the New Jersey shore and the Isle of Manhattan, she grew tired and gave up, leaving us with only remnants to remind us of her power.

We took a ride to a favorite beach yesterday afternoon.  It was another grey, moist day and very few others were on the road.  A few other stragglers, curious to see the new high tide line created by the storm, ventured out and shared conversation in the parking lot.  A huge truck pulled up and out jumped three enthusiastic laborers from the Asplundth Company.

"Is this the ocean" shouted the driver?

 "No, it's a lake....." responded one of the sarcastic bystanders.

  "No, I mean, is it really the ocean, the Atlantic Ocean?  We're from Tennessee and we've been looking for it."

Out came the cameras as the three burly men approached the fish pier and then onto the sandy beach.  One of them walked the shore, obviously looking for seashells.  The three of them stood out in their yellow company jackets.  Three honest young men who were sent here to Cape Cod by their company to assist in what was supposed to be a massive clean up but alas, there were very few broken trees to cut down, hardly any wires to be freed of limbs.  So, they too had time on their hands and were able to fulfill a dream, perhaps, of a day at the ocean.

My children were raised in close proximity to that very same beach.  It would be impossible for me to guess how many hours we, as a family, have spent there.  Our granddaughters have already logged on more time than the average kid spends at the beach each summer and my husband and I won't apologize for the hours we have spent there, in season and out of season.

"I guess you folks are used to this kind of thing"

Did he mean the seashore, did he mean storms and their aftermath?  Or did he mean perhaps, watching the wonder, the joy of three grown men romping like children on a beach on the coast of Nantucket Sound?

I'll never get used to sights such as that.  I'll never take the seashore for granted or the fact that we have been spared from the devastation of a natural disaster.  I'll never stop collecting seashells and I hope that I will always remember that not everyone has seen the ocean.

A Mother's Work is Never Done

I will tell you this right now.....I don't go to church every Sunday.  I was brought up a Catholic, raised in the faith, attended and loved, a Catholic girl's high school and received all but the last of the sacraments.  But, I don't always make it to my house of worship and I'll admit, I do feel the guilt of omission on those Sundays.

Having said that, let me say that I am a deeply spiritual person, a true believer, a woman of great faith and devotion.  I "pray" a lot and make intentions for people who I know need Divine intervention.  I tell the truth when I say "I will keep you in my prayers".  If I don't intend to pray for you, I simply will not utter those words.

Last year, a friend died suddenly.  She was a person who we knew had a big heart, always helping people, unselfish and giving of herself.  It was her heart that failed her, literally, and everyone was shocked and saddened when they heard the news.  She had but one son, a grown man with a family of his own.  While Judy was a faithful Catholic, her son took another path and became a minister in "The Church of Whatever" as did his wife.  So, when it was time to say goodbye, there were two funerals.  The first, a traditional Catholic Mass of the Dead, the other on the next day, a Celebration of Life.  We were unable to attend the Mass so we attended the Celebration along with a host of others who came to honor Judy and offer condolences to her family.  There were music, drums, singers and songs that were so uplifting I thought very soon we'd  be dancing in the aisles.  After several eulogies, her Son the Minister took his turn.  He said lots of sweet things, all of them true, about his mother but the thing that stuck in my mind was his reference to her death as his "blessing".

Judy's son had things in mind when he counted his mother's death as a "blessing" I'm sure.  Perhaps he explained them to all of us in attendance but my mind wandered as it often does in a church and all I kept was the idea of the death of a loved one possibly being a blessing and it wasn't until months later, when I lost my own mother, that I truly realized what was meant.  I'm not using a dictionary here....I'm just stating what I think of as a "blessing".....an "opportunity" a "gift" something "special".

My own mother's illness and death.  Excruciatingly difficult to live through.  Watching, listening, praying.  Not in vain, no not by any stretch of the imagination. For the loss of my mom, as devastating as it was, did bring with it blessings.  Opportunities to see faith in action, to reflect on our lives together, to hold on to the promise that she would always be there for me, always my Mother.  I have been blessed by her passing.  While my heart still breaks and I still cry so easily, I have times when I connect with people in ways that are different from those before her death
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I realize so much better now that time is very precious and that life is short and that to love and be loved is an amazing part of that life.  I understand now, more than ever, the importance of living each day and finding joy in every moment with a loved one and I now understand so much better "a mother's love".  I know my own mother's love is still very much alive.  She's still watching over me, guiding me. I feel it in simple and unsophisticated ways.  She's busy, in her new home, wherever Heaven is.  I know it.

