I Almost Forgot That I Am An Adult Now

    A couple of months ago I talked to my doctor about joining a gym.  I have some endocrine issues that truely do hamper my ability to lose weight in the traditional manner of cutting calories.  When I do that my metabolism goes into a panic and says "Oh no!  Save everything!" and stores every single calorie I ingest.  I may lose about ten pounds eating all salads all day but then I can keep on eating salad and nothing will happen.  In fact, I might even start gaining weight.  Have you ever met anyone that gains weight eating vegetables??
    I have no doubt that I did it to myself.  Years of the binge purge bulemic lifestyle I forced my body to endure more than likely contributed to the malfunctioning of my thyroid and other important glands. 
   It's an annoying little disorder and even when I take all my meds nothing changes except that I have less sugar crashes.  Anyway, at this point my only desire is to stay healthy so that I can enjoy life and be active with my kids.  A few lost pounds would be like Christmas to a four year old but I am not looking for miracles.  So I thought joining a gym might be helpful. 
   I will not mention the treadmill that sits in my living room.  Yes, my livingroom. 
   Anyway, I have this amazing doctor who has like seven kids (really!) and a thriving practice yet he seems to know everything about everything and always has time to discuss my questions and concerns.  It doesn't even bother him that I might actually know a little bit about what we are discussing or that I have done a little research on my own before coming to him.  Before I was a teacher, I was in chemical research so its in my nature to look things up  and I have had a doctor or two in the past that just didn't appreciate that quality in me. So, I tell him my idea and he tells me about a study he read recently that might actually be helpful.
    Two groups of thirty people were tasked with working out.  The first group followed the traditional route by cutting calories, forcing aerobic exercise into their lives and toning with weights.  The second group did just a minimal amount of aerobic exercise to warm up then concentrating on building muscle mass.  The first group lost thirty pounds of fat.  The second group lost 20 pounds of fat and gained 10 pounds of muscle.  Since muscle weighs more than fat the second group actually lost a comparable amount of body mass yet increased muscle mass and thus increased their resting metabolism rate.  This sounded pretty good to me since I quickly get bored walking miles to nowhere on the treadmill and I have never been much of a runner.
     So I joined the local gym for $19 a month.  This appealed to my frugal nature and they have a nice kid's care.
     I should explain that this was an incredibly big step for me.  Bigger than for the average couch potato.  Since I am a teacher in our neighborhood, I am surrounded by current, past and even future students.  Everywhere I go,literally, I run into at least one youngster that I once had in my classroom.  This is so so true that even my future brother in law once said, "Gee, Sis, we can't go anywhere..."  That is the primary reason that we stopped going to the YMCA several years ago (that and the fact that it did not appeal to my frugal nature!).  I find it unnerving to be clad in sweat soaked clothes with my hair hanging in my face as I struggle to finish the las three minutes on the elyptical surrounded by kids that are supposed to respect me in the classroom. 
     Knowing that I had just signed a contract with the cheapest gym in town where I knew that most of the kids worked out was a really big step for me. 
    What changed?
     I had a conversation not too long ago with a lady named Jackie.  Her son is in my son's TKD class.  She is as fit as can be, oozes confidence and a real "I don't care what anyone thinks" aura that I envy.  Jackie is from St. Lucia, her husband from Puerto Rico.  She told me a story of a church she once attended in the midwest where she was literally shunned at the entrance because of the mixed nature of her marriage.  The elderly women made snide comments, cast her dirty looks and whispered as she and her husband sat among them.
    Personally?  I never would have gone back.  My emotional psyche would have been damaged for life. 
    But she wanted to go to that church so she went. 
   I asked her what this had to do with me going to the gym.
   She said "Who cares if the kids are there?  You are going for you.  Maybe they will respect you more if they see you doing what you want and need to do."
    How right she was.
    Working out is so not my favorite thing.  I hate  to feel sweaty, I get bored and I keep thinking of the million other things I need to get done. 
    All the stress of recent years took my perfect blood pressure and shot it through the roof about a year ago.  Dozens of tests couldn't accredit it to anything physical and so here I am not even forty yet and I have to take BP meds every day. 
