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.
Sunday, July 10, 2011
Friday, July 8, 2011
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.
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.
Thursday, July 7, 2011
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.
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.
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
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.
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.
Monday, July 4, 2011
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.
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.
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Of Wealth and Riches
As much as I love living near the beach, I find myself just a tiny bit homesick for New England this week. As we have gone back and forth between the hospital and my inlaws' house I have found myself marvelling at the beauty of the lush greenery, the hilled lanscape and the mountain backdrop that comes with living in a valley. The five years I lived here prior to relocating to the south instilled at least a touch of New Englander in my blood. Summers spent camping in the White Mountains of New Hampshire and the Green Mountains of Vermont have been sorely missed in the flatlands of sountern Virginia.
Friends, too, are missed. Although we have not had the time to socialize this week, just being here has reminded me of the time spent cooking and sharing meals with friends who will always be near and dear to us. Carlos and Judy, you have no idea how much we miss you and all those summer dinners at your house or ours. I miss listening to Judy sing lullabys to my boys in Spanish and sitting by the campfire watching Carlos burn junkmail piece by piece. Somehow our Goddaughter grew up and became a woman and her brother is sure not that same baby who used to spit up on my shirt every time I held him!
Liz and Chris, we miss you too. Despite Chris's decision to cross over to the dark side and become a firefighter, he and my husband could have been brothers! Hailey, who once was small enough to sit in a hat box on my living room floor has become a preteen in a blink of an eye. Driving by St. Patrick's Cathedral today reminded me of how I held Nathan as they poured the holy water on his tiny, infant head.
So much we have missed yet so much we have gained.
Our new home has been so good to us too - it is true what they say about southern hospitality, you know. We have fabulous neighbors in a wonderful neighborhood. If not for the kindness of two of those neighbors we might be retunring home to dead vegetables and a very dirty litter box.
The group of guys and gals my husband works worth, entrusts with his safety and depends upon for backup couldn't be better. And my own work friends- the girls and Geoff(!) that always have my back and offer a shoulder to cry on or a joke to cheer me are awesome. Of course, let me not forget Ms. Sherry who I love dearly or all the terrific women that teach at the boys' school.
All in all we are an extremely lucky family with so many people to love and be loved by.
I always think of that old Girl Scout Camp song, "Make new friends but keep the old. One is silver and the other is gold." when I am feeling nostalgic like this.
How fortunate we have been to have so much silver and gold come our way. How rich we are to have so many fabulous people in our lives.
I used to wish for wealth and fame. As a teenager I wanted to be a famous doctor, revered around the world for my life saving cancer research. In my twenties I wanted to solve crimes and work as a consultant for big name cases all over the country (think OJ Simpson and Jon Benet Ramsey). In my thirties I am a wanna-be writer, a teacher, a mother and a wife with a state pension, a way too small emergency savings account and a house with a dilapidated roof.
I have never felt richer in my life.
Sure I long to see my name on the cover of a bestseller. And , yes, I would like to get paid for it but mostly because I need a new roof and have a student loan to pay off. I have been asked what I would do if I one day did hit it big and find myself on the New York Times top ten list. Would I buy a mansion? Get a fancy car? Go one a shopping spree? Buy an expensive purse? Actually own more than three pairs of shoes (and several $2.00 Old Navy flip flops)?
Honestly? I love my home with the dilapidated roof and we have terrific neighbors, so why leave? Maybe I would get another car- I have always wanted a '67 Ford Mustang Fastback in midnight navy. But I hate shoes, never cared much for purses and prefer a t-shirt and denim skirt to any thing else in the closet.
I would pay off my student loan, take my kids to Disney World and maybe not stay at the budget resort. I would still attend Saturday night bonfires, drink "mommy juice" from a plastic Solo cup and toast marshmallows with my kids.
And if things go really well, I would have a great big party and invite all our old friends and all our new friends together. I would make sure each and every one of you knew just how special and important you are to me and I would thank you for making me the richest woman on the planet.
Friends, too, are missed. Although we have not had the time to socialize this week, just being here has reminded me of the time spent cooking and sharing meals with friends who will always be near and dear to us. Carlos and Judy, you have no idea how much we miss you and all those summer dinners at your house or ours. I miss listening to Judy sing lullabys to my boys in Spanish and sitting by the campfire watching Carlos burn junkmail piece by piece. Somehow our Goddaughter grew up and became a woman and her brother is sure not that same baby who used to spit up on my shirt every time I held him!
