You all have sat through countless posts about time spent with Three Dog Night Dad
when I was a little girl and how those times were the happiest of my childhood.
Well since becoming involved in a mature, adult relationship
and transitioning into mommyhood
my dad and I have rarely spent time alone together.
We'd say with best of intentions that we needed to do it.
And well, you know how that goes.
All Cats and the Cradle and all.
This past weekend provided that opportunity
what with my younglings and man away in Massachusetts for a long weekend.
I packed myself a bag and a beach chair
and met my dad down at his beach cottage.
We sat together drinking a few cold ones and chatting.
And then we went out for a quality dinner together.
Upon entering the establishment we received a few sideways looks.
But I figured it's small-town Delaware, they probably don't appreciate a guy with long hair here.
And I shrugged it off.
Later on, after introducing my dad to some audio versions of David Sedaris, and a few rib-cracking laughs later, we were out walking around near a dock.
Again, we're just talking.
We look over to our left and there's a rowdy, good-natured group of locals who are red faced
and uber-smiling.
Good for them. I think to myself.
Then we hear:
Hey! Hey! Hey, lady!
I turn my head and say Yeah?
She replies with:
I dig your old man's beard!!
My dad and I smile and laugh.
We look at each other and my dad replies with
Uh. She's my daughter.
The lady's face becomes an even more pronounced shade of scarlett and apologizes.
I think that's when it hit me.
How often do you see an adult woman spending time alone with her dad?
I was OK with this.
I have no problems spending time with my dad.
But I think once girls hit a certain age, you just rarely see it.
Maybe I'm wrong or maybe my little state just isn't that progressive yet.
It just hit me as kind of sad.
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
7/3/08
6/30/08
Dirt Between Our Toes & Nobody Knows
I'm sure with inconsistent posts and barely getting by to read any of yours
I barely have a readership.
It is what it is.
You get what you put into things.
And lately my focus has been on reconnecting with kids I barely saw over the fall and winter.
Painting the boudoir of a young couple who has been married for 5 years, had 2 kids, and one messy, stark white, room (that would be Rav & I).
We've been outside.
Hiking, playing, getting dirty.
Sometimes dinner has only consisted of an ice cream cone.
It's been a few, sweet weeks of simple luxuries.
Like ice cream for dinner.
Vegetables?
Oh, we had those last week.
Fruit?
The week before last.
I kid about that.
My kids are eating fine.
A day or two goes by and I realize that we're dirty.
Dirty from play and grass and sweat.
But it's good.
Cleansing even.
I've hitched up the bike trailer to my bike
and the kids and I have headed out with a packed lunch
to our local park.
We've hit fairs, ridden rides, and spent more time together in the past few weeks than
we have in what seems to be the last few years.
We spent the night at the beach with Three Dog Night Dad and Eileen.
We've put our toes in The Atlantic and been covered in sand.
Last night the kids and Rav arrived home after spending 4 days in Massachusetts
sans Mommy.
All the while, we see Connor falling back into old, familiar, anxiety-ridden territory.
And we're tired.
Our family is busting out of this house and desperately wants to spread its wings.
We don't know where or how we'll get there.
Change isn't even on the horizon.
We just feel the itch.
I barely have a readership.
It is what it is.
You get what you put into things.
And lately my focus has been on reconnecting with kids I barely saw over the fall and winter.
Painting the boudoir of a young couple who has been married for 5 years, had 2 kids, and one messy, stark white, room (that would be Rav & I).
We've been outside.
Hiking, playing, getting dirty.
Sometimes dinner has only consisted of an ice cream cone.
It's been a few, sweet weeks of simple luxuries.
Like ice cream for dinner.
Vegetables?
Oh, we had those last week.
Fruit?
The week before last.
I kid about that.
My kids are eating fine.
A day or two goes by and I realize that we're dirty.
Dirty from play and grass and sweat.
But it's good.
Cleansing even.
I've hitched up the bike trailer to my bike
and the kids and I have headed out with a packed lunch
to our local park.
We've hit fairs, ridden rides, and spent more time together in the past few weeks than
we have in what seems to be the last few years.
We spent the night at the beach with Three Dog Night Dad and Eileen.
We've put our toes in The Atlantic and been covered in sand.
Last night the kids and Rav arrived home after spending 4 days in Massachusetts
sans Mommy.
All the while, we see Connor falling back into old, familiar, anxiety-ridden territory.
And we're tired.
Our family is busting out of this house and desperately wants to spread its wings.
We don't know where or how we'll get there.
Change isn't even on the horizon.
We just feel the itch.
11/9/07
Dreams and Wishes From The Past
I had my 2nd reiki treatment last night.
The session was interesting & I can't wait to share it.
But first I had to get a few other thoughts out.
The first thing is that I wanted to share that I wrote a little card to *E's* mom.
And it was well received.
I'll leave it at that for now.
Last night before and after my treatment I met up with my stepmom for some girly talk.
And after we were finished - quite honestly we probably could have chatted all night long - I stopped in to see my dad and brothers. It wasn't a long visit. But it was enough. In a good way.
I was sharing with my dad the details of my reiki treatment and something came to him and he walked away.
He came back with a box.
And inside the box was a violin.
An old violin.
In pieces.
He began telling me how this violin was my grandfather's (his father). And he loved this violin. He thought it was "something".
My dad took it to a musician in a local city to find out about it and to inquire about getting it put back together.
Sadly (or not so sadly), the violin is "nothing" in terms of monetary value and it would cost more to put it back to rights than to buy a nice, quality new one.
As my dad was telling me about it, I began salivating.
And felt bad despite myself.
I felt like a wolf, hungry for the kill.
I felt horrible for being so overtaken with thoughts like Give it to me!! Drop it, sucker. Hand me the box and no one gets hurt!!!
I somehow managed to get ahold of myself.
See, for as long as I remember I've wanted to learn how to play the Violin. And to see this in front me of me was almost too much to handle....the thought of playing Violin - his violin - clouded any ounce of good judgement I had.
I never have understand why I wanted to play. Because my passion has always been the Saxophone (and percussion, although I've never played percussion instruments).
Something has always drawn me to the Violin.
I had no idea until last night that my grandfather used to play.
My dad finished his story about the poor, dime-store violin.
And then he said
I'm going to have a little ceremony and I'm going to burn it.
I gasped.
My eyes in wide horror.
WHY????????
He said I'm going to burn it and take it down to Dad. Maybe if we all get together on the weekend of Thanksgiving we'll burn it then since we all will be together.
My grandfather apparently had much love for this 1920s Montgomery Ward Violin - that he bought 2nd hand and thought was "something".
And my dad is doing the right thing by his Dad.
It should be with him where he rests.
I left their house a little less selfish.
Happy that it will be returned to its rightful owner
and that since I've never met my grandfather and always longed for some physical connection, content in the fact that maybe I got this desire to play from him.
The session was interesting & I can't wait to share it.
But first I had to get a few other thoughts out.
The first thing is that I wanted to share that I wrote a little card to *E's* mom.
And it was well received.
I'll leave it at that for now.
Last night before and after my treatment I met up with my stepmom for some girly talk.
And after we were finished - quite honestly we probably could have chatted all night long - I stopped in to see my dad and brothers. It wasn't a long visit. But it was enough. In a good way.
I was sharing with my dad the details of my reiki treatment and something came to him and he walked away.
He came back with a box.
And inside the box was a violin.
An old violin.
In pieces.
He began telling me how this violin was my grandfather's (his father). And he loved this violin. He thought it was "something".
My dad took it to a musician in a local city to find out about it and to inquire about getting it put back together.
Sadly (or not so sadly), the violin is "nothing" in terms of monetary value and it would cost more to put it back to rights than to buy a nice, quality new one.
As my dad was telling me about it, I began salivating.
And felt bad despite myself.
I felt like a wolf, hungry for the kill.
I felt horrible for being so overtaken with thoughts like Give it to me!! Drop it, sucker. Hand me the box and no one gets hurt!!!
I somehow managed to get ahold of myself.
See, for as long as I remember I've wanted to learn how to play the Violin. And to see this in front me of me was almost too much to handle....the thought of playing Violin - his violin - clouded any ounce of good judgement I had.
I never have understand why I wanted to play. Because my passion has always been the Saxophone (and percussion, although I've never played percussion instruments).
Something has always drawn me to the Violin.
I had no idea until last night that my grandfather used to play.
My dad finished his story about the poor, dime-store violin.
And then he said
I'm going to have a little ceremony and I'm going to burn it.
I gasped.
My eyes in wide horror.
WHY????????
He said I'm going to burn it and take it down to Dad. Maybe if we all get together on the weekend of Thanksgiving we'll burn it then since we all will be together.
My grandfather apparently had much love for this 1920s Montgomery Ward Violin - that he bought 2nd hand and thought was "something".
And my dad is doing the right thing by his Dad.
It should be with him where he rests.
I left their house a little less selfish.
Happy that it will be returned to its rightful owner
and that since I've never met my grandfather and always longed for some physical connection, content in the fact that maybe I got this desire to play from him.
10/11/07
Autumnal Healing
Well, autumn has finally made her grand entrance to little old Delaware.
It is chilly, rainy, and a slight wind is kissing the leaves.
It is pushing them down the road in a skitter-skat motion.
Just barely nudging them along.
And it is delicious.
I love this weather.
To top it all off, I am heading to the small town where my Dad & Eileen live.
Eileen is treating me to my first reiki treatment today.
I am so excited.
After my treatment, we're going to have dinner together. Just the two us.
Maybe the treatment will cure my writer's block.
Then again, maybe no.
But my skin is itching in anticipation.
It is chilly, rainy, and a slight wind is kissing the leaves.
It is pushing them down the road in a skitter-skat motion.
Just barely nudging them along.
And it is delicious.
I love this weather.
To top it all off, I am heading to the small town where my Dad & Eileen live.
Eileen is treating me to my first reiki treatment today.
I am so excited.
After my treatment, we're going to have dinner together. Just the two us.
Maybe the treatment will cure my writer's block.
Then again, maybe no.
But my skin is itching in anticipation.
10/9/07
Teach Your Children Well
Set the scene:
Late Saturday evening, after we all came back home from a grown-up time in Baltimore and the kids having grandparent time. Rav & I begin bedding down for the night.
We were chatting and canoodling and just generally being cutesy before bed.
And Action!