    The doctor says if I can release some of my stress through other outlets, medication may become a thing of the past. 
    And so I drag myself to the gym two or three days a week.
    Thank you Apple for the IPOD.
    Mostly I have gone in the morning when it is relatively quiet and I don't see many teenagers or twenty somethings.  But last night I decided to go while my boy was in TKD class.
    Things are a little different at five in the evening.  The young man working the desk?  Former student.  The boy on the stair climber?  Former student. 
    I almost left.
    But I stayed.
    Plugging myself into the IPOD, I blasted some good workout music and blocked out everything around me as I plugged away at the elyptical, sweat soaking my clothes and my stringy hair hanging in my face.  As I casually glanced around I noticed that everyone was doing the same thing.  No one was staring or laughing or pointing.  I didn't see any cell phones snapping pictures for later posting on Facebook and everyone was sweaty with hair hanging in their faces.
    I have been following my doctor's suggestions and find that I really prefer the weight machines to the cardio machines anyway.  I feel like I am accomplishing something as I move from place to place and really feel my relatively weak muscles working with me to get stronger and healthier.  Last night was no different. 
    What did change for me was my mindset.
    As a kid and even into my teenage years, I was a prime target for being picked on.  I was always taller than everyone else- reaching nearly 5'7" in sixth grade and there is nothing about me that could ever be described as petite or delicate.  The boys teased me, the girls wanted nothing to do with me and I became used to standing on the sidelines in gymclass or on the playgound.  Don't get me wrong, I had friends.  Good friends.  But I still often felt like the third wheel in a group- I wasn't athletic or even coordinated and no one ever wanted me on their teams in PE. 
    Somewhere in my adult mind I still felt like that little kid.  I imagined myself on the sidelines trying not to act like I cared that I was the last person picked for a team and only by default.
    What I  seem to have forgotten is that I am an adult.  I am an accomplished human being who no longer has to prove herself to her peers.  All I have to do is live and be me and take care of myself and my family.
    I am feeling pretty good these days.  I haven't last dozens of pounds but my shorts are looser, my muscles a bit toner and I have alot more energy.  A lifetime of fighting with eating disorders, crash diets and uncooperative metabolism seems like such a waste of time now as I sit here and reflect on it all. 
    I am not sure if there will ever be enough time to sweat out all the stress in my life but I enjoy the small amount of time I have carved into my routine to take care of me.  I don't have a weight loss goal at this point- I am over looking at scales and stressing about pounds.  I just want to stay healthy and strong, set a good example for my boys and maybe one day get off the damned medicine- all of it.
  

A Picture is Worth a Thousand Memories

    I have over 600 pictures on my computer that need to be printed.  After spending an hour sorting through them all and uploading the ones I wanted to Snapfish, I somehow managed to delete the whole album.  Minutes from picture printing success, I am now back to exactly where I started wondering if I should go through the process again or call it a day.
   We take alot of pictures.  I mean ALOT of pictures.  My husband likes to capture every possible moment either on film or in video and we often walk around an air show or a school function with two or three picture devices.  His thought is that after someone is gone all we have left is memories and pictures.  I can totally respect that.   The problem is that he taks soooo many pictures I often spend hours sorting and uploading the digital pics and then deleting the whole album just like I did this morning.
    Several years ago I took up "scrapbooking".  I am not particularly creative with my hands but I enjoy the "girl time" with friends at a "crop" and I really love to look at the finished books with my kids.  I made an album for my husband for all of his police academy things, an album full of our trip to Walt Disney World, a baby book for each of the boys and just so many other pages of pictures yet to be designated to an album that I lost count.  Like I said, I am not particularly good at scrapbooking.  What I enjoy most is going through the pictures; the memories of holidays, camping trips, days at the beach.  All the moments that have made my life so worth living.
    A couple of years ago my mom went through all her old photos and passed on to each of us an evelope of pictures from our youth.  After I marveled at how darned cute I was as a baby, it was amazing to me how much I remembered about each of those pictures and I was grateful that my parents enjoyed picture taking as much as we do.