Liz and Chris, we miss you too. Despite Chris's decision to cross over to the dark side and become a firefighter, he and my husband could have been brothers! Hailey, who once was small enough to sit in a hat box on my living room floor has become a preteen in a blink of an eye. Driving by St. Patrick's Cathedral today reminded me of how I held Nathan as they poured the holy water on his tiny, infant head.
So much we have missed yet so much we have gained.
Our new home has been so good to us too - it is true what they say about southern hospitality, you know. We have fabulous neighbors in a wonderful neighborhood. If not for the kindness of two of those neighbors we might be retunring home to dead vegetables and a very dirty litter box.
The group of guys and gals my husband works worth, entrusts with his safety and depends upon for backup couldn't be better. And my own work friends- the girls and Geoff(!) that always have my back and offer a shoulder to cry on or a joke to cheer me are awesome. Of course, let me not forget Ms. Sherry who I love dearly or all the terrific women that teach at the boys' school.
All in all we are an extremely lucky family with so many people to love and be loved by.
I always think of that old Girl Scout Camp song, "Make new friends but keep the old. One is silver and the other is gold." when I am feeling nostalgic like this.
How fortunate we have been to have so much silver and gold come our way. How rich we are to have so many fabulous people in our lives.
I used to wish for wealth and fame. As a teenager I wanted to be a famous doctor, revered around the world for my life saving cancer research. In my twenties I wanted to solve crimes and work as a consultant for big name cases all over the country (think OJ Simpson and Jon Benet Ramsey). In my thirties I am a wanna-be writer, a teacher, a mother and a wife with a state pension, a way too small emergency savings account and a house with a dilapidated roof.
I have never felt richer in my life.
Sure I long to see my name on the cover of a bestseller. And , yes, I would like to get paid for it but mostly because I need a new roof and have a student loan to pay off. I have been asked what I would do if I one day did hit it big and find myself on the New York Times top ten list. Would I buy a mansion? Get a fancy car? Go one a shopping spree? Buy an expensive purse? Actually own more than three pairs of shoes (and several $2.00 Old Navy flip flops)?
Honestly? I love my home with the dilapidated roof and we have terrific neighbors, so why leave? Maybe I would get another car- I have always wanted a '67 Ford Mustang Fastback in midnight navy. But I hate shoes, never cared much for purses and prefer a t-shirt and denim skirt to any thing else in the closet.
I would pay off my student loan, take my kids to Disney World and maybe not stay at the budget resort. I would still attend Saturday night bonfires, drink "mommy juice" from a plastic Solo cup and toast marshmallows with my kids.
And if things go really well, I would have a great big party and invite all our old friends and all our new friends together. I would make sure each and every one of you knew just how special and important you are to me and I would thank you for making me the richest woman on the planet.
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
An Unexpected Change of Plans
My husband is on vacation this week. We had a great week planned- camping for four days, a trip to the beach, Kung Fu Panda 2 and of course, our ritual Saturday night bonfire with friends and neighbors. Plenty of relaxation for my hardworking husband and plenty of Daddy bonding for the boys.
Last week my mother in law succombed to an infection and was placed in ICU for several days. Due to a host of health issues she has long since struggled with, her kidneys began to fail. On Saturday evening, less than 24 hours before the great camping trip was scheduled to begin, my father in law calls to update us on her progress. It was obvious in his weary voice and tired words that he had reached his limits for stress and exhaustion. Although he assured us she was OK, I knew he wasn't sharing with us the whole truth.
It took us all of five minutes to decide to scrap the vacation plans and head to New England instead. Securing dog sitting with my sister and plant sitting with my neighbors, we packed a few things and set out early Sunday.
In the past few years, my husband's vacation days have been spent travelling the east coast for the ailing and the failing. Whether it be divine intervention or not, he can only laugh now at the timing of such things.
The ten hour drive up the coast is something we have always done in the dark. Since my husband works at night, he does the driving while the kids and I sleep. The time passes quickly and the traffic is minimal. Due to timing, we chose this once to make the drive during waking hours. Imagine two young boys locked in a compact sedan for the better part of twelve hours. Now add to that three traffic jams and a thirty minute backup at the George Washington bridge. Sounds like alot of fun, doesn't it?
Do you know that neither one of them ever complained? There were four "Are we there yets?" and two "I have to go potty's" but not another complaint.