I was slated to begin my journey to Italy tomorrow, one day after what was to be the most horrific storm that has ever hit this part of the country.  Had I gone to the airport tomorrow, alone with my month's worth of baggage to deal with, I would have faced long lines, perhaps a delay that would have caused me to miss my connection in New York. I might very well have become stranded at JFK, alone and tired.  Not a good way to start a journey.  I know I am correct when I see my mother's hand in my decision to change my flight, days before the storm was to come, hours ahead of the hundreds of others who would decide same.  An effortless exercise, a few moments on the phone, and all was done.  I think I'll be fine, blessed perhaps.

A mother's work.....it's never done.

Giggle Days

My daughter called to wish her Poppa a happy birthday last evening, knowing that he was here.  After the girls belted out a hearty "happy birthday to Poppa", they went back to the activity of the night and the phone was handed back to me.  "Mom, I have four little girls here for an overnight....it's crazy here....we don't know what to do!!!"

After being a nice mother and voicing my sympathy, I heard the arrival of the pizza delivery person and hung up.  Smile on my face or was it a huge grin.  "Oh boy, Joe, are they ever in for it".  I envisioned four lively young ladies, ranging in age from 4 to 7, bouncing around for the rest of the night. Giggles.  Hoodwinks. Maybe some cranky crying as one or another grew tired and fought sleep.  Oh, what a night!

I finished my musings, got over my feeling sorry for my daughter and husband and turned my thoughts to those days when it was giggles, hookwinks and fur-flying at our own house.  My hope was that Sara appreciates that this time will not last forever, hard as it now seems, it is only one moment in time. "She will miss this some day Joe, won't she?"  We both nodded in agreement.

I miss those days and now, thirty five years since I had a five year old in the house, I am in complete disbelief that the time has passed.....so quickly....even the days I wished would end.  There were days when I actually envied sixty five year old grandmothers for their freedom, never mind their wisdom.  Oh, to be free of child care AND gainful employment.  A dream too good to be one day true.

Life is very funny indeed.  Time has passed quickly.  Kids have grown. The lazy days that I longed for are here.  No kids to mess up the house, no kids to keep us up at night.  Ours is a very quiet house.  I now have time to do all those wonderful things that I had wished I had time to do when I had not a minute to spare.
I have time to do all the things I have the time to do but don't.  Life is very funny, yes it is.

Not always fun, but funny.........and it sure would be great if I could hear those little giggles again.

Another Birthday

I look out the window this morning.  It's Friday and the sun shining over the pond acts as the perfect master of ceremonies for the incredible show of nature that is just outside our window.  I often refer to our apartment as our "tree house" because we're up so high, almost to the top of some of the trees.  It's a beautiful morning, very autumnal and very full of hope and promise.

Today is my father's 91st birthday.  His first one alone in over 70 years.  His first one without my mother there, greeting him with a "Happy Birthday".  Last year, she made sure that he had a party, a family celebration of the birthday neither one of them had envisioned all those years ago when they met at Christopher Columbus High School in the Bronx.  He was 18, she 16  and according to both of them, it truly was love at first sight.

My father did not have a happy childhood.  There's lots of unspoken evidence which allows his children and grandchildren to know that.  There's also written evidence from ancient census reports that document the fact that his mother and father divorced when he was very young, leaving he and his older half-sister to live with their mother, an immigrant who apparently was too frightened to give "Germany" as the place of her birth and  told the census taker one year that she was "Swiss".  Or, was she really Swiss?  Who knows?  There's very little talk about her or for that matter, about anything before my father met my mother and was rescued from the life he was living at the home of the father who did not want him in his life.  A father who made it very clear that the child who came to live with him purely by default after his mother's death, the fourteen year old burden who was chastised for drinking too much milk and handed a bill the night before his own wedding.