   I haven't scrapbooked anything in a while.  I tried to pull together some pictures of my dad and create a memory book for the kids but I didn't get past sorting the photos before I broke down in tears and shoved them all back into an envelope.  I will do it one day though, I have promised myself and my kids.  The boys need a place they can go to remember the great man that they called Grampa.
    Some of you know that I am an aspiring novelist.  I have completed several novels over the past decade, queried hundreds of agents and even had one project signed with an agent for about a year that never actually sold to a publisher.  Lately I have focused more on blogging and the freelance work I do for an internet site that actually pays me a little money.  Along the way however, I have been working on a new little project that I hope to one day see in print.  Not to make me famous or rich but for my family.  It is a fiction story based on the true life of my father- from his childhood, to the time he spent in Vietnam to his struggles with chronic illness as an adult.  It is about a man who suddenly discovers he has only six weeks to live and during that time his entire life "passes before him" as he prepares for his departure from this world.  In the weeks prior to his death, Dad and I talked alot.  Actually, he talked alot- sharing stories of his youth.  I realized that he had quite a life story to tell.  A life story of an average man who had done some pretty great things that might actually touch the lives of other ordinary, average people.  At the very least, my boys, my niece and my nephew could one day read about and get to know the man that was their grandfather.
   I have let a couple of people read a portion of this work and they tell me that I might be on to something.  I dson't know if I am or if I am not but I have to say that the whole process has been extrememly therapeutic.  I have gotten to know my dad on a different level than I had when he was alive.  Through the stories he told me, old letter and narrations my mom has shared with me and even the war stories he told my husband, I have gotten to know the man behind the dad.  It's been pretty amazing and has gone along way in my mourning process.
   My oldest son is attending a "summer enrichment program" this week and next.  Basically it is "nerd" summer school and I am so proud of him for being selected to attended!  He packed his backpack with a snack, drink box and his prized lime green calculator (just in case he has to calculate something!).  Both this morning and yesterday he was up, dressed and ready to go before I even managed to roll out of bed.
   The focus of their research for the next two weeks is value.  The value of money, things, people, history, etc.  Yesterday for homework we discussed what each of us value, where our ancestors came from and family connections.  It made me believe even more strongly that my project is worthwhile if for no other reason than to document the value of a man's life, no matter how insignificant others may believe it is.  Scrapbooks, too are a way to show the value of memories; how much the time we spend with loved ones means not only to us but to those we share our lives with.
   I know scrapbooking and blogging and writing novels isn't for everyone.  But, preserving memories and keeping loved ones close to our heart should be.  One of my biggest regrets in life goes back to when I was a teenager.  I used to spend time with my great grandmother, we all called her G.G., in the summer.  She would tell me amazing stories about growing up at the turn of the century.  One of my favorites was of my great grandfather.  He worked for the coal mines in Pennsylvania as a conductor on a train that transported the coal out of the mines to the processing areas.  In the evening, as he made his last delivery of the day, he blow the train's whistle two times in short succession to signal to my G.G. that he was on his way home to supper.  If I had taken the time to write down some of her oral history, I could have created a journal of the life of a great woman.  I regret that I let all off that ancestry go unheeded.
   Take the time to listen to each other when you talk.  Pay attention to the tiny details that make up who a person is.  When they are gone from this earth, all that will remain are the memories you have. 

Laughter is Truely the Best Medicine

    Last night we went to dinner with some friends.  Always on the lookout for a deal or a discount, I chose a restaurant where kids always eat free with a paying adult. So, gathered around a long booth, Buzztime trivia set up and orders placed, we talked and laughed and waited for our food.  My husband who suffers from tinnitus, a constant ringing in his ears left over from his combat engineer days in the Army National Guard, sometimes has difficulty hearing things clearly in venues such as a busy restaurant with music playing and people talking and games on televisions. 
    My friend turns to her husband and says, "I want dippin' dots."  For those who don't know they are this space age looking ice cream that is shaped like little pellets.  My husband, who obviously didn't hear correctly what she said, took on a look of complete shock as his eyes widened and his mouth dropped open.  Now, I will not repeat what it was that he thought heard but if you use your imagination I am certain that you will be able to come up with a comparable, completely inappropriate version of that statement. 