We heard Connor get out of bed and make his way into the bathroom.
We stopped our little flirtation to listen and we heard Connor began to expell his stream.
And as this happened there was an unusual um, tone to it.
We both look at each other and mirrored identical looks and passed identical thoughts:
That doesn't sound good.
Rav jumps up and heads into the hallway to find a stream of pee followed by a puddle.
The stream is making it's way from the doorway of the chilun's bedroom, making a vast arc, and collecting in a pool on the hallway floor.
There is our son, with his pants around his ankles in all his glory.
Really, there was nothing left to do but let him finish at that point.
Rav asks Connor with a hint of exasperation and alarm in his voice
Buddy!? What are you doing?!
To which Connor replies as he begins to sob a little
Gracie told me to do it!!!!
Meanwhile, Gracie is entrenched in slumber.
Late Saturday evening, after we all came back home from a grown-up time in Baltimore and the kids having grandparent time. Rav & I begin bedding down for the night.
We were chatting and canoodling and just generally being cutesy before bed.
And Action!
We heard Connor get out of bed and make his way into the bathroom.
We stopped our little flirtation to listen and we heard Connor began to expell his stream.
And as this happened there was an unusual um, tone to it.
We both look at each other and mirrored identical looks and passed identical thoughts:
That doesn't sound good.
Rav jumps up and heads into the hallway to find a stream of pee followed by a puddle.
The stream is making it's way from the doorway of the chilun's bedroom, making a vast arc, and collecting in a pool on the hallway floor.
There is our son, with his pants around his ankles in all his glory.
Really, there was nothing left to do but let him finish at that point.
Rav asks Connor with a hint of exasperation and alarm in his voice
Buddy!? What are you doing?!
To which Connor replies as he begins to sob a little
Gracie told me to do it!!!!
Meanwhile, Gracie is entrenched in slumber.
Rav cleans things up as I sit laughing from the bed.
This did not amuse him at all.
And obviously, it wasn't the bathroom that we heard Connor walking to. Just his doorway which in his dazed state must resemble a toilet.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Sunday we made our way down to see Three Dog Night Dad, Eileen, and my brothers.
Half-way there, Connor says to me
Mom. I didn't know that your brothers were around when Mimi and Pop-Pop were married.
I said They weren't around Connor. I was the only one.
Curiousity grips him firmly and he says
Well how did Uncle Kenny & Uncle Ian become your brothers?
I explained plainly Well. When Mimi & Pop-Pop were done being married, Pop-Pop met Mom-mom and married her.....
and as I begin to explain that my brothers are my brothers because we share the same dad, Connor breaks in with this:
OH!!!! I see. It was a switch-off marry.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Connor comes home from school on a daily basis with a worksheet that is broken down into two parts. The top part has four empty boxes to draw in and the bottom part is where the practice the letter they are working on that day.
Yesterday, the class worked on the letter 'T'.
I saw that he had drawn a turtle.
He had even written our last name, which has two T's in it.
He drew a train.
And the last picture was less recognizeable.
I ask Connor to identify for me the picture he had drawn.
He clucked a little and says It's a toilet!!!
10/3/07
Last night, I went out with a group of women to see a musical written by a woman.
A musical that was about a group of women reliving the "old days" and therefore cementing the bonds of their sisterhood.
As I sat in the audience, I found myself thinking of all of you. Wondering if you could feel me sending vibes across this country and making it's way into other countries. I wondered if you could feel that someone out there was thinking of you.
During the musical an idea for a post came to mind.
And I found myself elated and relieved.
Then I came home to find out this had happened.
And I thought to myself that there is no way that I could justify writing about anything other than this.
If you haven't already, please go visit Jenn.
Please offer her your kind words and condolences.
Let's all go in peace today and do the best we can to keep each other safe.
A musical that was about a group of women reliving the "old days" and therefore cementing the bonds of their sisterhood.
As I sat in the audience, I found myself thinking of all of you. Wondering if you could feel me sending vibes across this country and making it's way into other countries. I wondered if you could feel that someone out there was thinking of you.
During the musical an idea for a post came to mind.
And I found myself elated and relieved.
Then I came home to find out this had happened.
And I thought to myself that there is no way that I could justify writing about anything other than this.
If you haven't already, please go visit Jenn.
Please offer her your kind words and condolences.
Let's all go in peace today and do the best we can to keep each other safe.
9/9/07
Sunday Morning Song of the Moment
I really have been out of the music loop lately. I'm usually on the prowl for little known artists and songs. But so many other things have been keeping me away from it.
Things like my first baby heading off to all-day kindergarten.
And this fact has had me reflecting quite a bit about just how fast time flies.
We were visiting parents of some good friends of ours last weekend.
And we began to talk about the kids.
And I said to Mr. & Mrs. S. It seems like it was just five minutes ago we came over here with Connor in his infant car seat.
Really.
It does feel like that was just five minutes ago.
I've been trying to remind myself that our financial situation isn't always going to be like this.
The kids won't be this little that much longer, that I'll be finished school sometime soon, and things will change.
And all of this is good.
All of it.
The hard, the easy, the heart-wrenching, the anticipation.
And the other thing?
I am happy.
We are happy.
And nothing encapsulates all of this for me like the following song.
Mushaboom by Feist
Things like my first baby heading off to all-day kindergarten.
And this fact has had me reflecting quite a bit about just how fast time flies.
We were visiting parents of some good friends of ours last weekend.
And we began to talk about the kids.
And I said to Mr. & Mrs. S. It seems like it was just five minutes ago we came over here with Connor in his infant car seat.
Really.
It does feel like that was just five minutes ago.
I've been trying to remind myself that our financial situation isn't always going to be like this.
The kids won't be this little that much longer, that I'll be finished school sometime soon, and things will change.
And all of this is good.
All of it.
The hard, the easy, the heart-wrenching, the anticipation.
And the other thing?
I am happy.
We are happy.
And nothing encapsulates all of this for me like the following song.
Mushaboom by Feist
9/4/07
Dignity In The Diner
Lately I've been thinking a lot about growing old and maintaining dignity.
I've been thinking about how I envision myself still vibrant and active when I hit my elder years.
I don't know if that is what will happen.
But that's what I hope for myself.
I've seen many an elderly person turn into a bitter shell of the young people they once were.
I listen to the lonely in their voice and think I'd probably sound just as scared and bitter when faced with this kind of lonely and/or this kind of pain on a daily basis. Who could stand to live with such physical pain?
Not to mention, feeling worthless and left behind.
I think each gender struggles with that worthless feeling, but in different aspects.
Males feel it after a life spent working and providing and no longer being able to do so.
And females feel it after a life spent working and caretaking and no longer feeling needed and valuable.
And of course growing old with dignity, I'm mindful of how our bodies and our minds can turn on us on a dime and we have no control over that either.
And again, just how scary that must be.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
On Saturday, we rolled out of bed early, threw on some clothes and took the kids to our favorite diner for breakfast.
And can I quickly just tell you how much I adore going out to breakfast on a weekend morning?
I LOVE it. I love sitting down to a cup of coffee made by someone else and being waited on.
The anticipation of the meal.....
Anyway...we all love this diner.
We walk in and there is a crowd by the door waiting to be seated.
Gracie is hanging out in my arms "being shy".
And Connor is dancing around the register counter waiting to pick out his lollipop (don't ask) with Rav.
Gracie and I head off to one side as the door/register/waiting area are very close together and we are trying to leave room for people to walk through.
And as we're standing there I look over to my right (where there is an alcove of sorts with about 6 booths and a narrow walkway to get to those booths) and there is an elderly gentleman with a walker. He is trying to make his way to his table and gets stopped by a fellow female patron who knows him. He apparently has been battling a cold and has stopped to ask him how he's feeling and just generally speak to him.
As they are speaking a waitress and a female buser (is it with 2 s's?) are waiting to get by.
The waitress gets huffy and walks away.
And the buser tries to scoot past and can't.
So she waits.
Another female buser walks up to her and they begin speaking in their native language and are most obviously talking about this gentleman.
The waitress then walks back and sees he is now making his way back to his booth, very slowly, but is making his way nonetheless.
And as she is standing behind him, she is shaking her head and muttering nastily under her breath.
The poor fellow gets the wheel to his walker stuck, which hinders his forward motion, and her agitation grows.
(Mind you, this woman - the waitress - is middle-aged. Probably in her late 50's).
I was so taken aback by such passively cruel behavior.
Never once did she offer to help him.
Never once did she try to move him along by simply talking to him and escorting him to his table.
And he didn't even know the subtle "cruelty" that was being pushed in his direction.
Which is probably for the best.
But I saw it.
And it bothered me.
And I did nothing.
I worry about elders and those incapable of caring for themselves being subjected to cruelty in facilities - let's face it, it happens - it's happening in my home state right now. Today.
And fret over what is being done to these people or not done.
And I can't do anything about it.
I'm one person who can't save the world.
But here I was in a public place and saw such a disgusting display of intolerance.
And I chose to do nothing.
Because I was waiting in line with my family to get served a $5.00 breakfast.
And I chose to not act.
This got me thinking about all of the times we choose not to act over things we think are "little" or "benign". And how they really add up.
We might not see how one action or inaction effects the other, but they do.
I again do my infamous projecting and wonder if I would want someone to stand up for me or help out if that were me or Rav in that restaurant.
And of course, the answer is yes.
Those of us who can, need to rally for those who can't for themselves.
Little kindnesses.
Little kindnesses.
Growing older and growing period, with dignity.
I'm still working on it.
I've been thinking about how I envision myself still vibrant and active when I hit my elder years.
I don't know if that is what will happen.
But that's what I hope for myself.
I've seen many an elderly person turn into a bitter shell of the young people they once were.
I listen to the lonely in their voice and think I'd probably sound just as scared and bitter when faced with this kind of lonely and/or this kind of pain on a daily basis. Who could stand to live with such physical pain?
Not to mention, feeling worthless and left behind.
I think each gender struggles with that worthless feeling, but in different aspects.
Males feel it after a life spent working and providing and no longer being able to do so.
And females feel it after a life spent working and caretaking and no longer feeling needed and valuable.
And of course growing old with dignity, I'm mindful of how our bodies and our minds can turn on us on a dime and we have no control over that either.
And again, just how scary that must be.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
On Saturday, we rolled out of bed early, threw on some clothes and took the kids to our favorite diner for breakfast.