Now take the same two little boys and tell them they have to be quiet and still for at least three hours and sit in a tiny hospital room spending time with their sick grandmother. If you have little boys, you know how challenging this could have proven to be.
My mother in law has a roommate too. Today she told me how wonderful and sweet and well behaved my little darlings were. She said she was amazed at how well they handled spending their nsummer days in a hospital.
I am very proud of my two little men. What a testament to their developing characters that they have spent hour after hour sitting by their grammy's bed just because that's what she wants and needs?
I grew up with illness in my home. Between my brother and my father I spent more time in hospital rooms and ICU's then I care to discuss. That was definitely not the life I wanted for my kids. In fact, after Dad passed last summer I was downright angry that my little babies had to learn the sorrow of loss and the finality of death at such tender ages. To now spend this summer learning hospital etiquette seemed so unfair. To watch them handle it with such finesse has amazed me.
Illness is a part of life. Colds, flus, strep throat- these are things we deal with and move on. No one even really considers them as anything more than a tiny hindrance, bumps in the road for most of us. But as we all know, not all ills are cured with chicken soup and ginger ale. Sometimes IV's, surgeries and twenty four hour nursing care are necessary.
I fully believe that the boys needed to understand that illness is a part of life and sometimes we have to put others' needs before our own desires. I just had no idea how much compassion they had already developed in their young hearts. Never once have they complained of boredom or acted out.
The little one has one request- we must get to the animal farm and petting zoo before we go home.
The older one's only lament? He misses cuddling his grammy. So he forced his way in around all the tubes and hoses and took what he felt was rightfully his!
Last week my mother in law succombed to an infection and was placed in ICU for several days. Due to a host of health issues she has long since struggled with, her kidneys began to fail. On Saturday evening, less than 24 hours before the great camping trip was scheduled to begin, my father in law calls to update us on her progress. It was obvious in his weary voice and tired words that he had reached his limits for stress and exhaustion. Although he assured us she was OK, I knew he wasn't sharing with us the whole truth.
It took us all of five minutes to decide to scrap the vacation plans and head to New England instead. Securing dog sitting with my sister and plant sitting with my neighbors, we packed a few things and set out early Sunday.
In the past few years, my husband's vacation days have been spent travelling the east coast for the ailing and the failing. Whether it be divine intervention or not, he can only laugh now at the timing of such things.
The ten hour drive up the coast is something we have always done in the dark. Since my husband works at night, he does the driving while the kids and I sleep. The time passes quickly and the traffic is minimal. Due to timing, we chose this once to make the drive during waking hours. Imagine two young boys locked in a compact sedan for the better part of twelve hours. Now add to that three traffic jams and a thirty minute backup at the George Washington bridge. Sounds like alot of fun, doesn't it?
Do you know that neither one of them ever complained? There were four "Are we there yets?" and two "I have to go potty's" but not another complaint.
Now take the same two little boys and tell them they have to be quiet and still for at least three hours and sit in a tiny hospital room spending time with their sick grandmother. If you have little boys, you know how challenging this could have proven to be.
My mother in law has a roommate too. Today she told me how wonderful and sweet and well behaved my little darlings were. She said she was amazed at how well they handled spending their nsummer days in a hospital.
I am very proud of my two little men. What a testament to their developing characters that they have spent hour after hour sitting by their grammy's bed just because that's what she wants and needs?
I grew up with illness in my home. Between my brother and my father I spent more time in hospital rooms and ICU's then I care to discuss. That was definitely not the life I wanted for my kids. In fact, after Dad passed last summer I was downright angry that my little babies had to learn the sorrow of loss and the finality of death at such tender ages. To now spend this summer learning hospital etiquette seemed so unfair. To watch them handle it with such finesse has amazed me.
Illness is a part of life. Colds, flus, strep throat- these are things we deal with and move on. No one even really considers them as anything more than a tiny hindrance, bumps in the road for most of us. But as we all know, not all ills are cured with chicken soup and ginger ale. Sometimes IV's, surgeries and twenty four hour nursing care are necessary.
I fully believe that the boys needed to understand that illness is a part of life and sometimes we have to put others' needs before our own desires. I just had no idea how much compassion they had already developed in their young hearts. Never once have they complained of boredom or acted out.
The little one has one request- we must get to the animal farm and petting zoo before we go home.
The older one's only lament? He misses cuddling his grammy. So he forced his way in around all the tubes and hoses and took what he felt was rightfully his!
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