    As he stared in disbelief at our usually somewhat reserved friend I asked him what he thought she had said.  He whisperes into my ear his version of the statement and it took all of my self control to contain myself enough to repeat it to our friend.  In seconds we had all dissolved in laughter.
    When we left for dinner that night I was in a foul mood with no interest in doing anything let alone socializing.  Prone to contracting pink eye, both viral and bacterial,  I had somehow managed to get an infection and it was making me crazy... and cranky.  (Don't tell my little nephew but I am pretty sure it is his fault for sneezing in my face earlier in the week.  You know, one of those wet, juicy, disgusting sneezes...)  Anyway, after our grown up version of the telephone game, we laughed until we cried and it felt damn good.
    It really is true what they say- laughter is the best medicine.
    Last year, on the 4th of July, my husband and I sat out on our deck watching a neighbor put on his famous (to us anyway) fireworks show.  Our neighbor ont he other side had been busy for days putting in a new kitchen floor and his wife and son were out of town visiting family so when we discovered him sitting in his own yard by himself, we invited him over. 
   July 4th was just three days before my father passed away and we all knew it was coming.  I was stressed and worried and sad and afraid.  I was also very, very tired of life running me instead of me running my life.  We spent all of our time working and worry about this chore or that bill and as I have previously shared with you, somewhere along the line in my adult life I had forgetten to stop once in a while and just smell the roses.  I was a wife, a mother, a daughter, a teacher but somehow I had forgotten to be a person.  An individual who liked to read and write and scrapbook and play Trivial Pursuit and go to the beach and just hang out with friends and have a good laugh.
   The three of us sat on that deck long passed midnight that night talking about life and what we missed about our youth and how nice it was to just sit.  We vowed that we needed to spend more Saturday nights on the deck, relaxing and just enjoying life.  There was no need to take expensive vacations or spend big money in fancy restaurants or even purchase season tickets to Busch Gradens just to have a good time.  We have carved out three hours a week most Saturday nights now to build a fire, drink a few beverages and just laugh.  Sometimes we eat, sometimes we play a game but we always, always laugh and have a good time. 
   We didn't even have to spend money on firewood.  A big storm like we often get, took down a dead tree that was already dry and ripe for burning.  Enough firewood for a whole year of satruday nights!
   Seven years aago my husband and I packed a Ryder truck and set off in search of a better life.  He wanted his dream job, I wanted to live near the ocean.  Arriving in town just in time for Hurricane Charlie to drench us in tropical waters, we set up camp in a resort city that thousands of people pay big bucks top vacation in.
    To me, its liek we live in paradise all the time. 
    I have twenty different pairs of flip flops- "dressy" ones and casual ones.  I like to drive with the sunroof open and the windows down and the feel of the sun on skin makes me one happy girls.  My boys hate shoes and shirts, love the beach and can't wait for their first surf boards.  We have adapted to the southern way of life quite nicely but it is only in recent months that I have really owned.
    I don't care what anyone says, chivalry is not dead in the south, people still make casseroles when someone is sick or passes away and you can always count on a neighbor to water your plants or grab your mail when you are out of town.  In general I found that people are happier here too.  And nicer. 
    We were in town for six weeks when my husband turned to me one day and said, "You know?  I don't think anyone has flipped me the bird the entire time we have lived here!"  In New England, drivers keep one hand on the wheel and one hand in the ready position in case they have to pass on the bird.  I truley believe that's why so amny northern states are outlawing cell phone use while driving- not enough hands to drive, talk and flip people off with!
   I find myself alot more relaxed these days than I have been in a long time.  The Northerner in me is finally letting go and letting my Southern soul shine through.  I am happy to be surrounded by fresh air, blue skies and sunshine so much of the time and as I continue on my personal path of self discovery, I am definitely taking more time to laugh.