And can I quickly just tell you how much I adore going out to breakfast on a weekend morning?
I LOVE it. I love sitting down to a cup of coffee made by someone else and being waited on.
The anticipation of the meal.....
Anyway...we all love this diner.
We walk in and there is a crowd by the door waiting to be seated.
Gracie is hanging out in my arms "being shy".
And Connor is dancing around the register counter waiting to pick out his lollipop (don't ask) with Rav.
Gracie and I head off to one side as the door/register/waiting area are very close together and we are trying to leave room for people to walk through.
And as we're standing there I look over to my right (where there is an alcove of sorts with about 6 booths and a narrow walkway to get to those booths) and there is an elderly gentleman with a walker. He is trying to make his way to his table and gets stopped by a fellow female patron who knows him. He apparently has been battling a cold and has stopped to ask him how he's feeling and just generally speak to him.
As they are speaking a waitress and a female buser (is it with 2 s's?) are waiting to get by.
The waitress gets huffy and walks away.
And the buser tries to scoot past and can't.
So she waits.
Another female buser walks up to her and they begin speaking in their native language and are most obviously talking about this gentleman.
The waitress then walks back and sees he is now making his way back to his booth, very slowly, but is making his way nonetheless.
And as she is standing behind him, she is shaking her head and muttering nastily under her breath.
The poor fellow gets the wheel to his walker stuck, which hinders his forward motion, and her agitation grows.
(Mind you, this woman - the waitress - is middle-aged. Probably in her late 50's).
I was so taken aback by such passively cruel behavior.
Never once did she offer to help him.
Never once did she try to move him along by simply talking to him and escorting him to his table.
And he didn't even know the subtle "cruelty" that was being pushed in his direction.
Which is probably for the best.
But I saw it.
And it bothered me.
And I did nothing.
I worry about elders and those incapable of caring for themselves being subjected to cruelty in facilities - let's face it, it happens - it's happening in my home state right now. Today.
And fret over what is being done to these people or not done.
And I can't do anything about it.
I'm one person who can't save the world.
But here I was in a public place and saw such a disgusting display of intolerance.
And I chose to do nothing.
Because I was waiting in line with my family to get served a $5.00 breakfast.
And I chose to not act.
This got me thinking about all of the times we choose not to act over things we think are "little" or "benign". And how they really add up.
We might not see how one action or inaction effects the other, but they do.
I again do my infamous projecting and wonder if I would want someone to stand up for me or help out if that were me or Rav in that restaurant.
And of course, the answer is yes.
Those of us who can, need to rally for those who can't for themselves.
Little kindnesses.
Little kindnesses.
Growing older and growing period, with dignity.
I'm still working on it.
8/31/07
Magic In The Night
**Edited to add a Youtube video**
At the end of a long, hard day I make my way up the steps to take my place next to my beloved.
Nothing feels better than my side of the bed, feeling the warm, electric skin of my man on his side. It's what keeps me hanging on.
The steps lead me to my peaceful spot.
And as I ascend, ghosts of the day travel them with me.
Countless trips up and down them by clopping kid feet.
It reverberates and haunts - these apparitions that flash by and through me as I make my way up to the spot that is calling me.
I can hear the echo of a giggle or a jump from the last step to the living room floor.
But I know my kids are safe and sound asleep in their beds.
My kids.
My kids.
My kids.
They are kids.
As much as I hold on to the last shred of baby that they may still carry hidden.
It's the baby in them that only I can see, as their mom.
Their mom.
Their mom.
Their mom.
Sometimes I long to hold their little tiny baby butts in my arms.
To feel that soft, hard lump on my forearm.
To smell their baby smell.
To touch their baby cheeks.
I reach the top of the steps and all these thoughts float and disappear into the air with the ghosts of the day.
And I stand in front of two doors.
One is my refuge.
And one is full of magic.
The magic of what happens in the night when peace washes over these kids. My kids.
The magic that transforms them from the kids they are becoming
and shines a light onto the babies that are still there on the inside and by some trick you can still see only when they sleep.
It is a secret that I've kept and have now unearthed.
The magic that I see in the night.
To revisit that babyhood.
For only a minute before I bed down next to my love.
The love and the man that helped create that magic.
At the end of a long, hard day I make my way up the steps to take my place next to my beloved.
Nothing feels better than my side of the bed, feeling the warm, electric skin of my man on his side. It's what keeps me hanging on.
The steps lead me to my peaceful spot.
And as I ascend, ghosts of the day travel them with me.
Countless trips up and down them by clopping kid feet.
It reverberates and haunts - these apparitions that flash by and through me as I make my way up to the spot that is calling me.
I can hear the echo of a giggle or a jump from the last step to the living room floor.
But I know my kids are safe and sound asleep in their beds.
My kids.
My kids.
My kids.
They are kids.
As much as I hold on to the last shred of baby that they may still carry hidden.
It's the baby in them that only I can see, as their mom.
Their mom.
Their mom.
Their mom.
Sometimes I long to hold their little tiny baby butts in my arms.
To feel that soft, hard lump on my forearm.
To smell their baby smell.
To touch their baby cheeks.
I reach the top of the steps and all these thoughts float and disappear into the air with the ghosts of the day.
And I stand in front of two doors.
One is my refuge.
And one is full of magic.
The magic of what happens in the night when peace washes over these kids. My kids.
The magic that transforms them from the kids they are becoming
and shines a light onto the babies that are still there on the inside and by some trick you can still see only when they sleep.
It is a secret that I've kept and have now unearthed.
The magic that I see in the night.
To revisit that babyhood.
For only a minute before I bed down next to my love.
The love and the man that helped create that magic.
8/26/07
Sunday Morning Song of the Moment
Last night, Rav & I joined his parents, his three older brothers and their wives at a wedding for a childhood friend of all of the Ravioli brothers. (if you'd like to check out my brother-in-laws post on the wedding and some pictures of the famiglia de Ravioli, check out fatmarc)
It is very rare that all 8 of us (the brothers and the wives) are together in one room anymore because of busy lives, geography, kids, etc.
So when we all get together it really is a treat.
And we are often looked upon as that table or oh, those people.
It's not a bad thing. In fact it's quite funny.
The wedding took place in a beautiful church in center city Philadelphia.
The bride and groom were stunning.
Both families looked wonderful, proud, and happy.
The bride is of Philippine descent and it was lovely to see some of her culture blended into the ceremony.
All of the guests made the walk to the venue which was just a few blocks away.
And the reception venue was absolutely gorgeous.
Rav & I have become quite the wedding connoisseurs lately, as we have been to approximately 11 weddings in 4 years.
And this wedding was pretty tops for many reasons.
The friendship, love, and harmonious blending of different cultures, backgrounds, orientations was so elegantly pulled off.
And there are many details I could delve into.
But the bottomline is that all of the exterior things, the things that categorize people really shouldn't matter.
And this couple got that - gets that.
At the end of the day, love is love. It has no bounds and it doesn't exclude.
It is there in the beginnings and endings of the days despite the petty trappings we try to confine love to.
Love doesn't always conform and love doesn't look for norms.
Love just is.
When we were seated at our tables we were given a card that thanked the guests for celebrating, it offered an email address where you could send any pictures you have taken of the day to share with the bride and groom. And on the back of the card was this wedding favor:
In lieu of favors we have made a donation to "Freedom to Marry" to support those who are denied the right to enter the institution of marriage. Today we celebrate the finest and most noble expressions of marriage - love, commitment, and responsibility - while rejecting discrimination and prejudice.
http://www.freedomtomarry.org/
It is very rare that all 8 of us (the brothers and the wives) are together in one room anymore because of busy lives, geography, kids, etc.
So when we all get together it really is a treat.
And we are often looked upon as that table or oh, those people.
It's not a bad thing. In fact it's quite funny.
The wedding took place in a beautiful church in center city Philadelphia.
The bride and groom were stunning.
Both families looked wonderful, proud, and happy.
The bride is of Philippine descent and it was lovely to see some of her culture blended into the ceremony.
All of the guests made the walk to the venue which was just a few blocks away.
And the reception venue was absolutely gorgeous.
Rav & I have become quite the wedding connoisseurs lately, as we have been to approximately 11 weddings in 4 years.
And this wedding was pretty tops for many reasons.
The friendship, love, and harmonious blending of different cultures, backgrounds, orientations was so elegantly pulled off.
And there are many details I could delve into.
But the bottomline is that all of the exterior things, the things that categorize people really shouldn't matter.
And this couple got that - gets that.
At the end of the day, love is love. It has no bounds and it doesn't exclude.
It is there in the beginnings and endings of the days despite the petty trappings we try to confine love to.
Love doesn't always conform and love doesn't look for norms.
Love just is.
When we were seated at our tables we were given a card that thanked the guests for celebrating, it offered an email address where you could send any pictures you have taken of the day to share with the bride and groom. And on the back of the card was this wedding favor:
In lieu of favors we have made a donation to "Freedom to Marry" to support those who are denied the right to enter the institution of marriage. Today we celebrate the finest and most noble expressions of marriage - love, commitment, and responsibility - while rejecting discrimination and prejudice.
http://www.freedomtomarry.org/
I thought this to be the most noble gesture two people could make on a day to beat all noble gestures.
My heart forever melts for this couple who so rightly love each other and love others so eloquently. I raise my glass to J & K. A couple so deserving of a love and life full of endless possibilities.
This song is for them (it is the song they danced to) and for all of those who have someone but by some ridiculous right-wing agenda cannot enter into the institution of marriage.
I hope you enjoy Forever by Ben Harper8/13/07
Knowing When To Walk Away & Knowing When To Run
The three weeks or so leading up to the start of this new job were really disheartening for me.
The people I shared the news with IRL seemed less than pleased about the prospects of me taking this job. For many, many reasons. Reasons like my safety & well-being, how I will tackle my classes while working a crappy shift, getting Connor to and from school, etc.
And let me explain something about where I was going to be working. I would be working at a facility that has been operating at double-occupancy for pre-adjudicated juveniles. There are kids sitting in that facility right now who have been sitting in there for over a year awaiting their Superior Court trial for murder.
For many kids, in that section of the detention facility where I would be working, there is a revolving door.
There is a heightened sense of tension in there. Kids that come in don't know when their leaving, what their outcome will be. Many times, there families are done with them, so they don't get visits.
And often, the ones that have been in the detention facility for awhile see their friends leave or have visits from family.