Any happiness that my father knew, started late in his life.  It all began when he entered the home of my maternal grandparents for the first time, a tall, skinny, good looking German guy who was painfully shy but obviously totally in love with my beautiful teen-aged mother.  My grandmother also fell in love and from that moment on, she had a son and was determined to love and feed him for the rest of her life.  Had she actually given birth to him, she could not have cared and nurtured him more.  He was the start of so many happy memories and so much pride but there were so many mysteries that would remain unsolved, so much pain and regret that would manifest themselves in ways only my own mother would grow to understand and accept.

So, today marks another year in my father's life.  Most assuredly, this was not his happiest year.  The last day of happiness was the day of his surprise birthday party, the last chance my mother had to wish him happiness, pure and unadulterated   A wish for another year of health, the health he would need as he cared for her as hers rapidly deteriorated.  A wish for another year of prosperity, for the care of a loved one always requires extra funds.  A wish for another year of strength, for there would be times ahead which required physical and mental maneuvers suited better for men half his age.  A wish for another year of patience, spent sitting in health care facility waiting rooms, waiting for the bad news ahead.  A wish for another year of devotion and love, good morning kisses and good nights......A wish for a few more years, that she knew would never come true.

My father was so delighted with his birthday surprise and with his family surrounding him as he blew out the candles that he cried like a baby.  It was wonderful to watch him enjoying this moment in time and all the joy it brought my mother.  It will for me, be the nicest of all the memories I have of my parents, the last of the times I saw them happy.  So, I'm baking the cupcakes, wrapping the gift, signing the card, and getting ready to honor the man who made my mother happy.  It's my turn now to make sure he is happy and cared for just as my grandmother and my own mother did before me.

Happy Birthday Dad!!!

Wouldn't 'cha Know......

I was born in the aftermath of a big snowstorm in New York.  They're still talking about it almost 65 years later....the "Big One of 1948".  I was due around Christmas.  My mother told me that their Christmas tree went up and down almost in one fell swoop lest she go into labor and leave a big mess at their house.  That was smart of her but totally not necessary as I did not make my appearance until January 20th.  I was a big baby so they all figured that I was "late" but the modern moms refute that.  They all say that there are no "late" babies, only miscalculations.  Whatever.  I was nine and a half pounds at birth and my brother, born almost two years before, a mere seven something.  He was "on time".

So, when it came time to marry, what did I do......I planned a Christmas wedding, December 27th of that great year.  Joe went along with my wishes to have a festive date because I was such a lover of Christmas and all the trappings.  Visions of red velvet gowns, holly, Christmas carols played instead of the usual wedding music.  Star light, star bright.....in my head, not a snowflake in sight.  That is, until the weather forecast made my bad weather history complete.  The night before our wedding, it snowed on top of ice......all night long and into the day.  The wedding that we so carefully planned for early evening (all the lights will be on, it will be so festive and lovely), was going on, no matter.  Snow so deep, it caused Long Island to be closed to on and off traffic.  Snow so deep, the plows did not come out.  Snow so deep, our guests who made it, came with their horror stories.  "Do you know where my car is?  It's in a ditch on the Major Deegan!!!" It took a lot of good alcohol and food to keep that crowd happy......all 200 plus of them.
And, happy they were.  Too bad for those who did not venture out, they missed a very darned good party that is still talked about today.

Well, I'm five days from yet another big life experience.  My flight to JFK leaves Logan at 3:10 on Wednesday and then at 7:05 it's wheels-up for Rome.  My big, long-awaited retreat, my much-needed time alone in Assisi.  I've planned, emailed, called, studied, shopped and packed and I'm ready.  It seems though that Mother Nature is making some plans again.  She must have heard that I'm weather-dependent again.
This time, she's planned a lovely stress inducer.  They're calling it a possible "unprecedented" weather happening.  A hurricane-snowstorm.  Yes, that's right.  If it hits, it will hit JUST when I am trying to get off the ground.  So, the nail biting starts again.  The alternate planning starts again.  Who knows, it could blow over, out to sea, missing us completely. Time will tell.

But you would know, wouldn't you?  I can't beat this stuff.  I'm still here, healthy and happily married so I'm not going to let it dampen my spirits. Been there, done it.  Made it through all the snow, ice, rain and assorted other weather.  And I will again.  But you do know that from the time my daughter was able to discuss marriage plans, she knew THE rule.  Mom doesn't come if she can't wear black and there will not be any outdoor weddings and no weddings in the winter or the summer for that matter.  She was a dear and she obliged.  As for birthing babies, both in the dead of winter - neither in ice or snow. Wouldn't 'cha know....luck CAN change!