A New Day

    And so begins the second year of my life without the man who helped make me who I am.  It wasn't too bad of a day yesterday actually.  Thank you to all of you for working through it with me just by reading my entries.  Thank you also to those of you who had so many kind things to post on my FB "Wall".  It made me realize even more fully just how wonderful my "village" of friends and family is.
   The weather forecast today calls for hot, humid, disgusting and tinted with a hint of smoke from the Dare County wildfires.  Rain showers and severe storms will be popping up at will and I get to cross my fingers each time that either the roof survives another storm or some strong winds just come along and tear the damned thing off so we can get a new one.  It usually depends on the mood I am in which way the finger crossing will go. 
    I went out early this morning to clean out and refill the temporary pool we purchased for the kids for the summer.  I say temporary because our real pool sits as noting more than a rotting hole in the ground where one of the sides collapsed.  Until we manage to save up $2500 dollars to replace it the beach and the temporary pool are our summer solace.  Unless like today the beach isn't possible- pop up storms make for pop up rip currents and short bursts of sandy enjoyment.  So today we stay close to home. As long as they can get wet, the kids don't really care about the size of the water source anyway.
    Personally, I enjoy the close to home days.  I have some writing to get done both on my book and my freelance work.  The curriculum of Forensic Science I am writing this summer as my summer work needs some attention and a huge pile of stuff in the office is absolutely demanding my attention.  Enough to keep me busy today for sure.  The boys are busy watching Sponge Bob and playing DS.  The husband is asleep after a very long night at work and the air conditioning is begging me for a day off.
   Several years ago I would have paced around the house on a day like today bored to tears with "nothing to do" now though I am grateful for a "nothing to do" day.
   Last night before bed I was "chatting" via text with my best friend.  Although we live only a few miles apart in neighboring cities, busy lives and constantly changing schedules sometimes prevent us from seeing each other for weeks.  We steal phone conversations in the early morning on the way to work and pass text messages late at night.  Still, I know I can always count on her when I need her.  Anyway, she was telling me about the busy weekend she had coming up with a visit from her little sister and neice and nephew.  As she outlined the plans she then extended the invitation for us to join them for all or part of the weekend as we wanted.
    I told her I didn't want to infringe on her family time with her sister.
    Her response?
   You are family.
   That, of course, got me thinking about Dad and my own family and how lucky I am to have so many people that are so important to me. 
    We have been friends for nearly 20 years, have lived together, are raising our children together.  We may as well be sisters.
    There is a quote I have seen in many places- Friends are the family you choose.  Those few simple words say so much, don't you think?
     Without the support of friends, this last year would have been so much harder than it was.  Each of my siblings and my mother were greiving as I was only we have all done it in our own way- half of us in Virginia and half in New York.  If not for those around me that were there ready with a hug or a kind word at a moment's notice, I doubt I would be at the emotional place I am right now. 
   I feel like I have come a long way in finding out who I am and what is really important to me.  I no longer focus on how others see me but on how I see myself.  I have even found a few things to really like about myself- I love my hair and eyes and don't worry quite so much any more about not looking the way I did as a teenager.  I think I am a pretty decent writer and will one day publish something the world will love.  I struggle sometimes as a mother with short patience but I do OK.  Teacing is something I enjoy and I gain great satisfaction out of my students' successes (although I struggle there with short patience on occasion as well!).  I have managed to keep all of my plants alive this year- something Guiness Book might be interested in and most importantly, I have the greatest village of friends and family any woman could ever desire.

I Thought I Would Ignore This Day... Guess Dad Had Other Plans

    So the hour of my father's passing has come and gone.  I swore after my tribute yesterday that I would not acknowledge this day until it was over.  I have already broken my own promise so I may as go ahead and share my thoughts with all of you.
    When we went home at Christmastime, the boys found Dad's old guitar in my brother's bedroom.  I told my husband that I would like to learn to play guitar sort of in his memory.  I already read music and play the violin so I figured it wouldn't be that hard.  I kept meaning to stop by the music store and see what an acoustic instrument would cost but I just never made it there.  This morning, seven months later and on the anniversary of Dad's death, my husband walked into the house with a guitar that he had purchased for a few bucks from a cop friend.