It's just a really tense place.
Anyway....
You all know I have stressed out about this for far too long. I've chronicled that pity-fest for so very long
I would come home from training & tell Rav stories about staff members who were assaulted and are still out on leave because of their injuries.
And Rav, trying to be supportive of my decision, told me I would be fine.
But then.....
Then he started hearing first-hand accounts from coworkers (who used to work in that facility) just how off the hook it is.
And he didn't say anything. He was trying to be supportive.
Last week, I sat talking to my BFF on the phone. And she noted how awful I sounded. I told her that the transition has been hard, I was not getting any straight answers from anyone regarding my shift, if I would be alone on a locked unit, etc. That I was just not feeling this. It just wasn't feeling right. Whatever that is. And rather than feel better as time went on & making peace with the changes, it has been feeling increasingly worse.
I got off the phone with her and turned to Rav and said, I so want to ask her if she would hire me back to work at the preschool.
And then I cried, no scratch that, I sobbed for about 40 minutes.
I explained to Rav that I feel guilty because I feel like I am not doing a great job as a mom because I'm working and yet I feel like I'm letting my family down financially because I want to walk away from this job. That everything about this feels so wrong.
Rav was supportive and great -as he always is.
I wiped away the snot and the tears and I called my BFF back and asked her if she would consider hiring me as a teacher at the preschool she owns and operates (the preschool I have worked at for years before leaving to stay home with the kids). And she was surprised.
See. Way back when I was nursing Gracie and Connor was just barely 2, I opened my big mouth and said I would never work at the preschool again. I just didn't think I had it in me.
So, you understand her surprise. We talked and I explained why I had said that.
And it has come to pass that I will be working at the preschool.
I have handed in my resignation at the detention facility and gladly take on this new/old position.
And it feels right.
Getting Connor to and from school? Not an issue.
Taking my classes to finally finish my degree? No sweat. In fact, I'm carrying 5 classes this semester and feeling damned good about it.
Taking care of my family? No biggie.
Working almost full-time? Maybe still not financially setting the world on fire. BUT. It's an income and is a much better fit for all of us.
I have felt a 10 ton weight lift from my back.
We have partied this weekend with some old friends and made some new ones.
I feel a love and admiration for my man grow by leaps with every new hurdle.
And my daughter curled up on my lap and lay like a baby - she wrapped herself in a blanket - and just stayed there, looking up at me as I rubbed her cheeks and whispered to her. She even followed me into the shower, the actual shower.
Connor has been happy to be home and have me home.
And I know that I've done the right thing.
The right thing for me and my family.
And I once again have learned that I should listen to my gut.
Not only that, walking away and/or running away, sometimes aren't bad things.
I do have guilt about the possible irresponsibility of this.
As well as, guilt towards 120+ kids I've never met. 120+ kids who will not have me work in the facility. Someone who would show them kindness and compassion and empathy. My bleeding heart can't reconcile that part. That I can't put my money where my mouth is. I talk about wanting to help and feeling so much for so many. And I walked away.
And maybe in time I will be able to reconcile it without rationalizing too much.
My time will come to do it. I know that.
I think right now though, my place is still right here.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
I want to thank you all for your support of me during this time. Listening to my constant whining when so many other bloggers out there are facing really frightening health scares and real issues.
I have climbed out of my self-pity pit.
I'm back, baby.
The people I shared the news with IRL seemed less than pleased about the prospects of me taking this job. For many, many reasons. Reasons like my safety & well-being, how I will tackle my classes while working a crappy shift, getting Connor to and from school, etc.
And let me explain something about where I was going to be working. I would be working at a facility that has been operating at double-occupancy for pre-adjudicated juveniles. There are kids sitting in that facility right now who have been sitting in there for over a year awaiting their Superior Court trial for murder.
For many kids, in that section of the detention facility where I would be working, there is a revolving door.
There is a heightened sense of tension in there. Kids that come in don't know when their leaving, what their outcome will be. Many times, there families are done with them, so they don't get visits.
And often, the ones that have been in the detention facility for awhile see their friends leave or have visits from family.
It's just a really tense place.
Anyway....
You all know I have stressed out about this for far too long. I've chronicled that pity-fest for so very long
I would come home from training & tell Rav stories about staff members who were assaulted and are still out on leave because of their injuries.
And Rav, trying to be supportive of my decision, told me I would be fine.
But then.....
Then he started hearing first-hand accounts from coworkers (who used to work in that facility) just how off the hook it is.
And he didn't say anything. He was trying to be supportive.
Last week, I sat talking to my BFF on the phone. And she noted how awful I sounded. I told her that the transition has been hard, I was not getting any straight answers from anyone regarding my shift, if I would be alone on a locked unit, etc. That I was just not feeling this. It just wasn't feeling right. Whatever that is. And rather than feel better as time went on & making peace with the changes, it has been feeling increasingly worse.
I got off the phone with her and turned to Rav and said, I so want to ask her if she would hire me back to work at the preschool.
And then I cried, no scratch that, I sobbed for about 40 minutes.
I explained to Rav that I feel guilty because I feel like I am not doing a great job as a mom because I'm working and yet I feel like I'm letting my family down financially because I want to walk away from this job. That everything about this feels so wrong.
Rav was supportive and great -as he always is.
I wiped away the snot and the tears and I called my BFF back and asked her if she would consider hiring me as a teacher at the preschool she owns and operates (the preschool I have worked at for years before leaving to stay home with the kids). And she was surprised.
See. Way back when I was nursing Gracie and Connor was just barely 2, I opened my big mouth and said I would never work at the preschool again. I just didn't think I had it in me.
So, you understand her surprise. We talked and I explained why I had said that.
And it has come to pass that I will be working at the preschool.
I have handed in my resignation at the detention facility and gladly take on this new/old position.
And it feels right.
Getting Connor to and from school? Not an issue.
Taking my classes to finally finish my degree? No sweat. In fact, I'm carrying 5 classes this semester and feeling damned good about it.
Taking care of my family? No biggie.
Working almost full-time? Maybe still not financially setting the world on fire. BUT. It's an income and is a much better fit for all of us.
I have felt a 10 ton weight lift from my back.
We have partied this weekend with some old friends and made some new ones.
I feel a love and admiration for my man grow by leaps with every new hurdle.
And my daughter curled up on my lap and lay like a baby - she wrapped herself in a blanket - and just stayed there, looking up at me as I rubbed her cheeks and whispered to her. She even followed me into the shower, the actual shower.
Connor has been happy to be home and have me home.
And I know that I've done the right thing.
The right thing for me and my family.
And I once again have learned that I should listen to my gut.
Not only that, walking away and/or running away, sometimes aren't bad things.
I do have guilt about the possible irresponsibility of this.
As well as, guilt towards 120+ kids I've never met. 120+ kids who will not have me work in the facility. Someone who would show them kindness and compassion and empathy. My bleeding heart can't reconcile that part. That I can't put my money where my mouth is. I talk about wanting to help and feeling so much for so many. And I walked away.
And maybe in time I will be able to reconcile it without rationalizing too much.
My time will come to do it. I know that.
I think right now though, my place is still right here.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
I want to thank you all for your support of me during this time. Listening to my constant whining when so many other bloggers out there are facing really frightening health scares and real issues.
I have climbed out of my self-pity pit.
I'm back, baby.
8/5/07
Another Saturday In August
Yesterday, my BFF's middle child, her son, was united in wedded bliss.
Are you scratching your head over that one?
Yes. I did say my BFF. She's a bit older than me. By 20 years.
That's just how I roll people. Most of my peeps are older than I.
Anyway. It was her son's wedding & I woke up not feeling up to attending.
Not because I didn't want to go and have a fun night or celebrate this relationship, this marriage, between the lovely couple.
But because that meant another day (and night) away from my kids.
A month ago, I was salivating over the thought of the kids spending the night away from us.
Now?
Now it is totally different.
Gracie had fallen asleep while I was getting ready - tearfully - getting ready.
I did my hair and makeup (holy shit, I wore makeup) all while she drifted on cotton candy clouds and held onto the wings of butterflies.
When she woke up, I was standing at the end of the bed, fully dressed and getting my shoes on.
Gracie popped up and looked at me wide-eyed and said Wow, Mommy. Look at you!!
Buttah, I tell you. I melted like buttah.
Anyway, after dropping them off with my mom to spend the night, we headed off to the church.
The ceremony was lovely. My BFF looked stunning, her son handsome and the bride beautiful.
The reception was held at a lovely place along the water.
Drinking was done, but not in excess, between Rav & I.
My BFF even threw back a few - which she rarely does.
We all hit the dance floor and barely took time to stop cutting it up.
Our heads thrown back, our mouths wide open.
Laughing, chuckling, yelling, hooting.
To see my friend so happy, to see her let go like that made me so happy.
To dance, and sing, and grind with my man on the dance floor made me so happy.
And when I picked up the kids I missed them
I really, really missed them.
And I've been trying to make sure I capture every moment and make it as quality as I possibly can.
For tomorrow starts another week.
Congratulations, J & D. You two make such a beautiful couple. I know that there will be many, many years of happiness ahead of you.
And yes, YOU looked gorgeous my darling. You were radiant and glowing.
And I am so proud to be your friend.
Are you scratching your head over that one?
Yes. I did say my BFF. She's a bit older than me. By 20 years.
That's just how I roll people. Most of my peeps are older than I.
Anyway. It was her son's wedding & I woke up not feeling up to attending.
Not because I didn't want to go and have a fun night or celebrate this relationship, this marriage, between the lovely couple.
But because that meant another day (and night) away from my kids.
A month ago, I was salivating over the thought of the kids spending the night away from us.
Now?
Now it is totally different.
Gracie had fallen asleep while I was getting ready - tearfully - getting ready.
I did my hair and makeup (holy shit, I wore makeup) all while she drifted on cotton candy clouds and held onto the wings of butterflies.
When she woke up, I was standing at the end of the bed, fully dressed and getting my shoes on.
Gracie popped up and looked at me wide-eyed and said Wow, Mommy. Look at you!!
Buttah, I tell you. I melted like buttah.
Anyway, after dropping them off with my mom to spend the night, we headed off to the church.
The ceremony was lovely. My BFF looked stunning, her son handsome and the bride beautiful.
The reception was held at a lovely place along the water.
Drinking was done, but not in excess, between Rav & I.