Let's hope.

Well??

So far, I'm not having a very good day.  It's 6AM and I've been up since 4:30 which is not unusual for me.
Two surgeries and lots of life changes have finally taken their toll.  I'm tired and cranky all the time and my body is in a state of rebellion.  Things that used to work well are not any longer and it seems the more I worked at "repairing" or "avoiding" problems, the more problems I am having.  Sometimes I think I should have left "well-enough" alone.

Which brings me to my topic of the day.  What actually constitutes "well-enough" in our lives?  For me, a once upon a time seeker of perfection, the answer to that question has been an evolution, a long, slow process.  It's so easy, when saying the words "well enough" to hear oneself saying "wealth enough" and it's really hard to not envision wads of cold, hard cash drifting around in a the black abyss that is seen when we close our eyes.  Money, falling from the sky....that's' wealth!  Let's move away from that picture, right now. Step away from the wads......there's something better here.

Yesterday, I enjoyed a great treat.  I met a friend of long-standing for lunch.  We had not seen each other in a very long time, something not novel in our friendship history.  Our lives had taken different paths years ago and a bunch of years ago, we reconnected.  Again, we allowed communication to lapse and yesterday was the first time that we had to catch up, the first time to embrace again.  I've been retired for the past two years and naturally assume that everyone I know should also be so of course I asked my friend Lynette when she was going to do the same.  I know she works hard.  She has to keep up a pace that many others of our same age could not.  She's aggressive, productive,successful and counted on for getting it done and getting it right.  I knew her "when" and always knew that she would one day become the CEO of a company and that she has.  Her answer to my question was that she wasn't sure if and when she would retire, that she is spending too much money now and then she asked how Joe and I do "it", on "no" income.  Well, we do have an income thanks to my hard working husband who re-invented himself and has become the guru of senior fitness in our community, but it certainly is much less of that waddy stuff that drifts by in our my mind's eye when we think of wealth.  My answer was simple..."we just make it work" and we do.

Making it work is work.  Making it work means living in a different desire zone.  It means saying no to things we don't actually need and yes to things that we do.  Living in an apartment instead of a house.  Curtailing our spending by making conscious decisions about what we "need" rather than what we "want".  Taking time to read the directions so that what we need and use gets used properly and not replaced at the first sign of disrepair   Making soup once in a while.  Taking ourselves to the beach on a sunny afternoon.  Getting together with friends for sunsets rather than dinners-out in crowded restaurants during tourist season.  Hanging laundry rather than pushing quarters into a dryer.  Owning a diesel fueled car and maintaining it beyond the user's manual recommendations.  These are some of the things that we do to make it work.

Of all the things, however, that make my life work best, I can think of nothing better than the presence of good friends in my life.  Without them, things simply don't work well.  With them, even the simplest of times become moments of grandeur.  True signs of wealth and prosperity.  I measure my success in life now by the   relationships I enjoy with friends, real ones. The ones I don't have to see every day but still can pick right up and enjoy conversations with as if we had been together every day for all those years.  The ones with whom I can be totally honest and comfortable when I answer the question of "how do you do it?"

I know how I do the proverbial " it " and I thank all of my dear friends for helping me do it and for making me want to do it better each and every day.  I'm well enough, thank you.

Keep Your Eyes on the Teacher

Yesterday afternoon found us in an ice arena, somewhere in Marlborough Massachusetts.  We transported children, our granddaughters, for the oldest child's weekly figure skating lesson.  The younger child, Phoebe, also enjoys the session for the freedom to run in front and up and down the bleachers while Lucy is on the ice taking her group lesson from a talented young woman who appears to have lots of patience.  Her charges are all no older than seven and they are all novice skaters.

Lucy,  like her mother before her, is a determined little girl who loves to succeed in everything she tries.  When her mother was at the same age, her montra seemed to be "I can do it" and oftentimes, she did.  She was a quick learner, a tad bit competitive, and always ready for the applause.  If she didn't have a venue, she made one up and sold tickets to it.  "Look at me".