    On this day of all days, right?
    I couldn't help but think that it was a little conspiracy between my husband and Dad!  His way of forcing me to acknowledge him and the fact that yes, I do miss him but that his is never far from my heart.
    Each time I look at the instrument where I set it in the kitchen I think of him and it makes me smile.  I even picked it up and put the strap over my shoulder once to strum a few chords.  Of course, in my true graceful manner I also smacked myself in the forehead with it.  Pretty certain Dad was somewhere nearby chuckling and saying "That's my girl!"  I laughed instead of cried.
    Last night Little Man slept over- that's what I sometimes call my nephew because even as a newborn he always looked just like a miniature man.  His expressions have always been mature.  He walked by the time he was ten months old, he holds entire conversations at little more than a year old (OK most of them are unintelligible but he is saying something pretty important! LOL) and he gets so serious sometimes that I have to wonder what he is thinking about.  Anyway, since his momma and daddy both worked very late last night, auntie didn't want to wait up for either of them so he spent the night.  It's been a long time since I have woken up to a baby in the house!  There was something kind of nice about it.
    Especially on this day.
   A day I had already decided I would just ignore.
   A day that wasn't letting me ignore it.
   I met my sister at the gym, where neither of us really felt like being but we went anyway.  The boys, all three of them, played in the day care room and we pushed ourselves through a routine we had absolutely no interest in.
    The last time I saw my dad he told me that he was worried about me. As he slowly separated from this world, he tookt he time to think of me and worry about me.  Apparently my little breakdown a couple of years ago after the last miscarriage was worse than I realized in his eyes and he didn't want to leave the world knowing that I was so stressed and run down.  The doctor tells me exercise is a great reliever of stress and so as I lifted the weights I didn't want to lift and walked the distance on the ellyptical that I had no interest in, I did it for Dad- so he didn't have to worry about me anymore. 
   Someone once told me that everytime a soul leaves this world, another one enters.  The birth of both my nephew and my neice so close to Dad's passing only tells me that it took two tiny souls to prepare for the loss of his great one.
    My husband is a man full of trivia and historical facts.  Alot more like Dad than I would have admitted in my younger years, he can fix almost anything, has an answer for everything and has so many plans and great ideas it would take him two lifetimes just to implement them all.  Anyway, he once read that the American Indians grew corn grouped in close bunches instead of the rows that are common today.  Since we essentially have a house built on a mound of clay, gardening has not gone well for us. This year he had the great idea to grow corn in a giant plastic pot on the back porch.  People laughed at the idea I am sure and I knew most people thought it would never work. 
    Last night before I went to bed, I did my usual check on the corn, tomatoes and peppers we have growing out back.  Tall stalks blew in the light breeze but still no corn.
   This morning?  There were at least a dozen little baby corns popping out, silk tops blowing in the breeze!
   On this day of all days, life appeared on my back porch.  Dad loved corn on the cob dripping in butter and loaded with salt.  Summer wasn't summer unless Dad had corn on his chin and butter spots on his shirt.   
   Today my corn grows in his honor!
   OK, maybe it was just all the rain that we had this week, but I don't care.
   Between the guitar and the corn and Little Man, Dad was making darned sure I didn't ignore his day!
   Yesterday I shared some of my most favorite memories and I mentioned how Dad loved to talk, to make his presence known.  I find it interesting that even in death, he won't stop talking!!
  I miss my father as much today as I did a year ago but I don't think that I mourn for him as much any more.  He has made sure that he has remained a part of my life, even when he can't physically be here with me.  He wasn't perfect, he wasn't Superman and he wasn't rich or famous but he was ours. His favorite hymn was Amazing Grace, he loved Stephen King novels and never missed a zombie movie.  He adored his grandchildren, loved his wife and kids and was happiest riding his John Deere around the old homestead. 
   The world is very different without him.
  Our world was great because of him.