My BFF even threw back a few - which she rarely does.
We all hit the dance floor and barely took time to stop cutting it up.
Our heads thrown back, our mouths wide open.
Laughing, chuckling, yelling, hooting.
To see my friend so happy, to see her let go like that made me so happy.
To dance, and sing, and grind with my man on the dance floor made me so happy.
And when I picked up the kids I missed them
I really, really missed them.
And I've been trying to make sure I capture every moment and make it as quality as I possibly can.
For tomorrow starts another week.
Congratulations, J & D. You two make such a beautiful couple. I know that there will be many, many years of happiness ahead of you.
And yes, YOU looked gorgeous my darling. You were radiant and glowing.
And I am so proud to be your friend.
7/23/07
infinite love + unrelenting guilt = a mother
Lately, I've been grappling with the guilt and questions that come with being a Momma.
A momma who is struggling to hold herself & her family up in the middle of the biggest transition.
And I know other Momma's out there are facing similar things.
That guilt that creeps in.
The guilt that is the gift that keeps on giving when you become a Momma.
As endless the love is that we have for our children
so is the guilt.
The love for them is as vast as the sky. There is no beginning. There is no end. It simply is.
And unfortunately that guilt can be just as endless. It can be the giant rain cloud that covers up the beautiful blue sky. And we have to learn to navigate around it.
Not always an easy task.
We are faced with this tremendously awe-inspiring task of caring for a totally dependent individual.
A constant vigil.
It never ends.
In fact, it happens so quickly and fiercely that you can't even see the point at which it started.
There is no definitive moment.
Some may say that this vigil, the watch guard post - and the guilt - begins upon finding out you are now carrying this new life within.
Some may say that it occurs when you've decided natural childbirth is archaic and the decision to opt out for a relatively pain-free delivery. And that is a relative term, mind you. Pain free delivery. Yeah, uh-huh, sure.
Some say that it begins the moment that new life is physically in your arms.
But it happens. And again, the process is so swift, so thorough that it really is hard to determine when it happens. But it does.
So as new mothers - or just mothers - we take on this monumental task of constant caring, nurturing, rearing, guiding, loving, empathizing, hurting, pining. You name it, we are i-n-ging it. But we're happy to do it. It's the greatest of works. The fruits of constant tending and work that cannot be compared to anything else.
The power we possess so raw, so carnal. The ability to alert or cloudy-eyed cubs of our presence by just walking in the room - because of our scent.
The power to soothe with the merest of hums in tiny, sweet ears.
The power to comfort and protect with the warmness of our breast and arms, wrapping our cubs in the thickest of fortresses.
But with that power comes awesome responsibility.
And with that responsibility comes questions, swift looks back and hoping that it went well.
We wonder quietly, if we did any damage on those days where we were weary from an all-nighter and operated on auto-pilot.
We wonder if those days where we are frazzled beyond oblivion when all we can do is bleat-bleat answers - not ever really hearing the questions. And realize as head hits pillow that they are moments that are forever lost.
But we try.
We work our hearts and fingers to nubs.
We never fully take credit for the wonders that we are responsible for.
Instead, we second-guess.
We think that it's never enough.
We think it's all wrong. We're doing it all wrong.
And certainly, it's never story-book.
But considering what we're up against, we're pretty damned good at it.
If we asked our kids who were the best mommies in the whole-wide-world, what do we think the answer would be?
And true, some day they may question our abilities, our actions, our intentions, or how well we did.
But in time, they do come around and see just how hard we tried.
How hard we did.
How much we loved
and still love.
Mistakes will be made.
Yes.
Absolutely no doubt.
But in between the mistakes, and the guilt, the brand new cub and the adult they grow up to be is the best of us. The best of us that we give to them. And that questioning and the guilt shows just how seriously we take this job. We want to do it just right.
And if we didn't question, if we didn't care - we wouldn't wear our guilt and worry like the hottest new skirt or shoes for all to see.
In that time -the in betweens - are the moments that rest on sleepy eyelashes, toddler giggles, and chubby-armed hugs, the dirty fingerprints on everything, the countless buttercups handed over to us, the campy arts and crafts, the pb&j kisses. Those moments are just for us.
And we work so hard for them. We don't ask for them. They are handed over so lovingly, so generously.
The guilt is an occupational hazard, for sure.
It's there to stay.
But.
They'll be OK.
And so will we. I think.
Yeah.
So will we.
A momma who is struggling to hold herself & her family up in the middle of the biggest transition.
And I know other Momma's out there are facing similar things.
That guilt that creeps in.
The guilt that is the gift that keeps on giving when you become a Momma.
As endless the love is that we have for our children
so is the guilt.
The love for them is as vast as the sky. There is no beginning. There is no end. It simply is.
And unfortunately that guilt can be just as endless. It can be the giant rain cloud that covers up the beautiful blue sky. And we have to learn to navigate around it.
Not always an easy task.
We are faced with this tremendously awe-inspiring task of caring for a totally dependent individual.
A constant vigil.
It never ends.
In fact, it happens so quickly and fiercely that you can't even see the point at which it started.
There is no definitive moment.
Some may say that this vigil, the watch guard post - and the guilt - begins upon finding out you are now carrying this new life within.
Some may say that it occurs when you've decided natural childbirth is archaic and the decision to opt out for a relatively pain-free delivery. And that is a relative term, mind you. Pain free delivery. Yeah, uh-huh, sure.
Some say that it begins the moment that new life is physically in your arms.
But it happens. And again, the process is so swift, so thorough that it really is hard to determine when it happens. But it does.
So as new mothers - or just mothers - we take on this monumental task of constant caring, nurturing, rearing, guiding, loving, empathizing, hurting, pining. You name it, we are i-n-ging it. But we're happy to do it. It's the greatest of works. The fruits of constant tending and work that cannot be compared to anything else.
The power we possess so raw, so carnal. The ability to alert or cloudy-eyed cubs of our presence by just walking in the room - because of our scent.
The power to soothe with the merest of hums in tiny, sweet ears.
The power to comfort and protect with the warmness of our breast and arms, wrapping our cubs in the thickest of fortresses.
But with that power comes awesome responsibility.
And with that responsibility comes questions, swift looks back and hoping that it went well.
We wonder quietly, if we did any damage on those days where we were weary from an all-nighter and operated on auto-pilot.
We wonder if those days where we are frazzled beyond oblivion when all we can do is bleat-bleat answers - not ever really hearing the questions. And realize as head hits pillow that they are moments that are forever lost.
But we try.
We work our hearts and fingers to nubs.
We never fully take credit for the wonders that we are responsible for.
Instead, we second-guess.
We think that it's never enough.
We think it's all wrong. We're doing it all wrong.
And certainly, it's never story-book.
But considering what we're up against, we're pretty damned good at it.
If we asked our kids who were the best mommies in the whole-wide-world, what do we think the answer would be?
And true, some day they may question our abilities, our actions, our intentions, or how well we did.
But in time, they do come around and see just how hard we tried.
How hard we did.
How much we loved
and still love.
Mistakes will be made.
Yes.
Absolutely no doubt.
But in between the mistakes, and the guilt, the brand new cub and the adult they grow up to be is the best of us. The best of us that we give to them. And that questioning and the guilt shows just how seriously we take this job. We want to do it just right.
And if we didn't question, if we didn't care - we wouldn't wear our guilt and worry like the hottest new skirt or shoes for all to see.
In that time -the in betweens - are the moments that rest on sleepy eyelashes, toddler giggles, and chubby-armed hugs, the dirty fingerprints on everything, the countless buttercups handed over to us, the campy arts and crafts, the pb&j kisses. Those moments are just for us.
And we work so hard for them. We don't ask for them. They are handed over so lovingly, so generously.
The guilt is an occupational hazard, for sure.
It's there to stay.
But.
They'll be OK.
And so will we. I think.
Yeah.
So will we.
7/17/07
The Girl With The Campfire Hair
This past weekend, we went on a family camping trip. Which means, our little family met up with Rav's family (his parents, their dogs, two of his brothers, and our nieces and nephew).
To be perfectly honest, I was not looking forward to a 5 hour car ride and camping with our two kids. I was not looking forward to this trip. But it was the only time we could get away & I thought the break might be nice.
I packed and baked goodies and made chicken salad with a heavy, heavy mind.
In fact, there was a breakdown thrown in for good measure.
A fit of crying, and questioning, and the throwing of hands up in the air.
All the while, Rav let me do it. He watched, he sat quietly, he let me air my crazies out.
And as always, he remained cool. Perfectly calm.
He knows how to ride out storms like a pro.
Once I purged my mental toxins, I felt a little better.
And upon piling in the car, I was even feeling happy.
The set-up of our Ravioli tent city went pretty smoothly considering there were 2 dogs, 4 kids under the age of 6 and one 8 month old.
The evening met with much throwing back of bottled adult beverages, a tidy campfire, and Rav & his brother playing guitar and singing.
And I just sat quietly.
Willing myself to shoo away anxious thoughts.
I talked to all of the kids as much as I could.
I sang to some of the songs as much as I could.
Because with stillness comes the dread, the fear, the questions, the doubt.
Saturday met us with plans to hit a place in town called The Gorge.
Connor headed to Corning Glass with my one brother-in-law and his daughter (my niece).
That left Rav, Gracie & I to head to The Gorge with my other brother-in-law, my sister-in-law, and my other niece and my little baby nephew.
The Gorge was breathtaking.
And the place where I felt life melt away - just a little.
For there were views like this:
There's just one thing missing in this picture. I wish Connor had been there.
To be perfectly honest, I was not looking forward to a 5 hour car ride and camping with our two kids. I was not looking forward to this trip. But it was the only time we could get away & I thought the break might be nice.
I packed and baked goodies and made chicken salad with a heavy, heavy mind.
In fact, there was a breakdown thrown in for good measure.
A fit of crying, and questioning, and the throwing of hands up in the air.
All the while, Rav let me do it. He watched, he sat quietly, he let me air my crazies out.
And as always, he remained cool. Perfectly calm.
He knows how to ride out storms like a pro.
Once I purged my mental toxins, I felt a little better.
And upon piling in the car, I was even feeling happy.
The set-up of our Ravioli tent city went pretty smoothly considering there were 2 dogs, 4 kids under the age of 6 and one 8 month old.
The evening met with much throwing back of bottled adult beverages, a tidy campfire, and Rav & his brother playing guitar and singing.