So, we sat, we watched and Lucy made sure that we did not lose sight of her as she glided this way and that,  trying little twirlies.  The occasional little slips onto the bum were quickly recovered from and the 2 thumbs up each time told us that this tough little cookie was not going to become discouraged.  I sat in the bleachers, eyes fixed on the ice and the little girl who just yesterday, in my mind, was staring at me from her stroller.

While I loved every minute of the shared attention, she watching me, I watching her in wonder, I felt compelled to do my job as good grandmother and remind her to keep her eyes on her teacher, not on me.  After all, I'm sure her parents are paying a good amount of money for the lessons, not to mention the cost of skates and helmet.

"Keep your eyes on the teacher"......Lucy.  On the ice, off the ice, everywhere, all the time.  Keep your eyes on the teacher and you will learn.  I promise I will do the same thing when I am in Assisi.

I intend to keep my own eyes on the teachers.  That's my only objective for now.  Look for my two thumbs up in days to come.

AhhhhhhHava

Just wrote a whole post on my little notebook computer and big hands hit something that caused the whole thing to get wiped out.  Lost every thought.  Very frustrating.  Especially since it was winding up to be a post about starting to self-nurture.  It evolved from what started out as an apology post and a list of all the things that I have to do today to help other people.  I hit them all.....started with my father, on to my husband, ending with my daughter and granddaughters.

Self-nurturing is not an easy task for some.  Simple things like shaving my legs, applying makeup when I've no place special to go....these things take time away from other things like grocery shopping for Dad, making breakfast for Joe, putting Halloween prezzies together for grandchildren.

During my mom's illness, I had a phone conversation with my dear friend Jay.  He listened to my anguished ruminations, to my selfish desires to not have to be doing "this" alone as much as I had.  When we had almost completed our conversation, he simply said "hey, take care of yourself" to which I simply replied "I don't know how to do that"

Within a few days, a little package arrived from Amazon.com.  Hmmmm, what did I order?  Nothing.  A total surprise.  In the package was a bottle of beautiful smelling, great feeling spray body oil, one he had recently introduced me to in a phone conversation.  In the package was a little card on which was this simple message....."take care of yourself.  Love, Jay"

I really don't have time to write a long post today, I really do not but I will hold on to the loving thoughts of friend like Pam, Lois, Cam, and Jay, all of whom made special efforts to help me through the rough spots recently and I will say this......

Today, for even a few moments, I will take care of myself Jay.

Pecking Order

As I seated myself at my computer desk this morning, I did as I always do at that point, pulled back the curtain on the window to my left.  Today, a somewhat murky one, had a pleasant surprise awaiting.
Six wild turkeys pranced around on the lawn, at the very spot I noticed a neighbor filling a bird feeder just the other day.  Stupid big birds, two of them fighting over turf control, rummaging around in search of the tiniest bits of bird feed.  I watched them for a little while, perhaps not as long as I would had the sight of large groups of wild turkeys been a novel one.  We've been seeing them for years now, in the most unlikely of places....driveways of private homes, crossing busy streets, visiting the golf courses and in one very scary instance, walking around a real estate office on the very urban Commonwealth Avenue in Brookline Massachusetts.  On that occasion, we were also walking on the avenue, with our toddler granddaughter in her stroller, she and turkey at the same height.  Fear gripped us as we realized that one wrong move on the child's part, and that bird could easily take a peck at her little face so we pushed the stroller quickly away and made our dash.

I just returned to my computer and looked out in the other direction from the picture window and there they were again, this time,visiting the feeder of another kind neighbor, pecking and scratching at the base of the receptacle in pursuit of more of the tiny morsels that were meant for birds much smaller than they.

Now,we don't live in an asphalt jungle.  Ours is a town-mandated conservation area.  We live on a pond that is surrounded by natural beauty,lots of trees, small wildlife and berry bushes. The front of our complex is wooded, here again, many opportunities for catching a quick meal were you a big healthy bird.  So, my question is how do the turkeys know exactly where the lovely and thoughtful neighbors have set food out?  It's not that there are any large and fragrant chunks of bright-colored culinary delights.  It's smaller than pebble-sized, natural colored and odorless.  Yet, it seems to beckon the likes of the big dumb turkeys.