 

In Honor of My Father- One Year Without Him

    Tomorrow is July 7, 2011.  Exactly one year ago I said goodbye to one of the greatest men I will ever know- my father.  One year ago, he lost his personal fight with cancer and died what I consider to be a true hero's death.  Sick for most of his adult life with chronic heart disease, I sometimes have to work really hard to remember him as a young, vital, full of life father raising four kids and living life the best he knew how. In the months since he has passed, I have noted similarities inmy children, my neices and my nephew that help him live on but I also have come to see just how much like him I am as well. I have so many memories of my dad that revolve around heart transplants and near death experiences that sometimes it is difficult to bring to the surface the others- the really good ones.  So, today's blog entry is a tribute to my father.  I miss you Daddy.  The world hasn't been the same without you. 
    As many of you already know, I am the first born of four.  I used to be conviced that my dad wanted a son as his firstborn.  When I was old enough to hold a rod and reel, he started taking me fishing.  We would get up in the wee hours of the morning and head on down to whatever fishing hole he was fond of at the time and drop a line and watch the morning fog burn off over the water.  When I couldn't sit still anymore, he would take me to McDonald's for a Happy Meal- a real treat back in those days!  We fished together for many years and to this day I still enjoy the tranquility of water in the morning.
     Dad was a big fan of Lake Ontario.  Not only did he fish its waters but he loved to swim in it.  When my sister and I were young, he would come home every day from his roofing job and pack us in the truck and drive us down to the lake to swim.  Even when I broke my wrist the summer I was nine years old, he wrapped the cast up good in bread bags and duct tape so I wouldn't miss a single trip to the water.
    He also loved to talk.  Telling stories was second nature to Dad and as anyone who has ever tried to watch a movie with him knows, nothing could stop him if he wanted to chat!  We weren't the wealthiest family around by a long shot but we always had a good time.  Many a summer night, my father would build a big bon fire and regale us with tall tales of the Volney Indians (a made up tribe for all you historians out there) and keep us entertained for hours!
    Perhaps the most influential memory I have though was from the year that Cabbage Patch Dolls were the must have Christmas toy.  I didn't even like dolls but I wanted one in the worst way.  They were expensive and as I mentioned, we were not the wealthiest family in the world.  Instead of telling my sister and I we couldn't have one, he took on an extra job building something or painting something and showed up one night with two dolls- one for each of us.  Now, they weren't "real" Cabbage Patch Dolls but it didn't matter.  As an adult with two kids of my own and not being the wealthiest family in town I really understand what a sacrifice that was for him.
    It was my father who taught me to handle a hammer and a paint brush.  He often toted me along to on the side remodelling jobs and actually let me help.  It is because of him that I am strong and independent and able to stand on my own two feet even in the toughest situation.  I am proud that he taught me to think out side the box and to love unconditionally and that money will never buy me the kind of happiness that we grew up with.
   When I close my eyes now and think of him I always see the same thing.  An image of him lying in a hospital bed at Mass General in Boston minutes after a heart transplant.  So still and cold and blue, I was certain that he was dead.  That memory leads me to a weekend barely three weeks later when I went to see him at the hostel  and he was so refreshed from having his new heart that he walked me up and down the Boston city streets for so many hours, my feet broke out in blisters.  From there I think of him walking me down the aisle in a little New England church and holding my own first born child in his arms just days after he was born. 
  I never picture him the way he was in the weeks before he died.  My final image is one I have conjured up on my own and it is the one I take the most comfort from.  I imagine him walking up the driveway in the moments after he died along with my grandfather and my uncle, swinging a tackle box and toting fishing pole.  His smile, the kind that always made it to his eyes, is what I see in my mind.  The same smile my children have.
   There is no doubt that I miss my father.  Every day I think of him and have caught myself on many an occasion reaching for the phone to tell him something only to remember that he won't be there.  Sometimes I swear he is right there with me, yelling at me when I drop paint on the wood floor or reminding me not to pile frozen food up in front of the fan in the freezer.  He used to tell me that when he died he would visit my bedroom in the middle of the night when my husband and I were there and knock on the headboard.  That is one tale I really hope he was making up!!
    In the weeks prior to his death we talked alot.  He shared many stories of his childhood with me, stories I am trying like crazy to capture in a book I will one day dedicate to his memory.  In the meantime I do my best to honor his memory for my children and myself.  He was a good man and the first hero in my life.