And I just sat quietly.
Willing myself to shoo away anxious thoughts.
I talked to all of the kids as much as I could.
I sang to some of the songs as much as I could.
Because with stillness comes the dread, the fear, the questions, the doubt.
Saturday met us with plans to hit a place in town called The Gorge.
Connor headed to Corning Glass with my one brother-in-law and his daughter (my niece).
That left Rav, Gracie & I to head to The Gorge with my other brother-in-law, my sister-in-law, and my other niece and my little baby nephew.
The Gorge was breathtaking.
And the place where I felt life melt away - just a little.
For there were views like this:
Gracie on the left. Cousin royal T. Ravioli on the right.
And this:
This one (above) is one of my favorite pictures that we took at The Gorge. The views were mind blowing.
The girls did such a great job at The Gorge. I was so proud. They did a 2 mile hike with rarely a peep or complaint. Cousin royal T. liked to be carried and Gracie just wanted to stop and look at the water. That was the only time you heard them complain. They took it all in and just had a blast. You could see between them a bond begin to form. A sisterly companionship that was truly spectacular to watch. And you can see it bloom in that first picture I posted of the two of them at The Gorge.
At one point during the hike, I had picked Gracie up and was carrying her. I leaned in and made the most of the moment - being there in this beautiful place with her - and I kissed her sun-kissed head. And as I did, I inhaled. And her hair smelled like campfire. She smelled like home. She smelled so beautiful. I know that I will never forget that moment with her as long as I live. The moment was quick. It was undetectable, really. No one knew. It wasn't marked by fireworks, squeals of delight, or monumental applause. It was for me and her. Though she doesn't even know it happened. I felt renewed there. My daughter who gives me so much - and she doesn't even know she does it.
It may sound cliche and hokey. But it was then that I felt peaceful. It was then that I felt back at center and back to myself. Surrounded by beautiful, natural cliffs, running spring water, and my girl.
My sweet girl with the campfire hair.
There's just one thing missing in this picture. I wish Connor had been there.
6/20/07
A rose by any other name...
I haven't had the great fortune of actually meeting a fellow blogger in real life yet.
I have yet to connect with one who is from my immediate area.
Well, I know there is one who lives in a neighboring state, but this pocket of the country seems not to possess a lot of bloggers.
Either that, or I'm just not looking hard enough.
Which is probably more likely.
Anyway, in an attempt to be playful when starting up my blog, I decided to use one of my nicknames - Tabba.
I have a couple nicknames. Some I know about, some I'm sure that have been given to me that I'm not aware of. And believe me. What I don't know, won't hurt me.
A few months or weeks - I'm not sure how long ago, as time is this crazy thing I have no concept of anymore when staying home with the kids - I got a chance to actually speak to a fellow blogger on the phone. She called, and she asked for Tabba.
I wasn't expecting the call from her, necessarily, though I was pleasantly surprised. So when I heard someone ask for Tabba, I stopped in my tracks....see, that is a name that only a certain handful of people call me.
For instance, my BFF and her daughter.
Certain members of my family - like my closest cousins and their kids - call me that.
Sometimes my uncle.
Most people call me Tab.
Usually someone who calls me Tabitha is not very close to me.
And my Dad, Mom, Stepmom, & brothers call me Jess.
As a little girl, my Dad used to call me Catfish.
My one sister-in-law calls me Tabby.
I've even been known to answer to Mommy a few million times a day.
Rav used to call me Killer - and still does from time to time.
I guess what I'm really trying to get at here, is that the few of you out here that read me regularly are calling me Tabba.
A name that, for me, denotes a rather intimate relationship. And the funniest part is that I have never met any of you, but it feels so comfortable.
And in my picking that name here for my blog, I never realized what exactly, that would mean.
And now I do.
I have yet to connect with one who is from my immediate area.
Well, I know there is one who lives in a neighboring state, but this pocket of the country seems not to possess a lot of bloggers.
Either that, or I'm just not looking hard enough.
Which is probably more likely.
Anyway, in an attempt to be playful when starting up my blog, I decided to use one of my nicknames - Tabba.
I have a couple nicknames. Some I know about, some I'm sure that have been given to me that I'm not aware of. And believe me. What I don't know, won't hurt me.
A few months or weeks - I'm not sure how long ago, as time is this crazy thing I have no concept of anymore when staying home with the kids - I got a chance to actually speak to a fellow blogger on the phone. She called, and she asked for Tabba.
I wasn't expecting the call from her, necessarily, though I was pleasantly surprised. So when I heard someone ask for Tabba, I stopped in my tracks....see, that is a name that only a certain handful of people call me.
For instance, my BFF and her daughter.
Certain members of my family - like my closest cousins and their kids - call me that.
Sometimes my uncle.
Most people call me Tab.
Usually someone who calls me Tabitha is not very close to me.
And my Dad, Mom, Stepmom, & brothers call me Jess.
As a little girl, my Dad used to call me Catfish.
My one sister-in-law calls me Tabby.
I've even been known to answer to Mommy a few million times a day.
Rav used to call me Killer - and still does from time to time.
I guess what I'm really trying to get at here, is that the few of you out here that read me regularly are calling me Tabba.
A name that, for me, denotes a rather intimate relationship. And the funniest part is that I have never met any of you, but it feels so comfortable.
And in my picking that name here for my blog, I never realized what exactly, that would mean.
And now I do.
4/22/07
Baby Mine
When I was very pregnant with Connor, I remember being startled awake by a bad dream. (I had many a bad dream when I was pregnant). I remember waking up to the feeling of being totally unsafe. And that my unborn baby was unsafe. I remember rubbing my big, swollen belly as I was coming down from the adrenaline high of the nightmare. And fear, dread, worry, anxiety, and reality fell upon me like a concrete rain.
This world is a harsh, cold, scary place sometimes.
And as much as I wanted to meet my baby and see his precious, innocent, little face...
I knew how safe he was
nestled all snug and cramped in my den de utero.
I wanted him to stay in. Where I could keep him safe forever.
Such was my intense desire to protect my unborn cub.
Obviously, I can't fight natural processes and biology.
He came to us in a flurry.
In all of his pink, wrinkled, wide-eyed glory.
And my fears were forgotten.
Momentarily.
But mostly I delighted in my baby boy.
We played.
We laughed.
We, scratch that, I sang.
We toddled.
We messed about.
His entire mode of entertainment was wrapped up in mommy and daddy.
Yes, he made friends and joined school. Where he, very awkwardly, made his way through social interactions.
And that was all OK. It was within my safety zone.
Playdates have been highly supervised, they are somewhat within my control. I set the course, to some extent. All of Connor's friends live far away. We don't really know anyone in our neighborhood. So, it has made this whole safety thing a little easier.
I had tricked myself into thinking that I found a way to keep my baby safe, even though he's baby stepping his way through the world.
This world is a harsh, cold, scary place sometimes.
And as much as I wanted to meet my baby and see his precious, innocent, little face...
I knew how safe he was
nestled all snug and cramped in my den de utero.
I wanted him to stay in. Where I could keep him safe forever.
Such was my intense desire to protect my unborn cub.
Obviously, I can't fight natural processes and biology.
He came to us in a flurry.
In all of his pink, wrinkled, wide-eyed glory.
And my fears were forgotten.
Momentarily.
But mostly I delighted in my baby boy.
We played.
We laughed.
We, scratch that, I sang.
We toddled.
We messed about.
His entire mode of entertainment was wrapped up in mommy and daddy.
Yes, he made friends and joined school. Where he, very awkwardly, made his way through social interactions.
And that was all OK. It was within my safety zone.
Playdates have been highly supervised, they are somewhat within my control. I set the course, to some extent. All of Connor's friends live far away. We don't really know anyone in our neighborhood. So, it has made this whole safety thing a little easier.
I had tricked myself into thinking that I found a way to keep my baby safe, even though he's baby stepping his way through the world.
One of my favorite pictures. Gracie was only about 1 month old or so.
Sunday afternoon, reality came a-calling.
Something so innocent, a milestone I had not even thought about & was not yet prepared for came knock-knock-knocking on our door.
Our neighbor's 8 year old son, and his 6 year old stepbrother asked Connor to come out and play.
Come out and play?
What is this crazy talk you speak of, child?
I instantly perked up and thought that was so nice. I hadn't yet begun to think clearly.
Rav told the boys Connor wasn't feeling well. Maybe another day.
You nasty, white-liar, you. I first think to myself.
Rav shut the door.
We had a brief discussion about the kinds of kids they are.
And that was the end of it.
Fast forward a few hours & Connor sees the kids outside & wants to ride his bike.
OK. I tell him. But I'll stay outside with you.
Rav & Gracie join us.
Connor is doing great staying on the side walk with his tricycle.
While this miscreants have the audacity to scoot down the street on their scooters with wild abandon. Wild, I tell you. Wild.
Connor is pedaling his little heart out to keep up with his new friends. But his tricycle is no match for the speed of these scooters. (And remember..his scooter was stolen.)
**I'm not insinuating they stole it. I know they didn't. I was just saying that because Connor now has no scooter himself.**
His handle bars begin to thrash wildly, the front wheel is gnashing to and fro. He begins to veer off into the street, then NO! it veers back onto the sidewalk and crashes in our yard.
He's OK & no worse for the wear. In fact, he probably enjoyed it. He probably got a rush.
But our sidewalk is so close to the road.
Cars drive like maniacs down our street.
And remember how bad I want to protect my wee one.
I want him to have friends. I do.
I want so for him to be outside on beautiful 80 degree, sun-filled days.
I want him to ride his bike.
But the thought of something happening to him is almost more than I can bear.
I don't consider myself to be a recluse or one of those nutty people who is completely consumed by fear.
That was until the day that little boy came into my life.
And my everyday existence, while filled with many meaningful things, is now wrapped up in the caring and loving of these not one, but now two precious,little beings that I had a hand in creating.
How did something as simple as playing outside become such an ordeal?
Are mothers hiding in their homes thinking the same thing? Or are they not even aware that the time will come when kids will come knocking on your door. Requesting the presence of your child. To play. And you look out toward the immediate world...the cars, the streets. And know that your baby is growing up. Things are changing.
Or am I totally bonkers (wait, maybe you shouldn't answer that - even though I know the answer)?
I don't want to keep him from community.
Or from living life.
I want to give him strong wings to fly & soar.