Oh, there is a point to my story today.  I'm a little over two weeks away from my departure date for what I anticipate will be my great adventure to Italy, solo for the first time.  My friends who share my enthusiasm and encourage me have asked, "why Assisi?" For me, it was an easy choice.  I'm like those turkeys.  Italy is a big, amazing country with lots of food choices.  So is the country in which I reside.  Huge and plentiful.
I could very well have planned a road trip somewhere in the U.S.,taken my time, gone to a spa.  After all, my intention is to spend time recovering from a the loss of a parent while preparing for the future, time out.  Time to get a "story", something I feel is still missing from my life.  So, like those birds out there, I am skipping the big choices and zeroing in on what I know is there for me.  I can't see it from afar, can't smell it or recognize it in any other way than from my hunger for the satiety that will come from the smallest of seeds.

Pajama Party

I have been away from making blog entries for such a long time.  Not that I don't think about writing all the time.  I miss it, need and love it but the fact is that I have been otherwise engaged and it became a battle of priorities during the long dark road that led to the loss of my amazing mother.

So, here I am.  About to write on a topic that won't change the world in any way, won't be overly impressive or even witty, but it's a start and it is what came to my head when I decided that today was THE day to return to something important in my life so where better to start than my pajamas......

It's 9:15 in the morning, a beautiful fall morning, a Monday morning and.....I-am-still-in-my-pajamas.  In fact, I have been in them since ummmm, around seven last night and I probably will remain in them for at least another hour.  I do that a LOT and why not?  My father would have a cardiac arrest if he knew this.  Which is probably why I take such delight in not getting dressed for the day until I am absolutely,positively ready to do so. It is not that I want him to die, it is just that  I was never allowed this pleasure while growing up and even then, any time visiting his home.

When I was a child and then a young adult, there was a RULE in our home.  No body was to come near the breakfast table until fully dressed.  Time did not matter, illness, soreness, fatigue.....no problem.  Get dressed anyway.  Saturday morning, same.  In fact, we actually had plenty of time to get dressed.  Were we not out of bed by  seven, my father would be standing at the door of our rooms, bugle in hand, not-so-sweetly encouraging us to get up lest we "sleep the whole day?".  And I wonder now why I can't make it past six no matter what time I go to bed, no matter what the day ahead holds.

 I'm "up and at 'em" by six, you can count on that.  But, I'm not dressed! A protest?  Perhaps.  But the reality is that I need to be dressed for my own day, not for anyone else's.  Been there, done it.  Up by 5:30,  in the shower, off to the train station or into the car for a long commute.  Done.  No more.  I'm retired now and the work that I now do is so much more vital than any I've ever been paid to do. You see, I consider myself a work in progress.  I'm not nearly done and I have an ever-increasing need to feel comfortable and prepared for the job. It is the hardest job I've ever done and my desire to get it correct is the strongest I've ever felt.

I spend my mornings ruminating.  I read bits of things from books I like to have strewn around in my little Pond Room.  I study my Italian language.  I sip coffee.  I organize the things that I simply cannot face later in the day.  I am a complete morning person.  I use my time to plan not the rest of my life, just one day at a time.  If living through the catastrophic illness and death of a parent teaches one anything, it is that.  We only have today......really.  So, each day, I strive for improvement.  Better use of my time, less wasting of energy, making sure I'm connecting with people I love, whatever I, in my pajamas conjure up.  It's all mine.

I will be leaving for a great adventure in seventeen days.  I'll be spending one month almost entirely alone, in a lovely little apartment in the old part of Assisi.  I plan to use the time to complete my grieving, renew my strength, physically and emotionally, and bask in the knowledge that I am surrounded by all of the support that I will require to accomplish those goals.  My intention is to be away from all other things so that I can focus on part of my job.....completing the work that is me.  I will be listening, writing, missing loved ones, praying and planning.  I'm packing things, making lists and making travel plans now, most of it during the quiet hours of the morning before Joe wakes up and we share our morning coffee and our thoughts.  I just went through some of the items I have already set aside and what do you know,  my favorite pajamas, all set to go.  It's as if they sprung out of the dresser drawer all by themselves, ready for action.

I hope that I will be faithful to my blog, making entries every day.  If and when you read it, you will know that it was written by a contented woman, in her pajamas.

My father will never know.....