    I love you Dad and I really miss you. We all do.

God Bless America

     Happy Independence Day everyone!  It almost seems wrong to wish you a "happy" day when our freedom and independence have come at such a hefty price to so many.  Yet, I am proud to be an American and to share in the freedoms that are uniquely ours.
    We are a fiercely Patriotic family.  The flag blows proudly from our front porch.  Last year my husband installed all new lighting on the wrap around porch in part to ensure that Old Glory would be properly lit at all times. We have miniature flags that dot the landscape of front yard and I even have a special red, white and blue barn star that adorns my front door from Memorial Day to Labor Day.  My little one sings the National Anthem every chance he gets and they both get crazy excited about the yearly Flag T-Shirts from Old Navy (that I always buy in at least two colors- sometimes all three!).
    Yesterday we shared a meal with our neighbors, a former Navy family as patriotic we are.  As we stood on the back deck as a group, hands over our hearts and turned toward another neighbor's American Flag, we recited the pledge of allegiance in honor of those who have served our nation. 
    I suppose that onlookers might scoff at our show of pride and allegiance.  I was just proud that even at such young ages our children already appreciated the meaning behind such an important American celebration.
   Independence gives me the freedom and the right to express my feelings as a writer.  Freedom means that we can speak our minds, express disagreeance with the government without fear of retribution and pursue our dreams unhindered.  America truely is the land of opportunity.
  We are not a perfect nation by any means.  Our elected officials often make bad choices with the use of cameras and social networks, our financial institutions are not always honest and the recession has hit most of us pretty hard.  It is only in a nation such as ours however that those things act not as road blocks that keep us down but as slight detours that make us all the more determined to make it through.  No, we are not a perfect nation but this is the only nation I would ever choose to call my home.
   Last night my husbadn and I were watching Extreme Makeover: Home Edition.  I love Ty Pennington.  I have been his fan since the days of Trading Spaces when he and Amy Wyn travelled the country heloping homeowners fix a room in a friends house.  I will admit that the only reason I began watching Extreme Makeover was to see Ty in a tool belt again.  Turns out he is an amazingly talented designer AND he has a heart of gold.  If you are not familiar with the show, they travel the country remaking homes and lives for families in need.  They have doen some amazing builds for some terribly heartwarming families. Last night's episode was filmed in Ft. Hood, Texas.  They were there to build an accessible home for staff sergeant that was severely injured during the on base shooting last year.  Ten minutes in I was in tears as I heard the story and watched the soldier that had only returned from deployment hours before he was injured get up out of his wheelchair and walk after all his doctors told him it would never happen again.
    The Makeover team created a beautiful, accessible home with all the amenities he would need to one day fully recover.  But it wasn't the home or the soldier's story or even they amazing wedding they threw for him and his fiance that has stuck with me.  It was one simple statement a commanding officer made to Ty that rings true within my head and heart.  She said, "All of our soldiers are deserving."
    A truer statement was never uttered.  They are all deserving- deserving of all the respect we can offer them.  They deserve to a handshake, a thank you, a hug, a nod of appreciation.
    A couple of weeks ago a student told me a story that brought tears to my eyes.  On prom night, one of the young men in their dinner group was an active duty marine escorting his girl friend in full dress uniform to the prom.  A complete stranger in the restaurant approached him, thanked him and paid for his meal.  A simple gesture that meant so much.
    When my father was in the Navy in the 1960's America hated the Vietnam War.  Veterans were shunned, spit at, verbally abused and more.  I am so grateful that the America I live in is not 1960's Vietnam era America.  I am proud to live in an America where a man expresses his appreciation to young soldier in the simplest of ways that just meant so very much.
   There are many among us who do not agree with the current military involvement in the middle east and that's OK.  The great thing about America is that you don't have to agree with it.  But, as a country, I truely believe that whether we support the war or not, it is our American duty to show our support every chance we get for the men and women on the front lines as well as their families back home, that fight for our right to disagree.
  God Bless America.
   Land that I love.