But his mommy is trying so desperately to hold on.
I can almost feel what it was like to hold him on my chest and know that I would lay it all down for him.
I guess for now all I can do is hold my breath.
Hope for the best.
And watch my babies as they are just...
beginning to fly.
4/7/07
On Why Holidays Suck Big, Fat Monkey Butt
I do enjoy the holidays. I really do.
Rather, I think I like the idea of holidays.
Since the divorce, I have come to loathe them.
You would think with being the only child for 11 years, that I would love the holidays like no other. This would be the time of year, where the parents would try to win me over by stacking piles under the tree so high I couldn't look over them. And while I never really wanted for anything it wasn't like that.
I could easily be won over with a gawdy, plastic record player and a couple of cassette tapes.
What I have come to loathe is the gentle pulling, the thin layer of guilt, the question that hangs in the air when being told of a family get-together. The disappointment that each side feels & isn't afraid to express, when I (now We) can't make it. And really, the one who loses out? Most usually, my dad, stepmom and my brothers. Just by geography, usually.
We usually seem to make it to see my mom & Rav's family. But there never seems to be enough time in the day for the one I'd like to see above all others.
And that's where I'm at today. Sort of. First of all, it's Easter. Easter. I mean.....I think this day has more Religious significance than say, Christmas. But it's Easter. And I'm not all that practicing in my religion. I believe I'm great at practicing it in my immediate environment. But I do not go anywhere weekly to practice. So, it's just Easter. Big whoopideedoo.
About a month ago, I was talking to my stepmom, Eileen, about whatever topic we were throwing ourselves into in that particular phone conversation. And she informed me they were having an Easter "Open House". Whenever you come, you come. No pressure. However, they were planning an Easter Egg hunt for the kids and we're going to exchange our Christmas presents. Yes, I said Christmas presents. See how religious we are?? We celebrate the two holiest of holy days in one. You've heard me go on & on in here about not seeing my dad yet for Christmas.
Everyone knows this.
My mom knows this.
And yet...
She's calling me every G**-D*** day asking me: Are we gonna see you for Easter? Even if it's before or after your dad's? Are we gonna at least see you?
(You know what? It's Easter. Get over it. I've seen you at least once a week for the past 4 years. I haven't seen my Dad since very early December for about 10 minutes. You can spare me for a day.)
I think what bothers me about her constant begging is she has seen my kids grow up. Jeez, she's seen me grow up - even if she doesn't remember it. My dad has missed a lot. I think that feeling is even more raw for him now knowing just how much he missed & he knows it's happening again with his grandkids.
I know, I know. I need to shut my mouth & stop complaining. It must be soooo hard to be soooo loved.
But I just need to get it out. Quite frankly, I need to tell them all how I feel. I've been carrying this around silently (except for complaining to Rav or possibly his family or my BFF) for years.
It just strikes me as funny that I'm an adult. With my own family. My own kids. And I feel like I am still stuck in 1984 - I still have this immense guilt when it comes to my parents - this weighty responsibility. This fear of making them sad and making them feel disappointed. I have this keen awareness of time. Something most people think about in terms of it's time to go to work, it's time to eat, it's time to go to bed.
For me it's, They're losing time, They're losing out, They haven't had much time with me/us, there isn't much time left.
Like I said, I know I need to stop whining. I just really needed to purge this.
The anxiety of tomorrow is already starting.
But I really can't wait to see my Dad, Eileen, and my brothers.
I know it's going to be a good day.
Rather, I think I like the idea of holidays.
Since the divorce, I have come to loathe them.
You would think with being the only child for 11 years, that I would love the holidays like no other. This would be the time of year, where the parents would try to win me over by stacking piles under the tree so high I couldn't look over them. And while I never really wanted for anything it wasn't like that.
I could easily be won over with a gawdy, plastic record player and a couple of cassette tapes.
What I have come to loathe is the gentle pulling, the thin layer of guilt, the question that hangs in the air when being told of a family get-together. The disappointment that each side feels & isn't afraid to express, when I (now We) can't make it. And really, the one who loses out? Most usually, my dad, stepmom and my brothers. Just by geography, usually.
We usually seem to make it to see my mom & Rav's family. But there never seems to be enough time in the day for the one I'd like to see above all others.
And that's where I'm at today. Sort of. First of all, it's Easter. Easter. I mean.....I think this day has more Religious significance than say, Christmas. But it's Easter. And I'm not all that practicing in my religion. I believe I'm great at practicing it in my immediate environment. But I do not go anywhere weekly to practice. So, it's just Easter. Big whoopideedoo.
About a month ago, I was talking to my stepmom, Eileen, about whatever topic we were throwing ourselves into in that particular phone conversation. And she informed me they were having an Easter "Open House". Whenever you come, you come. No pressure. However, they were planning an Easter Egg hunt for the kids and we're going to exchange our Christmas presents. Yes, I said Christmas presents. See how religious we are?? We celebrate the two holiest of holy days in one. You've heard me go on & on in here about not seeing my dad yet for Christmas.
Everyone knows this.
My mom knows this.
And yet...
She's calling me every G**-D*** day asking me: Are we gonna see you for Easter? Even if it's before or after your dad's? Are we gonna at least see you?
(You know what? It's Easter. Get over it. I've seen you at least once a week for the past 4 years. I haven't seen my Dad since very early December for about 10 minutes. You can spare me for a day.)
I think what bothers me about her constant begging is she has seen my kids grow up. Jeez, she's seen me grow up - even if she doesn't remember it. My dad has missed a lot. I think that feeling is even more raw for him now knowing just how much he missed & he knows it's happening again with his grandkids.
I know, I know. I need to shut my mouth & stop complaining. It must be soooo hard to be soooo loved.
But I just need to get it out. Quite frankly, I need to tell them all how I feel. I've been carrying this around silently (except for complaining to Rav or possibly his family or my BFF) for years.
It just strikes me as funny that I'm an adult. With my own family. My own kids. And I feel like I am still stuck in 1984 - I still have this immense guilt when it comes to my parents - this weighty responsibility. This fear of making them sad and making them feel disappointed. I have this keen awareness of time. Something most people think about in terms of it's time to go to work, it's time to eat, it's time to go to bed.
For me it's, They're losing time, They're losing out, They haven't had much time with me/us, there isn't much time left.
Like I said, I know I need to stop whining. I just really needed to purge this.
The anxiety of tomorrow is already starting.
But I really can't wait to see my Dad, Eileen, and my brothers.
I know it's going to be a good day.
3/14/07
Beginnings
I've been thinking a lot lately about legacies. This has been punctuated by the fact that my dad's birthday was a few weeks ago & I've been thinking of him. I haven't seen him since the beginning of December. We still haven't all seen each other for Christmas.
Jen got the ball rolling for me about the strong men in my life - this is something I've been wanting to write about but have not been mentally up to the challenge.
If you've read my blog for any length of time, you know that my Dad is it. He is referred to in certain circles as Three Dog Night Dad.
Let me just say here, before I begin that this may be an ongoing writing project on here. I don't think I can aptly say what I'd like in just one post.
To get started about the strong men, I need to go back as far as I possibly can - to where I think this began.
My grandfather (my dad's dad) was one of eight children. And their mother, Orna, died when my grandfather was very young of a massive infection. I believe that was the catalyst for this example - this strong male role - in my family.
My grandfather had an older brother Jacob - they were the 2 youngest children. And they were very close. It turns out my grandfather, Herbert married my grandmother Jeannette and Jacob married my grandmother's sister, Marie. The two couples were very close and growing up, my dad & uncle were very close to their double-first cousins (who were Jake & Marie's children).
Jen got the ball rolling for me about the strong men in my life - this is something I've been wanting to write about but have not been mentally up to the challenge.
If you've read my blog for any length of time, you know that my Dad is it. He is referred to in certain circles as Three Dog Night Dad.
Let me just say here, before I begin that this may be an ongoing writing project on here. I don't think I can aptly say what I'd like in just one post.
To get started about the strong men, I need to go back as far as I possibly can - to where I think this began.
My grandfather (my dad's dad) was one of eight children. And their mother, Orna, died when my grandfather was very young of a massive infection. I believe that was the catalyst for this example - this strong male role - in my family.
My grandfather had an older brother Jacob - they were the 2 youngest children. And they were very close. It turns out my grandfather, Herbert married my grandmother Jeannette and Jacob married my grandmother's sister, Marie. The two couples were very close and growing up, my dad & uncle were very close to their double-first cousins (who were Jake & Marie's children).
I have always loved this picture of my grandparents.
When my grandfather & grandmother were first married, they were living abroad in Korea, Japan and then the Philippines, as my grandfather was in the military. My grandmother, I know, looks at these years as the happiest of her life. If I'm not mistaken, my uncle was born in the Philippines and then the young family moved back to the States shortly thereafter.
My grandparents entertaining. He is at the head and my
grandmother is opposite at the far-end.
My grandfather was very involved with his boys. Teaching them to fish, spending time outdoors, raising cattle on the farm, hunting, Boy Scouts, etc. He was very hands-on, from what I understand. I know that my Dad and Uncle still light up when reminiscing of the short time they spent with their father and the mark he left upon them forever.Health issues are abundant in that family line - diabetes, heart problems, high blood pressure, etc. My grandfather died in his early forties of a heart attack on or right before Thanksgiving, as I've said before on here, when my dad was 9.
I believe at that point, Uncle Jake was a point of contact as a male figure, as well as my Grandpop Donovan.
My mom says that she doesn't remember very much about Uncle Jake, but when I was an infant, my dad and mom took me down to Uncle Jake & Aunt Marie's. Uncle Jake held me right away, and in his Southern accent said, "Bless her little bones". My mom says that has stuck with her to this day. I think back to what it must have been like for my dad, to momentarily have the closest thing to his father holding his newborn baby girl. Uncle Jake died just a few short months after that and I believe he had to have a leg amputated at some point before his passing.
My grandmother, who was left to take care of The Farm that her & my grandfather bought, had rented out the marsh area to hunters. My grandmother was always very good at finding the right people for whatever need she faced in her personal and business life. She became friends with a Mr. Robinson (who got my dad into hunting and Young Waterfowlers). I know that my dad looks at that time spent with Mr. Robinson as a very positive experience. I know that Mr. Robinson died some years back, but I'm not sure about his wife.
Although there was a great support system in place and my grandmother did all she could to make sure there were great men family friends around for her boys, I know my dad was broken. He wanted something of his own. He always felt overshadowed by his round-peg, everything goes as planned, older brother. My dad always had long hair and a rebellious spirit that went against my grandmother's grain. But he always knew who he was and he was never going to change.
In high school, he met my mom and they had me in their Junior year. My dad was ecstatic about having a baby - and having a daughter. Though the road was rough, having a kid while you're still in high school, I think my dad felt like he finally had his family.
And that is where this story begins....
3/7/07
Of Dead Cadillacs and Golden Engines
Lately I've been thinking about my great-grandfather. He was the father of my paternal grandmother. He passed away in 1999, I think. At the ripe old age of 98 - give or take a year. It was quite possible he was born in 1899, but we think most likely, 1900-01.
What's somewhat interesting is that he sort of took the place of my grandfather. My dad's dad died when my dad was 9. So, in essence, he was the only "grandfather" I've ever known on that side of the family.
When I was 10, my great-grandfather came to live with my grandmother on The Farm. He became very sick from pneumonia and given his age and other "circumstances" it was best for him to live with her.
The "circumstances" are the things I've been thinking about.
My great-grandfather - or Grandpop Donovan as we all called him - was a character. I remember being a little girl, driving south to the beaches my fair state boasts of, and we would stop to "visit" Grandpop Donovan. He lived in this old, falling-down house that was right on the main highway that cuts down to the beaches. It had no electricity, no running water, no heat - nothing.
And we were never allowed inside.
In all the years we stopped by to see Grandpop, I had never set foot inside of his home.
But from what I saw of the front yard, which served as the living room on our visits, I was not all that interested in going in.
The only glimpse I got of the house was the front porch. Which was piled from floor to ceiling with newspapers, trash and what-not.
Yes, he was one of those people.
His yard was easy to spot.
It was littered. And I mean littered with the sad, sad rusting out, abandoned carcasses of once driven and loved Cadillacs.
Old, big, land yacht Cadillacs.
These were his babies.
It was as if he were tending to a garden of Cadillacs.
A garden destined to never live, or thrive, but it would inevitably grow. It would grow by him adding another deceased vehicle to the collection over the years.
He was so proud of these relics.
I remember my Dad sharing goofy stories about Grandpop Donovan (because as I've said, he was a character). And one in particular is monumental.
Dad told me on one of their trips to the beach as young boys, my dad, uncle and grandmother were traveling to the beach and da da da daaaa, they stopped in to see Grandpop.
He had recently purchased a near-death Cadillac.
However, he decided it needed some TLC.
And he was proud to show off his work to my pre-pubescent Dad and my 17 year old Uncle.
He was practically jumping out of his baby blue polyester pants to show them this car.
He says to them with his hand shaking, eyes welling up with tears (which they often did) "Looky here. This is what I did of a mornin'. Look inside that car. It has a TV in it!"
My dad & uncle peer inside.
And my dad says it was all he could do not to fall to the ground in fits of laughter.
There on the back seat was plopped and old 13" TV set....rabbit ears and all.
And as if that were not enough, he says "Looky here. I bet you'll never see an engine like this!" He pops the hood and again fits of stifled laughter ensue.
Under that hood was a shiny (spray painted gold) engine.
All my dad and uncle could muster up was Yeah, we've never seen anything quite like that, Grandpop!!!
Don't misunderstand me. I'm not trying to poke fun at the deceased. I loved my Grandpop Donovan very much. And he was a character. There are so many of these wacky, crazy stories that I could share. But that one just always comes to mind when I need a little chuckle. To me, it is endearing.
My Grandpop Donovan saw things in his long lifetime that I could only read about now. But listening to him talk, when he was around, was an experience. Granted that I would have to glean the truth out of the whoppers.
He was such a healthy man up until his death. He worked around The Farm almost up until the end. He loved caring for his garden, flower beds, and the yard.
He always ate well, kept up with current events, and shared his stories.
He could be a handful. What my poor grandmother had to put up with caring for her father. Oy.
He couldn't hear very well. And he would talk on and on and on. It was hard to break away from him when he trapped you during a story-telling session.
I wish sometimes that I had taken better advantage of the times when he was here. To find out what he thought about certain politicians, certain historic events that took place during his lifetime. I'm certain that his memory contained things that would've blown me away.
I grew up wanting so much to meet my "real" grandfather. And there will always be that void for all of us left behind. I can't imagine my dad & uncle losing their father. My grandmother for losing her husband and her best friend. Leaving her behind to raise 2 boys, look after and pay for The Farm, as well as, the business he had started. Leaving behind, eventually, grandchildren to make up a mythical grandfather to fill the empty spaces.
But in his place - which is a huge space to fill - I had this alternative grandfather. Grandpop Donovan. Who was wacky and quite frankly, maybe a little crazy. But he was full of so much history, so many stories and laughter that I can draw on now.
What's somewhat interesting is that he sort of took the place of my grandfather. My dad's dad died when my dad was 9. So, in essence, he was the only "grandfather" I've ever known on that side of the family.
When I was 10, my great-grandfather came to live with my grandmother on The Farm. He became very sick from pneumonia and given his age and other "circumstances" it was best for him to live with her.
The "circumstances" are the things I've been thinking about.
My great-grandfather - or Grandpop Donovan as we all called him - was a character. I remember being a little girl, driving south to the beaches my fair state boasts of, and we would stop to "visit" Grandpop Donovan. He lived in this old, falling-down house that was right on the main highway that cuts down to the beaches. It had no electricity, no running water, no heat - nothing.
And we were never allowed inside.
In all the years we stopped by to see Grandpop, I had never set foot inside of his home.
But from what I saw of the front yard, which served as the living room on our visits, I was not all that interested in going in.
The only glimpse I got of the house was the front porch. Which was piled from floor to ceiling with newspapers, trash and what-not.
Yes, he was one of those people.
His yard was easy to spot.
It was littered. And I mean littered with the sad, sad rusting out, abandoned carcasses of once driven and loved Cadillacs.
Old, big, land yacht Cadillacs.
These were his babies.
It was as if he were tending to a garden of Cadillacs.
A garden destined to never live, or thrive, but it would inevitably grow. It would grow by him adding another deceased vehicle to the collection over the years.
He was so proud of these relics.
I remember my Dad sharing goofy stories about Grandpop Donovan (because as I've said, he was a character). And one in particular is monumental.
Dad told me on one of their trips to the beach as young boys, my dad, uncle and grandmother were traveling to the beach and da da da daaaa, they stopped in to see Grandpop.
He had recently purchased a near-death Cadillac.
However, he decided it needed some TLC.
And he was proud to show off his work to my pre-pubescent Dad and my 17 year old Uncle.
He was practically jumping out of his baby blue polyester pants to show them this car.
He says to them with his hand shaking, eyes welling up with tears (which they often did) "Looky here. This is what I did of a mornin'. Look inside that car. It has a TV in it!"
My dad & uncle peer inside.
And my dad says it was all he could do not to fall to the ground in fits of laughter.
There on the back seat was plopped and old 13" TV set....rabbit ears and all.
And as if that were not enough, he says "Looky here. I bet you'll never see an engine like this!" He pops the hood and again fits of stifled laughter ensue.
Under that hood was a shiny (spray painted gold) engine.
All my dad and uncle could muster up was Yeah, we've never seen anything quite like that, Grandpop!!!
Don't misunderstand me. I'm not trying to poke fun at the deceased. I loved my Grandpop Donovan very much. And he was a character. There are so many of these wacky, crazy stories that I could share. But that one just always comes to mind when I need a little chuckle. To me, it is endearing.
My Grandpop Donovan saw things in his long lifetime that I could only read about now. But listening to him talk, when he was around, was an experience. Granted that I would have to glean the truth out of the whoppers.
He was such a healthy man up until his death. He worked around The Farm almost up until the end. He loved caring for his garden, flower beds, and the yard.
He always ate well, kept up with current events, and shared his stories.
He could be a handful. What my poor grandmother had to put up with caring for her father. Oy.
He couldn't hear very well. And he would talk on and on and on. It was hard to break away from him when he trapped you during a story-telling session.
I wish sometimes that I had taken better advantage of the times when he was here. To find out what he thought about certain politicians, certain historic events that took place during his lifetime. I'm certain that his memory contained things that would've blown me away.
I grew up wanting so much to meet my "real" grandfather. And there will always be that void for all of us left behind. I can't imagine my dad & uncle losing their father. My grandmother for losing her husband and her best friend. Leaving her behind to raise 2 boys, look after and pay for The Farm, as well as, the business he had started. Leaving behind, eventually, grandchildren to make up a mythical grandfather to fill the empty spaces.
But in his place - which is a huge space to fill - I had this alternative grandfather. Grandpop Donovan. Who was wacky and quite frankly, maybe a little crazy. But he was full of so much history, so many stories and laughter that I can draw on now.
12/30/06
You'll Shoot Your Eye Out, Kid - Or At The Very Least, Insert Your Foot Into Your Mouth
Gracie has discovered the delights of the movie, "A Christmas Story" this year. Which I totally don't mind. I can't get enough of that movie. In fact, the end of the 24 hour marathon on TBS marks the end of the Christmas season for me. Once that is over, I know Christmas is officially "over".Well, upon watching the movie 500 times, Gracie has come to recite some of the lines. Like, "Hey, kid." (Which Randy says to some random kids that knock into him on his bloated-tick walk to school.) And I've heard her say, "I double-dog dare ya!" more than a few times. But her newest line is, "HO........HO.........HO.....". She repeats it exactly as the department store Santa says it. With perfect space in between each HO. God love her.
Yesterday we were on our way to see Alex & Liz up at Alex's parent's house for a fine evening of much needed socialization with some most interesting folks. On the way, we were in the car & Rav was trying to get Gracie to say, "HO.........HO.........HO......". So, we started playing this game with it. And I said, mommy says, "NO..........NO..........NO......". The kids started laughing & I think Connor said, "What does daddy say?" To which I replied: "Please............Please............Please........". However, Rav was not to have that.
Then Rav said, "Mommy says: 'Please.........Please........Please...........' and daddy says: 'YES...............YES...............YES.........". Probably not the smartest move on our part, on the way to a nice, family dinner.
Rest assured, the kids will be repeating this. It's only a matter of when & where. This will certainly come back to bite us in the ass.
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